#imagine if he had stayed level headed when he unleashed his fury

[veronicaphoenix]

Chapter tags & trigger warnings: swearing, talks about physical abuse, implied depression, anxiety. | Word count: 1.4k | Cross posted on AO3.| Series masterpost. ✧.*

General trigger warnings: This work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction and violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised.

The sound of the doorbell ringing through the house startled Lia and set my alarms off.

It was nearly noon when the sound flooded the house. Lia, Jolly, and I were in the studio. Rather than spending the morning overwhelming her with further discussions about what had happened, I suggested diving into the details of our upcoming tour, hoping that it would ease Lia’s mind a bit.

It did, until someone rang the doorbell.

As I opened the door of the studio to cross the hallway, Jesse stopped me in my tracks, his face contorted in alarm. He raised a hand and put it level with my chest, as if to stop me.

“It’s Mitch. He’s outside,” he announced, his words rushed and fraught with tension.   

Lia, mere steps behind me, went stiff. Her tension and anxiety reached me as she rose from her chair. The color drained from her face.  

“No violence,” Jesse continued, pleading. “Please. Let’s avoid it if we can, all right?”

I glared at him, my look laden with anger.

Turning lightly, I reached out to gently stroke Lia’s hair, a feeble attempt to comfort her before chaos unfolded.

“Stay here,” I told her. Then, turned to address Jolly, “Jolly.”

He nodded in understanding, falling into step behind me. Jesse trailed behind, murmuring about keeping it civilized. Yeah, just like Mitch had with Lia.

Seeing Mitch at my front door was the last thing I wanted, but I would lie to myself if I said I hadn’t been waiting for the chance to confront him.  I had spent the last days thinking about how I was going to tear him apart when I had him in front of me. However, imagination was sometimes far from reality, and even more so when it came to a situation where there were so many emotions at stake.

Wordlessly, we locked eyes, weighing what we were carrying, because it was obvious that we both knew how it was going to go.

“She's here, isn't she?”

His audacity was astounding, his attitude betraying no hint of remorse or accountability for his actions. It was as though he believed he could waltz in, unscathed by the consequences of what he had done, indifferent to my righteous anger.  

“You've got some balls. To come here and hope we don't break your face,” Jolly’s words cut through the tense air, igniting the smoldering fury within me. The urge to lunge at Mitch, to unleash my pent-up rage, threatened to overwhelm my restraints.

Mitch merely raised an eyebrow and snorted.  

So, that’s the way it was? He was going to fucking laugh at the situation? The never he fucking had.

“What do you want?” Jolly asked. His question simple, yet Mitch’s answer would fall short, incapable of satisfying any of us. Whatever he had to say wouldn’t matter.  

With a chuckle, Mitch’s shoulders twitched as if to shrug off the gravity of the situation,

averting his gaze for a few seconds.

“What do I want? For my girlfriend to go home.”

Was he really that stupid to believe that Lia would go back? That I would stand idly by, allowing her to walk back into his toxicity?

“That's not going to happen," I interjected, finally finding my voice.  

“You'd better turn around, Mitch," Jolly interjected, maintaining a firm tone and a neutral expression that was unmatched by my own.

Mitch narrowed his eyes and tilted his head slightly in our direction.

“I'm not leaving here without Lia.”

“Lia doesn't want to go with you. She doesn’t want to talk to you, let alone see your face.”

“That's for her to decide, don't you think?” Mitch countered, arrogance filling his voice and etching his expression.

I couldn't believe his attitude. Stepping forward, I loomed over him, using my height to assert dominance. Behind me, Jesse looked at Jolly with growing concern all over his face.  

When I spoke again, my voice was ragged, “You've got some nerve coming all this way to ask Lia to go back with you," I spat. I could no longer hold back everything I wanted to say to him.

His countenance changed immediately.

“You better shut your mouth, Noah” he snapped, jabbing a finger in my direction. “This is all your fault," he accused. “Lia!”

“Get out," I shouted, seizing his hand and forcefully pushing him away.

“I said I'm not leaving until Lia comes out,” he retorted, barely restraining himself after my physical assertion.  

“Mitch, get the fuck out,” Jolly ordered.

“Shut up, Jolly," Mitch shot back.

“I won't shut up. Lia is here by choice and doesn't want to leave, so you shut your fucking mouth and get out of our porch before we call the cops.”

I wanted to tell him that he was lucky Lia hadn't already done so.

“What's the matter, now you're going into bodyguard mode because she called you whining?” Mitch taunted, goading me.

My hand twitched. I was about to seize him by the collar of his shirt, to throw a punch.  But Lia's voice behind me stopped me.

“Go away, Mitch.”

Jolly turned his head to her. Lia’s presence obviously drew Mitch’s attention like a moth to a flame.  

“Well, look at you,” he sneered, a smug grin creeping back onto his face. “The princess finally deigns to show up.”

I stood my ground, determined to shield Lia from his reach.  

She stood several feet behind me and Jolly, Jesse standing at her side. I didn't even look at her; my focus remained fixed on Mitch, hoping to intimidate him enough to make him finally walk away. I refused to give him the advantage of diverting my attention from him, leaving an opening for his movements to reach Lia.

“Pick up whatever you've got here and let's go,” Mitch demanded, his tone laced with entitlement as he looked at her with loathing.

“No," Lia replied.

I felt a swell of pride at her tone, unwavering and defiant.  

“We're done, Mitch. Just… go.”

“What?” He asked, incredulous at Lia's command. Was he really that mental to think that after everything he had put her through, she would just follow him like a lost puppy? He was more deranged than I thought.

“Get out of my way,” he said then.

He tapped me on the shoulder and made a gesture to push past me. The gesture would have escalated into a physical confrontation had it not been for Lia, who interceded by positioning herself between us quickly, her arm extending protectively over my chest.  

She was too close to Mitch…

“Mitch, get out. It's over. If you don't leave, I'll call the police.”

“Now that you're with these three you're feeling feisty, I see,” Mitch spat, his words obviously attempting to provoke her, to make her feel small.

Lia didn't answer.

All four of us were staring at Mitch.

He must have realized he wasn't going to get anywhere, anything, because after a while —which felt like an eternity to all of us—, he said, “You're wrong if you think this is over, Lia,” his words punctuated with an accusatory finger.

We watched as Mitch turned on his heel and made his exit, getting into his truck and disappearing down the street.

With his presence far away, a heavy sigh of relief escaped Jesse’s lips. Jolly let his shoulders drop. It seemed as if calm had suddenly returned to the house. Yet, the echo of Lia’s heartbeat echoed in the walls.

Jolly and I stepped away from the door. I shut it, still feeling like getting in my car and going after him.  

“Jesus Christ,” Jesse muttered, his hand anxiously raking through his hair.

Turning my attention to Lia, I found her standing silently in the middle of the living room, her gaze fixed on the closed door, a blank expression veiling her features but her lower lip trembling and her breaths growing rapid.  

Jolly gave me a gentle pat on the back before quietly retreating to the back of the house with Jesse. I reached out my arms to Lia and enveloped her in a comforting embrace, allowing her to let out the tears she had been holding back, breaking the silence of the room.

“It's over, Lia. You were so brave," I murmured soothingly into her hair, unaware myself that it was far from over.

“I'm sorry,” she choked out between sobs.

 “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

[soybeantree]

pairing: grimreaper!do kyungsoo x (reader) genre/warning: fluff if you squint word count: 3k+ description: sequel to ‘revenant’. your life with kyungsoo comes with an unnatural amount of challenges.  a/n: july installment...in december (don’t ask) of our ‘trying to write a kyungsoo story for every month that he is gone’ series. we know it’s the holiday season. we know this is spoopy. BUT we have finally reached year 2, which means sequals to a lot of our kyungsoo stories...or so i’m told. -em

Your father always said that life as the cemetery’s caretaker comes with more problems than benefits. Weird work schedule, no social life, constantly surrounded by the dead. You find little in your life to contradict him. Your current predicament only lends credence to his belief.

Waking up in a coffin without a body should startle you, but your father had also warned you this might happen. He had even had you spend afternoon’s in a coffin so you would understand where you were if or when it happened. Ghosts will always try to return to the world of the living. He had told you countless times. They have unfinished business; otherwise, they would pass on.  

As caretaker, you have a connection to the dead. You can see them and communicate with them which comes in handy when you need them to stop destroying the hedges and defiling the mausoleums, but the connection also opens you to possession. Possessing the living is difficult for ghosts though, even with a connection. However, last night you had broken one of the cardinal rules of being a caretaker. You had gone to bed drunk. 

You had come home after a long night of work to an email from the City Council with a list of complaints about your work. The flower beds needed weeding on the west end. Ivy had overgrown several prominent crypts in the east end. The walking paths by the north gate had unsightly cracks. The list went on and on. The City Council likes to forget that you are one person who can only work at night. All the other caretakers they have hired quit within the first week, and the Council wishes to maintain a pristine image of the cemetery for tourists which means that all work done must be done out of sight of them. 

Halfway through the list you had popped a beer. You finished the first one before the clock struck eight. By noon, you had finished the remaining beers in your fridge and felt much better. You could laugh about the two malevolent spirits from the night before and the tornados of fury they had unleashed on five plots a piece. You reread through the Council’s demands, adding colorful commentary about what they could do with their list.

A competent caretaker would have stayed awake until they sobered, but a competent caretaker would have also stopped at two. You passed out on your couch which is why you were currently waking up in a coffin.

You sigh again. Your father will be so disappointed when he finds out. He was the previous caretaker and had gone his entire career without ever being possessed. He taught you because it was a necessary lesson of a caretaker, but he had patted your head and told you he believed you would never need the lesson. If you could bang your head against the coffin’s lid, you would.

