#i am genuinely aghast every time i realize what he’s done

[hornetkun]

i’m reading aftg for the first time. today i decided.. there are villains, there are evil characters — and then there’s riko moriyama.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 7

Summary: In order to win, she might have to lose.

Warnings: angst, swearing, bit of fluff, sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six  

=================================

Waking up to skies lit by the wintry sun is what Y/N expected. In the back of her mind, she remembers opening her eyes. Perhaps it’s her mind playing tricks on her, but she could swear she heard Aleksander’s voice softly speaking to her. 

Telling dreams from reality felt like an impossible task, but if it were a dream, would she really dream of him?

Death never crossed her mind. She was a soldier in an expendable army for most of her life, yet she never feared death. There was never a lingering sense of what if when they asked her if she believed in life after death, but she wondered now. Looking death in the eye had forced a realization upon her – she would die and achieve nothing. She married arguably the most powerful man in all of Ravka and she failed to utilize it. In the end, her name would be forgotten in history for her plans would all die with her.

Inhaling sharply, she wanted to open her eyes. A heaviness settles on her eyelids, making her groan. Her entire body felt dismantled, every nerve bare, inflicting pain.

“It’s alright”, a hand pressed to her forehead and Y/N frowns. Breathing heavily, she felt vulnerable, exposed.

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flutter open. With blurry vision, she looked up at the dark presence looming above her. Blinking fast, her lips part and before she can ask, cool liquid runs down her parched throat.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes closed again. She needed a moment to collect herself, to stop the world from spinning.

“It hurts”, she mumbles meekly.

“Shhh”, his voice reaches her. “I’m here”, she feels a gentle squeeze of his hand, “You’re safe.”

Resisting sleep, she opened her eyes once more. The sight of his tormented gaze leaves her nearly breathless. He’s still handsome, but it looks as if he’s aged ten years in just a few days.

“What happened?” Her voice is hoarse, still raspy from thirst and sleep.

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a week”, his forehead wrinkles, “We’ve just made it back.”

Despite the little voice in his head, the Darkling held onto his wife throughout the night. He kept her close to his chest, running his fingers through her hair. She was exhausted, injured so badly he could hear the strain her body was under with every breath she took.

Her eyes remained closed, her lips slightly parted and his pressed in a thin line. Absurd. It was absurd to think that someone like that – so delicate, so fragile, could have any power over him. It baffles him just how quickly he found himself attached to this woman who was unremarkable in every possible way – or so he told himself.

Truth be told, he couldn’t take his eyes off her since he first saw her. She radiates genuine beauty few possess, a confidence he’s never found in anyone in hundreds of years, and an air of mystery he couldn’t quite understand.

By the time morning light reached their tent, the Darkling just stared at her with care, studying every inch of her face as if it could be the last time he’ll ever be given a chance. He memorized the way she fit in his embrace, the rhythm of her beating heart in the dead of night and every labored breath as it threatened his sanity.

Anger was his best friend for so long, his shield against humanity, but his anger wasn’t all-consuming as it once was – it was directed to those who caused the swelling around her eyes and cuts across her cheekbones.

“General”, Ivan’s head peaked inside the tent only to swiftly disappear once he caught sight of a moment he was sure wasn’t meant for his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, the Darkling gently laid her head down. Caressing her cheek, he let a heavy sigh pass his lips. It’s been too long since he last felt so defenseless and helpless as he did now. He promised himself he’d never feel that way again and yet he found himself in the same cursed whirlwind of emotions as he was in when the fold came to be.

Biting his lower lip, he pushed it all down. If he’s distraught, his people would know. He cannot be emotional and still lead an army. He has to be strong – for Grisha and for Y/N.

“Ivan, we’ll have to find a healer soon”, Kirigan spoke in a hushed tone. Glancing at the tent, he felt a lump growing at the back of his throat. “I believe she’s developed a fever too.”

“Fedyor can try to cool her temperature”, Ivan offers, “He’ll slow her heart and keep her breathing. I’ll trade with him if necessary.”

Nodding, the general was satisfied with Ivan’s solution. For once, Ivan didn’t question why he wanted to protect her. This time, he was offered aid rather than words of discouragement.

“I’ll have to leave some of our own here”, Kirigan looks at the direction they came from. “The Fjerdans came too close and I need to know why. Why would they take my wife?”

Ivan lowers his voice, making sure he doesn’t wake up Y/N, “Perhaps it was a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences. Not when her safety is at stake.”

Nodding, Ivan glances at Fedyor. He’d be the same if anyone touched his beloved. Suppressing a smile, Ivan finally realized it – no matter how vehemently the general denies it, his heart is no longer his.

“What are the orders? I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“Take back what they took, place their heads on a stake and wait. More should come soon and when they do, I want to know why they came so close to Little Palace and who ordered them to take my wife.”

Squinting, not in anger but to see him better, Y/N frowns, “A week?”

“Winter made it hard for us to move faster and you were in no shape to ride back.”

Letting out a shaky breath of air, she raised an eyebrow, “So you carried me?”

“Ivan and Fedyor kept you alive too.”

Wetting her chapped lips, she hesitated. Her fingers burned, itching to touch him, to intertwine with his.

“A healer should be here any minute now”, Aleksander informed, pulling his hand out of hers as if he could sense her inner battles and decided to help her by removing himself from it entirely.

“No”, she decided.

Standing abruptly, his jaw clenched. Despite his stern expression, his eyes hold all the sadness in the world, pleading eyes that both threaten and adore.

“No?” He repeats with disdain, “What do you mean by no?”

Holding her breath, she endures a sharp pain in her ribcage as she propped herself up on her elbows. Breathing heavily, she directed her determined gaze on him. “I’m human, am I not?”

Squinting at her, his lips part, “And?”

Struggling to prevent herself from laughing at the way he looked at her now, Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Humans aren’t allowed aid of a healer. We go to the medics.”

“You’re my wife”, he remarks almost instantaneously, slightly wishing she remained unconscious for a while longer. If she slept, the healer would have done their job and there would be no argument. There was no doubt about it, their truce was over.

“But I’m still a human. The rest of my kind don’t have the privilege of being married to you.” Her voice is stern, low and frustratingly righteous.

“You need a healer or you might not survive”, Aleksander insisted.

“Then let me die.” She stared at him, no signs of crumbling and it made him feel like he’s drowning.

Rubbing his forehead, the Darkling shut his eyes in frustration. After all the sleepless nights, his head felt like it would implode. All he had on his mind was her safety and now when he brought her home, she refused help.

“What do you want?”

Knitting her eyebrows, she glanced at his jaw as it clenched. “What?”

Her voice is higher, almost confused but he knew better than that. “I’ve known you for almost two months.” Two months too long, he thought. “I know when you’re trying to extort me.”

Covering her mouth, Y/N suppressed a laugh. Truth be told, it’s exactly what she’s doing, she just didn’t expect him to cave so quickly.

“Healers for the First army”, her lips twitch. Pursing her lips, she bites the soft flesh on the inside of her mouth to stop herself from smiling at all costs.

“No”, he spoke through gritted teeth.

Shrugging, she laid back down. “Alright then. I only regret I won’t be here to hear you explain my death to the Tsar and my father.”

Growling under his breath, he swipes his hand down his face. “One healer.”

“Two”, she argued, sitting up with a pained expression on her face.

“We can’t spare two”, the Darkling crosses his arms, his eyes darker than ever before.

Lifting her chin in defiance, she narrowed her eyes at her husband. “Two healers or no deal.”

Releasing a long, heavy breath in frustration, the Darkling felt his insides turn. “Two healers but only for those who can’t get better with a week long rest on their own.”

“Two healers for those who can’t get better in a few days of rest AND the same amount of food and water for the First army.”

Running a hand through his hair, the general’s nostrils flare. Cracking his neck to the left, to the right, he turned his death glare back on his wife. “Food and water are limited for Grisha as well.”

“I saw them eat grapes”, Y/N deadpans. “You have enough, so share. If the First army dies out, who will protect your precious Grisha?”

Folding her hands in her lap, she maintained eye contact with the general who refused to blink. He stared back at her, aghast. The woman was impossible! She made every word that passed her lips a contest of wills.

His jaw set, he moved closer to stand before her. He looked formidable with the relentless, firm pools of black ink for eyes devouring her with intensity, too hard in comparison to what she had seen in the tent. He looked like he could kill her without even putting a hand on her…something she still expected him to do.

What was stopping him? She was far behind enemy lines, no reinforcements and she saw what he can do – he could kill everyone who stood in his way.

“Fine”, he huffs. “Under one condition.”

Rolling her eyes, she nods, “What is it?”

“I want a kiss.”

Her eyes flashed to his. Ringed with golden bruises, she was still alluring – like a wildfire or a storm. No…she is wildfire, a storm. She is deadly and uncontrollable and slightly out of her wits and he’s asking her to be his ruination. It isn’t love, he tells himself, it’s obsession.

Raising her eyebrows, Y/N didn’t bother hiding her surprise. A kiss? Of all the things he could have asked, the big bad general who can summon shadows is asking for a kiss?

A part of her trusted Aleksander and that trust demanded intimacy. She wanted his hands on her – in her hair, his lips on her neck. She longed to be vulnerable and that’s what worried her. Trusting him, needing him, it’s bound to breed love and self-inflicted madness. If it were anything else, she would outright refuse him, but she has so many lives dependent on her answer.

“Tonight”, she decided. If her own sanity is the price to pay, she will do what she has to do.

Nodding, the Darkling retreated. Leaving the room, he opened the door for the healer to enter. Sparing her a quick look, he swallowed thickly as the thought of her willingly kissing him made his heart slam into the rib cage. Even his heart wanted to escape him as it too longed for her hands’ touch.

He didn’t make more than two steps outside the room when a Grisha joined him - one of his many spies.

“What do you have for me?”

The spy beckons him to the side, looking around wildly. “This could change everything.”

“What is it?” The Darkling speaks through gritted teeth, demanding an answer.

“There is talk”, the spy pauses, “Of a Sun Summoner.”

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

Healed, bathed and properly fed, Y/N had paced their room in anticipation of his arrival. She had seen the look in his eyes earlier that day – something between them has changed.

As the door opens, her breath halts inside her throat.

“I thought you were lost”, Genya admitted. “When they found your mare, I lost hope.”

Smiling, Y/N cupped her cheek. “I did too”, she sniffled.

The Darkling felt, more than saw, her presence as he entered the room. He turned slowly, his breath held. Her hair looked darker in the candlelight, its rich color gleaming against the green velvet of fresh sheets on the bed she leaned against. He could hardly speak. The nearness of her, the quiet room, the candlelight made him question the reality of what he was looking at.

“You look better”, Aleksander managed a curt smile, looking at Y/N and her attire. The sheer nightdress she wore was back, perfectly outlining her figure.

“Why did they take you?” Genya asked, unshead tears weighing heavily on her eyes. “Did they know?”

“No”, Y/N shakes her head, “But they found out.”

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter. Kirigan killed them all.” Y/N glanced at the door where she expected her husband to appear later on.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Y/N felt her heart flip. “It helped me realize something.”

Frowning, Genya waited for Y/N to explain.

“Your General does have a heart”, she states. His request for a kiss lingered in every thought her mind could concoct.

She stared at him then slowly untied the belt of her robe and it glided languidly over her smooth skin, falling to her feet.

His gaze roamed over her as if he is unable to fully comprehend her beauty. Only when he looked back at her eyes did he see she was troubled. 

“Of course he does”, Genya chuckles, “He was most worried when you were taken. He promised he’d kill them all and bathe in their blood.”

“I think I can use that.”

Knitting her eyebrows, Genya’s frown deepened. “How?”

Pressing her lips, Y/N sighed. “In order for me to win”, she paused, “He needs to believe he did.”

“Husband”, she spoke clearly. She feigned confidence, but inside she quivered.

She had barely finished the syllable when she was in his arms, being carried to their bed, his lips already fastened to hers. She felt his lips hit hers like a tornado, his admission of burning the world in her name spinning in her head. It could have been a fever dream, but she would bet her life it wasn’t.

Holding her chin in place, he rested his forehead on hers, heaving from the kiss. She couldn’t open her eyes, clinging to him for dear life, but even with eyes closed, Y/N could hear the emotions thick in his voice.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not willing.” He whispered against his lips, all too prepared for his hands to roam her body now.

Y/N was afraid of herself as well as of him. He could sense it as he kissed her. He’d waited a long time for her to come to him and now it seems she was more than ready to give herself to him without his talk of her marital duty.

He expected anything but to find her with her arms wide open.  But even now, as he held her, he felt no great sense of triumph.

Pulling the sheet over her, he stood. “I can wait.”

The sheet accented her shoulders and the full swelling of her breasts. The candlelight deepened the shadow above the sheet. Her bare throat pulsed with life. Her face was set in a firm, serious expression that caused her eyes to darken. Her lips were hard, as if carved of marble and he ached to part them into a smile.

Turning away, he began undressing himself for bed, wondering how he could survive a night beside her if she remains as she is now.

She averts her gaze, whispering under her breath in confusion, “Wait?”

He laid beside her, barely dressed at all. She found herself achingly aware of his presence. The only light in the room was from the flames of candles she placed across the room. The light danced on her hair, played with the shadows of her delicate collarbones. At this moment, he remembered nothing of the arrangement their marriage was meant to be. He knew only that he was in bed with a desirable woman, one he never expected to claim. She seemed too headstrong to ever give into his charm, yet she bared herself before him and he couldn’t take advantage of her.

“Why don’t you want me?” She sat up, glaring at him. She let the sheet fall as his eyes met hers, bravely fixing him with her fiery gaze.

Rolling his eyes, he looks away. How can she torment him like this with no shame?

If anything, he felt like she’s attacking him. “I don’t want to hear about how a demon took you by force for the rest of my life.”

“It’s not force if I’m giving myself willingly, is it?” She raised an eyebrow, deciding on a tactic finally. Aleksander is a general, a conqueror at heart and she saw the desire in his eyes. If there was any hope of her plan to work, she had to harness his desire to convince him he won.

Licking his lips as he cracked a smile, Aleksander nodded in surprise, unable to keep his eyes from wandering lower to her breasts. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He wanted to possess her, to claim this difficult, headstrong woman for himself. His mouth came down brutally hard on hers, claiming them, nearly bruising them.

Y/N fumbled with the sheet that wrapped around her, making Aleksander chuckle into the kiss.

“Let me help you,” Aleksander purred and tore the sheet away, pulling it from under the mattress.

Wrapping his hand around Y/N’s neck, his grip was oddly weak, gentle even. She laid nude before him, his gaze fixed on her. He stared at her in wonder; her full breasts, curvy waist, round hips. Then he looked back at her face, her eyes blazing. Her lips were reddened from his kiss, and suddenly there was no power on earth that could stop him from taking her.

“You make me feel”, he pauses in anguish, “You make me feel”, he said quietly, fiercely, “And I don’t like it. I want it to stop. Now.”

He pushed her into the mattress and Y/N saw the ruthless general in his eyes and for a moment she feared it. A general isn’t gentle at all, not like Aleksander could be. She feared the pain he’d cause and the tears that would follow. She feared what he’d do to her, but then the fear she felt dissipated as he spoke against her lips.

“I’ll go slowly.” Aleksander stopped himself, remembering she’s never had a man in her bed before and once he saw the fear in her eyes extinguish the flame he already adored, he reeled himself in.

“Your hands are bloody from murder”, she paused, “But I trust them completely.” Her voice had never been smaller, her hands never as desperate as she clung to him. She wanted to trust the sudden, overwhelming warmth in his unrelentingly tender gaze, but she still awaited the pain that was yet to come. He moved on top of her, his lips attaching to her neck gently as he pressed a kiss above her pulsating carotid, knowing she’s nervous as he felt the pace of her pulse.

With one thigh, Aleksander parted hers. He kissed her again, passionate and slow, distracting her as his hand moves lower, down to the intimate parts she never allowed another only man to see, to feel. Slipping his finger between her folds, he found if applied enough pressure a desperate moan escapes her without a fail. He feels her breathing change as he begins to rub circles, her thighs trying to push against his in a need of more friction. And that’s when control escapes her and she closes her eyes completely, letting the pleasure take over.

Unable to wait any longer, Aleksander pushed the head of his hardened length between the folds, feeling her wetness pooling over as nature’s lubricant. Feeling the membrane, he stops for a moment. Looking at her carefully for any signs of distress, he wonders if she even realizes what is about to happen.

“Do you want this?” He asks again, fearing she may change her mind.

Gripping his arm, she nods. “Yes”, she replies, breathless.

Pressing himself inside, he bows his head in the crook of her neck, growling lowly in pleasure. It’s not the first virgin he had, but it’s the first one that made him want to come on the first thrust.

“Go on.” She encourages him, surprising them both. Swallowing thickly, she sinks her nails into his back, anticipating the next thrust. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t in pain, but she knew it would get easier as he moves again and she would feel the pleasure again – and she wanted the pleasure more than the pain.

Nodding, Aleksander starts moving in and out slowly, refusing to risk her pain for a little more pleasure he’d find in speed and his untimely release. Instead, he’s using deep, slow strokes with a relentless care for the nerve bundle between her folds. Every passing second draws louder moans from her until he feels her clench around him, his own mind blackening as he feels himself nearing the edge. She’s holding him so tightly to her body, so desperately as she unravels beneath him. Picking up pace, he finally loses control, jerking his hips to meet hers in a deep thrust only to finish deep inside her, allowing them both to breathe.

Rolling off her, Aleksander decided to stay quiet, allowing her to have control of the moment. If she wants his embrace, he’d do it for her and if she wants to talk, he’d talk to her, otherwise, he’d just sleep. It’s been so long since he truly slept – since the day they went for that ride.

He placed an arm around her for comfort alone, not pressing himself closer than necessary, closing his eyes once he realizes she’s not interested in him at all after she came down from her high.

Waiting for a few minutes, Y/N pretended to sleep. After the hurricane of emotions he’d given her, Y/N didn’t know how to feel. She wanted to relax, to sleep in bliss, but a part of her ached. She ached for who she used to be. Would her father hate her for what she just did? Would her people denounce her for sleeping with the enemy?

Her eyes opened wide, finding his are still closed. Lips quivering, she felt herself crumble as tears fled her eyes. She watched his sleeping figure and sighed deeply, telling herself to stop crying. She was supposed to be in control of him, to make him want her and crave her, yet she found it was the opposite. She didn’t love him, but she did feel a connection…perhaps it’s the kindness he showed her when he rescued her or the pleasure he had given her, but something inside her changed and the heart she hardened on purpose found a soft spot for the general.

=============================

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Part 8

[300iqprower]

“Dóxa stous Argonáftes - Ploío ton Oneiropólon, ploío ton Anóiton,” literally translating to "Glory to the Argonauts - Ship of Dreamers, Ship of Fools", is an ability that allows Jason to replicate his greatest feat: Assembling the Argonauts. Based off of the memories he held of his journeys with his close companions, these Argonauts may not be the genuine article, but they hold the same power and heroic valor they did in life…[While] the real counterparts would struggle to match up against the likes of true gods, because Jason believes them capable of doing so, his recreations of them can.

JASON VS ZEUS

“Haha…ahahahahah…!” In spite of his wounds, Jason let out a mad cackle at the crater before him, a charred body at the center. “So…how does it feel Zeus?! How does it feel to know you’re going to die? How does it feel to be MORTAL-?!”

CRACKATHOOM

Thunder shattered the land and lightning split the sky, as a bolt unlike all the others struck Zeus himself, whose smoldering body began to twitch as sparks gathered around it.

“I….am….lightning….divinity manifest…”

The godking’s eyes opened, now a radiant white.

“I….am….the heavens…”

And to Jason’s terror, Zeus once more began to stand.

“I….am….Olympus….”

And as his limp body raised itself even further into the air, raised his head to look at Jason and speak with Pure. Seething. F u r y. Before roaring out:

“I…AM….ZEUS…!!!

…AND I REFUSE TO BE HALTED BY MERE PHANTOMS OF A FAILURE!”

KA-THOOM

Arm snapping back in an instant, a white-hot bolt of lightning struck clean through any and every phantom in its path before blasting Jason, and the Argonaut’s world became agony itself.

……..

Zeus continued to speak, but Jason didn’t hear. As the world rung and earth blurred, he could only make out the feeling of slow, encroaching footsteps, and the sound of his own thoughts.

“After all that…and in an instant he just………. I guess it really was for nothing. Just like before…just like always…I really was nothing but a failure; I couldn’t even bring a real hero with me here…yeah, that makes sense.”