As lying in the coffin will do nothing to aid your situation, you will yourself to rise through fake silk and mahogany and six feet of dirt into a new night. The cemetery awakens around you, familiar ghosts rising from their graves. They float with ease down paths as they go about their business. You struggle to move yourself down the path to the south gate which is blessedly close to the grave of your body snatcher. 

“Can it truly be? A ghost has stolen our dear caretakers body.” The gleeful exclamation breaks your concentration and you stutter to a stop. Of all the ghosts to see you in this state, it had to be her. 

You ignore her as you resume your journey. She floats circles around you, continuing to grin but maintaining silence. On her third trip around, you stop and raise your hand, staring at it. You wonder. She stops in front of you and chuckles. Hand extended, you place it on her cheek. It stops, unable to pass through. The place where hand meets cheek feels like the chill mist which rises from a waterfall but solid. Her brow furrows as you pull your hand back. Realization brightens her eyes, but too late. Your hand collides with her face and sends her flying feet from you.

She whines, a high pitched wail which has surely sent a chill rushing up some passerby's spine. 

“For what reason, do I deserve such treatment?” 

“I have a long list, but I’m certain you know what most of them are.”

Her nose scrunches up and her lips purse, but she keeps her peace. With a huff, she floats off.

You allow yourself a moment of pleasure. Being possessed is unacceptable for a caretaker, but it has a benefit. You have wanted to slap her for years.

After much struggle, you reach your house which rests near the cemetery. You glide through the door and head for the study. In the Caretaker's handbook, there is a section on what to do if possessed. You read it when you were young, but years have stolen much of the information from your memory. 

The book sits on the middle shelf in a middle bookcase in the study, eye level with you. The peeling spine with its faded black script taunts you. The dead affecting the dead is an easy task, but the dead affecting the living world takes years of practice and a deal of determination. Your hand swipes through the book over and over again as your frustration mounts. You shriek. A gust of wind rushes through the room rustling the pages on your desk, but the book remains locked in its spot. 

Aside from you, no one in the city can see ghosts. There’s a girl down the street who might be able to hear them, but once her ears open, she can never close them. You will leave her to her oblivion. No one should have to deal with the constant pestering of ghosts. You make another swipe at the book with no hope and no alternative. 

“Do you require assistance?” 

Another benefit to add about being possessed: no blushing. Also no shivering. No indication of embarrassment or attraction. 

Spinning like a ballerina in a music box, you face Kyungsoo, your cemetery‘s designated reaper and your first crush. The answer is ‘yes’, but you’d rather him go away and pretend he never saw you in this state. “Do you know how to reverse a possession?” 

He blinks, the gesture odd on his solemn face. After a moment, he shakes his head. “I have never had to deal with a possession since becoming a reaper.”

You nod. Of course, you would be his first possession. “In that case, could you grab that book?” You point at the guide. When he does, you direct him to set it on your desk and consult the index for the section on possession. Page 74. He flips the pages and settles it before you. 

“It seems simple enough.” You muse. “Find my body. Remove the spirit. Re-enter my body. You can remove a spirit, right?” A glance at Kyungsoo negates your simple comment. “What?”

“I can remove the spirit with my scythe.” The large metal hook shimmers into existence on his back when he starts the word and disappears again when he finishes. “However, it would be a permanent removal. A spirit guilty of possession does warrant such punishment.” His voice is soft, and you can sense the ‘but’ he leaves unspoken.

Kyungsoo, like you, has a soft spot for wayward ghosts. Rather than send every malevolent spirit to hell, he attempts to coax them back to themselves. 

“Then I’ll have to convince it to leave. Which shouldn’t be too hard if I can figure out what it’s unfinished business is.” Kyungsoo’s brows furrow. “It’s easier than you think.” You shrug as you glide past him, your movement less stilted now but still difficult.

“As caretaker,” you continue, pausing in front of another bookshelf. “Can you grab the last book on the third shelf?” He does and sets it by the Guide. “It is my responsibility to catalogue each plot and document its resident. Open it at the bookmark. The grave I woke in is fairly recent, probably in the last year. Flip back a few pages. Stop!” Your finger hovers over the page as you scroll down the list of names. “This one.” Lee, May. Buried June fifth. About six months ago then. Beside her name is the superscript III. 

Gliding over to yet another shelf, you scan for the corresponding notebook. “Can you…” The request peters out as you glance back at Kyungsoo. His dark eyes shift between the book on the desk, you, and the bookshelves around you, and you can imagine the cogs in his brain turning as he puzzles the pieces together. 

“Cataloguing their name, date of death, and resting spot is the responsibility of a caretaker, but why notate about their lives?” He asks. 

“My grandmother taught me too.” You pause as grief stirs. Even as a ghost, the emotion rises. She moved on. No lingering regrets kept her tied to this place. Kyungsoo, himself, saw her off. 

“She said a proper caretaker knows her charges; otherwise, she can’t do her job properly. Dad didn’t see the purpose in it.” Your gaze shifts to a shelf with one growing volume. In what little free time you have, you have started to go through the burials in his time and record the details of the dead. 

“Your grandmother was a great caretaker.” Warmth fills his voice, or perhaps jealousy is fueling your imagination. Kyungsoo has been the cemetery’s reaper since before your grandmother’s time. She was a great caretaker. She loved her work, and, unlike you, had never shirked her responsibility. 

“Yes.” You say because the alternative is an awkward silence. “Can you grab this one for me?” Without a glance back, you indicate the notebook with the corresponding III. His arm reaches past you, his body against your back. You wish you could feel his presence. 

He sets the notebook on the table and opens it to the date of her death. You read through the entry, ignoring him and focusing on the task at hand. May Lee left behind a husband and a son. The son is twenty-four. The quick sketch of his face at the bottom of the page resurfaces the memories from that day. 

Even though the funerals occur during the day when you sleep, you drag yourself from your bed to attend. From a distance, you record the key points of the event, mainly who comes and how the new ghost reacts to their farewell. Mrs. Lee had stood beside her weeping son throughout the entire service. Her face had been a mess as she had reached for him. She had grown more and more distraught each time her arms passed through him instead of wrapping around him. 

“Her son. Whatever her reason for possessing my body is, it has to do with her son.” You snap your fingers and miss the satisfying sound of the click. “Can you turn the page? His address should be on the next page?” Kyungsoo does. Closing your eyes, you picture the words and repeat them to yourself.

“Would you like me to bring the book with us?”

“Us?” Your eyes snap open, and you stare at him.

He nods. “I will accompany you. Unless you no longer wish my assistance.”

You could write a check list of your body’s reactions to this moment and are again grateful that your spirit lacks the ability to create any of them. “I mean if you’re not busy.” With a smile, he closes the book and tucks it under his arm before waving you onward.

Kyungsoo matches your snail’s pace. With each block you pass, your irritation rises, and you begin to realize why most ghosts only haunt the cemetery. Even if you had better control, it would still take forever to get anywhere around town and beyond. “Can ghosts learn how to ride in cars?” You ask as another one whizzes down the road.

“Yes, but it takes great concentration to maintain a solid enough form and often results in sightings which lead to Grim Intervention.” You nod in understanding and keep trudging forward. 

A chill like the first breath of autumn air settles on your hand, and a glance reveals Kyungsoo’s wrapped around it. His skin has no texture, no solidity, but it holds yours. He pulls you along beside him. 

“I suppose I should have known that a reaper could affect the dead world as well as the living.” 

“If my assistance insults–” He begins to pull away, but you tighten your grip, an odd sensation like trying to grasp the wind. 

“It doesn’t. I appreciate it, especially if it means I’ll get to my body faster.” Though you are enjoying the time with him. “We both have important duties waiting for us.” The cemetery comes first.

The son’s house sits at the edge of town. A monstrous structure of red bricks and white columns and far too many balconies. Despite the late hour, several cars still circle the fountain at the driveways center. Lights shine through the windows, and you catch the shadows of figures as they pass in front of them. 

Kyungsoo pulls you through the front gate and up the drive to the glittering building. You pass by groups of people as you traverse the mansion’s halls, searching for your face amongst the unfamiliar ones.  Deciding that May must be with her son whose presence is also lacking from the assembled guests, Kyungsoo leads you up the stairs, a feat impossible without him. Your ghostly form responds well to front and back and left and right, but up and down prove difficult. 

The second floor breathes an air of relief, the crowds unwelcome in this private space. It begs the question though why the son would be alone up here with so many guests below. You pop your heads into the rooms as you pass. They are stale with emptiness. If you were human, you would shiver, but as you are, you sigh and walk past. 

Turning a corner, a pair of doors greets you, light lining its bottoms and sides. In front of the doors, your body stands. A hand hovers over the knob.

“He won’t recognize you.” You call, startling the figure. “You’ll just be some random, crazy girl.” May stares back at you, your face paling whether because of you or the reaper is left to the imagination. “We’re not here to harm you. I just want my body back.”

“My son-” Your voice breaks, the sound stiffens your spine. You refuse to cry in front of others.

“I know you miss him. It’s not easy to let someone go, but this is dangerous. If I was here with any other reaper-”

“I promised him.” She cuts you off with another sob, covering your face with your hand. The sight roils your stomach. 

The cool breeze of Kyungsoo’s touch settles on your shoulder. They ease as you meet his eyes and acknowledge the unspoken words. You glide back as he walks forward, stopping a few feet from her.

“May, please come with us. You hurt your chances standing outside his room, engaging in a one-sided conversation.” His low voice eases hand from mouth and calms shaking shoulders. She nods and places your hand in his proffered one. 

One of the empty rooms offers a safe place for conversation. May begins, “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have taken your body, but I promised my son.” The words quaver on a sob, and you fold your ghostly arms to keep you from doing something regrettable. You need to coax her out and random displays of aggression won’t help. 