As his vision barely faded in enough to make out a heel at his face, Jason could also make out last couple of lines from Zeus’s ravings, as the god motioned to pick up Jason’s near-corpse.

“…But when I am done, I’ll ensure only the worthy are remembered, that not a single one of your pathetic, ungrateful ‘heroes’ ever even EXISTED!” With a sadistic, maddened grin, lightning once more began to surround Zeus’s throwing hand as time slowed to a crawl, every heartbeat an eternity to process. “Starting…with…you.”

……

……….

…………….

“…Ungrateful?!”

S H I N G

Before Zeus even realized Jason had moved, he felt his arm leave his body entirely, divine ichor spraying from the stump that remained. “Impossible! When did Atalanta-?!” a fist flew into Zeus’s aghast expression, cutting off the thought and sending him hurtling back with herculean strength.

“YOU. KNOW. NOTHING, ABOUT THEIR WORTH!!!”

With screaming hatred that echoed above the thunder itself, Jason’s voice rang out as he struggled to raise himself. Zeus’s desperation, anger, and increasing confusion all overlapped as lightning carpet bombed the area in vain, not one bolt hitting its mark and causing the god’s mind to race. “That was Hercules’s fist! These are Medea’s deflection spells!” With a roar his voice swiftly returned as the god cried out. “How?! WHERE ARE THEY?!”

If Jason heard Zeus, it didn’t show, as two figures to whom Jason paid no heed lifted the captain to his feet, and some sort of remedy spread where Zeus had struck him, all while the Greek hero stared at the immortal with ungodly wrath.

Jason raised his sword at Zeus. “You…You don’t know the first thing about heroism, and you don’t know the fucking meaning of the word gratitude! You don’t even know what it means to lose something, let alone be grateful you ever have it!! The dreams they had! The dreams they were DENIED! All because of you! Because…!” Jason’s voice suddenly caught in his throat as memories came crashing down on him. “…because I wasn’t enough…!” At last, the Argonaut’s voice lowered, tears streaming down his face as he looked up aimlessly. “…None of them…had anything to be grateful for…but… I always had them-“

KATHOOM

Another bolt of lightning crashed down, interrupting thoughts and forcing Jason to shield his eyes as a vortex swirled and Zeus postured himself, rising once more with his voice as rumbling as the storm.

“What mortals have or do not have is of no merit to God! A god does not lose something! Nor does a god need earn anything!” Zeus shouted back, lightning coursing through his remaining arm. “All a mortal knows is only there because of OUR magnanimity! The results of what so-called heroes foolishly do with their lives is no fault of those who gifted it-!”

SHICK

Loosing his sword with the speed and accuracy of a peerless archer’s volley, Jason instantly embedded his blade deep in Zeus’s chest. In moments the god fell back to the earth while, to his own horror, he coughed up ichor as would blood.

“GIFTED?!?!” Jason roared with his fading wrath instantly retripled. With fire in his eyes he swiftly closed the gap. “WHAT ‘GIFTS’ HAD YOU EVER GIVEN US?!”

WHAM

To Zeus’s ever mounting shock, his vision went dark for a moment entirely as Jason’s fist flew out and struck hard enough to shatter bone, one blow after the other following like a torrent.

“To Atalanta, who you cheated?!”

*C R A C K*

“To the Dioscuri, who you severed?!

*C R A C K*

“To Chiron, who you betrayed?!”

*C R A C K*

“To Orpheus, who you tormented?!”

*C R A C K*

A last gasp of electricity surged through Zeus, the god’s face a disgusting mix of divine ichor and mortal blood as Jason’s onslaught left his hand increasingly as mangled as Zeus’s visage, to the captain’s clear disinterest as one arm fell slack but by no means stopped his other.

**C R A C K**

“TO CAENEUS, WHO YOU RAPED?!”

**C R A C K**

“TO HERACLES, WHO YOU ABANDONED?!”

**C R A C K**

“TO MEDEA, WHO YOU DESTROYED?!”

As Jason’s arms fell, his breathing coarse and agonizing once more, Zeus’s mind had become a haze; unthinking, unfeeling, terrified, insane, infuriated, there was only thought left, the words from his lips, etched into the same power-mad grin as before.

“….I……am…..Lightni- GURK!”

With one last movement, Zeus looked to see Jason’s arm weakly grasping the blade stuck in Zeus’s abdomen.

Jason barely raised his head enough to flash at Zeus a deranged smile of his own.

“…Or maybe, Zeus…”

A hiss echoed as Zeus felt an instinctual, unmistakably mortal panic surge through him. A pair of snakes, Olympus’ favorite executioners, gazed up at their king, coiled around Jason’s shattered arm like a living brace.

“To Asclepius…who you MURDERED!!!”

In a blink, the serpents constricted….

GSH-R-K-T

…and with a sickening spray, the blade split Zeus by the scar of his skull.

[amedetoiles]

Have an excerpt with no context from my (mildly) slow burn yunmengbro reconciliation WIP because we were talking about this @winepresswrath

/

Wei Wuxian starts to lower himself onto the chair too quickly and stumbles with a barely concealed wince. Jiang Cheng’s hand jerks automatically forward before he has time to stop himself, but Lan Wangji, who is closer (and always, always frustratingly faster) catches his brother by the arm and steadies him.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks with a concerned look.

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says and sits down at a much slower pace. He pats Lan Wangji’s arm and smiles reassuringly with a shake of his head. “It’s nothing, Lan Zhan. Thank you.” He glances over at Jiang Cheng. “Jiang Cheng, come sit.”

Lan Wangji looks simultaneously unconvinced with Wei Wuxian’s reassurance and like he very much does not want Jiang Cheng to sit. Setting his sword on the table, Lan Wangji sits down and without any preamble parts the skirt of Wei Wuxian’s robes.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian whines exasperated as he tries to swat away Lan Wangji’s hands. But Lan Wangji has gone abruptly still as he stares at the large gash on Wei Wuxian’s leg and Jiang Cheng’s purple handkerchief tied around it.

“What happened?” Lan Wangji says. His tone is calm, but the temperature in the room cools several degrees as he turns to look directly at Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng stiffens and feels his hackles rise.

“It’s just a scratch, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says hastily, eyes flickering to Jiang Cheng and back. “I’m fine.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, not looking away from Jiang Cheng as he rises to his feet, pressing his hand down on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder to keep him from standing, too. “I would like to hear from Jiang-zongzhu what happened to your leg.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says helplessly.

Jiang Cheng grinds his teeth, jaw clenching. “Lan-er gongzi,” he growls, hand curling tightly around his sword. “What are you trying to imply?”

“I am not implying anything,” Lan Wangji says. “I am asking why Wei Ying is injured.”

“Lan Zhan, stop,” Wei Wuxian says, tugging at Lan Wangji’s sleeve.

“When is he ever not getting himself into trouble?” Jiang Cheng snarls, irritation and outrage making Zidian spark purple fire around his clenched fist. “You’re the one who let him go off on his own. Again.”

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says, turning to him.

Lan Wangji’s eyes narrow minutely. “Wei Ying was not injured earlier. He has now returned with you injured.”

“And?” Jiang Cheng spits back. “Lan Wangji, if you have something to say to me, then just say it!”

“Alright, alright, you two, stop it,” Wei Wuxian interrupts again with a little more urgency. He sounds so much like their sister that Jiang Cheng momentarily falters and stares at him. Wei Wuxian tries to rise to his feet, but Lan Wangji keeps his hand firmly pressed on his shoulder.

“You attacked Wei Ying last year in Qinghe,” Lan Wangji continues. Jiang Cheng absolutely does not flinch. “It would not be unfounded to think that you did so again.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian hisses, tugging harder at Lan Wangji’s sleeve. “That’s enough.”

Ignoring him, Jiang Cheng shouts, shaking with fury, “You dare accuse me! What the hell do you think I would do to him?”

“What,” Lan Wangji says, each word clipped and sharp like a knife, “have you not done?”

Jiang Cheng feels like he’s been slapped. The anger shrivels up and dies in his throat as a horrifying churn of guilt blooms in his stomach. He staggers back, choking on air that is suddenly no longer there. His ears ring with screams, and they sound like his own.

Wei Wuxian surges to his feet, knocking away Lan Wangji’s hand. “Lan Wangji!” he barks.

Jiang Cheng freezes. Lan Wangji freezes. Wei Wuxian goes very still. For a long, long time, nobody speaks.

It’s Wei Wuxian who naturally breaks the silence as he lets out a weak nervous chuckle. He looks as shocked as Jiang Cheng feels. “Hah… look at you two,” he says with a forced sort of cheer. His voice wavers unsteadily, and there’s an unhappy tightness to his face. “Arguing like– like children. Is this how two leaders should be acting?”

His brother turns to look at him. Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what his face is showing, what his brother sees on it. He can barely work his own frozen muscles to do more than breathe. There is an odd tightening warmth beginning to spread through his chest as he stares at his brother’s face, at the furrow in his brow, the concern in his eyes. Jiang Cheng is startled to realize it’s for him.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says with a thread of distress. He looks suddenly unraveled, more overcome than Jiang Cheng has seen him in a long time. “Wei Ying, I–”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says quietly. Jiang Cheng isn’t entirely sure he imagines the shudder that runs across Lan Wangji’s shoulders. “It wasn’t Jiang Cheng. He wouldn’t– I ran into some cultivators from the smaller clans when I was taking a walk. Jiang Cheng was helping me get back. You… shouldn’t accuse him like that.”

There’s a distinct protectiveness to his stance, in the way that Wei Wuxian has maneuvered himself next to and in front of Jiang Cheng. Lan Wangji looks wholly unsettled to be on the receiving end of it. Jiang Cheng isn’t sure his own expression is doing much better. His ears are still ringing, echoing with the thunder of his brother’s voice, the anger that only a couple of months ago had been directed at Jiang Cheng in defense of Lan Wangji. That their positions are now reversed, that Wei Wuxian is defending him against Lan Wangji sends a dizzying spin through Jiang Cheng’s head that he doesn’t know what to do with.

His brother who has always put himself in between Jiang Cheng and every bully, every obstacle, every damned impossible thing with nothing but his infuriating grin even if it meant his own destruction. His brother who is doing so even now, after everything, because Jiang Cheng is his little brother.

Jiang Cheng blinks, then blinks again, and again, rapidly trying to erase the sudden sharp stinging in his eyes. The odd warmth in his chest expands, spreading so wide that he thinks he might choke on it.

Wei Wuxian takes that moment to give an impressively alarming wobble on his injured leg. Lan Wangji startles and reaches for him, but Jiang Cheng is closer this time, catching his brother by the arm and lowering him back down onto the seat.

“Idiot,” Jiang Cheng mumbles around the thick lump in his throat. “Can’t you ever just be still?”

Wei Wuxian looks up at him, surprised, but whatever he still sees on Jiang Cheng’s face softens it to a small genuine smile. “I can’t annoy you that way,” he says.

“You annoy me every other way,” Jiang Cheng snaps roughly. Wei Wuxian looks like his own laugh startles him. Lan Wangji has an unhappy line to his lips as he kneels down to take a look at Wei Wuxian’s wound again.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, his tone light and exasperated again. “It’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“Shut up,” Jiang Cheng tells his brother before Lan Wangji can speak and pointedly ignores the narrowed look he receives. “If you didn’t go around antagonizing everyone, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Hey!” Wei Wuxian yelps indignantly. “Did you see me antagonizing them?”

Jiang Cheng opens his mouth to shout again but he’s interrupted by the sound of rapid footsteps. Jin Ling bursts through the doors without knocking, Sizhui, Jingyi, and Zizhen falling through after him.

“Wei-qianbei,” Zizhen, naturally, shouts loudly aghast. “What happened to your leg?”

[jamespotterthefirst]

The Art of Observation

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.5K (sorry again!) Warning: None Author’s Note: The coffee house scene from book 1, chapter 7 from Ethan’s POV.

Catch up here.

_______ A rational man would keep his distance.

But Ethan discovers, with some dismay, that he is nothing close to a rational man because he finds himself in her presence again. This time in line at his favorite coffee house and at his own invitation.

“What's your poison?” he asks, unsure of what else to say as they wait.

Lilac looks up at him, quirking her lips in thought, the gesture entirely too lovely.

“Surprise me,” she tells him at last, breaking him from his wandering thoughts. “I trust you.”

His chest swells at the words and he clings to them for a second longer. The smiling barista waits patiently and Ethan schools his features with practiced expertise.

“I’ll have the Vienna and she’ll have…” He glances down at her smiling yet intrigued face as he considers what to order for her. In the span of a second, he recalls the cloud of misery swirling over him that morning as he marched towards Naveen’s room, feeling as helpless as ever. Until she found him, kind eyes piercing him completely as she said, “I wanted to ask how you’re doing.”

“...the espresso Romano.”

Lilac’s brows furrow with curiosity but she doesn’t ask. Instead, she hurries to dig her credit card out of her purse. “I’ll pay.”

With a shake of his head, he places a hand over hers, gently pushing it back.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, shaking  his head again when she opens her mouth to argue. The barista smiles fondly at them, her bespectacled eyes falling on their joined hands. Abruptly, Ethan jerks it away, feeling his neck flare with heat.

“I know how much interns get paid,” he adds quickly, inwardly grimacing as soon as the words leave him. His addled, panicked mind blurted them out in a misplaced effort to appear nonchalant. God, why was he such an imbecile around her?

After he pays, he leads her to his usual table by the window. Lilac settles in her seat with an easy comfort that he almost envies.

“Do you come here a lot?” she asks, glancing around appreciatively.

“Fairly often. Sometimes I need a moment where nobody needs anything from me. No one here recognizes me, no one cares who I am.” He vaguely gestures toward the many patrons around them. Many of them rush out in a hurry, caffeinated drink clutched in hand. Others occupy the bar stools or tables, too engrossed in newspapers or screens to pay them any mind. The only eyes on Ethan are a pair of striking green ones, watching him with silent admiration.

He ignores the pleasant swoop of his stomach. “Thirty minutes with a good roast and a new book works wonders. I didn’t bring a book, however, so I suppose you’ll have to entertain me.”

He meets her eyes in the charged silence. Lilac's lips begin to lift in a smile, a sure sign she is accepting the challenge. Just then, however, the friendly barista arrives with their drinks. Lilac observes the curly lemon twist adorning hers with amusement.

“Lemon, huh?”

“Espresso Romano is a double espresso with sugar and Meyer lemon, both squeezed into the brew and rubbed on the rim. It brightens the espresso and cuts the edge off the bitterness.” Once again, his mind travels to the icy dread in his stomach earlier as he walked down the construction zone towards Naveen, almost too afraid to face him. Before he can dwell on it, Lilac's gentle smile captures his attention, as incandescent as the beams of the sun burning through fog. “Try it.”

Keeping true to her declaration of trusting him, she takes a sip. Her eyes light up as the flavor hits her tongue. “Hey, not bad! Certainly an interesting mix of flavors.”

The reaction is entirely too pleasing to Ethan, so much so that he rants, “Just don’t ask for it in Rome. It’s a misnomer, and they won’t know what you’re talking about.” Ethan stops with a private cringe at the senseless rambling. Bravely, he adds, “But I thought you might like it.”

Her eyes light up with interest.

“What made you think that?”

The question is entirely too coquettish to be innocent.

“Simple observation.”

“So what, you’re studying me?”

A swift flush travels from his neck to his ears.

“I study everyone, Rookie. I observe everyone. As should you,” he deflects. “In fact, that’s one of the reasons I most enjoy coming here. The clientele can be… intriguing at times.”

To his surprise, she wrinkles her nose in distaste.

“No way, I like to tune out the whole world,” she explains. “If I have a good book, I’d rather be curled up on the couch with a blanket. I don’t want any distractions at all.”

Ethan smiles at the impassioned declaration, realizing it coincides with everything he has learned about her.

“I suppose that’s fair. I mostly read historical nonfiction in what little spare time I have.” Lilac matches his smile with one of her own, perhaps knowing that much about him, too. “Being out in the world adds to the experience for me. Everything around us is part of the same fabric.”

What was he talking about? Ethan couldn't sound more like an arrogant ass if he tried.

He rushes on, “But the art of observation...it’s critical to our work as diagnosticians. You’ve already begun to understand that.” Ethan glances around the tiny but crowded shop until his eyes fall on a man around his same age. “For example… that man there, the one reading a book. He’s deeply troubled. Something’s gnawing at him.”

Lilac follows his line of sight. “How can you tell?”

“He hasn’t turned a page the entire time we’ve been here.”

Lilac stares at the man a bit longer to verify his claim. When the man continues to glance at the same page, she allows an impressed nod.

Ethan doesn’t have time to feel smug because as her eyes fall back on his, she fixes him with a very sharp and serious expression. Green eyes study him astutely, almost as if they can see right through him and conclude that something is gnawing at him, too. Could she read the anguish at failing his friend, weighing heavy in his chest? The grave set of her mouth as she studies him tells him that she might, despite his masterful efforts at keeping his emotions hidden. The beat of his heart spikes up as he remains motionless, transfixed.

Hastily, he tears his eyes away from hers, making himself busy with drinking from his mug.

“You give it a shot,” he prompts quietly, desperate to change the subject.

Lilac blinks but recovers by straightening in her seat. She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear as glances around. Ethan's eyes linger on the small tress she missed, falling weightlessly against her cheek. He has the wild urge to sweep it away, his calloused fingers lingering against the freckles that taunt him so often.

He is pulled from that silly fantasy by her imperceptible nod towards the entrance. A blonde woman, looking to be a few years younger than Lilac, rushes into the store, hand nervously tugging at her coat. Her hair sticks wildly in all directions, the back of it reassembling a nest of some sort.

“I think she got laid last night,” Lilac says casually.

Ethan's mug freezes halfway to his mouth. He is grateful for that or half of his drink would be sprayed all over the grinning young doctor before him.

“Come again?”

“That’s totally sex hair,” she explains wisely. At his aghast expression, she laughs and adds, “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

Their eyes fall on the woman now waiting for her order by the pick-up counter.

“Besides, that look on her face?” Lilac continues wickedly. “Pure satisfaction.”

Ethan's eyes fly back to hers. “What makes you so sure?”

“I know it well.”

Throat dry, he struggles to keep his thoughts decent with herculean effort. He wavers for a second, wondering briefly what a satisfied Lilac might look like, breathless, cheeks flushed, and looking at him through heavy lids.

Mercifully, Lilac is no mind reader, no matter how well she proves to read him. Her attention is on the woman, now making a beeline towards the exit with her coffee. They catch an undeniable glimpse of a sequined dress under her coat. No doubt worn to a nightclub the night before and worn again this morning in her haste to leave her lover's bed.

“Okay, you win that one.”

She brings her mug to her lips but the victorious smile is still evident in her eyes. The chime of the entrance door bell rings loudly over the acoustic cover of a Michael Jackson song playing through the speakers. Bearclaw Man strolls in and lines up at the counter.

An idea strikes as Ethan suppresses a euphoric grin.

“Try to top this,” he tells her. “Based on how he carries himself, I bet that gentleman is going to order two venti macchiatos, one with almond milk, one coconut. And, hmm…” He feigns deep thought. “Let’s say a bearclaw. To-go.”

As if on cue, Bearclaw recites Ethan's words verbatim to the barista. He couldn't have done it better if Ethan had paid him.

Lilac's mouth falls open comically. “What?! There’s no way you predicted that!” She turns to Ethan, at once sensing his stifled laughter. “That’s total B.S.! You cheated somehow.”

He stops fighting back and allows a deep, genuine bout of laughter, his shoulders feeling lighter somehow. “Indeed. That man comes in with the same order nearly every day I’m here.”

“So you were just trying to impress me.”

Busted.

“Hardly,” he lies shamelessly. “I’m trying to impress upon you the importance of observation and memory. My point stands. Observation is key. The subtle signals, the hidden details...all the secrets in plain view.” His attention is entirely on her, all pretense and humor gone from his face. She is watching him just as attentively. “Everyone throws a curtain over their lives, hopes it will smooth out the edges and hide the flaws...but the truth always shines through.” As he speaks, his words begin to lose steam, an earth shattering realization beginning to stir him as he looks at her. “Always.”

Neither of them breaks eye contact, maintaining the spell—the illusion of being the only two in that shop, mere feet apart.

“You just have to learn to look for the light,” he finishes quietly.

As he watches her, he can see a silent realization dawn on her face. Her eyes widen slightly with a multitude of emotion before she hurriedly casts her eyes away.

“Everyone?” she asks with pause. She seems to be mustering up the courage to meet his eyes again and when she does, she says, “You’re right. I know I always try to seem more together than I feel. If people knew what was going on inside… well, let’s just say it’s good they don’t.”

The finality in her words feels forced to Ethan, as though there is so much more she is not saying.

“Precisely. If you’re self-aware about it, at least that brings you one step closer to some sort of truth.”

It's as if the words are spoken by someone else. They echo in his mind as he finally acknowledges the inexplicable, maddening feeling that constantly pulls him towards her. At long last, he accepts it, recognizing he lost that battle a very long time ago.

Lilac takes another drink of her espresso as patrons mill about them, uncaring that the world had entirely shifted on its axis mere seconds ago.

“Alright,” she says after a moment, plastering a cheerful smile on her face. “Let’s up the ante. What do you see when you observe me?”

Ethan drinks the last dregs of his coffee as he thinks, studying her over the rim of his cup. The first memory that finds him is the night Dolores died and Lilac staying by his side like no one ever had before.

“You’re too selfless,” he says. “You care more about your patients than about yourself. One day, that’s going to get you in trouble.”

A heavy silence ensues in which he swears he can see brief shock cross her face.

“So how’d I do?”

Her answer is in the form of a courageous smile that doesn't entirely reach her eyes. “You’re way off the mark.” The taunt is almost credible but Ethan knows better. “Swing and a miss. Sorry, you’re completely wrong.”

He humors her with a chuckle. Kindly, he says, “I’m not sure I am.”

Very subtly, she straightens in her seat saying nothing.

“Now do me.”

This makes her almost choke on her espresso. After fighting back a small cough, that cheeky smirk makes a reappearance, much to Ethan's utter confusion.

Whatever that was about, Lilac doesn't explain. She instead scrutinizes Ethan thoughtfully, lush bottom lip caught in a bite. He's not certain what will kill him first, the sight of it or the anticipation of her response.

“You’re lonely,” she concludes.

“I am not lonely,” he returns at once. “I’m desperate for any moment to myself.”

“I’m not sure about that,” she deflects, waving a hand. “You could go read in your office on a break. But instead you come here to people-watch.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but the truth of her words catch up to him. Solitude had always been a rare gift for Ethan, particularly when so many people had demands on his time. He had always relished a drink in silence or the comfort of a book. He had never needed or craved companionship until… until the people he loved the most left his life forever— his mother, Dolores, and now Naveen.

Ethan meets her expectant gaze.

“Did you feel this way before Dr. Banerji retired?” she asks kindly.

Stomach clenching tightly at the question, Ethan stares at those knowing green eyes for a long moment.

“Well? Am I right or what?”

“As usual, Rookie, you’re only half-right. And in medicine, that counts for nothing.”

Lilac looks wholly unconvinced. When she opens her mouth, Ethan is certain it is to continue arguing the point. Mercifully, his pager interrupts.

“Come on, then. My pager is buzzing. We should be getting back.”

As they trek through the crowded streets of Boston, Ethan glances down at her, unable to suppress the half smile she inspires. She had definitely been wrong in her assessment of his loneliness because at that moment, as she smiles brightly back at him, he does not feel so lonely anymore. 

_______

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! A bit shout out to @thegreentwin​, @aestheticartwriting​, @apphia12​, @chasingrobbie​, @vallerwhoas, @mvalentine​ for the title ideas! 

_______

tags:

@openheart12​​ | @ethandaddyramsey​​ | @noboundariesplease​​ | @silverlitskies​​ | @infinitiestones | @flyawayboo​​ | @paulfwesley​​ | @hatescapsicum​​ | @myusualnerdyself​​ | @thatysn​​ | @choicesyouplayandmore​​ | @chasingrobbie​​ | @trappedinfandoms​​ | @togetherwearerapture​​ | @nooruleman​​ | @caseyvalentineramsey​​ | @axwalker​​ | @parkerattano​​ | @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​​ | @kaavyaethanramsey​​ | @edith-eggs1​​ | @choices-lurker​​ | @jens-diamondchoices​​ | @tefigranger​​ | @ethanrcmsey​​ | @coffeebeandragon​​ | @senator-adrian-raines-wifey​​ | @aestheticartwriting​​ | @binny1985​​ | @mvalentine​​ | @sanchita012​​ | @drethanramslay​​ | @ramseysno1rookie​​ | @takeharryandgo​​ | @aworldoffandoms​​ | @desmaranj​​ | @magicalshepherdtreeprofessor | @oofchoices​​ | @ethxnrxmsey​​ | @octobereighth​​ | @colossalpainintheass | @kopenheart12​​ | @lilyvalentine​​ | @honeyandsunfl0wers​​ | @virtualrain202 | @enmchoices​​ | @tyrilstouch​​ | @rookie-ramsey​​​ | @humanpokemon​ | @apphia12​ | @kiara-36​

@dulceghernandez |  @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 59 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 59 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 22: The Search

Rage, grief and mortification warred in Captain Mord’s heart as he looked at the map-table where he had sent Kurin in such anger.  The worst was that, even if the Grandalor’s sailors were a boarding party, Kurin had been right.  

The law was as clear as his anger was deep.  While it was believed that the Grandalor’s sailors were castaways, the Longin had been required to pick them up, if only to hold them for trial.  At least some of them paid in blood for their treachery!  But they got what they came for.  We may never see her again…  The thought trailed off into unbearable pain.

Bron’s arm was trailing.  He had bruises, one on his back, between the shoulder blades and one on the inside of his elbow.  It was not serious but if his attacker had used a knife instead of that silly, weighted sack of fish-leather, he would have been dead.  

Other crewmen were beginning to tell their tales of the battle and they were slowly realizing the same things.  The assailants had been too few to have any hope of taking a ship like the Longin.  Also, none of their enemies had been armed with anything but a padded leather cosh. It was as if they were trying not to hurt anyone on the ship. Some fools were even trying to tie that Sea Hawk to the attack.  It was just lost in the fog.  

Then they began to hear, Kurin’s gone!  The bastards had kidnaped her! But that made no sense.  They could have simply killed her.  They had already tried to do it once.  It would have been far less risky.

Looking at the map-table clearly, Captain Mord saw what he has missed the first time.  There in the tallow, written in Kurin’s neat handwriting, was a note.

“Captain: The Grandalor’s crew needs justice.  Their rights under the second G. L. have been violated.  I have gone to help them.  Kurin”

First they tried to kill her, now this!  No matter what excuse, they have stolen her!  In anger, partly at himself and partly at Kurin for being so gullible, he wiped out the note before any other should notice it.  Details aren’t important!   Whatever ruse they used, they kidnapped Kurin!  The Grandalor is guilty!

Captain Mord returned forward, where one of the boarders lay propped against the foremast.  The man had been stabbed deeply but still lived. Feebly he extended a hand holding a folded tallow-slate, hinged shut to protect its message.

Weakly he said to the enraged Mord, “Captain, read this. It’s from my Captain.  We were to be your hostages for Kurin’s return…” He slumped lax, dead from his wounds, the tallow-slate falling from his fingers with a small clatter onto the Longin’s deck.

Captain Mord kicked the tallow-slate away unread.  “Toss this Grandalor trash over the side,” he ordered.

His crew looked at him aghast.  Nobody moved.  Mord became angrier and yelled, “Dump him!  That’s an order!”  At last, a few deck-hands took the man’s body and dragged him to the rail.  An Orca began to sing.  They dropped him in fear.  One noticed the tallow-slate and picked it up as he retreated.

Captain Mord realized that nobody would touch the body since the whale had begun to sing and heaved it over the side himself.  The whale’s song went on for another ten minutes.  

When it was done, Captain Mord ordered, “Swab up this blood and straighten up the area.”  His men did do that, though they had begun to whisper among themselves as they worked.

Kurin disentangled herself from the joyous hug that Tanlin was giving her and said, “I need to see your log first, then all of the sickbay documentation.  I want to see all of the Purser’s accounts and look over Master Selked’s shop.  After that, I am going to interview virtually everyone on board.”

Tanlin let her go, becoming brisk, now that there was a task at hand.  “Oi’m glad.  Wen do ye wont t’ begin?”

“If I can eat in here, I’ll begin now,” said Kurin.  “I need to start with the beginning of the indenture trade.  I have to know about that in detail if I am to save your ship from Scattering.”

Tanlin got up and went to the long shelf holding the Logs of the Grandalor. As she was going down the line, absently tapping the spines of the volumes with her left index finger, she said thoughtfully, “T’ere’s somet’in’ t’at ye’ll find wen ye get t’ t’e interviews. Oi didnae mention ‘t before because ‘t wa’nae important in t’e way t’at ye asked about.  ‘T does bear on ‘ow t’is ship wad respond t’ a penalty o’ Scatterin’.  

“Every person on t’is ship’s adopted.  All o’ t’em are now named Grandalor, m’sel’ included.  ‘T happened t’e morning after our flight began.  T’ey knew t’at t’e ship wa’ implicated in murder an’ chose t’is way o’ tellin’ Barad an’ m’sel’ t’at t’ey wad nae abandon us.  

“Oi joined t’em.”  She swallowed past a hard lump in her throat and a tear glistened in the corner of her eye.

“Princamorn wa’ but a name t’ m’ an’ t’e Grandalor’s home.  Oi dinnae wont t’ lose ‘t.”  

Intently, Kurin said, “I see.  That makes a difference — to me at least,” she looked sharply at Tanlin, “if it was a voluntary thing.”

Tanlin was already fishing the necessary volume of the log from its shelf and looked back over her shoulder.  “Twas.  T’ey’d planned t’ do ‘t publicly, in t’e main square o’ t’e Gat’ering, ‘ad reserved ‘t, in fact, wen we ‘ad t’ flee.  T’ey came t’ m’ first.  Twas a total an’ welcome surprise.  T’e only light in some very dark days.”  She found the place that she was looking for in the book and gave it to Kurin.

Kurin settled cross-legged on Tanlin’s bunk with the book in her lap and began turning pages one at a time, glancing at each page and moving on.  Tanlin watched as Kurin leafed through the volume of the log, almost twenty Gatherings old.

There was a scratching noise at the cabin’s window.  Tanlin smiled to herself as it swung inward and Skye’s head poked into the cabin. The Wide Wing looked alertly about and stepped into the room.  The bird turned about on the sill and used her beak to push the window closed and then hop-fluttered to the table in front of Tanlin, who chucked her under the beak and stroked her under a slightly raised wing.

Skye settled on the table and waited quietly.  Kurin looked up with a smile and said, “Who’s trained who, here?”

Tanlin replied lightly but sort of seriously, “T’ey made m’ part o’ t’eir rookery flock an’ welcomed m’ t’ t’eir nest.  Could Oi do less?”

Before there was any answer possible, Tahm returned with food, cups, utensils and trays.  He set out the table, working nonchalantly around the sitting bird.  Kurin put the log aside and came to the table.

“I take it that this happens a lot?” she said with a genuine smile.

It was Tahm who answered, “Every time that the Captain eats in. Sometimes it’s Skye, here.  Sometimes it’s Thunderhead.  I’m told that after the chicks are grown, it’ll be both of ‘em. Better behaved than many of the crew.”

The main course that he laid out was a Strong Skin roast.  The bird looked sideways at Tanlin, who nodded.  The bird promptly dove her beak into the edge of the roast and peeled off a strip.  She began to bite it into bits which she swallowed quickly.

Kurin watched in fascination.  “Better get yers w’ile ye still ‘ave a chance, Skye’s stoking up for ‘er chicks,” said Tanlin.  She reached out, speared the roast with a chopstick and cut off slices with the knife that Kurin remembered from their first meeting.  She piled the slices onto a tray along with a generous serving of red weed bread buns and seaweed salad.  She handed the tray to Kurin and poured water into a cup.

“Sweet, sour or bitter flavor in yer woter?”

“Plain, please.  Flavors for water?  I never heard of any such thing.”

“Tis a Grandalor specialty.  Barad told m’ t’at Kurti showed ‘t to ‘im shortly after she started t’ work as ‘is cabin-girl.”

“Now that puzzles me.  I know what you told me at the Gathering but why would a skilled diver and stores clerk like Kurti stoop to becoming a cabin-girl?” Kurin asked around a mouth full of salad.

Tanlin considered for a moment and fed Skye a few more bits of roast before answering.  “Oi wa’ still in m’ coma then.  According t’ both Barad an’ Doctor Corin, she knew t’at she might die from ‘er lung parasite infection.  Twas gettin’ worse in spite o’ t’e treatments.  Doctor Corin wa’ just about t’ put ‘er on t’e invalid list.  She wa’ in sickbay gettin’ a treatment wen she met Barad.  ‘E’d come by t’ sickbay t’ look in on m’.

“‘E offered ‘er t’e light work job t’at ‘ad just come open, due t’ Chena’s untimely deat’.  Kurti ‘ated bein’ useless.  She jumped at t’e chance t’ avoid t’e invalid list an’ stay useful.  T’ keep t’e seriousness o’ ‘er condition bein’ a matter o’ common gossip, Barad ordered ‘t kept secret.  Barad could be considerate sometimes, even t’en.”

“I think that I see.  The Barad that the fleet saw was something of a fiction?”

Tanlin leaned back nervously in her chair and gripped her right hand with her left.  “Oi truly wish t’at Oi could say t’at but Oi promised ye t’e trut’.  Tis a longish tale.  

“Barad wa’ always a somew’at calculatin’ man.  Once, long ago, Barad an’ Selked were married t’ twins from t’e Muline an’ by all accounts t’ey were ‘appy.  

“An epidemic o’ fire cough swept t’e ship.  Both Teralas, Selked’s wife, an’ Teralat, Barad’s wife, were among t’e nearly forty percent o’ t’e ship’s crew ‘oo died.  Barad almost went mad wit’ grief, an’ dealt wit’ ‘t by calculatin’ almost everything.  T’at’s ‘ow he became t’e Barad t’at you knew.

“Shortly after t’at, t’e Ca’tain died in ‘is sleep.  A Coriolis storm wa’ comin’ an’ t’e crew needed command.  T’ey took Barad’s orders an’ ‘e got t’e Grandalor t’rough safe, even t’ough t’e ship wa’ massively undermanned.

“‘E wa’ elected Ca’tain after t’e storm.  At t’e Gat’ering t’at followed, ‘is election wa’ challenged by yer Ca’tain Mord.  ‘E almost cost Barad both ‘is Ca’taincy an’ ‘is life.  In t’e end, t’e Council up’eld Barad by only two votes.  Even t’ose ‘oo voted in ‘is favor sponsored a resolution t’at t’ey did so only because t’e evidence against ‘im wa’ nae sufficient. T’at wa’ t’e origin o’ t’e grudge t’at ‘e ‘eld against Ca’tain Mord an’ t’e Naral fleet as a ‘ole.

“Barad rebuilt t’e crew by takin’ in t’e scupper sweepin’s o’ t’e fleet.  T’e ones t’at naebody else wanted.  T’e Grandalor became a refuge for t’ose wit’ nae ot’er place t’ go.  Barad took t’em on a case by case basis an’ let t’em swim t’ Iren, if ‘e believed t’at a last chance would nae ‘elp.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS   NEXT==>

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[rationaromanceblog]

The Breakup

I don’t want this. I don’t want this. I don’t want this. I despair silently as my days turn into weeks. As I watch him come in and out of the apartment. As I cry myself to sleep.  How can I make you love me? What can I do?? I am panicked, frantic for ideas. What if I am sweeter? More adoring? I start considering. I could give him more kisses and hugs, then he’ll have to understand. I resolve to try. What more could I possibly lose? 

 I am sitting at the kitchen table when he gets home. He settles in, not making eye contact, only giving me a brief greeting. He’s not ignoring me exactly, just not dying to chat.  I keep staring. Look at me. My gaze pleads but it’s not working. I walk up to him and stand in his way. “Look at me.” I manage to whisper. This is painful. He hesitates but stops and looks. Can you understand how desperate I am to fix this? My eyes start to collect tears but before they spill I hug him tightly and breath deeply. He stiffens slightly, but let’s me hug him.  After a while of his non reaction I admit defeat and let go slowly. “I love you.” I say. How do I fix this? I want to ask. “I love you too.” He says back, stilted. 

Technically we’re not broken up. The official words have not been spoken. He simply put the gun on the table and backed away slowly, refusing to pull the trigger. I am aghast and anxious for him to shoot. Instead he checked out. All I have is a shadow of a person as I scramble for something that will give me back the relationship I had. Maybe I am just not lovable enough? I start to wonder. Maybe there’s nothing I can do. 

For weeks after the initial conversation he walks in and out of our apartment barely acknowledging me. He gives me short answers, he doesn’t smile. Our home has become a frozen tundra and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to stand it. I wallow in anxiety. Wondering what’s going to happen and why on earth it hasn’t yet.  I don’t want this. Breaking up was the furthest thing from my mind. But something needs to happen. I am starting to think he’s too scared to do it. Just because it hasn’t been declared doesn’t mean we’re not already living it. I hate admitting that. I guess it’s on me. 

Me: Hey…

 I decide to text him. Mainly out of cowardice

 What if we did a trial break up? We can live as if we are broken up for a while, and if we don’t like it, we can go back to normal.

Kevin: That’s a good idea

I want to give him an out. I want it to be clear it doesn’t have to be permanent. You can change your mind. Please change your mind. 

He comes home that night more receptive to me. I make us dinner and for the first time he makes idle chit chat. 

“I’ll sleep in the living room.” He states once we get into the particulars of the arrangement. “No, we can take turns.” I am quick to refute. “We both bought that huge bed we should both sleep on it sometimes. “ Don’t worry about it.” he insists. “You take the room.”  I shrug.  He seems lighter. Taking this step was the right move I acknowledge begrudgingly. 

After dinner I watch as he pushes the couches in the living room together to make a spacious bed. Just a few months ago we were shopping for those, dreaming about what our apartment might become. We roamed that store for hours finally deciding on the two comfiest couches we’d ever sat on, that were also luckily in the clearance section. The memory brings a small smile to my face that is quickly wiped away when he asks where we keep the extra set of comforters. I go and get them, and grab his pillow from our bed.  

That night I cry quietly wondering if I will ever run out of tears. I didn’t know it was possible to cry this much.  I wish he would come into the room and lay with me. I could ask him... I realize. Would he say no? Do I have that much courage? I don’t. I decide, after going back and forth for an hour. My ego is bruised plenty I won’t risk more rejection. I am startled awake by my alarm unsure when I stopped crying long enough to fall asleep. I am alone. I think as I look around the room. The first of many mornings to come. And the tears start right up again. 

A few weeks later he hasn’t asked to go back to how things were. My hoping that he was going to change his mind starts to turn into a panic that he won’t. I dread coming home to see those couches pushed together day after day. Outside of the apartment, it doesn’t seem so bad. I even catch myself smiling from time to time. But when I come home the inescapable truth hits me. It’s really over.  I try not to look into the living room and head straight to the room but it doesn’t matter, I already know what’s there. 

My lungs start to feel like they are shrinking and I am breathing through a straw. I can’t see straight. There are spots everywhere. I make it to the door of my room, throw my bag down and lay with it on the carpet still wearing my winter coat.

He finds me like that, on the floor hyperventilating and sobbing.  I didn’t even hear him come in. 

“Maria…?” He whispers and kneels down next to me.  “What’s going on?” 

I don’t respond. I can’t. His voice fills with more concern. “What do you need?”  

I try to shake my head, it's hard to since I can’t pick it up off the ground.

 “I. Can’t. Breath.” I manage to croak. He has been privy to my panic attacks he knows the drill.

“Here.” He kneels down,  helps me take my coat off and lays next to me on the floor. His face next to mine on the carpet watches me intently.

“Do you want to talk to me?” He is using his sweetest voice. It penetrates my heart and only makes me sob harder. 

“It’s okay baby.” He soothes and gently rubs my back. He’s barely touched me in weeks. If only I could lie here forever.

 It takes about 10 more minutes but with enough focused attention I calm down enough to bring air into my lungs with more ease. I start to sit up. He stares at me wide eyed and concerned getting up with me. 

“I am not doing okay.” I say in a shaky voice wiping away tears. “I want to be.” I add and shrug. 

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks with genuine concern. 

“No.” I say and sigh deeply. “I’ll manage this.”

I promise, to both him and myself. 

I go run the shower. I need to get away from him, his concern only makes the pain worse. I can’t sulk in grief for the next 9 months. I need to start accepting this. But I immediately reject the idea. Admit defeat?  This break up is wrong. It doesn’t make sense. How can I accept it?  The comfort of the hot water envelopes me and I start to feel better. Physically, at least.  My future. The beautiful home we were building. Am I just supposed to let it go?  It feels like I was having a gourmet meal when the table cloth was yanked and everything went flying off the table, leaving me with a terrible mess to clean. What choice do I have?