“He became engaged when I was admitted to the hospital.” She continues once she has calmed again. “He told me I had to get better, so I could come to the wedding. I promised him I would and that I would tie his tie. He’s always been awful at it.” A sniffle and a smile punctuate the statement. “The wedding is tomorrow.” Tears pool again. Sympathy wars with annoyance, so you fix your attention on Kyungsoo. The eerie serenity of a reaper holds his features in place as he awaits the story’s conclusion. You force your features to mirror his. “I want to keep my promise. I had no intention of stealing your body when I came. I only wanted to asked for your help, but-”

“You saw an opportunity and took it.” You shake your head. Any ghost would have. A caretaker courts danger during every moment of their job. A good caretaker prepares for it. Both your father and grandmother drilled this fact into your head, and you had failed them. Despite your annoyance at her for such a disgusting display of emotions in front of Kyungsoo, you understand. Your grandmother made many promises and passed without warning. She would have never attempted a return, but you wish she had. 

“No matter your reasons, your actions are a damnable offense.” So much for coaxing her out. 

You suppress the accompanying moan, the sound unseemly on the eve of a wedding. Your attempts to gain Kyungsoo’s attention and redirect the conversation fail. His focus remains solely on May. “The longer you remain in this body the more you will draw the notice of other reapers.” 

A shudder shakes your body, and again you try for his attention in vain. “For your sake, you must leave. We will find a way for you to keep your promise to your son.” He holds his hand out to her while you gape at the both of them. Why even come along if he was going to go with the brutally honest approach. 

May’s hand rises from within your body. The spectral fingers grasp Kyungsoo’s, and he pulls the rest of her out. Your body falls limp to the floor, a creepy shell with lifeless eyes. You blink, and the eyes blink back at you.

Closing your eyes, you mimic the inhale of breath. The Guide had said in order to return you must remember the feel of your body. The way your chest expands with each gulp of air, the weight of skin upon bones, and the steady beat of your heart in your veins. Opening your eyes, you look up at May and Kyungsoo from the floor. As you sit up, you take stock of your body, wiggling fingers and toes and stretching muscles. 

“I didn’t expect it to feel so weird.” You muse, pushing yourself off the floor. Your legs wobble beneath you, and Kyungsoo grabs your arm to steady you. His solid hands are cool still, but the thrill of an autumn breeze is missing. 

“It will feel normal soon enough.” He promises.

Whether he’s right, only time will tell. In the meantime, you have a promise to keep. “How are we going to help her tie her son's tie? I have no idea how to do it, and I doubt he would want a reaper doing it.” You continue to lean on Kyungsoo as you glance between him and May. 

“May will walk you through it, and you will help him to see her.” His confidence is nearly strong enough to make you confident, but not quite. 

“She can make me visible to my son?”

Your “no” contrasts with his “yes”, and you stare at each other in a silent battle. Your grandmother and father trained you in all the abilities of a Caretaker. Neither of them had mentioned the ability to make ghosts visible to the living. You communicate this through your glare while Kyungsoo returns it with quiet confidence. “How?” You finally mutter, pulling your arm from him to fold it across your chest. 

“Through your will. As a caretaker, you are a bridge between the living and the dead.” 

“And as a grim reaper aren’t you the same?”

He shakes his head. “I am a gateway for the dead and am able to affect the world of the living because the dead do.”

“Please.” Your protest dies on your lips as May rushes towards you, her sad smile full of hope. She reaches for your hand, her fingers passing through it but you feel them comb through your palm. You shiver. “Will you try? I can teach you how to do his tie.”

Holding her gaze bolsters the shred of confidence Kyungsoo instilled. “How do I will it?”

“You already are.” 

As you watch, color returns to May, her body solidifying before you. The light from the chandelier above still casts no shadow, but the wall behind her is lost to her form. You grasp her hand. The skin is soft and will give under the slightest pressure, but you can feel it. 

“Creepy.” You whisper. An odd word for a caretaker, but today has been an odd day.

The rest goes easy, or as easy as telling someone that their dead mother is going to keep her promise through you and then making their dead mother appear before them can be. The fact that her son knows about you from rumors around town does help though. After the initial shock, everything does go easy. The next day May’s son allows you to tie his tie while she stands visible beside you. 

Her promise full-filled, May faces Kyungsoo ready to pass into the beyond. But Kyungsoo allows her another mercy. The three of you stand at the back of the wedding hall to watch the union, and when her son glances back after his first kiss with his wife, you will her to appear. She waves, her face beaming with joy. You smile, and when you glance at Kyungsoo, you find a smile on his lips too. 

[secret-engima]

Nox keeps giving the media meltdowns. How's that, y'know, working out for him? And what's the general reaction around the Citadel crew to the media circus? Also, how do people feel when they realize exactly how /powerful/ Nox is?

Hmmm for the most part, Nox is ... ambivalent to how many times he sends the media into a tizzy. He’s got memories of 2k worth of royalty and scandals, he remembers the invention of media networks and sometimes dreams of the invention of the flipping printing press. There is literally nothing they can say about him that he doesn’t already have memories of somehow. Honestly, it’s .... alternately tiring and hilarious to him. He kinda wishes people would take a chill pill, but on the other hand, since Regis would never force him to deal with the media circus unless Nox willingly agreed to it, he doesn’t particularly care. At least until he wants to- you know- leave the Citadel and go literally anywhere in Insomnia and Then It Becomes A Problem (Nox misses the days he was just a nobody with earrings and baggy clothes. So much). Though, since he knows that nothing he can do or not do will calm them down, he does occasionally indulge in intentionally poking them with a proverbial stick.

By Citadel crew I’m uncertain to if you mean Regis and Co + Chocobros or the long-suffering Citadel press corps, so I will just do both-

-Regis feels So Very Sorry for his eldest. He knows he couldn’t keep Nox a secret forever, but he honestly had ... hoped it wouldn’t get this bad. He’s afraid for a while that the media things will depress Nox or make him afraid to leave the Citadel/angry at being Regis’s son, but Nox just rolls his eyes at everything and ignores the media hounds with catlike ease (by which I mean he spaces out into the distance with a neutral expression and occasionally does the human version of pushing things off other things to distract them).

-Clarus knew this was coming. He knew it was going to get so much worse when Axis’s existence came out (it did). He ... would feel bad about this but this is just- royal/celebrity life. This is a slightly more hysterical version of normal. Honestly it’s the noble society he’s more worried about (he realizes quickly that his fears are unfounded, for a kid who’s been unknown for years he can verbally tear nobles to shreds with the best of them. Clearly a talent inherited from the Izunia side of his heritage).

-Cor hates the media. Always has, always will. No time for it. Not after all the stuff they threw out about him becoming a Crownsguard and then alter their role in cementing his hated Immortal title. Is fully waiting and ready for Nox to get mad enough at the media to condone Cor going out and doing Something Stupid And Maybe Bloody about it. Unfortunately, Nox never does, so Cor has to just sit and seethe and occasionally laugh evilly over Nox’s latest trolling behavior.

-Noctis doesn’t even know about the media storm for   y e a r s. He’s the bby Crown Prince, you really think anyone is gonna let this kid watch the news channels and the gossip talk shows? No sir. Not on Ignis’s watch. Noctis DOES hear about it at school though, with students bugging him about it and even TEACHERS side-eyeing him like they expect something Dramatic to happen. Noctis eventually gets sick of it and punches another student in the face probably. Ignis is scandalized, Regis tries to gently explain that no, Noctis cannot throw someone in dungeon because they said nasty things about Nox and no he is not explaining what those nasty things mean.

-Ignis is ashamed to look back and realize that he once bought into about 80% of the media meltdown over Nox. Now that he knows Nox better, he knows that none of it is remotely true and the world is not going to turn Game of Thrones on him. Now he’s ... very insulted on Nox’s behalf, but understands that it is not his place to intervene (though he does give patented Frosty Looks at any reporters that come sniffing around the Citadel forever after).

-Gladio does not watch conventional TV. He watches action blockbusters that have explosions, documentaries on wildlife/camping/hunting/sword-making and Iris’s favorite show about magical girls and talking, rainbow colored Chocobo companions when she makes the puppy eyes at him. That’s it. Is ... nominally aware of news and social media having fits over Nox but Does Not Care so long as they don’t bother Nox and nobody actually tries anything against Noctis’s big brother.

-Citadel press corps kinda hates Nox’s guts. On one hand, he is a Model Prince because he doesn’t go out and get drunk, doesn’t have wild parties, doesn’t have any actual scandals that they need to cover up or spin positively. On the other ... refuses to do press conferences. Refuses to do interviews. Refuses to do anything to help them mitigate the media meltdowns that his mere existence causes (and the events of the Music Drabble I have yet to write, OH BOY do they hate him for that). Just- hides in the Citadel and only makes appearances when it’s a mandatory ball/gala/thing or when he’s accidentally unleashing another media Meltdown. Agrees to one (1) private interview when he’s 18 and even then it’s ONLY if he can talk to some random, unknown rookie who runs a gossip column. They, by turns, want to strangle him and praise his existence, but at least he isn’t as bad as Regis and Clarus were in their day.

-It- would take a long time for people to really know how powerful Nox is. Like- out in the wilds of Lucis proper? There ARE people who know he’s way stronger than he lets on (the Hunter Corps and their families that he’s saved a bunch of times, plus everybody in Hammerhead who politely pretended Cid wasn’t housing the Nif Chancellor and his LC nephew for two years). The Hunter Corps, out of everyone, have the best idea of just what Nox is capable of, because they’ve ... put together a few things over the years. Like how Nox usually crops up in the area a day or so before a Niflheim base gets shredded/blown up/otherwise Wrecked™ for seemingly no reason. But his Real Power? That ... I’m honestly not sure how that would come out.