I need to make sense of this breakup. There’s a small voice in my head that gets louder everyday. It’s not very nice, but it rings true.  Of course Kevin broke up with you. It says. You thought the man of your dreams was madly in love with you? Get serious. Of course he’s leaving, he never wanted to be here. The universe has finally realized it’s mistake. The idea hurts but I can see it. I can make peace with it. That’s okay then. I can accept that.  I start to think.

I share the idea with Kevin. I’d like him to confirm it. 

“What? No Maria. What are you talking about?” Kevin reacts.  “Of course I still like you, and love you, and want you and always have.” He speaks with admonishment that I would believe the opposite. 

I stare perplexed. I was expecting the opposite. He was going to come clean and own the fact that he never really wanted to be with me. It was going to hurt but letting go was going to be easier from now on. 

“Um… You do?” I respond, unsure why he feels the need to keep lying to me. 

“Yes!” He insists.

“Then why are we breaking up!?” I shout. Frustrated that what was finally making sense makes no sense again. 

“I told you. We weren’t affectionate, we weren’t romantic. We turned into friends. That’s not the kind of relationship I want to have.”

I shake my head. I hate that answer. “We can change that. If we both agree we still have feelings for one another there are things we can do!”  I yell, starting the argument we’ve had several times already. 

“We’ve tried before.” He replies, calmly, dejected, and on cue. 

“Not like this. Not knowing breaking up was the result of failing.”

“I don’t want it to be forced.” He repeats, slowly pronouncing every word. Hoping I will finally understand.

“What’s wrong with trying?” I ask but I’ve lost my vigor. I know his mind is made up. I know there is no reasonable argument that can change his mind. I hear the determination of his decision increase every time we have this argument.

“Maybe at another point in our lives. Maybe once we have some space and time we can come back and have the relationship we were supposed to have. I just can’t make you any promises.”

I sit back and close my eyes. The relationship we were supposed to have. That’s hilarious. He holds just as much responsibility in creating this dynamic as I do. More actually. We were doing just fine until he decided to withdraw affection from me for the sake of protecting his delicate heart all those years ago. But I know I am just as guilty for letting it happen. We made it this way and we can also unmake it. I believe wholeheartedly. I just don’t know how to show him.

I don’t want to be bitter, but it’s getting difficult not to. I love Kevin so much, I want to be friendly, kind and understanding. But he gave up, and the anger I hold for his decision starts to leak through in our interactions. I become short and snappy. My own annoyed reactions to his simple inquiries catch me by surprise. I don’t recognize this person. He doesn’t comment on my hostility. I think he feels guilty. I am acting like the victim to a crime he has committed. I am convinced I am.  

 Kevin made a choice. I just happen to be affected. I try to talk myself out of it when I feel the subtle indignation peak. Nothing has been done to you. You are not a victim. I want to be rational, but the anger is intense.  Kevin obviously did hurt you! I argue back. The ache in your chest proves it. It’s his fault you feel like this!  My thoughts spiral. You wouldn’t be in pain if it wasn’t for him. But I want to be above it. I remind myself.  Living with him has made it imperative we get along. We agreed it wasn’t worth the money to break the lease and I don’t want to live in a hostile environment. He didn’t ruin my life. My life isn’t ruined. I am going to be okay, blame is not necessary. Blame does nothing. I practice believing that whenever I feel the hot anger overcome me. I picture myself calm and loving towards him. It’s not too difficult, it’s what I most want. Slowly I start to strip away the anger. I want to be his friend, I miss him. Being kind is first and foremost. 

“Hope is a problem. “ She says through the headphones in my ear. “Hoping for something to happen does not motivate action. Hope makes you passive. It’s dreaming about a circumstance that you have no control over. It’s exchanging this current moment for a future better one. Hope sounds lovely. But that is deceptive. If you want something, you have to take action. You have to decide. It is up to you.” 

I turn off the podcast and stare at my ceiling. I’ve been staring at my ceiling a lot lately. For the first time just listening to the thoughts in my head. They’re so loud.  “I am living on hope.” I admit out loud to the ceiling. Hope is all I eat, sleep and drink lately.  It sustains me. “I want him to change his mind. I hope he changes his mind.” I mumble, saying the thoughts I hold dear. “I am just not ready to let go. All I have left is hope.” But her words strike me. She’s right, hoping is keeping me helpless. So how do I force myself not to want him? How do you stop wanting what you want? I throw the pillow I am gripping against the wall. This is frustrating. I lay back down and stare at the ceiling some more, maybe the answer is in one of the crevasses up there. A half hour later I get up. I don’t want to be helpless or at his whim. I know that much. I have no control over what he does or decides and I don’t know what to do about this desire. But I can do something. I can focus on the what I have control over.

For the next 6 months I go into serious self improvement mode. My life has been turned on its head and instead of sitting around being at it’s mercy I make some decisions. I start to put back together my gourmet meal, one broken dish at a time. I reluctantly accept the reality of the situation. I start to imagine what life is going to require of me without Kevin. For one, I need to get my finances on track. I don’t know anything about credit, I don’t have an ounce of savings and I could probably be making more money than I am.  I dive deep into all things self help. I learn about the power of meditation. The pain from the heartbreak is so unbelievably heavy and constant, I learn quickly meditating helps me process the pain in a way I’ve never experienced. Eventually I get up feeling a little less melancholy. A little more at ease. I read a book on nutrition, decide to cut out processed foods and lose a bunch of weight. I join a cross fit class since I’ve always wanted to be someone that exercises regularly. I become vegetarian after spending a lonely fourth of July weekend watching vegan documentaries on Netflix. Distracting myself from the fact that Kevin was going to tell his family then that we were over. I learn about investing and open a savings account and a Roth IRA. I quit my job with crap hours and get a better paying one that is 9 to 5. It’s as if the pain from the breakup motivates me to do things I never would have.  I am taking ownership of my life. I start dreaming for myself years down the road. I feel a sense of control again. I ask myself what I truly want, if I could have anything? Who do I want to become? Confident. Thriving. Independent. I dare to believe what might be possible. You could say I start to hope, but better, I start to plan. 

During these months Kevin and I grew close again. The immediate pain of being broken up receded and we spent our afternoons together. We cherished the time knowing we would soon be apart. We no longer played mind games, we weren’t afraid to be vulnerable and real. All of the issues we had, any resentment that we held, dissipated. None of it seemed to matter. We showed up authentically without agendas and expectations. We were still intimate on occasion, but it became less frequent over time. We were slowly letting go of each other. Counting down the days until the end of our lease.

Once in awhile I would check in and wonder why we were breaking up. Seeing if maybe he’d rethought the decision. Considering how great we were getting along it made no sense. 

“If you say that maybe someday we can make it work, why can’t we break up with the intention of coming back to each other?” I asked one morning as he ironed his clothes and I journaled at the kitchen table.

“Because I don’t want us to put our lives on hold for each other, that’s not fair to either of us.”

“I would. If you asked me to.” I proclaimed

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” 

“But you want to stay friends. You don’t think that’s unfair to ask?”

‘“I don’t want to lose you from my life Maria.” he says passionately. “Maybe we aren’t meant to be together but I do think we belong in each other’s life. Don’t you?”

Well of course I do. I am in love with you. I think but ignore it and keep writing instead to hide my frustration.

  Kevin’s insistence that we stay friends was both amazing and awful. Certainly the joy of still having his company keeps me interested. But what if being his friend keeps me pinning? That sounds like a nightmare. He thinks we can make it work that everything will  be fine. I am not as confident.

Kevin informs me that he has been looking for apartments a few months before our lease is set to end. I put it off, I still have plenty of time. Also, what if we miraculously somehow end up staying together?  A little hope lingers in the background. That’s not why I am waiting. I tell myself. I am just too busy and it’s still too soon. 

A week later it’s official. 

“I signed a new lease.” He says. “I got the confirmation yesterday.” Fuck.  “Oh.” I say quietly. Feeling a tight knot in my stomach. Wait no.

I never told my new coworkers my ex and I were living together, I said he was still my boyfriend. It seemed easier than explaining the situation at the time. And for a few hours in my day I got to live as if it were true.  As I walk into work red faced and sniffling I decide it’s time to come clean. 

I go straight to my manager so I can explain why I’ll be on the verge of tears today. 

“It’s been a long time coming.” I say “But it’s official, he signed a new lease.” 

She nods in sympathy. “We’re here for you, whatever you need.” She says giving me a warm look. “Start with the onions.” she suggests with a smile. “That way no one has to wonder about the tears.” I laugh, what a sweet offer. 

Will I ever get over this? I wonder. This feels like the longest breakup in history. I just want to be better already. No matter what I do my heart feels splintered into pieces. I can’t think about anything but this. My emotions sway from heartbroken to angry to bargaining to grief. I stay at anger for a long time that day. I hate Kevin for asking me to stay his friend. I can’t fathom not being in love with him. How can I watch him move on with his life like that? It is difficult for me to say no to Kevin, that’s part of the hesitation. I want to give him whatever he wants but I don’t know about this. 

“I need to say something.” I declare as we sit down for dinner that night.  

“I’d like to hear it.”

I doubt that.  “I know that you’re very adamant that we need to continue a friendship after this. And I get it. In a perfect world so would I. The thing is I can’t see myself being able to move on while we’re friends. I just can’t imagine it. I really think I am going to need space to really mourn this before I can just have you in my life like that.”

“Really?” He says, sadness in his voice. “How long?”

“ I dunno.” I shrug and look away. “A year?”

“A YEAR!?” he shouts. 

 “Maybe.” 

“That’s so long.”

“I don’t know I am just guessing.” 

He stays quiet. And finally nods. “Okay Maria. I know I’ve been incredibly selfish to ask you in the first place, so of course I’ll respect that. Take the time you need.”

“ Thank you.” I say relieved.

“But if you could shorten it to a couple of months for me that’d be real swell.”  He says and smiles. 

I roll my eyes.

I can’t keep putting it off, it’s time for me to find my own apartment. I start my internet search and soon realize I won't be able to really look and choose if I want to get into a place in time of this lease ending. I waited too long, my options are limited. A voice in my head tells me I could just ask to room with Kevin so I can get more time to look but I scoff in refusal. That will not be happening. I imagine Kevin’s disapproving look at my continued nonacceptance of this breakup. His reluctant yes at having to keep living with his ex girlfriend, unable to start his new life. I pick the cheapest closest place I find and sign the lease without the option of looking at it first. Ah well. I think. That’s what hope costs you. 

 I decide that we will cut off contact once we are fully moved in to our respective apartments. It’s my decision to do this and yet I dread it. Seeing as I’ve been kicking and screaming throughout all of this, keeping him around as my friend would be an easier middle ground. But I am proud of this decision. I am taking the harder less pleasant option for my ultimate well being.  All the literature on breakups say that cutting ties is best so you can fully ‘withdraw’ from your partner and lose dependency. Kevin definitely feels like a drug. Apparently being with him even lights up similar parts of the brain. I am choosing the painful deliberate process of moving on. Although partially out of a fear that not doing so means staying stuck for the rest of my life. At the moment I can’t fathom a reality where I am not in love and desperate to be with him. I remind myself that there are enough examples of people getting over the ‘love of their lives’ to believe it’s possible for me. I’d do anything to know their secret. 

Time. Everyone tells me. It’s time. But I loathe that answer, I don’t buy it. Of course it’s time, but what do I DO in that time? I implore. That no one seems to know. Just live your life? There are certainly people who kept themselves pinning even after decades of time. I vividly remember a podcast of a man who pines for his high school love into his old age. “I thought about you everyday since I last saw you.” He told her once they were reunited. EVERYDAY. I can’t have this with me everyday. That is unacceptable. Doesn’t that prove that it isn’t just time that will work magic? I won’t say that to anyone though. Doing so will reveal the hidden fear that I will be stuck in love unable to move on. Instead I nod and try not to let them see my annoyance at their clichéd answer.  How do I heal? How?? I plead the universe to give me an answer. 

Finally it’s the night that I am fully moved into my apartment. Our lease has ended our new leases are signed and if there was any hope left within me it was wiped away when he helped me move the couch in. We plan for him to spend the night, our final rendezvous. As expected it’s lovely and sad. I am divided into the me that wants it to be over so I can start to heal and the me that wants it to never end. 

He is gone when I wake up. I search frantically for my phone and see a text:

Kevin: I love you. I’ll miss you so very much. You were my best friend and I’m so very sad to see us go our separate ways… I wish you the best of luck and I’ll always be thinking about you.

Here it is. I’ve been imagining this, writing this goodbye text in my head for months.

 Kevin I love you. My heart aches from your absence. I can only hope time and distance does it’s job and makes it so we can once more be in each others life. I thoroughly look forward to that day. Until then I hope you find joy. Thank you for loving me. He replies

 Thank you for loving me. Goodbye Maria. 

It’s beautiful and succinct. I close the phone and cry more endless tears. I’ve stopped wondering when they’ll stop, it’s a fruitless question.  I look around my new apartment, life feels empty and hollow, like the pain in my chest. I can’t imagine how I will fill the gap he left. I need to create something out of this I think and take a deep breathe, owning the weight of that responsibility. Maybe I dare dream something amazing.

[twi-sight2020]

I’ve got a theory...that it’s a Vampire

So before I say anything else, I just wanna say, wow...I have so many followers. Thank you all so much! But also, who would have thought that, in the year of our lord 2020 the most popular blog I’ve had would be me reviewing Twilight. The fandom is still very much alive and well! But damn, so many of you. I love you all! So Bella is supposed to give her theories, but she begs for another question to be answered first.  She wants to know how he found here which is....her scent. Charming. Then she is aghast at his theory that her brain is on a different frequency than everyone else’s and that’s why he cannot hear her thoughts. Edward pretty much sums up my thoughts on this with this. “I hear voices in my mind and you’re worried that you’re the freak?” All that being said, again, here we have this mystery about Bella, this aspect of her that could have been built upon and explored. After all, as of yet, the villains have yet to be introduced,  it seems like this is set up to be more of a self contained story and yet.... sigh. This is pretty much  dropped. So after a bit of these, Edward demands to hear her latest theory which is ....vampire. Yes, after 124 pages Bella drops the “V” word and then explains to Edward all about Jacob and how she flirted with poor Jacob to get the information about the “legends” and she came to the vampire conclusion....and then decided she didn’t care . Edward is, honestly kind of appalled that she doesn’t care if he is a murderous little critter. Like....bless him, he knows that he is trash sometimes and is very concerned when other’s don’t see it. Side note: Edward also feels sorry for Jacob, because , bless , the poor boy did not deserve this. We get the “How long have you been seventeen line” and I honestly love how Edward is just like “Yea....done that for a while “ And then they go through the  myths and facts of vampires. They don’t burn in the sun, no sleeping in coffins. And he doesn’t sleep, at all, ever. In fact he seems wistful about the idea . Kinda makes you feel sorry for him for a minute. Which ...i go back and forth with Edward, tbh. Sometimes I love him..other times I wanna throttle him. It’s a tough road. So then he, of course, brings up the fact that, you know....vampires have very very special diets. Bella tells him that Jacob mentioned his family doesn’t nom nom on people. Edward points out that, yes, they do try to avoid people but they are still, you know, dangerous. of course, Bella has the self preservation of a capybara ...hell, at least they can hide in water, Bella just....dives right into danger every time. She’s like my cat that tries to jump on the dog that chases her and nips at her on the daily. no self preservation, nada. Course, Bella at least is going after a hot vampire. My cat is just...not right. So Edward explains he doesn’t  want to be a monster, the Cullen’s “vegetarian” diet, and the fact that sometimes it’s harder than others to keep from biting humans. And oh, Bella, honey, he might have told you he wanted to kill you but, you have NO idea how close you came to being Lunch.  Bella clues Edward into the fact that she’s noticed how his eyes change when he’s hungry. Which he finds amusing, but then...then he explains how it “makes him nervous” to be away from her. Now, it kinda makes sense from Edwards point of view, because this girl is...well she’s kinda taken over his brain. Her smell drives him nuts and yet he feels protective of her because she NEARLY DIES EVERY FIVE SECONDS. as he points out when he sees the scrapes on her hands.  Again, this could have been a really neat plot, him being destined to be the one to either save her or kill her...but no....not that. Because, instead, we get Bella also being anxious when she doesn’t see him because.... teenage hormones? Idk...i get being upset when you don’t see your crush but the anxiety bit is kinda over the top, especially when she starts FUCKING CRYING when he points out that it’s one thing for him to be fixated on her and another for him to drag her into it. *sighs* Maybe this is a me thing, I dunno, but crying makes...no sense to be at this part. If it were supposed to be the rush of all the night’s events catching up to her...sure, but over this? This girl was completely unfazed 5 minutes after being rescued from a possible gang rape, but is crying over this? I don’t get it, I really don’t. I know I’m basically the worst at reading emotions, and I really don’t understand people a lot of the time but this...... seriously, if anyone has any idea on how her brain works...drop me a line? Cause I’m...really at a loss for understanding this part. Like maybe it’s because I’m a #dead-inside millennial, or maybeI’m a robot , but the emotional trainwreck that is Bella.....yikes. Edward apologies for making Bella have an random crying spell, and then ask her what she was thinking when she was nearly attacked-cause, you know, bringing  up trauma is a great way to make someone feel better/s. Like, come on Edward, you’ve been alive for a long ass time, and yet you really suck at people. Apparently Bella thought about trying to fight and scream because she....falls down alot when running. Edward says he’s fighting fate trying to keep her alive and i’m just like???? “Dude...compassion??? She almost ...fucking hell.’ I am a bit frustrated with these children.  Edward promises to be in school tomorrow and then ask Bella to promise not to go into the woods alone because ‘he’s not always the most dangerous thing out there.” Bella...you’ve been nothing but curious this whole time, but when he says “Let’s just leave it at that.” you have no questions? None? You’ve had it confirmed vampires are real and one is telling you there is worst stuff out there and you just....let it go? Like I get we’re setting things up for a sequel but...... come on, it’s a bit lazy for her not to prod a bit.  Also, does this mean Edward was stalking her when she went into the woods that morning to? Jesus...   He tells her to sleep well  and then we get a bit on how...nice his breath smells. Which, i know, it’s all part of his apex predator self to draw people in but it’s still a weird thing to read about.  She gets inside, takes a shower and realizes she’s freezing and begins shaking and trembling. she talks about her mind trying to suppress things and, for a brief minute, I think she’s actually going to have a ...reaction to everything that happened. Now, mind you, I don’t want her to be a shrinking violet, but her emotional responses are so ...over the place. She cries when Edward isn’t around, or when he points out he’s dangerous... but when she is put in actual danger, it rolls off of her. Gotta say it confuses me but...what do i know? I can watch horror movies till kingdom come, ready mystery novels, see medical gore and autopsy with no problem but I cry every damn time a pet dies in a movie...or music video. (I’m looking at you”Happier” by Bastille) So she’s not freaking out over the days evens, no, instead we’ve getting one of the most famous (and sometimes infamous) lines from the series.  “About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him-and I didn’t know how potent that part might be-that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.” Imma...just need a sec to unpack this here. Obviously we know he’s a vampire and it’s pretty obvious he wants to eat her (and not in the fun way) but the last bit.... In love with him...oof. I know teen love comes on fast and hard but this...you’ve only had a few actual conversations with him, and even fewer have been him not being a douche. Do I think she’s in LUST with him? Definitely.  IS she in awe of him saving her life all the time? Of course. Intrigued because...vampire? Oh hell yea. But...you’re not in love with him Bella. Do I think she is later? Of course. But at this moment, I think it’s way more infatuation than love. She knows very little about him, in fact, with the exception of the vampire bit, I know more about a stranger from their facebook page than what she knows about him in this moment.  Edward has stalked Bella enough that he knows everything about her. And while that brings up a whole fuck ton of other issues, at least it means he knows enough about her to have genuine feelings (as creepy as his behavior may be)  But Bella, you’re not in love...not yet. Alright guys, i know this one was a bit more ranty then some of my other’s and this may turn some people off , but i said from the start I was gonna be honest about the good, the bad, and my feelings on it. I don’t care if people disagree, in fact, I welcome discussion. If you wanna message me and talk about certain bits, go for it! Just, make it clear if it’s a question/conversation you wanna have in private or something you’re cool with me sharing on the blog to futher discussion. Alright guys, love you all and , until next time,  Stay safe!

[thotantics]

⚤   pairing — reader + Oh Sehun (exo)

✎ word count — 1,715

✦ genre — smut, angst, drabble

✗ warnings  — graphic description of sex

[A/N] the moment i saw this request, i knew it was perfect to be a continuation of this post. i’m fully into fuckboy!sehun im ngl but he needed a redemption and im just not great with angst :’)

[Requests] Do you like it? I bought it just for you... + I’m still mad at you. w/ Sehun please 🖤

With the echo of his harsh final words still ringing in your ears, you said for the next few days that you would never again let him use you; never again would Oh Sehun make you feel like you were unworthy.

It was nothing but a brief texting session that ended with you half way across town from your apartment to meet up with him. The cold night air was biting at your cheeks, and you huddled down into your heavy coat, glancing farther up the street at the front of the hotel Sehun had instructed you to meet him at.

In the elevator on the way up to his floor, you were having yet another spell of serious doubt. Clearly, Sehun had just played you the way he always had done and you were willingly giving into him. Again.

In an alternate universe, you would tell him exactly why you were angry with him and you would tell him that you hope you never see him again as you storm out. In that timeline, Sehun maybe would learn a lesson about how to treat people and maybe the next girl would be luckier than you had been.

In this timeline, however, Sehun opened the door and he was nearly nude and instead of telling him all of the concrete reasons you were ending this sordid affair, you just...stared.

He smirked.

“Hi, babe.” He greets you, and the pet name sends a dull ache throbbing in your chest with every beat of your heart. “Did you miss me?”

He tilts his head and the smile he gives you is almost mocking, but dammit the truth was yes. You absolutely had missed him. You don’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know, however. Even still, you’re unable to recall any of the things you had meant to tell him in the time since you last saw him.

Something about ending this, but it was definitely less important than the fact that your heart was pounding in your chest and after all this time feeling dead inside without him, now he was here, you were alive again.

His chiseled torso is bare and is fully blocking any and all coherent thoughts from your head except, maybe...what it feels like to kiss him there, right at the clavicle, to feel his heart beating in his veins under your lips, to hear him sigh.

“Come inside,” Sehun tells you, snapping you out of your fantasies as you look him over, and he steps aside to let you in. “We need to talk.”

Alarms go off in your head at those four little words. Heart sinking, you brush past him to get inside struggling to regain control of your thoughts and emotions.

He’s not about to end this. You are. Once and for all. It had been a long time coming and if anybody was going to put a stop to the madness, it had to be you. Now. Enough was enough.

Turning on your heel when you make it to his living room, you open your mouth to end it, “This has to sto-”

Before you can even complete a sentence, you’re faced with the sight of Sehun holding out a little gift bag, an even smaller box with a bow, and a box of chocolate covered strawberries. The sight stuns you into silence and you stand there, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water, gawking between Sehun and the gifts he’s presenting to you.

The more seconds that pass while you stand there looking at him, the more he looks...awkwardly and genuinely vulnerable. After a while, his shoulders slump, and he lowers the gifts a few inches, “I’m just...trying to say that I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “You must think I’m stupid.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Sehun explains briefly, “I know I’ve been selfish and cruel. My intention wasn’t...I only...” He stops, sighs, then he turns and deposits all the gifts haphazardly on the coffee table. “I didn’t mean for us to develop these feelings for each other. I was just having fun. I thought that you were, too. Genuinely, I’m sorry.” He gestures at the things he deposited on the coffee table and turns away with a noncommittal shrug. “That’s yours, if you want it.”

You hesitate, looking from Sehun to the table and back again, then you inch forward and pick up the gift bag first, peering inside. The lacy garment you pull out doesn’t do much to quell your anger, and you lift your gaze back to Sehun, glaring. “Seriously?”

“Do you like it?” He asks hopefully.

“Do you think you can win me over this time with fucking lingerie, Oh Sehun?” You’re aghast, “How fucking vapid do you think I am?”

“I thought it would look nice on you...” He frowns, “I didn’t- I just wanted to be nice, I didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, I thought girls liked Victoria’s Secret?”

You roll your eyes.

“Well, that’s not all!” He protests, “Open the other one before you decide I’m even more of an asshole. And I got you chocolate, too.”

With a sigh, you pluck the box with the bow off of the table and tug the lid off. Inside is a necklace with a dainty pendant. It had been on display in a shop weeks earlier when you had first seen it. It wasn’t your typical style, but you had been drawn to the beauty of the necklace, the elegance you wished that you carried was evident in the accessory and at the time, you had been smitten by it.

You couldn’t afford it even if you had skipped that month’s rent, and you had left it behind at Sehun’s insistence to rush to the restaurant before your reservation was missed. At the time, you had chalked it up to one more of the many reasons Sehun had been cold towards you, heartless and uncaring even to let you simply stop and window shop and dream of a life where you were the kind of person to wear such an item.

“I bought it for you.” Sehun tells you quietly, “I remembered you looking at it back then and after we left, I took a picture of it and sent for it. It took some time before I got it, mainly because I was too afraid what it meant if I got this for you, if I allow myself to be open with you.” He sighs, “I hoped that this was some sort of symbolic gesture that would make you understand without me having to tell you myself. I’m a coward, Y/N, and I’m truly sorry that my cowardice has hurt you.”

You’re rendered speechless for a long while. So long, in fact, that Sehun has given up waiting for a response and he leaves, crossing the room to the kitchen area of the condo, pulling a bottle of whiskey from the bar. He downs one shot and is pouring a second before you finally find your voice.

“I didn’t realize that you...were paying any attention.” You tell him softly, staring at the necklace nestled in the cute little box in your hands.

“Of course I pay attention to you.” Sehun places the whiskey on the bar heavily so the liquid within sloshes, and he bows his head down and leans into the bar on his hands. “I love you.” He says it to the floor, unable to look at you but the words draw your attention fully to him.

You drop the box with the necklace on the table with the rest of his gifts and storm across the room to the bar area, stepping around it as Sehun lifts his eyes from the ground to peer at you questioningly.

“Tell me you love me again.” You say to him the same words he said to you before, when you fucked last, when you opened yourself up to him and he shot you down. Only this time, it was his heart that was on the line. You felt for the first time that you were in control.

“Tell me.” You repeated, but your voice was filled with emotion.

“I wanted to hide from you, but I see you. Your heart. And I love you. I’m sorry that I was so afraid of what that means, but I do.” Sehun says, “I love y-”

The final word was cut off by your lips, your arms flying around his neck and your body crashing into his chest as you kissed him with everything in you. All this time feeling worthless and stupid for letting Sehun play you, this had been what you had needed from him - vulnerability, honesty, reciprocation.

As you kissed his arms wound around your waist and you felt his tongue brush your lips and you pulled back, breathing unevenly as you stared into his eyes. “Again.”

“I love you.” He said within a heartbeat, zero hesitation and the slightest smile ghosting on his handsome face.

There’s a mad rush to get out of your clothes suddenly. Your hands are working together to rid your bodies of the unwanted garments in between heavy kisses and desperate gasps of air. You turn and attempt to jump up on the counter once most of your clothes are out of the way, palming his erection and attempting to guide him inside but Sehun shakes his head.

“Not here.” He mumbles against your throat, “The bedroom.”

Your heart feels like it’s blooming in your chest as he wraps your legs around his waist and carries you to bed. You keep kissing him, hands in his hair, lips attacking every inch of his face, neck and shoulders that you can reach before he lays you down and climbs over you, hips flexing to slide his cock between your slick folds.

“I’m still mad at you.” You tell him as he straightens up between your legs and he looks down at you, brows knit together in concern briefly, but you grasp his cock and guide him to your entrance and Sehun groans.

“I’ll make it up to you.” He says, “I swear.”

And with that, he presses himself inside of you and nothing else matters.

[hemellassie]

Restless Days and Restless Nights *(*(*)*)*

Ch. 8 *(*(*)*)*

Photographs and Memories Pt 1

*(*(*)*)*

Rick shot up his bed, crying out, "Thomas!" He angrily swiped the tears from his eyes, followed immediately, by a shudder at the memories he'd just revisited in his nightmare.

God, what had triggered that particular memory? He despised that memory with a passion. Oh, now he remembered what triggered it. Well, shit on a shingle...time for a midnight visit to Magnum...why wouldn't Thomas ever just admit when he needed a helping hand? Rick knew he wasn't going back to sleep anyway, so he got up and dressed quickly. Grabbing his go bag, he went into the bathroom and washed his face then grabbed the 'special liniment' Shammy had given him to try, made sure the lid was on tight and added it to his go bag. Slinging the bag's strap over his shoulder, he headed out to his car in the parking lot to get going. He thought about giving TC a call, but decided this was his penance to pay, so why disturb the big guy? He had a tour at sunrise tomorrow.

That thought resolved, Rick slung the go bag into the backseat of his Porsche and began the drive to Thomas' place. Hopefully, he could get to the guest house without Higgy noticing...she didn't have to know every time he was there, did she? That's why he and TC each had their own codes. He drove towards Robin's Nest just over the speed limit until he escaped the city confines. Once out on the H3, he floored it. He'd pay the damn ticket if they caught him. He needed to get there and see just how much damage Thomas had actually done to himself this time. The needle on the speedometer crept up as he drove along the road. *(*(*)*)*

Earlier the same evening...at Robin's Nest

*(*(*)*)*

Magnum ambled out of the guest house, hands in the pockets of his swim shorts, whistling an off-key tune.

"Magnum, where are you going?" Higgins's voice, rather stridently, demanded.

Thomas paused in mid-step and turned towards the main house, reluctantly walking towards Higgins who was quick stepping towards him. They met in the middle. Kumu was behind her, making warning faces that seemed to indicate 'Don't rile her up; she is not in a good mood.'

"I'm heading out to go swimming, Higgy," Thomas replied in a calming voice.

"It's rather late for that, surely."

"Higgins, I've gone swimming in total darkness before and it's a good hour before sunset. I won't be gone long."

"Pardon me, if I am not certain, I believe that. I've known you to bloody well be out there three hours on your little swims. You are recovering from a concussion. I don't think you should go swimming without a swim buddy."

"Look, MOM, I'm a big boy...and a former Navy Seal. I have gone swimming with gunshot wounds, with concussions far worse and far fresher than the little knock on the head I got the other day, with broken limbs. I can handle myself out there." Magnum was getting a bit irate.

"Thomas, I'm merely concerned. Wait a moment. Why are you holding your shoulder so funny?"

"Huh? I'm not. I got hit in my head, not my..."

Juliet reached out and squeezed his shoulder and TM dropped to his knees, his face contorted in pain. She looked down at him. "You were saying?"

"Damn, Higgy...what the hell?"

She bent over and helped him up grabbing the other shoulder. "Come over here, right now!" She took him to a nearby lounge chair and pushed him down onto it. "Now, off with your shirt."

"We haven't even dated yet, Higgy." Kumu mimed slapping her own face and then his...mouthing, "Don't make her angry, you won't like her when she's angry." Thomas couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips.

Higgins slapped the back of his head lightly. Thankfully she missed the still tender part back there. "This isn't funny. Shirt! Off, now!"

"Okay, okay..." Thomas realized she wasn't going to take no for an answer and began unbuttoning his shirt. His shoulder really did hurt. He hadn't noticed it before this. What was going on? It was where his old injury from the camps was. Why was that acting up? He heard a horrified gasp from Higgins. "What, what's wrong, Higgins?" He started to turn his head to try and see what she was staring at so aghast, but she pushed his head back facing forward.

"What in the bloody hell did you do to yourself here?" The woman demanded.

"What are you talking about?" He again tried to turn his head, but Juliet grabbed both sides of his head and said. "Face forward, Magnum, damn it. Did you get this when you got hit on the back of the head?"

Thomas rolled his eyes and retorted testily. "As I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about, I can't really answer that question, now can I? However, so far as I know, the shovel hit me right in the back of my head, there was no other impact, but really, you would have to ask the kid who hit me as I was unconscious at the time."

"Kumu, would you please get me an ice pack?"

"You've got it. Be right back."

Magnum heaved a very put upon sigh. "What's the ice pack for? As we are talking about my body, I would like to know what you are seeing, please."

Juliet sighed. "You are definitely NOT going swimming this evening, Thomas. You have a massive bruise back here and your shoulder is extremely swollen. I think you need x-rays."

"What? No way...I'll swim it off. I am not going to the ER, Jules...it isn't needed."

"Will you bloody well listen to me for once, Magnum? I think something may be broken in here."

"Higgins, I think I would know if I broke my shoulder. I probably just aggravated an old injury I have in that area."

"The bruise indicates an injury, probably blunt force. The coloration tells me it is about as old as your concussion. I think the man must have hit you more than just once. Did Katsumoto take you to the ER after that happened?"

"No. I didn't think I needed it."

"Did he even examine you?"

"Why would he examine me? He's a detective, not a doctor." Magnum replied. "Jules, I'll be fine. Let me go back to my original plan and take a swim."

"Like hell, I will allow that to happen. This has to be hurting, Thomas." As Kumu handed her the ice pack wrapped in a dish towel, Higgins slapped it onto his shoulder, causing the man to jump though her hand on his other shoulder kept him seated. "You are staying right there for the time being if I have to restrain you." She realized she had said the wrong thing when she saw how pale he became. She walked around in front of this difficult man and knelt before him. "Thomas, I'm sorry, but I am genuinely concerned here. I must insist..."

Magnum shook his head. "Jules, I appreciate your concern, but it can't be that bad. I rowed this morning and, yeah, it twinged a bit, but not that bad. So it can't be broken again...I'd know."

"Again?" Kumu asked.

Magnum shrugged with his other shoulder. "It wasn't my shoulder but the...aw, I can't remember the name of it...the bone that runs from your neck to your shoulder got snapped by an AK-47 butt when we were in captivity. The scapula was broken, too. I remember the pain from that time and this is nowhere near as bad as that was."

"Perhaps you have built up a higher pain tolerance because of your time in the camps." Juliet offered, hesitantly.

"I don't think so," Thomas sighed. "If anything, I'm more of a wuss than I was back then."

"I don't believe that for a moment, Magnum," Higgins said seriously.

"This, from the woman who told me to man up after I was hit by a car?"

"You had scared me, Thomas...I tend to snap things out when I am frightened. I don't like being frightened, it makes me ..."

"Grumpy? Good to know." Thomas smiled at her. "Is there any way I can see what is going on with my shoulder here?"

Kumu silently handed Higgins two hand mirrors of the type hairstylists use to show you your haircut when it's done. Juliet smiled at the older woman. "I'll show you once that ice bag has been on for 20 minutes and not a moment sooner. Alright?" Her tone had become very conciliatory.

Magnum nodded. "Okay, Higgins. I'll be good. Do you have any ice cream?"

Higgins chuckled. "Ice cream, not a lollipop?"

Kumu offered. "A bowl of vanilla ice cream coming up, Thomas. Juliet, you want any?"

"I'll have a small bowl, please, Kumu."

As the older woman turned to go get the treats, Magnum called out. "Thank you, Kumu."

Thomas slowly tried to stretch without moving the injured side too much. "This is why I wanted to swim...I'm getting stiff."

"I shouldn't wonder...you were coshed on the head and fell to the ground, you probably have more than a few bruises to go with the spectacular one here on your shoulder. Thomas, you really need to take better care of yourself. Why in the hell didn't you go to the hospital after you were knocked out?"

Magnum shrugged, both shoulders, but reaching up with his right hand to hold the ice pack in place on his shoulder. "I was on a case...and it was important to Katsumoto. I really didn't think it was that bad."

Juliet sighed... "And I rest my case. I swear you need a keeper, Magnum."

"I'll second that emotion. What's with the ice on your shoulder, Thomas?" Detective Katsumoto asked as he came up the path from the gate.

Silently, Higgins lifted up the ice pack and showed the man Magnum's shoulder. "What in the hell - Thomas, you didn't tell me he hit you in your shoulder, too?

"God, everybody is going to see MY shoulder before I do."

Juliet glanced at her watch. "Just a few more minutes, Magnum."

Katsumoto gave a grumpy huff. "That's it. You are going to the ER - that looks awful."

"My body, my choice...and I say..."

Juliet, Gordon, and Kumu all said together, "You're fine."

"Yeah, Magnum, you are always fine. Your leg could be hanging on one thin strip of muscle, completely torn off otherwise, and you would still say you were bloody well, fine!" Higgins was seriously fed up.

Katsumoto made the mistake of cracking up at that line. Higgins did not look happy at that. Kumu handed Higgins and Magnum their ice cream and immediately asked the Detective. "Would you like some vanilla ice cream or water or something?"

Katsumoto smiled at the older woman and said. "Thank you, Kumu, but no. I just had dinner a while ago. I came by because, Thomas, Mrs. Tak would like you to come to the house on Saturday. Would you be okay with that?"

"Me? Why would she want me to come?"

"After you and Higgins came to the internment, she started asking a lot more questions about who you were, how I knew you...she really appreciates you helping me out on this case and she wants to get to know you."

Thomas blushed. "I don't know, Detective. The credit and stuff should go to you, I didn't..."

The detective snorted. "Forget it, Magnum. You are coming unless you wind up in the hospital with that shoulder."

"Oh for cry-aye! It's ..."

"not that bad!" The other three chimed in together.

"You can't see it, Magnum. It is that bad." Katsumoto advised him seriously. "Look, I'll pay if that's your issue..."

"It's not that," Magnum sighed. "They'll want to do surgery if I get an X-ray. I don't want that. I have an old injury there that didn't heal right from when I was in the camps; when I was a prisoner of the Taliban, but it would be weeks before I could get back to life, and I'm not going for it. I can't...it would be like being back there. I can't do it. NO!" He stood up and walked away. Juliet sighed and followed him, taking the empty ice cream bowl out of his hand.

"Thomas..." She said, gently.

He just shook his head and turned and went into the guest house, slamming the door, and she heard the lock click into place. She sighed and walked back to where the detective stood frowning. As she drew near, he asked her. "Is he alright?"

"I think he's a bit triggered by this injury, Detective."

"Call me Gordon. Do we need to call the guys?"

"Probably, but I don't think he'd be very receptive right now. He was at the King Kamehameha Club earlier, and, if I know those two, they noticed enough that they will show up on their own at some point during the night."

"What? Are they psychic?" The detective asked.

"They are something. He'll be having night terrors and they show up before we even call them. Those three know each other in a way that is almost beyond comprehension...and they must have subtle tells that they each pick up on. It isn't one sided either - them taking care of him, you know? He knows when Rick is having a rough time."

"Oh, I've been in on that, just recently."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I'll tell you that story another time. If they or you manage to talk him around to going to the ER, give me a call, okay? That injury is my responsibility. It looks really gnarly...I don't like that he won't go."

"Neither do I, but he is an adult."

"Yeah, well he's acting juvenile." Katsumoto snapped. "Sorry, he's just kind of got me worried. What if the concussion is worse than he thinks, too?"

Higgins sighed. "That thought had occurred to me as well. Let's not go borrowing trouble, Gordon. Sufficient unto the day..."

"Are the troubles thereof." The detective finished. "My auntie used to say that all the time." He smiled... "is it, Shakespeare?"

"The Bible actually...I believe it is from the Sermon On The Mount...Matthew 6:34...if I remember correctly."

"I didn't think you were the religious type."

"Oh, I'm not, but in my day, in English school, we got religious education as a part of our schooling. You see the Queen, in those days was - technically still, is Defender of the Faith. So we never had the complete separation of church and state that you have here in the states. Religion was taught in schools back when I was young. Now, they say if Charles ever makes it to the throne, he will be sworn in as Defender of Faith, not Defender of THE Faith. As Britain is much more multi-faith and multi-cultural these days, I don't know what they teach in school now...comparative religion?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea, Higgins. Back to Thomas, I really am worried. I feel responsible."

"He wouldn't want you to, you know. He'd say it's his choice."

Gordon frowned. "Not on my watch...he got hurt helping me. He didn't have to be there."

Juliet laughed. "Of course he did. There was a mystery to be solved. The man can't resist a puzzle. He even finished a jigsaw puzzle I had planned on working on for the next few weeks while I was out with Kumu at a function last week, a thousand piece puzzle. Although to be fair he bought me a replacement the next day and apologized."

"Wait. He actually paid for something?"

"Yes, Gordon. He does manage to pay for things occasionally." They smiled at each other.

Katsumoto shook his head, musing aloud. "Thomas Magnum is really something else, isn't he?"

Higgins smiled and looked towards the guest house. "He truly is - special in his own unique way, our White Knight. I'm still only beginning to get to know him, but he does grow on you."

The detective wrinkled his nose. "He's an acquired taste, but he does grow on you, like a fungus."

"And he's come through for both of us a time or two now, hasn't he?"

"Him and Rick and TC,…yes, they have."

"They are a matched set." Juliet agreed.

"You have my number?"