-But hypothetically, sure, let’s say something happened that made Nox go Full Fury on some poor hapless Nif soul (or army, probably an army). I’m gonna picture ... a Incident with a Kingsglaive held area. Nox is out there for like an official inspection or something, one of the Very Few media things he ever agrees to, when there’s a full on attack. While the poor Media People who are live streaming this freak out and the glaive get ready for a slaughter, Nox just- real calmly orders the glaive to Stay In the Base and keep an eye on the media people. Calmly walks out the base gate without so much as a by your leave and starts limp-striding his way toward the Impending Invasion of Death, Axis right at his side, just as calm (Axis knows what’s coming after all). Some glaives try to follow him because Obviously only to smack face first into - a Wall. A genuine magic Wall like the one encircling Insomnia.

-The entire Lucian nation plus whatever non-Lucian channels manage to pick this up get a livestream view of Nox raising a mini Wall around the base to keep everyone safe, then casually strolling out toward the Invasion force and just-

-Decimating it.

-About halfway between the invasion force and the base, Nox stops and raises a hand to the sky, a sword appears in his grip, and everyone present can feel magical pressure suddenly build-build-build until the air turns blue (the Wall keeps everyone inside safe from the intensity of the pressure except Axis, who doesn’t need it, he is Nox’s Shield and Nox will never hurt him). The Nifs release their war Behemoths on the field, gunships are coming in for the kill, and then-

-His sword sweeps down and the world shakes under the force of the pure energy wave that rises from his blade, sweeping across the distance between him and the enemy and either breaking, scattering, or straight up disintegrating anything in its path. An imperial dreadnought splits in half and then breaks into dozens upon dozens of pieces, the war-beasts caught in the path of the wave are just- gone. So are the MT units and gunships.

-Ever seen the upgraded armiger attacks from the Royal Version of FFXV? Yeah, picture those, but cranked up to eleven. Or just picture those and then imagine being an ordinary civilian seeing that for the first time. Ghostly blades whirling around Nox’s form, defending him from bullets and debris only to lash out as literal waves of energy or a death laser.

-Needless to say, Nox destroys that invading force single-handedly in a display not unlike the legends of Ragnarok or Armageddon, all while holding a Wall around the base. He then calmly turns, walks back to the base, asks if everyone is okay, and upon getting the all clear-

-Collapses. Straight up flops over into Axis’s arms while on national live television because someone forgot to eat anything today and spent most of the previous night fretting over nightmares or something (the rest of the world assumes he pushed himself way too far with that display, but really he could have done more if he hadn't already been tired/hungry and Axis knows it).

-For once, the media meltdown isn’t punctuated by frenzy but by a very, very fragile, frightened silence.

-It’s been ... a long time since a Lucis Caelum has Truly unleashed their power on the field and Nox is no ordinary LC.

-Clips of Nox’s stunt circulate for months, are analyzed by historians and doctors and talk show hosts for precedents and health risk and just sheer What levels. Social media ranges from cheering Nox on to snidely wondering why LCs aren’t doing that more often to a huge outpouring of concern for the prince who just fought off a literal army and then collapsed like he’d been decked in the head. The Hunter Corp all pool their resources together to get this idiot kid a care package, Cid probably comes over from Hammerhead to yell at him while Cindy bear hugs and cries all over his clothes.

-In Niflheim ... a lot of people are reevaluating their stance on the war. Because if that is what just one Lucis Caelum can do, then what’s going to happen when there are two of-age princes who are not chained down by the Wall?

-A lot of nobles in Lucis are also reevaluating their stances on the illegitimate prince, because UMMMMMM that’s the kind of thing that only happens in blockbuster dramas, and Nox did it in real life. More than that, he knew he could do it, as evidenced by how calm he was when he gave the order for everyone to stay.

-Lots of internet conspiracy/theory people try to figure out just how powerful Nox is and if he’s an anomaly in the bloodline because seriously can all LCs do that????

-A lot of people, for a lot of different reasons, are very, very scared of Nox now. Either because they still believe that GoT is inbound and that just put the kibosh on a lot of their rebellion daydreams or because Nox is already a wild card and now he’s proven that he’s a supremely dangerous wildcard.

-So basically, still a meltdown, but this one much, much quieter and more reverent.

-Assuming I ever do something like this in Nox versa canon, because I’m not sure I will.

[awkward-fairy-889]

Chaos & Order

Title: Chaos & Order

Gift for: @orderchaoslove

Rating: G

Word Count: 7711

Summary: And so at last she understood something that had always been true but that she had managed to ignore until then: She was chaos, she had always been that and it would always be that way.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950972

Message for recipent: Hi there! I really loved your three prompts, but I chose this one because I thought that with my experience, this was the only one I could really do justice to. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Chaos & Order

The first time she saw inside the head of the android who would become known as The Vision, everything she saw was destruction.

Chaos.

She remembers the crude horror she felt at the moment, how the desperation and panic were crawling deeply into her body as her brother carried her in his arms to safety. She clearly remembers how it felt to know that everything that had ever been was about to end because of her mistakes, and she knows she would never forget that feeling as long as she lives. So it just makes sense how confused and surprised she felt when she looked a second time only to find the most pacific mind she ever explored.

Some time after, once she had replayed that moment in her mind at least a docen times, she would conclude that she also felt something else: wonder.

For Wanda Maximoff, in all of her life, had not once had the level of order and ease she felt that night when looking into the android’s mind.

She and Pietro had been children of the war, kids that could only imagine what their home once was and hope that, some day, they could live for themselves those peaceful days that their parents used to talk about when they were believed to be asleep. Since ever, the twins were exposed to death and hunger, and not all the love in the world could have protected them completly from that. But their parents, oh, their parents did a marvelous work and no one could ever say that they didn’t tried. They fought with all they had so that their children were able to grow up in a peaceful environment, even if it was all a lie.

She was always smart, so a lot of times she was able to catch the facade that their parents tried to show when they were with them and the disaster lying behind. Even so, those days living under the warm protection offered by her parents had been the closest she ever had been to such a thing as a peaceful life and most probably the closest she would ever get. For her peaceful days and the chance to get them back had been long gone, burned alongside her parents when that bomb destroyed their home. That night, the order she had managed to achieve by reducing her world to her family had been almost completly destroyed, and what was left became toxic, poisoned by the hate and impotence that consumed her life ever since that fatidic night when she came face to face with death. That night in which Tony Stark took everything she and Pietro had.

And Wanda knew that poisoned order was no more than chaos disguised as calm, waiting for a perfect moment to unleash a storm.

So when she felt the peace within that being’s mind, the tranquility that something borned from the most intense chaos had managed to achieve, she could only stare in awe at what had just been created. Vision they called him, and while the others didn't seemed to really think about the reason behind that name, she did, and she quickly came to an answer: He was, indeed, a vision, one of hope, one of what humanity could be.

When she felt Pietro being torned apart from her, she finally hit rock bottom.

For her, he was always more than just a brother: he had been her anchor, the one thing keeping her from loosing her mind when their parents died and most probably what had kept her alive during the experiments that gave them their powers. They were two halfs of one same soul, together since birth and never meant to live without the other. If her scarlet was fury and destruction, his silverly blue was laughter and light.

With his jokes and his carefree nature, Pietro always kept her away from the bottomless void that constantly haunted her just as she kept him from doing something excessively stupid.

Anyone who watched them interact for at least five minutes could easily conclude that, between the two, she was the one with a more orderly life. Sometimes she felt that even Pietro himself believed that. But she knew the truth, and the truth was that the one who had managed to have at least some control over his life was him, for his world was Wanda and only Wanda, and if he was able to follow her wherever she might go and protect her, his world was in order and nothing could be too bad. It was a simple and egoistic way of living, but Pietro was never one to care about such things.

He would have followed her everywhere, thus she always had the chance to say “stop”. Instead, she decided to stept on the gas. Wanda was the one who kept their rage alive when they survived while their parents didn’t, she was the one who said yes when HYDRA reached for them and she was the one who accepted Ultron when he apparead full of promises of vengance. She was the one who lead him to his death. That knowledge, along with the agonizing feeling of loosing her other half, was what ended up destroying her completly.

That fake order that she had managed to keep inside her mind finally gave way to the storm that had been sleeping inside of her.

She was falling into the void and had no wish of being saved. Without her brother, her only family, she took that fall with joy and while she walked trough the debris of what once was her home, leaving a trace destroyed robots and scarlet behind her, Wanda Maximoff let herself being consumed by the hate that for so long had being poisoning her heart. And it felt good.

For once, she was feeling relief, as if she was always meant to cause that kind of destruction. And so at last she understood something that had always been true but that she had managed to ignore until then: She was chaos, she had always been that and it would always be that way.

With Ultron’s blood still running warm between her fingers and everything she had ever known falling around her because of her fault and with nothing left to do to save something from her world, she accepted death with open arms. What was the point of living, if that world had nothing left for her except, maybe, more destruction?

So she closed her eyes and started to fall down with her world.

Until she wasn’t.

That, he had safed her life.

When she noticed that her fall had stopped and that instead of going down she was actually rising, she looked above her to meet the eyes of the Vision who, even without being a human himself, appeared to have the most human looked she had ever encounter. Wanda was confused, not understanding what could have motived him to save a practical extranger, and it would remain that way for a long time.

“I just wanted to help you,” he would respond years later, when she finally brought herself to ask him. “I saw you there and you seemed so lost and... alone, and I just wasn’t able to leave you.”

For a couple of seconds, she considered to fight so that he would let her go and she could find some peace at last, but staring at him, she soon understood that she wasn’t going to do it. And so she stood still and clunged tightly to his body while she watched her world being destroyed once again, sealing their fate without knowing it.

The days after Sokovia's destruction passed in front of her like if they were some sort of dream. They were blurry, as if they were happening to someone else or as if they were distant memories, permanently covered by a thick fog, a mechanism her own body seemed to have activated to function as a pain killer so she could survive after so much loss in such an small amount of time.

Pietro's funeral went on without anyone paying much of attention to it, since only she had the right to mourn him and she was too disturbed to do it.

She found out that the archer, Clint, had named his newborn son after Pietro, and even if she was genuinely thankful for that small but significant detail, she also felt bad for the man. It was him for whom his brother gave his life and since he was a good person, Wanda knew that he was probably feeling guilty for that. She wasn’t mad at him, not really. Clint had been good with her, patient and almost fatherly, and Pietro had been a grown up capable of taking his own decisions. He went in a noble way and at least that gave her some comfort, but she knew thay nothing she said would serve of much. Only time could heal some wounds, she knew this better than most.

After the funeral, her stay in Europe was short and she soon found herself traveling to America.

Wanda had oficially became an Avenger, and with the title came some responsabilities. The training sessions with Steve were hard but those with Natasha were almost unbearable. She was a merciless teacher in and out of the training field, but the more tired she was the less she could think so she was ok with it. Between murmurs and anecdotes, she became aware of the stories behind every member of her new team, and so it became easier to understand why they were the way they were. Their personalities, their moral codes and even the little customs they had like how Nat always seemed on high alert or how Stark kept trying to make amends with everyone, everything began to make sense. It was difficult for her to open herself to them, but she soon understood that they were good people. Ever since the moment she arrived, everyone kept trying to make her feel at home and for this she was thankful. For them, she was just a kid who had lost way too much for her age.

And they understood her, in some way, for everyone in there had lost something.

It was because of this that night terrors weren't an uncommon thing among them. She soon understood that, even if during the day she was able to sweat away her pain, nothing could protect her from her dreams. Being an orphan during a war, nightmares haven't been that uncommon while growing up, but then Pietro had been there for her. Now he was just another part of her nightmares, and she would wake up to her own screams instead of to a hug or some reassuring words. At first they tried to help her, knocking on her door at night or trying to talk to her the next morning, but soon their efforts stoped, for everyone there knew that sometimes, the best thing to do was to stay out. And no one would come to her the next morning asking why it sounded like everything in her room was being thrown towards the walls or what was the scarlet light shining under her door. And, for that, she was thankful.

Vision was… different.

He didn’t pitied her -or anybody else-, he was just really curious about everything. He, just like her, was new in the team and in that culture. Then again, he was new in pretty much everything. He was clean, without any demons to hunt him. If she ever held any doubts about his humanity, the time spent with him was more than enough to eliminate them. He was, in fact, more human than most of the humans Wanda had knew during her lifetime. Everything was new to him, and so he saw wonder everywhere, as if existence itself had a magic that everyone except for him had forgotten. Yet she never found any feeling of malice inside of him, not even when the jokes the others made went to far. He became confused, of course, and Wanda even catched a glimpse of sadness a few times, but never anger, never hate, and she could only admire him for that.

For her, it was pretty easy to notice this things since, for whatever reason, the android was constantly at her side. It was almost as if he was eager to help her, as if when he saved his life he had inmediately gotten a need for keeping her in the best possible state. In the beggining she had been suspicious of him, she was still hurting and she sure as hell wasn’t ready to befriend of the last remaining of Ultron's existence, but it ended up being inevitable for her to fall for him

Vision was, after all, quite charming.

Each day that they passed together, she allowed himself to get closer and closer to her and, with enough time, it became her the one searching for more time with him. At first it was mostly because of concern. She didn’t really knew what to expect from him and she constantly found herself searching inside of the other's head for some trace of Ultron, but each time she only found Vision in there; His innocence and curiosity and light.

A friendship with him offered peace, a safe space, and she was not in a position were she could deny something like that. She had problems, she knew it, and if the chaos in her head hadn’t claimed the life of someone it was just because she did not allow it. For Wanda Maximoff was many things, but she refused to be a monster. She knew that her powers weren’t meant to be in the hands of someone that unstable, she had seen what they were capable of whenever she lost control and therefore she knew she couldn’t afford to loose it. In one way or another, she would have to learn to deal with it, and it was obvious that Vision wanted to help her in any way she could, so she accepted her company.

Over time, apprehension gave way to curiosity, and curiosity to a peculiar friendship. Together they shared their doubts, they learned more about that world and their new lives. She offered him a natural and human treatment; He, a friendship without prejudices. When he had any doubt about human behavior, or when he broke some social rule without knowing it, it was she who explained it to him; When she isolated herself and began to sink into her memories, he was the one who approached her with a new movie to see or a book to talk about. She taught him the magic of music through her own guitar; He taught her to fly. She defended him when some joke reached far; He made sure that he ate and slept properly, because only he, with his constant observation, had noticed the dark circles under her eyes and her abnormal thinness. It was the both of them against a new world, and that was all they needed.

It was him who finally entered the lion's den one night when Wanda's cries were particularly horrible, and it was she who, in tears, explained to him that it was not particularly well-liked to enter someone else’s room by phasing through a wall.

"Oh," he said, genuinely confused by the curious rules of human privacy. "Why?"

It was raining that night, so the only thing that could be heard while watching him from his bed were the drops crashing against her window. There was no moonlight, but the scarlet glittering in her hands illuminated the room just enough for the disaster around her to be visible. Without being asked, Vision went deeper into the bedroom and started to put everything in its place.

"Because..." Wanda weighed her options. She was about to ask him to leave, to leave her alone to deal with her demons. She knew that if she did, he would not refuse, she knew this just as well as she knew how little he would like that. "Because a closed door means that someone needs privacy, and people don’t like it when you don’t respect that, so when a door is closed, it's better to knock to make sure you're welcome"

"Am I welcome?" He asked. At that moment, he stopped his actions and turned around to see her. He would respect whatever her response might be. They both remained silent for a few seconds, just looking at each other, lit by the light coming from Wanda's hands.

"Yes, Vis," she ended up answering, her mouth curving slightly upwards while she cleaned her tears away. "You're welcome."

The days she spent with the Avengers were a breath of fresh air, a point in her life where she once again dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could be happy. Maybe, after all, it wasn’t all lost for her.

When Sokovia became a scar and she was again able to think of Pietro without feeling the deepest of sorrows, she believed that at last she could see the light at the end of the road. Although she soon understood that no one was the same person after going trhrough hell and back, she told herself that this only meant that she now had the opportunity to be more than she was before. Better.

Sometimes, the memories of that life seemed so far away that it was almost as if they had happened to someone else... But the pain that squeezed her young heart when she gave it more thought than the necesary reminded her that it had been very much a real thing. And it was hard to live with it. But Wanda wasn’t by far the only one who had suffered in that place and to see how all those people had turn their pain into a hope for humanity inspired her to do the same. Pietro would have done it.

So she was strong and she held on. She clung to the hope of being someone better, of being able to use the experiences gained in her painful past to finally be able to make the change for which she had fought so much alongside her brother when they were still only two young orphans in a war-desolated country. The missions were difficult, and dealing with her powers when no one really knew how to train her in their use was constant torture for her and pretty much everyone else, but most of the time the satisfaction that life gave her was enough to make her reach the conclusion that it was worth it. Over time, she came to think that maybe she had been born for that. All the hate and helplessness that had overwhelmed her over the last few years seemed to be finally fading now that she could make a difference, now that her powers were finally doing something for the greater good. The weight of her past became easier to cope at having such an amazing present and such an apparently bright future.

Also, she had Vision.

After that first night in which he was allowed to stay to watch over her, it became a custom of him to go to her room every time he heard something abnormal coming from inside. He learned to knock on the door (and he remembered to do it most of the time) and to keep his distance, and she learned to lower her guard when being with him. She learned to trust him.

If previously it had been usual to see them together, now it was almost a law that where one was, the other would be close. Even when things improved and Wanda's health stopped being cause for concern, Vision never stopped frequenting her. This because, quite similar to what happened to her the first time she met the android, for him, that woman was a source of wonder. He knew that he was not human, and although he was honored to live among them, he had never intended to be one. He was a machine, a highly advanced one, yes, but a machine after all, and this he knew. Even though he could understand feelings and why they were such an important part of the human experience, he never thought he could be capable of experiencing them. So when he realized that this assumption was not entirely true, he could not help but feel a little moved.

He knew the stories behind each of his fellow Avengers, so he knew perfectly well that everyone was, in their own way, good people, and not once he thought it was anyone's intention to make him feel bad, but it took a while for all of them to found an adequate way to treat him and while this was happening, Vision could not help but notice the doubts they had regarding him. And this made him feel... strange, something he would later identify as pain thanks to Wanda. Despite having a superior intelligence, he was quite young, so over the following months he had many "first times", all of them accompanied by new feelings. The first time he saw a sunrise in all its splendor, he was amazed; passing time with the rest of the team would usually make him experience joy; The first time he witnessed a failed mission, he knew what frustration was. Each and every time, it was Wanda who took some of her own time to explain him what he was feeling.

And it was Wanda who, as time went on, presented him the most overwhelming of emotions: Love.

Wanda always treated him... Normal, as if ignoring the fact that the one she called friend was far from human. She was reserved by nature, of course, but he knew that it was that way with everyone, not specifically with him. She allowed him to help her when many in her place would have feared or distrusted him, and although for a time she did entered his head to be sure that everything was in order, in the end even that stopped at some point. When Vision noticed this, he had to fight with himself to ignore the twist his stomach gave.

He also had to ignore other things, like the mess he felt inside him everytime he saw her enter the room or the way his whole interior seemed to contort whenever she fell asleep on him shoulder watching a movie or reading a book. When he heard her laugh and he could not contain a smile or when he observed the way his eyes shone in the sunlight and he couldn’t find another word to describe her besides beautiful, all this he tried to ignore as long as it was possible for him, because for once he didn't needed her to identify what feeling caused those symptoms. He knew the answer, and it terrified him.