"It's in my phone."

"Call me whatever time it is, if someone convinces him to go to the hospital, okay?"

"You've got it, Detective Katsumoto."

"Thanks, Higgins. Good night, ladies." The detective turned and left. His car was parked outside the gate and Higgins opened the gate as he approached it.

"We never did show Thomas his shoulder…" Kumu pointed out.

"The stubborn fool lumbered off before I could."

To be continued…

A/N: At least one person has already seen and reviewed this. I wrote it today starting while I was up in El Dorado Hills, CA to see the movie, APOLLO 11. If you haven't seen it, I urge you to go and see it. It is much more than the old footage we have seen on History Channel and really excellent. I used to work on The USS Hornet, a retired Aircraft Carrier/museum down in the Bay area. I was one of many who actually helped save it from the scrapper's torch. The USS Hornet picked up Apollo 11 when they got back from going to the moon. My father also worked on the Apollo project in a distant, but vital way. He got to go to NASA before the rocket was assembled...he was a technical writer and wrote the technical manuals for the camera equipment that went to the moon. So between the connection to my Dad, long dead now...and my connection to the ship (when I was first aboard her after she was saved, my first job aboard I was trained to deliver the safety briefing.) Myself and my friend, Diana, were also trained to be the Apollo specialists to give folks tours of the Apollo exhibits on the ship and actually got to go inside the MQF on the ship with Buzz Aldrin, more than once. It was great to see that movie today. Well, night all...I am already writing the next section of this in my mind. Hope you all enjoy this first part.

[incomingalbatross]

Illumination, Part 2/2

Part 1

Fandom: Psmith/Star Wars Length: 2819 words (almost quadruple the length of Part 1, because what is consistency)

Part 2 under the cut! (And thank you so much for the feedback!)

The headmaster was having a very bad day.

"Headmaster!" Ensign Psmith--former Ensign Psmith--said brightly when he saw him, lightsaber not missing a beat. "Has our little field trip really caused such a fuss as to bring you down to these humble halls in person? I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience--I fear your loyal myrmidons grossly misrepresented matters. Out of laudable zeal for the security of the Empire, of course, but still. . ."

"Enough, Smith," the headmaster said abruptly. His hand was on his blaster grip, even though there was a good half-squadron still between him and the boy.

Force-users were dangerous, after all.

He shook his head, bewildered. "What does this--this madness mean? And are you honestly standing there--with a Jedi lightsaber in your hand!--expecting me to believe you when you talk about 'laudable zeal for the Empire?'"

Psmith blinked at him innocently, even as he sent blaster-fire from one man ricocheting straight into another's legs, bringing him down with a scream. "Sir, I'm merely defending myself," he protested, dancing back again as new troops filled the gap he had made. "As a student of this unparalleled establishment, am I not expected to use whatever resources are at hand to ensure my survival--no matter how distasteful?" Another spray of deflected blaster-fire sent more than one man jumping back, and Psmith took advantage of the momentary lull to dart forward, slice, and fall back again.

His technique seemed . . . uneven, though, the headmaster realized. Sloppy, even, in his more difficult maneuvers. And he was fighting primarily to hold his position, closing with his opponents only when necessary. Given his age, it would make sense for him to be more self-taught than a genuine master of his craft--perhaps they could overwhelm him, after all.

(And if he felt a moment's pity at the thought of a half-trained boy being overwhelmed and cut down by a full squadron of trained soldiers, well, that was no one's business but his own.)

"You can't talk your way out of this one, Smith," he said, sternly. "You ought to know that."

The young Jedi's eyes went distant for a moment, then flicked back to his gaze. "Well, perhaps you're right," he said with a light shrug. "I suppose there are some things rather too difficult to explain away, rare though they have been in my experience. Just to be sure, though--there's no chance of me persuading you this was just a student prank, sir? Youthful high spirits gone astray?" He cocked his head hopefully for a moment, then sighed when the headmaster only stared at him. "No, I thought not."

"Why, Smith?" the headmaster asked, keeping his eye on the Jedi as he forced the nearest troopers back, closer to their fellows again. Was he--yes, he was tiring. Not much, perhaps, but it was beginning to show in his movements. "Why did you ever come here in the first place, if you were--were--"

"A Jedi?" he supplied helpfully, dodging between two blaster bolts and deflecting three more. "Precisely because of reactions like yours, headmaster. Do you know how few people will think to suspect a Jedi of entering an Imperial Academy? Very few. Most people, you see, have a regrettable tendency to confuse the unusual and the impossible--and while it is admittedly unusual for a Jedi to seek to enroll in an Imperial Academy, there is nothing in the inherent structure of the universe or of the Empire's acceptance protocols which would make it impossible. Therefore--excepting the regrettable presence here of such outstanding petty sadists as the hopefully-late Captain Downing--this was, in its own special way, the safest place for me."

The headmaster stared at him, aghast at this casual disregard of everything the Academy stood for. "Do you mean to say you used my school to hide from the forces of the Empire?"

"With no disrespect meant to your establishment, headmaster, I think I can safely say that if you had led my life, you would use almost anything to hide from the forces of the Empire." Smith was definitely tiring now--despite his continued verbosity, there was a growing raggedness to his movements. A half-trained Jedi youth could only fight so long against a contingent of professional Imperial troops, it seemed.

Especially when they had reinforcements readily to hand, and he had none at all.

"You can't win, you know," the headmaster said, tone softening despite himself as he watched. "Why not surrender, Smith? You will be treated more leniently if you do, I guarantee."

Psmith laughed briefly, eyes glancing to meet his before darting back to his opponents. "Not just yet, I think, headmaster."

"Are you really hoping to leave with your friends, at this point? If you don't catch up within a few minutes' time, they'll almost certainly leave without you."

"Such is my hope, I confess. . ." for the first time, Psmith let his speech be interrupted by the demands of combat, but soon picked up the thread again, "A forlorn one, perhaps, but I hold fast to it."

The headmaster frowned. Better just to try distracting him, perhaps. "Did you destroy the security droid?" he fired off, hoping to catch him off-guard.

Psmith's head reared back an instant in apparent offence. "Just because I am a Jedi does not mean I am responsible for everything which has gone wrong in this academy during my enforced stay, headmaster." "That wasn't an answer, Smith. And you seem very defensive about the subject."

"The indignation of the unjustly accused, sir, I assure you. Whatever my feelings toward the Empire--and, indeed, I may as well admit now that I oppose it with every fiber of my being--I certainly do not believe in cruelty to droids. . ."

Then it happened.

The Jedi slipped slightly. Just for a moment, his footwork failed him, but a moment was all it took. He landed on one knee, lightsaber instinctively held up before him but--for a few, crucial seconds--not moving in either attack or defense.

"Surround him!" the headmaster shouted. "Don't take any chances."

Psmith looked up to see a ring of weapons pointed at him, all the remaining troops spreading around and behind him before he could get his guard back up.

"Shall we kill him now, sir?" the troop commander asked.

"Restrain yourself, please," the headmaster said. He turned back to Psmith. "Drop your weapon, unless you think you can avoid a dozen blasters at once."

Psmith looked at him, expression cooperative but politely confused. "Oh, but surely that's excessive, headmaster? What could I possibly do with this, against all these delightfully lethal specimens of Imperial diplomacy arrayed before me?"

The headmaster found himself considering this. He had a point, after all. It wouldn't make any real difference whether he held onto his weapon or not . . .

There was the distinctive sound of a blaster discharge. Psmith cried out in pain, lightsaber falling to the ground with a clatter and hiss as he cradled his wounded arm.

The headmaster scanned the men guarding Psmith, astonished and outraged by the defiance of his orders. "What," he demanded, "was that?"

One of the men looked back at him, eyes wild but determined. "I did it, sir. He was using the Force on you! I've heard stories, sir, how they can control your mind--with just their voices, even, if you let them . . ."

The headmaster opened his mouth. Then closed it again. He looked back at the prisoner, who was still hunched over his injury.

Everyone knew how dangerous Jedi were. And yet he'd been thinking about letting him keep his weapon.

"Well, done, trooper," he said at last. "Keep an eye on him." He looked around. "All of you keep an eye on him. No distractions."

"Oh, come now, headmaster--" that ingratiating voice began again.

He whirled on the youth. "And you will be silent, Smith," he said. "Or else you will be shot, again. Speak only when I ask you a question, and then only one-word replies. Understood?"

Psmith looked him for a few moments, gaze more intent than it had been at any point so far.

The headmaster looked back resolutely.

At last, with a sigh, the young Jedi dropped his head. "Understood," he said.

The headmaster felt a surge of triumph. "Excellent," he said, taking a step forward--though he was careful to still keep a good six feet from the perimeter of the guarding circle. "Now, what were we talking about last? Ah, yes. It was the droid. You still haven't given me a straight answer on that, have you?"

Psmith just looked at him, somehow managing to convey a sense of weary persecution even in silence. The headmaster sighed. "Did you destroy the droid?" he asked.

Psmith's face brightened. "No," he said immediately.

"Then who did?"

Psmith opened his mouth, then paused. His eyes drifted over the headmaster's shoulder for a few moments, abruptly widening, before snapping back to his face with a look of unholy, disbelieving glee.

Pointing past the headmaster with one finger, he said simply, "Him."

The headmaster rolled his eyes. "Really, Smith, if you think I'm going to fall for that . . ."

Something cold, round, and metallic pressed against the back of his head, and an arm went around his throat. "No, he's telling the truth," a cheerful voice said. "For once. How are you, Smith?"

Everything froze.

Then a number of things happened at once:

A number of the troops swung their guns around, unsure who they should be aiming at;

The headmaster shouted, "Nobody move!" even as part of his mind was trying to identify the voice;

And Psmith burst out laughing, all but collapsing onto the floor as his heretofore-untouchable composure suddenly shattered into a thousand shards.

"Well that's just rude, Smith," the mystery voice complained. "Headmaster's right, though--none of you move, or you won't have a superior officer anymore. Good luck explaining that to whoever the Emperor sends to clean up."

Suddenly tone matched itself to memory, but things hardly made more sense once they had.

"Dunster?" the headmaster blurted out.

"Indeed," Psmith said, as he slowly regained his serenity. He straightened up, flicking dust off his trousers knee as he did so with a rueful grimace.

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he glanced up. "By the way," he said pleasantly, making another flicking motion with his fingers, "considering the change in circumstances, I hope you will not consider it ill-mannered of me to suggest that the rest of you might find it prudent to drop your weapons."

The headmaster cringed, as over two dozen blasters clattered to the floor.

"But . . . How?" he spluttered. "Dunster was just a visiting student--from a Core school. I saw the paperwork myself!"

The young man behind him laughed. "Right. Because no one's ever faked paperwork before, have they, Smith?" A horrible chill overcame the headmaster. He had remembered something that suddenly seemed horribly important.

Namely, that Dunster and Psmith had recognized each other during Dunster's previous stay. In fact . . .

"You said . . . you went to the same school?" he croaked feebly.

But Psmith shook his head. "A slight mistruth, I confess," he said, stretching a casual hand toward his lightsaber as he did. It rose into the air, flying smoothly to his grasp. "I have not truly been enrolled in an institute of learning since I was, oh, nine years of age. Friend Dunster and I, rather, met in the School of Hard Knocks--also known, somewhat less formally, as the Street. That, however, did not sound quite so prestigious."

"And the Rebellion?" the headmaster asked.

Psmith clicked his tongue. "A surprise to myself as much as to you, I must confess." His eyes moved over the headmaster's shoulder. "I had assumed you were still a common criminal."

"I assumed you were a common criminal," Dunster rejoined. "Certainly wasn't expecting the lightsaber."

"Touche. However, now that we know one another's deepest secrets, allow me to ask--why return, at the coincidental eleventh hour, to the scene of your crime? Were the dramatic conventions too strong for your spirit to resist?"

"I'm not you, idiot," Dunster rejoined. Then he paused. "As a matter of fact . . . Well, to be perfectly honest, I, er. I destroyed the wrong droid."

Psmith raised an eyebrow. "Ah."

"It's a long story. And classified, as a matter of fact."

"Of course it is, friend Dunster," Psmith said soothingly, tucking his lightsaber hilt under one elbow like a baton. “Of course.”

"Shut up."

"A perfectly understandable mistake, I am certain."

"Look, hadn't you better get going? If you don’t hurry, the rest of your baby Rebels will leave without you."

Psmith blinked. "You would seem to be in a more precarious position than I, at the moment," he pointed out delicately.

"Maybe you're right." The headmaster could hear a grin in the Rebel's voice. "I suppose the headmaster and I had better come part of the way with you, then."

Psmith tilted his head in assent. "If you must."

Dunster prodded the headmaster with the gun barrel, and he tumbled forward. "And the rest of you," he said to the troops, "lie down on the ground and stay there for the next . . . oh, twenty minutes, if you don't want us to get any more hostile toward you or your commander."

"Yes," Psmith agreed. "I strongly suggest you do as he says."

The men dropped to the ground in near-perfect unison, lying on their stomachs with hands clasped behind their heads.

"Excellent," Psmith said, surveying them with satisfaction. "Dunster? Headmaster? Let us away."

It was a quick and silent march. The headmaster, however, found that between the humiliation of his present, and the even stronger fears for his future, he had plenty to occupy his thoughts,.

"If I were you," Psmith murmured, as if reading his thoughts (perhaps he was?), "I would take this opportunity to make a speedy withdrawal from the whole situation. It shouldn't be hard for an Imperial officer such as yourself to acquire passage offworld and a change of clothes--and after that, why, the galaxy is your oyster. Certainly a more appealing prospect than whatever the Emperor's flunkies will do with you, after learning you lost him not only a survivor of the Jedi Purge, but also the best pilot ever to pass through your unhallowed halls."

The headmaster shuddered at the very thought. He didn't know if the Jedi was using his powers of persuasion or not at the moment, but it was hard to care. Either way he was right about the Emperor's displeasure, and the headmaster knew it.

What if they send Vader?

"Why are you giving him advice?" Dunster asked with distaste. "He signed up for this job. Let him choke on it."

"An understandable sentiment," Psmith allowed, "but I find myself in a merciful mood today. And, besides, he discharged his duties here somewhat more humanely than most Imperial officers I have known would have."

Dunster snorted. "A low bar, if you ask me, but maybe I'll let him run when we reach the hangars--I'll be free and clear when the doors open, either way."

"I rejoice to hear it," Psmith said. "Especially since we have nearly arrived."

Sure enough, a few moments more brought them into the hangars--a bustle of activity, with the outside doors already open, TIEs hovering in place, and the defecting students running and shouting back and forth as they prepared to leave.

"And here, I fear, we part ways," Psmith said.

He regarded Dunster for a moment, silently.

"I owe you a debt of some significance, at least to myself," he said at last. "I will not forget."

"Neither will I," said the Rebel, laughing again. Then his voice sobered. "Hey, Smith?"

The young Jedi raised one eyebrow. "Yes?"

"The Force be with you."

Psmith blinked several times.

"And you, Padawan," he said.

Turning away, he scanned the hangar a moment before zeroing in on one TIE fighter.

"Wait!" the headmaster said, just before he took off.

He turned back, a tinge of impatience in his face. "Something you need, sir?"

"Why?" the headmaster asked helplessly. "I mean, I know why you came here, but why stay so long? Why reveal yourself helping this escape, if you really aren't part of the Rebellion? Why . . . Why any of this?"

Psmith opened his mouth.

"In as few words as you could, Smith . . . please?"

He closed it again, an unfamiliar expression passing over his face.

He looked at the headmaster consideringly, and the headmaster looked back. Please. I just want to understand--you don't fit what I've heard of the Jedi. But I don't know what you are.

He still didn't know how much of that the Jedi could read from him, but apparently whatever he did pick up satisfied him. Psmith's face fell into something less poised, less immaculately composed, for just a moment.

And in that moment, he answered--in one word only, as he had before.

"Jackson," he said matter-of-factly.

And then he turned, and sprinted toward the TIE he'd picked out earlier.

[seldo]

Becoming American

Today I became an American citizen.

The ceremony itself is, well, very American. Me and 854 other soon-to-be citizens assembled at the Paramount Theatre in Oakland, clutching our precious green cards and the flimsy single-page letter we received in the mail saying we had passed all the tests needed to become citizens. As we filed in, a choir of elderly volunteers on stage sang various patriotic songs, with more enthusiasm than talent.

At the door, you hand them your green card -- a terrifying event; my green card is a precious document that cost me 5 years and well upwards of $25,000 in fees to acquire -- and in exchange you get a tiny American flag on a stick, and an envelope. In the hallway, a massive team of USCIS officials work in parallel to process all 855 applications at once, so that by the end of the ceremony they can hand you a certificate of naturalization.

A USCIS official who had obviously done this many, many times -- there are two ceremonies per month, and he looked like he'd worked there a long time -- ran through the program. We'd hear how to register to vote, how to update social security, how to apply for a passport. Then we'd be led through the Oath of Allegiance, which is the actual point at which you become legally a citizen. He encouraged people to feel free to clap and cheer, and the audience responded enthusiastically, frequently accompanied by waving all the little flags we'd been given.

He had a bunch of little jokes, obviously time-worn. He talked about all the countries participating, and rattled off welcomes in Spanish, then French, then -- prompting gasps of increasingly impressed surprise -- Chinese, Hindi and Taglog. These corresponded to the biggest countries of origin -- China was the biggest, then Mexico, Nicaragua, India, the Philippines and Canada. He listed all the countries participating in alphabetical order and got people to stand up when their country was called.

He thanked us for coming to America and strongly encouraged us to register to vote. He skirted as close as I can imagine he was professionally able to pointing out that America has a lot of problems right now, and a bunch of new voters might go some way to fixing that.

Then somebody came on and sung the national anthem -- we were encouraged, but not required, to sing along, and the crowd enthusiastically joined in -- and then we administered the oath, which took all of 45 seconds. Then a second, even shorter oath for those who intended to apply for a passport that day. Then a video message from Madeleine Albright, talking about how proud she was to have risen from refugee to Secretary of State, a second video from Donald Trump, who unconvincingly espoused the virtues of immigration, and then another very patriotic video of multi-cultural people waving flags.

Then they played "Proud to be an American", which is an aggressively condescending and arrogant song, but yet again most of the crowd sang along enthusiastically. Then the officials who'd been frantically printing certificates in the hall filed in and very efficiently handed them out. There was a lot of cheering, more flag waving, tons of selfies. And that, about 2 hours after we'd started, was that.

The ambivalent American

Growing up in my family, America was not the shining land of the free. Americans, according to my family, were definitely The Worst. They were loud, boorish, arrogant, rude, uncultured. My family, who watch every televised sporting event of any kind up to and including sheep herding trials, would not watch American football, baseball, or basketball. Liking American TV and movies was considered letting people down. As a child, even liking Mickey Mouse was considered shamefully unpatriotic.

But of course we did watch American movies and TV, because that was most of what was available. We consumed American culture while vilifying Americans all the while. There was no shortage of hypocrisy in this.

But the rest of the world and especially the Caribbean has a lot of very justifiable reasons to be unenthusiastic about American hegemony. American drug policy is responsible for political and economic disaster across all the countries south of the border. American culture is, in fact, violent, materialistic, and full of unhealthy and contradictory messages about bodies, food, beauty, religion and more.

So when my career took me to America my family were genuinely aghast. You want to move to *America*? But there are Americans there! It'll be awful! How can you stand being surrounded by Americans all the time? I tried to explain that not all Americans are like the terrible Americans who take cheap vacations to the Caribbean, and that there are many parts of America that are beautiful and cultured. My family, whose primary experience of America is visiting some relatives of ours who live in south Florida, were unconvinced. America, as far as they were concerned, was an un-ending series of strip malls, shitty chain restaurant food, and rednecks.

I arrived in the USA in 2007, and worked hard as a volunteer to elect Barack Obama in 2008. Here was a vision of America I could be proud of: diverse, caring, cultured, humble and respectful of the rest of the world. Obama's presidency had a great number of flaws, but I was a fan all the way to the end.

Having originally planned to stay only a few years, I hung around. I swapped between a few visas and, after five years and a huge amount in lawyers fees mostly paid by my employers, acquired a green card. You have to wait 5 years after getting a green card to become a citizen, so I had a few years to decide if, in far-off 2017, I wanted to become a US citizen. Then the 2016 election happened.

A flight to safety

A week after becoming president, Trump signed Executive Order 13769, usually called the Muslim Ban. Quite apart from the horrifically cruel and transparently bigoted nature of the order, it included a side-effect that was particularly horrifying to green card holders: the ban apparently applied to us too. Green-card holders were initially denied entry. Some were coerced into signing documents that forced them to relinquish their precious green cards.