For someone who supposedly shouldn’t have feelings, he was feeling quite a lot and it was weird and scary because he didn’t knew how to deal with that or even if it was a real experiencel. Were they genuine? Or was he just a machine pretending to be something it could never be? More importantly, if his feelings were reciprocated, what kind of relationship could he offer to Wanda? Seeing her well, seeing her happy had become kind of a personal mission, and he could not stand the idea of becoming a factor to destabilize her again. So he decided to stay silence, stick with his usual actitude, at least until his fears were totally ruled out.

So, although his inner self hurted because of the unfair situation in which they had put Wanda after the Lagos incident, he still made the most logical decision and obeyed Tony Stark’s orders, even if this meant betraying the precious confidence of the sokovian girl. 

For him, what they were doing was wrong. He knew it was wrong and he strongly disagree with the decisions Mr. Stark was making because, while it was true that Wanda had made a costly mistake (one that justified the fear civilians had to the fact that beings with such power as the Avengers could do whatever they wanted without being under any kind of jurisdiction), it was also true that to consider her a danger to the point of enclosing her was not only exaggerated, but cruel. She already felt bad enough with herself for what happened, the last thing she needed was a reinforcement of the idea that she was somehow dangerous.

Wanda was not dangerous, strong, yes, maybe even terrifying to those who didn’t knew her personally, but Vision knew she was not dangerous. Wanda Maximoff was someone wonderful and incapable of hurting an innocent person in purpose, and to think that those who had lived with her as long as he could even consider the idea of seeing her as a potential danger, filled him with an unpleasant feeling. But he said nothing, because even though he wanted to help her, he knew that for the moment it was safer for her to stay inside the Avengers facility.

In silent submission, he did the only thing that came to his mind to make her feel a little better: cooking. Although he had never tasted it, he knew that food could have excellent benefits in a human’s emotional state, either because of the taste of the dishes or the memories they brought, and since at that time he was willing to try anything that had the slightest chance of making the situation more bearable for his dear friend, he got down to work.

It wasn’t much of a surprise when, judging by Wanda's reaction, he realized that his little experiment did not quite taste as she had hoped. The smile that the hilarious situation caused her, however, made the time wasted totally worthwhile. At the end, he had managed to raise her spirit, and with that he was more than satisfied. But it was that same happiness that had given him so much joy what made more painful the gesture that occupied her face when, by being intercepted by him when she tried to get out, she understood what was happening.

It broke his heart having to be him the one that needed to explain her that for the time being she was being confined to that place not for her safety, but for the safety of others, because even though he knew very well that the beautiful woman in front of him would never hurt a person without a good reason , she wasn’t all sure about that. Vision knew that she considered herself a danger, and he hated himself for reinforcing that idea. But it was for her sake, and that made everything easier.

"And what do you want?" she asked after he told her that it was what Tony Stark wanted. And Vision, even with all of his knowledge, had to take a few seconds before being able to answer.

"To people to see you as I do.”

Vision was suffering with the current situation, Wanda knew it probably better than he did.

She could see it in his face and in the way he avoided harming any of those present, even though half of them were against him and his team. She had also seen his pain during their brief confrontation when she escaped, and maybe that was the reason why she couldn’t bring herself to be angry at him despite his betrayal.

She wasn’t surprised at all about how things had turned out, but she was still dissapointed.

The fateful moment in which her mistake took the lives of more than a dozen innocent people passed in slow motion to her, and it was then when she knew that with that slip she had spoiled her happiness once more. After a life full of loss and pain, she was surprised about how genuinely she had believed that this time things could be different. What she didn’t expect was that, alongside with her happiness, she would take away the Avengers’ stability.

"You will tear them apart from the inside." Ultron had said to her, and she could only laugh at how right he had been.

She knew that Lagos and the consequent Accords had only been the beginning of their rupture, and that the straw that broke the camel's back were the problems with the Winter Soldier, but she could not help but wonder how things could have been without her mistake.

She was young and Sokovia hadn’t been exactly a symbol of peace, but she remembered an easier, more secure world, where the gods were still something that existed only in legends and there was no lethal danger threatening humanity every two weeks. That world no longer existed, it had been replaced by an Earth in constant danger ... And now she had tied the hands of their only protectors.

But they say that every mistake has it’s lesson, and she had learned that fearing her own power would bring nothing but suffering to her and those she holds dear. She was a walking storm, she was chaos, and it had come the time for her to accept that irrefutable fact. People were going to fear her no matter what she did, and although that filled her with sadness, she knew that the best she could do was to keep her own insecurities at bay in order to avoid more deadly mistakes.

But what was done was done, and now it was too late for anyone to back off. She, at least, was not going to be the one to step forward and apologize. A part of her had hoped that Vision understood her motives, she even came to believe, for a few seconds, that she could convince him to leave with her and Clint... Instead, the android had told her what she already knew.

"If you do this, they will never stop fearing you" and she saw so much concern and pain in him when saying this, that she only felt worse when she had to overpowered him in order to escape. She expected the anger and resentment to appeared at some point, as they always did, but they never came. Even when they came face to face in the airport and they were about to fight, she couldn’t found the familiar burn of those feelings inside her.

If anything, she was sad.

For the truth was that her friendship with the android had gone much further than she would have thought possible at first and, at some point that was still unclear in her head, her feelings towards him grew to become something more than the love he felt for his other colleagues.

The Avengers had become a new family for her, and although each of them was important for her in a unique way, what she felt for Vision was different.

At the beginning it was easy to ignore it; still too busy dealing with everything that had been going on in her life, she didn’t spend that much time thinking about it and instead she simply reduced it as a special affection produced by everything he had done for her. Later things got more complicated when she got better and noticed that those feelings continued to grow, along with other details that had previously seemed insignificant but that now alarmed her, like how he was always the first one she looked for when a fight got ugly or the way her body seemed to involuntarily search for his when they sat down to watch a movie. The situation became totally untenable when she noticed that she wasn’t the only one feeling this way.

Thanks to her own feelings, she started to pay more attention to Vision and it didn’t took much for her to wonder how it had taken her so long to notice how he acted when he was with her, the adoration in his gaze when their eyes met for accident. She knew that he would never say anything about it if he could avoid it, but she sure as hell wouldn’t stay quiet for much longer because, unlike him, Wanda didn’t had that much conflict with the situation.

But then Lagos passed and everything fell apart.

When Clint arrived for her and, as he well knew how to do, gave her the courage to do what needed to be done, she kept holding on to the hope that Vision would reconsider things, she kept it until the very end. She really wanted him to understand, she wanted him to trust her just as she had trusted him, to be loyal to his feelings and to her ... Instead, he attacked Clint and tried to stop her. He made his decision, she had to take hers. When she was forced to use her powers to defeat him so she could flee, she thought she had lost him forever. A civil war had begun between the most powerful heroes on the planet and they were on opposite sides.

So it was a surprise to see him descending from the sky in the middle of the battle to help her, a very pleasant one, if she was being honest. When he knelt by her side and took her into his arms, her soul was filled with a deep tranquility to see that he wasn’t angry with her either, despite what had happened before. On the contrary, he held her as carefully as ever, and when he spoke, the only thing she could identify in his voice was a deep sorrow.

"I'm sorry." he said, and Wanda didn’t doubt for a second that he meant it.

"Me too." She was so focused was on him, that she barely noticed when he turned his head to shoot Sam.

She supposed that everyone paying attention to them felt as confused as she when his blast hit Rhodey, who was in fact supposed to be supported by that same attack. For a couple of seconds she thought he had done it on purpose, that he had switched sides at the last moment and that was why his attack had been directed at War Machine, since how it was possible that he, always so perfect and in order, had comitted such a mistake otherwise? But something felt wrong about that theory, and she soon understood what was it: Had that been the case, he would have simply avoided firing. He would have never sent a companion to a possibly deadly fall. Seeing Vision's horror face, she realized tht the attack was, in fact, an accident.

And for the first time, Wanda Maximoff saw a bit of her own chaos in the perfect android.

"I got distracted," he would answer later when questioned by Tony Stark, both in front of Rhodey's damaged body. He felt horrible for what he had done, and he wished with all of his heart that his friend would get well. The man laughed, unable to believe what he was hearing, as if he thought his own creation was cruely mocking him.

"I didn’t think that was possible." And Vision felt fear at hearing those words, because only he knew that this distraction was a confirmation of his most bizarre fears. That accident was the perfect example of why he was so afraid of confronting his feelings.

"Me neither."

Nights on Edinburgh at that time of the year were cold, but the woman accepted the weather with pleasure. It brought back kind memories of her younger years, when Father sat her and Pietro in front of the heater to tell them stories of ancient times while her home was flooded with the smell of the hot chocolate Mother would be cooking in the kitchen. If she closed her eyes and tried hard enough, she could relive those memories and see them in her mind as if they were a movie.

"Are you okay?" Asked a voice at her side, and Wanda opened her eyes to see the second reason why she would accept that and any other weather without complaint, as long as it allowed them to be together.

"Yes," she replied, her voice totally at peace as she seeked for her usual place in his arms. Knowing what she was looking for, the android raised an arm to allow her to clung to his body and then he laid it down behind her back, so that he could wrapped it around her tiny frame. He knew that the cold was not exactly annoying to her, and that the blankets covering them kept her at a comfortable temperature anyway, but he still began to radiate an artificial heat quite similar to that a normal human would emit. "I was just remembering."

"Pleasant memories, I hope?" The nightmares had become quite rare, but it was never enough caution for him when it came to Wanda. After all, he was always trying to keep her as happy as possible.

"From my family" she answered, and although sometimes that subject could be painful for her, the peaceful smile with which she said it was enough to know that this was not one of those occasions, which calmed him down. A soft sigh came out of the mouth of the woman, who hugged the other with infinite tenderness as he rested his cheek on the top of her head, both in an comfortable silence that was interrupted only by the distant sound of the drizzle occurring outside their home.

Home.

What a strange word was that for those two who, separately, had once assumed that they would never be able to make it theirs.

For Wanda, who had already been robbed of her home several times, her breaking point had been in solitary, locked in a cell with a straitjacket and an electric collar that restricted her movement to the point where the only thing she could do was think. During the time she spent in there, that's what she did. She thought about her family and Sokovia, how it used to looked so beautiful and calm at night when the snow covered it’s streets and you could almost ignore the tragedies happening daily in there. In Pietro, and how ironic that it was that the last time she had been locked in a room like that, he had been by her side. In Clint, Steve, Nat and the rest of the Avengers, even in Stark, with whom she had always had a complicated relationship, and in the days she spent with them. In Vision, and what could have been had things happened differently. She thought about all that and how, in the end, everything she loved was taken away from her sooner or later, and she concluded that maybe the best thing to do was simply surrendering. Fate didn’t seemed to have planned to give her any lasting happiness, so she might as well stop trying.

Vision, on the other hand, felt the same stifling sense of loneliness far away from her, safe where it was supposed to be his home. And for a while, it really had been. But war, however small, always changes things, it breaks them and by the time it’s over it’s almost impossible to leave them as they were before the disaster. The Sokovia Accords had taken the irreplaceable hope given by Captain Rogers, the sharp tongue of Natasha, the quarrels of jokes between Sam and Rhodey and the smile of Mr. Stark. But above all, the Agreements Wanda.

And only overwhelmed by the absence of her laughter, Vision realized that Wanda was his home.

It was this terrible certainty that led him to look for her when he learned of her escape, even if a part of him knew of the huge possibility of him having done irreversable damage by letting them take her to that horrible place. But the fear of rejection was a small price to pay if he had the chance to see her again.

It took time, but when he finally found her, he knew it had been worth it. He looked like a human and she looked slightly malnourished and her once dark hair had now a coppery hue, but as they exchanged glances, they both recognized each other immediately. Wanda could have recognize that stare under in any disguise. Since her escape, she had decided that this time she would so be getting mad at Vision, even if he probably wouldn’t care that much anyway (because after he allowed them to treat her like some kind of animal, she wasn’t very sure of that), and even if her courage at him didn’t dissapeared when she saw him smiling at her with so much joy, she knew from that moment that one day she would be able to forgive him.

"And you?" She asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Are you okay?" Gently, she reached out and stroked the cheek of the blonde who was returning her gaze. Almost two years after seeing him in that disguise for the first time, his human form was almost as familiar as his original magenta.

"Yes." and although the memories of the days that he passed away from her were still disturbing somehow, it was not a lie. After all, how could he feel anything but hapiness, being there with her? When he accepted his feelings while being appart from Wanda, he had thought that if they could manage to get together again, everything would be fine.

They made it, and so far, that logic hadn’t failed.

Then Vision let out a noise of mortified complain when, out of nowhere, he was whipped by a sharp pain coming from the center of his forehead. Confusion invaded him and for a moment he was overwhelmed by a slight panic because he had not once felt anything like that and he feared what it might mean.

"Vis?" Wanda inquired with concern when the man rose from the bed with a hand on his forehead and his face contracted with pain. Without any delay, she got out of bed and went to the help of her partner, whom she reached up with her arm so at least he would know she was there. "What is it?"

"The gem," he answered, apparently a little more calm but still notoriously disturbed. The pain had ended as suddenly as it had arrived, but the restlessness was still there. The android allowed the small yellow rock to appear on his forehead, and while there seemed to be nothing abnormal about it, Wanda didn't dared to think the other was just over reacting.

"May I?" She asked, raising his hands a little and tentatively directing them to the forehead of the other. He nodded silently and without another word, the powerful woman proceeded to use her powers to enter the gem. Her relief was notorious when she confirmed on her own account that nothing unusual seemed to be happening to her loved one, but with this relief her confusion increased. "I... I just feel you."

Remembering the horrible sensation that had attacked him only a few seconds ago, Vision could not help but feel slightly worried, knowing that it was not normal, and the fact that none of them seemed to be able to find a reasonable explanation just made things worse. But looking at Wanda and seeing the beautiful face of his beloved being overwhelmed by the fear of losing someone else was enough for him to bury that concern.

"It was surely just a headache" he said, trying to play down the issue. Wanda smiled at this. For although they both knew that it was impossible for Vision to feel any kind of migraine, they were willing to believe anything that would allow them to continue enjoying the night. Their time was stolen after all, and it would not be long before Vision had to return to the Avengers, that if they wanted to keep suspicions low.

So, the redhead placed a kiss on the android's lips and soon found herself wrapped in his arms.

With a smile on their faces, they both settled back into the warmth of the blankets, huddled against each other, and allowed themselves to be happy. In the hearts of both of them there is the sad certainty that their future is uncertain, and that the hidden paradise they had formed based on lies and stolen moments will one day have to end in one way or another. They know this, but neither of them suspects that only a couple months from that moment, Vision will say "I love you" for the first and last time nor that Wanda will have to make one last sacrifice, killing him in order to save everyone else. They don't know this will fail and that their fight will have been for nothing.

But nothing of that matters because at this precise moment, the present, they are together and safe under the warmth of a small room in Edinburgh. Vision lays a gentle kiss in Wanda's lips and, in return, she looks at him with infinite tenderness, and everything’s okay because they have each other and nothing could ever change that. Neither of them speaks, but they're both thinking about the other and how lucky they are for having such an amazing partner and how much they love each other and how imperfect they are and how that is what makes them so perfect.

Vision remembers what he said to Ultron so long ago, about how odd it was that humans to believe that somehow, chaos and order were opposites, and he can't help but to laugh a little because even with all of his knowledge, even him once believed that he could have one without facing the other. Staring at Wanda, he now understands how that's impossible, and he knows she had come to understand this, too. They both have order and chaos within themselves, and acepting this takes a huge burden off their shoulders.

And they both smile, because they love each other and they still believe that that love will be enough to get them through whatever fate has in store for them.

[panda-noosh]

(1/2) can you do some headcanons where the paladins + matt + allura have an s/o who doesnt necessarily live with them but they visit each other often, and they find out that their s/o is currently in a physically abusive familial relationship on their own planet but denies any real problem? like maybe they somehow find out their s/o has been covering up bruises or has been in a bad mood or has even ended up in a hospital because of injuries, but there too scared to leave the situation because of

(2/2) threats or manipulation so they constantly cover for their family and make up half assed excuses for their injuries. how would the paladins + matt + allura react to finding there s/o’s injuries, suspecting the problem, getting there s/o to admit whats happening, and help them out of it? maybe if they even walk in on a situation as it happens?

Shiro:

I can tell you now, that if Shiro were to walk in on a situation as it was happening, there would be absolutely zero restraint coming from him.

I can’t imagine him not picking up on any signs at all, but I don’t think it’s unrealistic to assume that he maybe just thought he was being a little irrational which is why he didn’t do much in the first place.

Because this kind of thing is just so ??? you know?

It doesn’t happen to everybody, and you’re so good at making other people happy. You must have learned that skill from somewhere, so surely your family is just as nice as you are?

That’s his thought process, and that’s really the reason he doesn’t do much in the beginning.

But if he were to witness it actually happening, there would be a whole new level of fury unleashed.

He’d be grabbing for you immediately, because that’s his first instinct; it isn’t to hurt the person who is hurting you, but it’s to protect you. He wants to make sure you’re out of the way before he does anything else.

So he shoves you behind him, and he continues to yell at the person who he has just witnessed punching you. 

And god he wants to hurt them back. He wants to hurt them just as much as they hurt you, but you’re sobbing behind him and grabbing his arm, telling him to leave it alone. So he settles for just yelling and getting his anger out in that way.

Once the family members leaves, Shiro doesn’t let you leave with them. He keeps you wrapped up in his arms until the door is closing behind them, and it’s safe to say that you’re not leaving the ship to go back home - not without an argument from Shiro.

Keith:

He would be so heartbroken that he didn’t notice it before.

He didn’t even have an inkling, which is what breaks his heart the most.

Because he loves you. He loves you so much. And the fact that you were hurting whilst he was away with the Blade of Marmora, and he had absolutely no clue of the pain and danger you were in -  jesus christ, that shit hurts him.

He sees the bruises and it doesn’t take him long to add two and two together. 

He’s soft about it. He doesn’t yank at your shirt to get a better look at them, and he doesn’t start yelling and demanding answers from you - he goes about it in a very calm manner, and a very soft manner, because he thinks that’s the least he can do after not noticing the signs for so long.

He doesn’t ask you about it straight away. That day, you try to go home after finishing your work with the Paladins, and Keith asks you to stay with him instead.

At the time of him asking, you have no idea as to why he wants you to stay with him. You have no idea that he doesn’t think you’re safe going home.

But you stay behind anyway, and Keith leads you into his room at the end of the day and that’s when he tells you that he had, indeed, saw the bruises.

Obviously, this panics you, but he keeps up the comforting as best as possible. He doesn’t raise his voice or demand to know anything you don’t want to tell him.

The one thing he asks of you in this moment, as he holds your hysteric form in his arms, is that you don’t go back to your house. That you stay with him until the situation can be properly dealt with, and until he’s certain that you’ll be safe.

Lance:

This is one of those rare moments where Lance really isn’t laughing and joking.

I feel like out of all of the Paladins, Lance would definitely be the one who panics the most about the situation.

Because he doesn’t think he’s very qualified to be dealing with something like this, which makes him a bit hesitant to ask you to do anything.

With Keith and Shiro, they were very forward in asking you to stay with them, but Lance isn’t entirely sure if that’s his place to do so, despite the given circumstances.