After fighting so hard and so long to get our green cards, the idea that they could be stripped away was unprecedented, shocking, and filled me and my fellows with fear. There was a mad rush to apply for citizenship. Green card holders who'd been sitting on the cards for years not applying for citizenship suddenly were desperate for the additional security it afforded. Unable to apply until August 2017, I watched helplessly as the queue for citizenship lengthened from 3 months to a year. Equally fearful, I applied as soon as I could.

So now I find myself a citizen. It's a hard time to feel excited about that. The country is sliding into fascism (though in fairness so apparently is much of Europe). Inequality is rising. Racial injustice is omnipresent -- though, again in fairness, it was always there and has just recently become visible. There is much that is broken about America.

It would be easy to rationalize my citizenship to myself and my now even more horrified family as a mere administrative convenience, a security device to keep this dangerously capricious administration from summarily deporting me. But easy as that would be, it would be false.

More American than I thought

There is, as I kept telling my family, a lot to like about America. There's natural beauty, friendly people, culture. There is a sense of possibility, an openness to trying new things that I never found in the seven years I lived in the UK. There's institutions and a respect for the rule of law that Trinidad, though it will always be home to me, increasingly lacks.

There's potential to America, potential it's not currently living up to, but that remains tantalizingly close. A new generation are rising who genuinely value the diversity that makes America better, who understand that there is virtue and strength in taking from the richest to help the poorest, who realize systems like healthcare and gun laws that make America a horrifying outlier amongst rich nations can be changed for the better.

The day after the election, I was walking through downtown San Francisco and passed through one of the many spontaneous protests that were happening that week. A woman in the crowd handed me the small pink button in the picture above. It says "freedom protector". You're supposed to wear it to indicate that you will fight to keep others safe. I knew I couldn't wear it, because I couldn't fight. Even being near a protest was a risky thing for a green card holder.

But I held onto it. I kept it in the pocket of my favorite hoodie like a talisman, for the 21 long months between the nightmare of election night and today being finally safe from the whims of a dangerously unhinged executive. I was not a freedom protector, but that was the day that I decided I wanted to be. Tomorrow I get to wear the badge. Finally safe, tomorrow I can start protecting others.

I haven't become American just to stay safe. I've become American because after 11 years, Americanness has seeped into me. I'm choosing to be here because I want to help. I'm choosing to be here because I am, no matter how bad things are right now, fundamentally optimistic about the future of the country. I think America can be better, and I think I can do something about that. And that's a very American way to think. from Seldo.Com Feed https://ift.tt/2MVpmk2

[justsomekpopstuff]

Touch (Jaehyun)

Pairing: Jaehyun x Reader

Type: Soulmate AU

MASTERLIST

You and your soulmate are connected by touch - a touch from your soulmate will leave a colored print on their arm...

you had always been a very hands-on person

ever since you were a kid, you were always very touchy

you were told stories of how some soulmates found each other through touch, and you just wanted to speed up the process

after all, if it was how you were going to find your soulmate, you might as well get comfortable with it

whenever anyone asked you why you were doing things the way you were, you just shrugged and went back to doing what you were doing

Jaehyun was slightly similar to you, except more subtle

he was always very sensitive and caring, so it just added to his character

he couldn’t wait to find his soulmate

he would mainly keep his excitement to himself, but everyone that truly knew him knew that he couldn’t wait

the two of you grew up with this spark of hope in your heart, waiting for the day that they could share that with their soulmate

there was a purity in that that the people around the both of you saw, and so they wished you well

some time passed, and the spark of hope only continued to grow

Jaehyun became a trainee, and then a part of NCT, hoping that at some point he would come in to contact with his soulmate

you, on the other hand, took a bit of a different approach

you had started your way through school get your education kiddos when you wanted to make some extra money

so what do you do?

you get in to modeling

that’s right

you start modeling for a friend of yours that was a photography major

they had shown some of your pics to their professor, who loved them and thought they were amazing

and, with your permission, they sent them off to a few agencies to see if any would pick you up

sure enough, you got a call from one of them, stating that they would like to sign you and take you on as a model

and so, here you were, getting hired as a model, and gettin that education 

pls bear with me i have no idea how modeling works this is all just one big guess

this one day, you were slotted to do a photoshoot with a new model

they told you that he was an idol, so you shrugged and went on with it

you sat in the makeup chair and were chatting with the stylists when you heard someone walk in

your stylist stopped for a second so you could get a good look at this person

he was tall, and incredibly handsome, with the cutest dimples that you had ever seen in your life

“Hi, i’m Jaehyun. You must be (Y/N)...”

“Yes that’s me,” you replied

“Oh good! I’m going to be modeling with you today. I’m sure we’ll do well,” he mentioned

the two of you gave each other a small bow and smile before he was ushered off to his own hair and makeup chair to get ready for the shoot

“well he was cute” your stylist muttered to you with a smirk, knowing that your ears and face were heating up

you gave them a loving smack and a small laugh before you continued on your conversation from before

as he was being styled, Jaehyun couldn’t help but steal a few glances in your direction

his heart would speed up every time he looked at you, that was for sure

but whether or not you were his soulmate was something he had yet to figure out

there was a piece of him that genuinely hoped you were boy do i have news for you dude

once you were done, you were ushered off to get dressed as they set up the final touches to the set

you didn’t see Jaehyun again until you were both called back to the set

it was set up very simply, with a neutral background and a few wooden props here and there

the two of you smiled at each other again awkwardly as you took in what he looked like

to you, he looked even more handsome than he did when he walked in, if that was even possible

the cameraperson gave the two of you your first positions, and the shoot began

it started with him sitting on one of the wooden stools on the set, with your hand resting gently on his shoulder

it was only then that you realized how he was dressed made it so you could feel the warmth of him underneath your hand

you didn’t even notice the slight colored glow and imprint that you were making on his shoulder

after taking some photos for a bit, the photographer switched the two of you around

being the nice person that he is, he assisted you onto the stool before standing behind you with his hand on your shoulder, just like you had done for him

as you were shooting, you could feel a heat radiating from your shoulder, like there was a heat pack sitting on it

you kept it professional and still continued on with the shoot, knowing there was probably nothing you could do about it

the two of you got a bit more comfortable the more shots you took, eventually modifying and making a few new poses yourselves 

your usual touchy personality began to show not that Jaehyun really minded and the photographer was eating it up

the two of you smiled more at each other, and the more skinship-y the two of you became

after a bit more shooting, the photographer called for a few minute break so the two of you could get touched up and re-dressed for the next part of the shoot

Jaehyun once again helped you off the stool and the two of you walked back over to the styling area

as your stylist began to prep you and touch up your makeup, their eyes widened

“oh my gosh, (Y/N), look at your hands...and your shoulders...” they spoke to you, completely aghast

“what...what’s wrong” you began to panic as you turned to face the mirror

you gasped at the sight

on your shoulders and your hands were faint remaining wine colored marks 

they were in the exact same places that you had made some sort of contact with Jaehyun during the first part of the shoot

“what is this? what does it mean” your panic began to grow the more confused you were

“I think...i think they’re your soulmate marks...” your stylist theorized

“...what?”

“you said that you had grown up believing that your soulmate marker was touch, right? this may be it! maybe this guy is your soulmate!” they began to explain as they jumped around

you shushed them so no attention would be brought to the two of you 

you quietly whispered to your stylists to try and cover up the marks so you could continue on with the shoot

that’s when you heard a gasp a few feet from you

you turned to see Jaehyun walking towards you

only this time, his marks were showing too, a dark teal color, perfectly complimentary to yours

and they matched the exact same places

“what is this? what do we do?” he asked you

“i don’t know but shhhh” you began to shush him

that’s when the photographer walked over

“we’re almost ready for the next part of the shoot if -” 

the photographer stood right in their tracks before a look of glee rose on their face

“oh my goodness this is perfect! SOULMATES!” they yelled

you, Jaehyun, and your stylist looked between each other in confusion

“This is absolutely perfect. We’ll completely re-think this next part. This is something we HAVE to document and photographs! Acutal complimentary soulmate markers in action! It’s brilliant!” 

the photographer continued to ramble on as you all sat there with the same look of confusion on your faces

as the photographer ran away to make some calls and rearrange everything to set up, your stylist winked at you before walking away

“so, we’re soulmates” you spoke up

“yep”

“and we’re going to be photographed with our marks showing...”

“yep...oh wait...oh no...” he started to get nervous

“what, what’s wrong? Is it me?”

“No, it’s definitely not you, I promise” he put his hand reassuringly on your shoulder before removing it again “sorry, the marker”

you shrugged and tapped his arm gently, making another mark in that same spot

“I’m an idol, and my manager would kill me if he knew about this”

“We’ll figure it out, i promise”

you took his hand gently before once again remembering the soulmate marker

you were about to take your hand away, but he only held on tighter, feeling comforted by your presence

sure enough, after the photographer had called him, Jaehyun got on the phone with his manager

you couldn’t remember how long they had been on the phone

long enough for you to get completely restyled and ready for the next leg of the shoot, this time your marks fully visible to the world

Jaehyun walked past where you were standing, and you stopped him for a second

“everything okay?”

“it’s just like you said. We’ll figure it out...” he mentioned before going off to finish getting ready

the next leg of the shoot continued, only this time, there was a lot more emphasis on the poses

the longer the two of you posed and shot, the more marks showed up on your skin, only making the photographer more gleeful about the theme of the shoot

eventually, the staff had to call it quits, and the two of you were finished for the day

after cleaning up and getting back into your regular clothes, you ran into Jaehyun once more

“are you free, right now?” he asked you

“I am, yes. Why do you ask?”

“My manager...he wants to talk to both of us. I hope that’s okay...”

“That’s totally fine. Let’s go”

he smiled softly before escorting you out into the car that had brought him there earlier

it was eerily silent in the car ride, and you could tell that he was nervous

your usual self took over, and you reached out to take his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze

“whatever happens, we’re still soulmates. it will end up all right,” you attempted to reassure him

he nodded at you, showing off the dimples that you had grown to become very fond of

and, just like you had said, it ended up all right

after about an hour long lecture and negotiation, the two of you finally walked out of the meeting room

you both had agreed to a few terms that the company set down for you, even adding a few of your own to make sure that the two of you still had some kind of freedom

after walking you to the front of the building, you could feel Jaehyun let out the breath that he had been holding before he turned to face you

“I know this is going to be a challenge, me being an idol and all, but i’m willing to put in the work if you are” he offered you out his hand

“so am i” you put your hand in his, and he raised it to leave a gentle kiss on the top of your knuckles

before you left, you gave him one last hug before leaving with a full heart

you could barely take your eyes off of the imprints on your hands and knuckles, knowing that you were carrying your soulmate along with you

the two of you knew it would be a challenge, but your hearts were stronger than that

one touch was all it took to let you know that everything would be all right

(A/N: I apologize, its not my best. I tried. Let me live.)

[stunudo]

Death Stare

A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: Spencer x Neutral Reader       Setting: Season 11

Requested by: Anonymous   

Prompt “you know what? i’m done being nice. ❞ Spencer? 

Your name: submit What is this?

The tiles were arranged in arches and crescents across the table, the central hub a wagon wheel of spokes. The bright colors helped differentiate the numbers, especially for those of you who couldn’t count at a glance. The game of Mexican Train Dominoes had reached its second hour and there was little end in sight, you had only reached the double seven tile. Games with Spencer were thrilling and tedious in equal measure, today was no exception.

Your nose and fingertips were chilled, the apartment was surrounded in a winter’s blanket. You waited patiently for your turn, clutching the mug of cocoa, whose heat was quickly disappearing. Spencer was delicately placing his tile on his first set of tracks, his fingers precise and lingering. Though he was excellent at holding an indifferent poker face, he genuinely forgot to do so while playing less competitive games like the ones you preferred. The scrunch of his nose and gentle curl of his lip told you he found a new strategy.

You sighed dramatically, pulling the blanket snugly over your shoulders. “Next track there Spence.”

His eyebrows pitched, challenging the audacity of your prompting. “It’s still my turn, Y/N.”

“I know, but you’re taking forever on purpose.”

“Drastic overstating aside, patience is a virtue in life and in gaming.” He switched to his second set of tiles, rapidly aligning a double and its following tile.

“I am only impatient because I want to watch the movie and you are making me finish the entire game first.” You pouted, dropping your mug down defiantly, to take your turn.

“You agreed to my terms.” Spencer leaned back, smug with the trap he set for you.

“Yes, but I didn’t know it would be a game that takes hours.” You rolled your eyes, moving to your second set of dominoes.

“Just imagine if I had chosen Risk or Monopoly.”

“Don’t you dare!” You uttered, your face aghast as he trudged up buried fights, long past. Spencer held up his hands in surrender, but the deep seated chuckle bubbled from his prideful mouth. He enjoyed taunting you because you were unable to keep a face void of emotion. You waved your hand in presentation, directing his attention back to his next round of turns. After clearing half the tiles in each of your collections, you were out of cocoa.

Returning to the table you see numerous tiles out of place, you freeze on the spot, glaring at your not-so-genius boyfriend. He dared to cheat at dominoes! Eventually he attempted to return your gaze, but quickly retreated, sheepishly trying to hide his offense.

“Any extra marshmallows?” Spencer asked, peering into your mug. This was absurd, how outrageous he was trying to be? You turned on the spot and stomped back into the kitchen, the well worn afghan trailing behind you like a cloak. You snatched the open bag of white puffs and returned to your seat. The cocoa sloshed over the edge of the mug as you set it down, completely silent, surveying the configurations before you.

Spencer had laid tiles on every track and was down to three dominoes in one pile and a handful in the other. You had eight and thirteen respectively, clearly you had been bamboozled. Checking your piles, you realize that they were out of order from your usual pattern of arranging them. You set down the tiny white board with a defined double click on the table’s surface.

“That’s it. You know what? I’m done being nice.” You dove your hand into the sticky bag of marshmallows and threw one directly at Spencer’s chest. He tried to deflect it, but missed, the sugar ball flew directly over his outstretched hand. His pathetic response fueled your aim, you stood, sending marshmallow after marshmallow soaring at the dishonest opponent. The blanket fell in a puddle below your chair.

“I’m going to start my movie.” You called between giggles. “Have fun playing with yourself, Spence!” The last of the marshmallows had left your hand, hitting Spencer squarely on his pointy cheek. You rose your arms in victory and spiked the bag like a football.

Diving onto the couch you landed on the remotes, just in time for Spencer to fall on top of you. His strong hands searching the cushions beneath you for the controllers. You wiggled beneath him, your laughter rippling through you, making it hard to breathe. He didn’t care, he smirked down at you, “Where are they, Y/N?”

“Where are what?” You asked innocently, holding his curtain of hair back from his face. Now, he had had enough, he rolled his eyes and began pinching your sides mischievously. He was diabolical. He immediately sent you doubling over in fits of ticklishness. “Spence! You cheater, you low down dirty, cocky, son of a bitch!”

You both froze, name calling was one thing, but you effectively swore at him and his mother. Your eyes melted in apology, your hand covered your offensive mouth. He sat up, your other hand on his chest.

“Spencer, I am so sorry!” You pleaded, cradling his face, which appeared almost forlorn.

“Enough, Y/N.” Spencer’s voice was calm. The television came alive behind you, you spun. Realization dawned as you saw the remote firmly grasped in Spencer’s far hand. You elbowed him smartly in the ribs.

“Bastard.”

“Hey, we’re watching your movie.” He was insufferable. You curled in beside him and rested your head on his bony chest, both letting out a contented sigh.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : World of Sea : Part 59

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2018

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 22: The Search

Rage, grief and mortification warred in Captain Mord’s heart as he looked at the map-table where he had sent Kurin in such anger.  The worst was that, even if the Grandalor’s sailors were a boarding party, Kurin had been right.  

The law was as clear as his anger was deep.  While it was believed that the Grandalor’s sailors were castaways, the Longin had been required to pick them up, if only to hold them for trial.  At least some of them paid in blood for their treachery!  But they got what they came for.  We may never see her again. . .  The thought trailed off into unbearable pain.

Bron’s arm was trailing.  He had bruises, one on his back, between the shoulder blades and one on the inside of his elbow.  It was not serious but if his attacker had used a knife instead of that silly, weighted sack of fish-leather, he would have been dead.  

Other crewmen were beginning to tell their tales of the battle and they were slowly realizing the same things.  The assailants had been too few to have any hope of taking a ship like the Longin.  Also, none of their enemies had been armed with anything but a padded leather cosh. It was as if they were trying not to hurt anyone on the ship. Some fools were even trying to tie that Sea Hawk to the attack.  It was just lost in the fog.  

Then they began to hear, Kurin’s gone!  The bastards had kidnaped her! But that made no sense.  They could have simply killed her.  They had already tried to do it once.  It would have been far less risky.

Looking at the map-table clearly, Captain Mord saw what he has missed the first time.  There in the tallow, written in Kurin’s neat handwriting, was a note.

“Captain: The Grandalor’s crew needs justice.  Their rights under the second G. L. have been violated.  I have gone to help them.  Kurin”

First they tried to kill her, now this!  No matter what excuse, they have stolen her!  In anger, partly at himself and partly at Kurin for being so gullible, he wiped out the note before any other should notice it.  Details aren’t important!   Whatever ruse they used, they kidnapped Kurin!  The Grandalor is guilty!

Captain Mord returned forward, where one of the boarders lay propped against the foremast.  The man had been stabbed deeply but still lived. Feebly he extended a hand holding a folded tallow-slate, hinged shut to protect its message.

Weakly he said to the enraged Mord, “Captain, read this. It’s from my Captain.  We were to be your hostages for Kurin’s return. . .” He slumped lax, dead from his wounds, the tallow-slate falling from his fingers with a small clatter onto the Longin’s deck.

Captain Mord kicked the tallow-slate away unread.  “Toss this Grandalor trash over the side,” he ordered.

His crew looked at him aghast.  Nobody moved.  Mord became angrier and yelled, “Dump him!  That’s an order!”  At last, a few deck-hands took the man’s body and dragged him to the rail.  An Orca began to sing.  They dropped him in fear.  One noticed the tallow-slate and picked it up as he retreated.

Captain Mord realized that nobody would touch the body since the whale had begun to sing and heaved it over the side himself.  The whale’s song went on for another ten minutes.  

When it was done, Captain Mord ordered, “Swab up this blood and straighten up the area.”  His men did do that, though they had begun to whisper among themselves as they worked.

Kurin disentangled herself from the joyous hug that Tanlin was giving her and said, “I need to see your log first, then all of the sickbay documentation.  I want to see all of the Purser’s accounts and look over Master Selked’s shop.  After that, I am going to interview virtually everyone on board.”

Tanlin let her go, becoming brisk, now that there was a task at hand.  “Oi’m glad.  Wen do ye wont t’ begin?”

“If I can eat in here, I’ll begin now,” said Kurin.  “I need to start with the beginning of the indenture trade.  I have to know about that in detail if I am to save your ship from Scattering.”

Tanlin got up and went to the long shelf holding the Logs of the Grandalor. As she was going down the line, absently tapping the spines of the volumes with her left index finger, she said thoughtfully, “T’ere’s somet’in’ t’at ye’ll find wen ye get t’ t’e interviews. Oi didnae mention ‘t before because ‘t wa’nae important in t’e way t’at ye asked about.  ‘T does bear on ‘ow t’is ship wad respond t’ a penalty o’ Scatterin’.  

“Every person on t’is ship’s adopted.  All o’ t’em are now named Grandalor, m’sel’ included.  ‘T happened t’e morning after our flight began.  T’ey knew t’at t’e ship wa’ implicated in murder an’ chose t’is way o’ tellin’ Barad an’ m’sel’ t’at t’ey wad nae abandon us.  

“Oi joined t’em.”  She swallowed past a hard lump in her throat and a tear glistened in the corner of her eye.

“Princamorn wa’ but a name t’ m’ an’ t’e Grandalor’s home.  Oi dinnae wont t’ lose ‘t.”  

Intently, Kurin said, “I see.  That makes a difference — to me at least,” she looked sharply at Tanlin, “if it was a voluntary thing.”

Tanlin was already fishing the necessary volume of the log from its shelf and looked back over her shoulder.  “Twas.  T’ey’d planned t’ do ‘t publicly, in t’e main square o’ t’e Gat’ering, ‘ad reserved ‘t, in fact, wen we ‘ad t’ flee.  T’ey came t’ m’ first.  Twas a total an’ welcome surprise.  T’e only light in some very dark days.”  She found the place that she was looking for in the book and gave it to Kurin.

Kurin settled cross-legged on Tanlin’s bunk with the book in her lap and began turning pages one at a time, glancing at each page and moving on.  Tanlin watched as Kurin leafed through the volume of the log, almost twenty Gatherings old.

There was a scratching noise at the cabin’s window.  Tanlin smiled to herself as it swung inward and Skye’s head poked into the cabin. The Wide Wing looked alertly about and stepped into the room.  The bird turned about on the sill and used her beak to push the window closed and then hop-fluttered to the table in front of Tanlin, who chucked her under the beak and stroked her under a slightly raised wing.

Skye settled on the table and waited quietly.  Kurin looked up with a smile and said, “Who’s trained who, here?”

Tanlin replied lightly but sort of seriously, “T’ey made m’ part o’ t’eir rookery flock an’ welcomed m’ t’ t’eir nest.  Could Oi do less?”

Before there was any answer possible, Tahm returned with food, cups, utensils and trays.  He set out the table, working nonchalantly around the sitting bird.  Kurin put the log aside and came to the table.

“I take it that this happens a lot?” she said with a genuine smile.

It was Tahm who answered, “Every time that the Captain eats in. Sometimes it’s Skye, here.  Sometimes it’s Thunderhead.  I’m told that after the chicks are grown, it’ll be both of ‘em. Better behaved than many of the crew.”

The main course that he laid out was a Strong Skin roast.  The bird looked sideways at Tanlin, who nodded.  The bird promptly dove her beak into the edge of the roast and peeled off a strip.  She began to bite it into bits which she swallowed quickly.

Kurin watched in fascination.  “Better get yers w’ile ye still ‘ave a chance, Skye’s stoking up for ‘er chicks,” said Tanlin.  She reached out, speared the roast with a chopstick and cut off slices with the knife that Kurin remembered from their first meeting.  She piled the slices onto a tray along with a generous serving of red weed bread buns and seaweed salad.  She handed the tray to Kurin and poured water into a cup.

“Sweet, sour or bitter flavor in yer woter?”

“Plain, please.  Flavors for water?  I never heard of any such thing.”

“Tis a Grandalor specialty.  Barad told m’ t’at Kurti showed ‘t to ‘im shortly after she started t’ work as ‘is cabin-girl.”

“Now that puzzles me.  I know what you told me at the Gathering but why would a skilled diver and stores clerk like Kurti stoop to becoming a cabin-girl?” Kurin asked around a mouth full of salad.

Tanlin considered for a moment and fed Skye a few more bits of roast before answering.  “Oi wa’ still in m’ coma then.  According t’ both Barad an’ Doctor Corin, she knew t’at she might die from ‘er lung parasite infection.  Twas gettin’ worse in spite o’ t’e treatments.  Doctor Corin wa’ just about t’ put ‘er on t’e invalid list.  She wa’ in sickbay gettin’ a treatment wen she met Barad.  ‘E’d come by t’ sickbay t’ look in on m’.

“‘E offered ‘er t’e light work job t’at ‘ad just come open, due t’ Chena’s untimely deat’.  Kurti ‘ated bein’ useless.  She jumped at t’e chance t’ avoid t’e invalid list an’ stay useful.  T’ keep t’e seriousness o’ ‘er condition bein’ a matter o’ common gossip, Barad ordered ‘t kept secret.  Barad could be considerate sometimes, even t’en.”

“I think that I see.  The Barad that the fleet saw was something of a fiction?”

Tanlin leaned back nervously in her chair and gripped her right hand with her left.  “Oi truly wish t’at Oi could say t’at but Oi promised ye t’e trut’.  Tis a longish tale.  

“Barad wa’ always a somew’at calculatin’ man.  Once, long ago, Barad an’ Selked were married t’ twins from t’e Muline an’ by all accounts t’ey were ‘appy.  

“An epidemic o’ fire cough swept t’e ship.  Both Teralas, Selked’s wife, an’ Teralat, Barad’s wife, were among t’e nearly forty percent o’ t’e ship’s crew ‘oo died.  Barad almost went mad wit’ grief, an’ dealt wit’ ‘t by calculatin’ almost everything.  T’at’s ‘ow he became t’e Barad t’at you knew.

“Shortly after t’at, t’e Ca’tain died in ‘is sleep.  A Coriolis storm wa’ comin’ an’ t’e crew needed command.  T’ey took Barad’s orders an’ ‘e got t’e Grandalor t’rough safe, even t’ough t’e ship wa’ massively undermanned.

“‘E wa’ elected Ca’tain after t’e storm.  At t’e Gat’ering t’at followed, ‘is election wa’ challenged by yer Ca’tain Mord.  ‘E almost cost Barad both ‘is Ca’taincy an’ ‘is life.  In t’e end, t’e Council up’eld Barad by only two votes.  Even t’ose ‘oo voted in ‘is favor sponsored a resolution t’at t’ey did so only because t’e evidence against ‘im wa’ nae sufficient. T’at wa’ t’e origin o’ t’e grudge t’at ‘e ‘eld against Ca’tain Mord an’ t’e Naral fleet as a ‘ole.

“Barad rebuilt t’e crew by takin’ in t’e scupper sweepin’s o’ t’e fleet.  T’e ones t’at naebody else wanted.  T’e Grandalor became a refuge for t’ose wit’ nae ot’er place t’ go.  Barad took t’em on a case by case basis an’ let t’em swim t’ Iren, if ‘e believed t’at a last chance would nae ‘elp.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS   NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

[sage-nebula]

I have to say I'm learning a lot about my self from loving Keith. I've learned that I would be the type of parent to yell at anyone who hurt my son, including the other children. I'm so salty at team Voltron right now, and I will continue to be until i see them apologize. I kinda hope Keith and Lotor get along though.

Fam, you have no idea how salty I am at Team Voltron right now. I’m pretty much Done™ with every single one of them at this point.

Let’s make one thing clear right off the bat: It’s clear that Keith, however much he is expressive and is pretty blunt and honest with what he says, has difficulties connecting with others and communicating with them therefore. I’ve talked before about how Keith seems to have C-PTSD, and how this is more than likely the root cause of difficulties he personally has communicating and connecting with his teammates (and regulating his emotions), given that difficulties forming and keeping interpersonal relationships is one of the symptoms of C-PTSD (as is difficulty with emotional regulation, which doesn’t help things either). If he does have C-PTSD as a result of past abuse / neglect (which as I talk about in that post, has been implied by Steven Yeun at the very least), then it would also explain things such as his tendency to be extremely independent, his tendency to close himself off, et cetera. It would especially explain if he doesn’t realize that he’s doing these things in the moment, and that it really only occurs to him if he takes the time to reflect upon it later. (At which point he’s completely overwhelmed and overcome by this trauma that he has no tools to deal with, i.e., his vlog.)

All of that said, I have difficulty blaming Keith for his “part” in this, because while it is true that he isn’t great at communicating or working with others, the reason he isn’t great is because he has a metric ton of childhood / adolescent trauma that he is dealing with and, as far as we know, has never received help with. There is so much of Keith’s backstory that we don’t know, and part of me wonders if we’ll ever even find out (something tells me Dreamworks won’t allow Joaquim and Lauren to show child abuse on screen, but we’ll see), but at the very least, the Galaxy Garrison doesn’t really seem to be the type of place to have therapists on staff (and since they’re a U.S. based military organization, and mental health care is not something we do for our vets … yeah, I highly doubt they do), and we know that there aren’t any therapists at the Castle. I mention in the linked post above that Shiro seems to have helped Keith at least with the emotional regulation part of it by teaching him the “patience yields focus” mantra, and either Lauren or Joaquim have mentioned before that, on top of being an older brother figure for Keith, Shiro was Keith’s “grounding pillar,” which also lends to the idea that he has done his best to help Keith recover and heal from his trauma, despite not being a therapist himself. (But he was a teacher, a commanding officer, and a mentor to Keith at the very least, on top of probably being found family, so he was still able to help some.) But despite Shiro helping some, that doesn’t change the fact that—again, as far as we know—Keith never received any sort of professional help in recovering from his trauma. This is trauma that spanned adolescence, through his formative years; this is trauma that shaped who Keith is as a person, and how he views the world, and while it is possible to learn techniques that can help one overcome the barriers that C-PTSD hardwires into their brain (speaking from experience), if Keith—an eighteen-year-old boy—has never been taught those techniques, I find it really goddamn difficult to blame him for the difficulties he has communicating and forming relationships with others, especially when it is blatantly obvious that he is trying very hard with what he has, that he’s doing his fucking best, and the others aren’t even trying to meet him halfway.

Because that’s the thing: they aren’t, or at least, most of them aren’t. Shiro did in the first two seasons, and presumably the time that they spent together pre-canon. We see Shiro reach out to Keith with genuine care and support multiple times in the first two seasons, just as Keith reaches out to Shiro. (We also have some choice words from Keith to hint at their relationship prior to canon: “If it wasn’t for you, my life would have been a lot different.” […] “Shiro was the only one who never gave up on me …”) Allura was also the only one who was able to reach Keith when he was grieving Shiro at the start of S3; she was the only one to offer him true support and encouragement for being the new pilot of the Black Lion at multiple points in S3 (and was the only one, iirc, to not berate or drag him in 3x03); and she was also the one who tried to reach out to him at the start of S4, both when she told him that they needed him, and when she questioned—sounding aghast—if the reason why he was pulling away from them was because he didn’t feel fit to be a leader. Both S1/S2!Shiro and Allura have, at the very least, seemingly tried to reach out to him.

But as for the rest? Lance is the absolute worst; I’ve talked about it in other posts before and so I won’t go on and on about it now, but Lance has hated Keith from before day one based purely on an image of Keith he had built up in his head as an arrogant, cocky rival. He has never tried to actually understand or get to know Keith, instead preferring to view him as an obstacle standing between Lance and his desires (which are to be the best, and to be acknowledge by Shiro). The only time this even starts to change is in S3, when Shiro is gone (and Shireplica hasn’t really settled in yet); only then does Lance start to wash away his image of Keith as an obstacle and rival, and start to truly treat him as a comrade and potential friend. However, thanks to Shireplica coming back (and everyone believing that Shireplica = Shiro), that seems to have been completely rewound (again) in S4. Once again, Keith is someone Lance grouses and complains at, someone he doesn’t want to get to know or support. Everything Keith does is automatically wrong, in Lance’s eyes. In fact, there’s a Parks and Recreation quote that works perfectly as an incorrect Voltron: Legendary Defender quote. Here we are:

LANCE: “I wasn’t listening, but I strongly disagree with Keith.”

Building on that, it’s fair to say that Lance’s insistence on viewing Keith as an antagonistic obstacle, someone unlikable and unworthy of getting to know, also strongly influenced Pidge’s and Hunk’s perceptions of him from the get-go. In fact, we know for a fact that this is the case with Hunk, because Tyler Labine said so in an interview following S2:

“I think before I kinda took the side of Lance where I was like you’re … you’re kinda a hotshot, hothead, whatever, you know, and Lance doesn’t like him so I don’t like him, right?Not don’t like him, we get along because we have to, but you know he’s not our favourite person.”

Hunk straight up disliked Keith from the outset because Lance disliked him, and it wasn’t until 2x09 that Hunk’s opinion changed (and even then, he rationalized it by saying that it was Galra!Keith that he liked, rather than just Keith, according to Tyler). While we don’t (as far as I know) have a similar quote on Pidge, it’s worth it to note that Pidge and Keith have never really been shown bonding on-screen, but instead, Pidge was one of the most vocal in S3 and S4 when it came to berating and yelling at Keith, responding very harshly to his leadership when they first fought Lotor at the end of 3x02 (“We need an actual plan!” she screams, when this is Keith’s first official attempt at leadership, they were ambushed, and she doesn’t have a plan either), and never letting up throughout the rest of the episodes, either. On top of this, there have been numerous hints throughout all of the seasons that Pidge has a crush on Lance. Therefore, I think it’s very possible that Pidge—who we know thanks to her, “Wait, who’s Keith?!” remarks in 1x01 never met Keith before the first episode—has taken the approach of, “Lance doesn’t like Keith, but I like Lance, and Lance must have a good reason for not liking Keith, so I’m going to view everything Keith does through a lens of ‘why doesn’t Lance agree with this’.” It’s not the most mature approach to take, but Pidge is a fifteen-year-old girl with a crush on a boy. Even teenage prodigies can be a bit childish and illogical at times.

So right from the get-go, Lance didn’t like Keith because he had built up an image of Keith in his head as being some terrible obstacle that he had to overcome, and Hunk and Pidge never gave Keith a fair shake either because Lance didn’t like him. Considering the fact that Steven Yeun has said that Keith is the only one whose “difficult family history” has affected the way that he is, we can reasonably assume that none of them have the same C-PTSD-induced problems with emotional regulation and forming interpersonal relationships that Keith does. In fact, we know they don’t, or else they’d have the same difficulties connecting with others that he does, and they very obviously don’t. So instead of having their brains wired in a way that makes it actually difficult for them to reach out to and connect with others as a result of prolonged trauma throughout childhood and adolescence, Lance, Pidge, and Hunk are refusing to make attempts to bridge the gap and connect with Keith because they simply don’t want to.

Then we have the others. As established, Shiro did make these attempts in the first two seasons. However, in S3 and S4, “Shiro” doesn’t. He’s dismissive of Keith, uses emotionally abusive language (“I’m sorry I had to step in back there”), and even when he seems like he’s going to support him, he takes it back almost immediately (e.g. “Yes, you can [be a leader]” … “You’ll get there someday” — like, which is it? Make up your damn mind). Rather than trying to talk to Keith about why he’s spending more time with the Blade of Marmora in S4, he instead just scolds him for it like he’s a disobedient child, because Keith’s feelings and motivations don’t matter to him (anymore). Keith’s results are all that matter to him. And yes, this is a stark contrast from how Shiro used to treat him previously, because in 2x08 Shiro asked Keith why he yelled at everyone back at the Castle. (“What happened back there?”) He cared about Keith’s thoughts, feelings, and motivations then. Now, he doesn’t. He says he’ll support Keith, but he doesn’t exactly care to listen to Keith’s reasons. Half the time he won’t even spare him the courtesy of looking at him. This is why I find it so immensely difficult to believe that this is the real Shiro, and why I say “Shiro would never treat Keith like this,” because it is a direct contrast to how Shiro used to treat him. And if Dreamworks comes out and says that this is the real Shiro, and that this is supposedly IC? First of all, that’s nonsense, but second of all, I’m livid, because of all the people in that Castle, Shiro is the only one who (presumably) knows Keith’s history, and therefore should know how to talk to Keith, how to reach him, and why it’s important to do so. Hell, even Shireplica supposedly has Shiro’s memories, so he should know as well. The fact that he knows and apparently doesn’t care is a huge problem to me, and a huge impediment to me liking him, but regardless, I’d rather it be Shireplica than Shiro. I’d rather not believe that the real Shiro cares more about results than reasons, that the real Shiro cares more about piloting the Black Lion than he does whether or not Keith feels like he’s part of the team. Either way, the “Shiro” in S3 and S4 clearly doesn’t want to try to reach Keith, either. He makes absolutely no attempt to truly reach out to him, at all. Because trust me, if he did? If he did genuinely try to listen to Keith instead of shutting him down time and again? Keith would have responded. In fact, Keith tried multiple times to talk to “Shiro” and was rebuffed every time. The problem wasn’t Keith in this particular relationship. The problem was “Shiro”.

As for Allura and Coran, well, I can’t remember ever seeing Keith and Coran so much as have a conversation, much less bond. Allura did try, as mentioned above. Even in that fake af goodbye scene (more on that in a second), she questioned if the reason why he pulled away was because he felt he wasn’t worthy of being the leader. She wanted to hear what he was thinking and feeling. She tried to reach out to him, she clearly did care (as also demonstrated in 4x01 when she saw him in the crowd and her face just falls with sadness and worry) … but because their relationship has been on such a slow burn, Allura still doesn’t know him very well yet either. This is particularly true since they went through such a rough patch in S2, when Allura’s prejudices made her act coldly toward him for a while after she found out about his heritage. (Though before anyone starts hating on Allura, remember that she learned and grew from that, so don’t hate on her, thanks.) Thus, though she does try to reach out to him in S4, she can’t do so from a standpoint of a strong and familiar bond. She’s not someone that Keith has really opened up to yet. He does answer her question genuinely, but it’s too late, and she recognizes that.

And yeah, that goodbye scene was fake as hell. Pidge says that they’re going to miss him, but since when? Again, we’ve never seen Keith and Pidge bond, and Pidge was one of the most vocal team members when it came to shredding him for his leadership decisions. Lance says, “Who am I going to make fun of?” as if that would ever be a reason to get anyone to stay, and as if Lance himself didn’t make it pretty clear near the end of S3 that the only reason why he’d choose to spend any time talking to Keith alone is because Keith was the leader, not because they were friends. “Shiro” says that they’re always there for him, and Keith does accept this with a smile, but considering the fact that “Shiro” has been shutting him down and refusing to listen to him ever since his “return”, I find that hard to believe (especially since Keith himself feels that he’s not needed, and didn’t remember any of them when he was about to sacrifice himself in 4x06). And while I can’t say anything about what Hunk and Allura said (and Coran didn’t say anything), I can point out that not a single goddamn one of them missed him AT ALL in the episodes that followed. Setting aside how they were all very willing to let him go off on a mission that could last for weeks or more without a fight, we didn’t get one single instance of them thinking about or mentioning Keith in the episodes that followed. Pidge didn’t mention him at all to Matt when she was showing him around the Castle (when a, “Oh … and this was Keith’s room” downcast moment would have put more truth behind her “we’re really going to miss you” statement from the goodbye). Allura seemed genuinely disgruntled about having to play Keith in the stupid show, and Coran said “just be really moody” as if that summed up Keith’s entire personality. None of them said anything to him (and he didn’t have any dialogue either) when they were talking to Kolivan and Keith in 4x05. Like, say what you will about the four episodes that Shiro wasn’t present in S3, but he was constantly being brought up, the team was constantly talking about how they missed him. By contrast, not a single damn member of Team Voltron gave a fucking fuck that Keith was gone. Allura, Coran, “Shiro”, Pidge, Lance, Hunk—none of them missed him at all. And yeah, all things considered, that really pisses me off.

Because again: I can understand why Keith has difficulties communicating and connecting with the rest of the team, but he also tries regardless. In 1x01 he says “it’s been an honor flying with you boys” despite barely knowing any of them outside of Shiro. In 1x05 (I think—might have been 1x04) he was genuinely upset when Lance walked back their “bonding moment” because he thought they were really going to make progress as teammates and potential friends. He genuinely and warmly welcomes Pidge back to the team, he tries to protect Allura from the Arusian’s “strongest warrior”, he laughs with Hunk at the party, he encourages Hunk in the Weblum (despite Hunk making microaggressions against his galran heritage for the entire episode), he seems genuinely disappointed when Lance says that he has only come to talk to Keith because Keith is the leader now in S3, and so on and so forth. Yes, Keith has difficulties connecting and communicating as a result of prolonged trauma in his formative years that have shaped how he has grown as a person, and yes, as far as we know he has never been taught how to deal with this. However, he’s still trying, he’s still doing his best, he makes legitimate efforts to connect with Team Voltron.

But they do not give him that same courtesy. Lance refuses to like him right from the start, and Hunk and Pidge follow his lead. Allura tries to balance friendship with being the princess / commander, and her relationship with Keith hits a brief rough patch when she learns of his heritage (that she then tries to work through). Coran and Keith are never in the same room alone together from what I recall, and while Shiro did try in S1 and S2, when he “returns” in S3, that effort is completely gone. He no longer wants to listen to what Keith has to say until Keith says he is leaving, and only then does he decide not to argue it (whereas all of Keith’s attempts at leadership were met with disagreement and shut downs, hmmm …). 

So yeah, I’m pissed as all hell at Team Voltron. To be quite honest, they don’t fucking deserve Keith at this point. Especially considering the farcical nonsense in 4x04, he’s too good for them, and I hope he stays with the Blade of Marmora for a while. At least Kolivan shows him some basic respect and consideration. And I, too, hope that Keith and Lotor end up getting along. The last thing I want is for Lotor to join the coalition since the coalition seems to have Shireplica in the commander’s seat, but I do think it’d be neat as all hell to see him join the Blade of Marmora, and to have Keith be one of the Marmorites testing him. That would finally give us our Keith vs. Lotor swordfight, too.

We’ll have to see what happens, but yeah. At this point, I think Team Voltron owes Keith six apologies. They sure as hell better line the fuck up.

(don’t reblog this, please. I do NOT want Discourse™, at all, thanks.)