Of course, once he finds out about the bruises and the abuse itself, the last thing he wants you to do is go back to it, but you keep making excuses for your family, making it out as if you didn’t actually mind the abuse and it’s just a normal thing.

And Lance is a family man, so asking you to ditch your family is a big deal for him.

I can see him thinking up different ways to get you to stay with him rather than heading home. He’s not comfortable with telling you outright to stay with him, but he will pretend to fall asleep on top of you just so you won’t be able to stand up and leave.

He won’t tell you to move out directly, but he will put on a three hour long movie at 12am and then claim it’s much too late for you to be heading home - you may as well stay with him anyway.

Hunk:

An entire ball of worry and anger.

He isn’t particularly good with hostility. We all know that. Whenever his friends argue, he gets a little overwhelmed and all he wants is for them to shut up and get along.

But this is a completely different story, and he’s not entirely surprised to feel himself getting angry - which is a very different side of Hunk, and one that we aren’t too fond of seeing.

Because he’s scary when he’s angry. He just kind of falls silent, glaring into nothingness as it’s clear that his mind if working at one million miles per hour.

Whenever he first sees the bruises, his first reaction is anxiety. He thinks you’ve hurt yourself somehow, because he truly had no idea you were in an abusive household.

So whenever he first sees them, he’s saying things like, “Did you fall over again?” and “What did you bump into?”

But the way your eyes suddenly widen whenever he brings attention to them - that’s how he knows it isn’t just simple clumsiness that has given you those bruises.

And that’s when the anger sets in.

He’s like Keith in the fact that he tries to take a calm approach to it - he’s being sweet with you, and he’s taking you up to bed and away from the other Paladins so you can handle your emotions in a more secluded part of the ship.

But inside, he’s furious. Furious at everything. Furious that somebody could even think of raising a hand to you. Furious at himself for not being there when you needed him. Furious at the world for being so fucking cruel.

Hunk would ask Keith to keep an eye on the doors, both to make sure none of your family get into the ship and that you don’t end up leaving that day without him.

He would do it himself, but he wants to be there for you instead of sat outside guarding the doors.

Pidge:

I cannot even sit here and begin to portray the pure anger this girl feels whenever she walks in and sees you being abused.

I just ??? There is no words???

I’m trying to think of something to compare her to, but she’s just Pidge. And that should be scary enough.

She isn’t like Shiro in the fact that she grabs at you first, because she doesn’t. Her rage is entirely encompassing the person who she has just witnessed hitting you, and everything else in the room is blocked out immediately.

She’s getting in between you and your family member, but it’s almost like she doesn’t even know you’re there. She’s suddenly fallen into tunnel-vision, and the only thing she can see if the douchebag that she wants to knock out.

She grabs at your family members collar, pushing them and pushing them until their back is against the wall, and she can hear you screaming behind her, telling her to leave them alone, but she doesn’t listen.

She ends up effectively knocking the person out. They crumble to the floor, and it is then that Pidge turns to you, worry lacing her eyes.

“What’s been going on?”

That’s all she needs to ask to have you breaking down completely, and Pidge just kind of knows then and there that this wasn’t a one-time occurrence. 

She’s not mad at you for not telling her, and she makes that very clear. She disregards the unconscious body slumped against the wall behind her and makes her way over to you, wrapping her arms around you, making sure you know that you’re safe now.

She takes you to the ship, and she doesn’t even have to tell you that you’re going to be staying with her from now on. You just curl up in her bed beside her and fall asleep, too exhausted from the day to even think about doing much else.

And Pidge just kind of watches you, asking herself how she didn’t notice.

Matt:

He would definitely get a lil bit emotional.

It’s not necessarily because of the fact that he didn’t see the evidence in the first place. It’s moreso due to the fact that you were hurting in general.

He’s not about to turn the attention on himself by feeling guilty. Besides, you’ve made it exceptionally clear that there was no way in hell Matt would have been able to recognise the abuse due to how well you had hidden it beforehand.

But he still feels this sense of … anguish? Because he’s imagining you in that situation, all on your own, thinking nobody is going to help you.

And that alone completely crushes him.

Whenever he first sees the bruises, he tries to be calm about it, and he does a good job at it. He’s always been good at comforting people whenever they need it.

He just kind of sits with you, and the two of you will sit in silence for a little while, just kind of bask in the sudden change of events.

He’ll rub at your leg gently, or play with your fingers, but it’ll be silent. You won’t need anything else. You won’t need to talk to each other.

Matt just kind of has that aura about him that comforts you without the use of words. Him just being there is good enough.

Besides, Matt doesn’t think he’ll be able to talk without bursting into tears.

He kind of lets the other Paladins deal with your family. His job is more trying to get your mind off of everything, making sure there was no internal damage from the most recent abuse you had received.

Whilst the other Paladins do all the dirty work, Matt and you just kind of get lost in your own little world as Matt leads you through the process of healing from the things you’ve been through.

Allura:

She would be so angry.

I can totally imagine her wanting nothing more than revenge on the people who had been abusing you.

Allura doesn’t really understand the psychology behind somebody trying to protect their abusers. She doesn’t understand the fact that, despite what your family put you through, you don’t want them getting hurt.

She genuinely gets so confused whenever you tell her, “They’re my family, Allura. I care about them.”

She thinks its just a human thing, and she doesn’t quite understand it.

She tells you she wants to get revenge, that she wants to make sure your family pay for what they did to you, but you tell her no. You tell her that you want to just leave the past in the past, and that you’ll be okay in the long run - especially now that somebody else knows about it and it’s not entirely down to you to deal with on your own.

But as I said, Allura doesn’t entirely understand that.

I don’t think she’d go out of her way to get revenge if you didn’t want her to. She would respect your wishes and instead try and focus her attention on helping you get better both physically and mentally.

But that doesn’t stop her from placing the suggestion out there every now and then.

And she tries to see things from your perspective. She wants to be able to feel sympathy for those people, perhaps understand the fact that they are your family, but she sees them as exactly what they are - complete scum for hurting you when you did nothing wrong.

But she respects your decisions, though it is safe to say that she keeps a very close eye on your family, just to make sure they don’t step out of line again. 

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Overly protective.

Shawn Master List found HERE

Shawn groans as he leans his elbows on the kitchen countertop, purposely attempting to grasp your attention away from the pizza you're setting out. "What's with the sad eyes?" You smirk, finding his pouty face to be absolutely adoring. He lets out another sigh to be climactic before pursing his lips into a fine line. "You know, it's not too late to cancel... Kinda wanted a Friday night alone," he comments, bringing to your attention that he has other plans in mind. You shake your head, "Your sister is already on her way," you swat his hand away from trying to steal a piece of pizza. He can be somewhat annoying when is in a pouty mood and doesn’t get his own way, something you have come to somewhat adore about him. "I love her, but she has crashed with us every weekend since I have been back. I want time alone," he mumbles with a huff, not seeming too amused. "She's just staying for dinner and a movie, are you grumpy this evening?" You challenge his mood, your eyes studying his as he straightens his posture and pushes away from the countertop. "Shawn," you draw out his name, forcing his attention back to you. "Just tired," he shrugs, "so, tomorrow can I actually sleep in with my girlfriend?" Shawn questions, looking at you with a blank expression—a clear indication he's in a bit of a grumpy mood. He has been on the grouchy side for the last week, you brushed it all off as being tired and somewhat overly worked, so you didn’t take it to heart, but now you’re not quite sure what is problem is tonight. You grin and give him a nod, "Mhm, we can spend all day in bed," you inform him just as the doorbell chimes and Shawn instantly makes his way down the hallway, dragging his feet to make it known he doesn’t want to host his sisters movie night. You hear the shuffling of feet entering and the closing of the front door, but the familiar sound of feet shuffling seem louder than usual, the sudden vibration of an unknown voice rings in your ears. You frown for a moment, watching the hallway entrance from your position in the kitchen, your eyes focus on Shawn's sister before the flicker towards a male beside her.

"Hey, Can you two go pick a movie, I need to talk to Y/N about an event I forgot about," Shawn gestures for his sister and her friend to make themselves comfortable in the living room while he holds a lackluster smile across his lips. Aaliyah glances at you and bites her lip, her eyes flickering between you and her brother. You give her a small nod and a reassuring smile. You can only imagine the things rattling through Shawn's thoughts right now, and his sister is probably well aware of what she is starting. Shawn steps closer to you and crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes ominous and unamused. "There's a boy in my house, a fucking boy." He grunts before his lips screw into irritation and anger. "Yes, he does look like he is of the male species." You nod, trying to lighten the mood that has been set between the two of you. He's pissed, there's no doubt about it. His eyes narrow down on you before he shakes his head, disapproving of your smart ass comment. "Did you know?" You shake your head, "No, I didn't." "There's a boy sitting on my couch with my little sister... my little sister brought a boy to my house." Shawn begins to pace and prowl the kitchen while attempting to keep his voice low so the two in the living room don't overhear. "I didn't even know she had a boyfriend. This isn't okay. Does Dad know?" He challenges, his face crimson with fury. "Calm down, I don't know. What I do know is that you're going to breathe, you're going to calm down, and you're going to have a nice dinner with your sister." You gently scold, knowing that his overprotective side is unleashing itself and you know very well and good he needs to cool it before he makes a scene that he will regret. "He's not staying," he shakes his head, "this isn't okay. She's too young." You sigh and glance at your boyfriend, his fingers raking through his hair for the fourth time. "Those are the exact words my Father said about you," you chuckle, tenderly reaching out and pressing your hands to his arm, stopping him from continuing to pace the flooring. "You're exhausted, you're grumpy, I get it. You're also very protective, but she brought him here because she obviously felt it was necessary you meet him." "That's my little sister," he sighs, "and she's not so little anymore," he eyes fall to the floor before quickly flickering to look into yours. "One wrong move tonight and I'm kicking him out," he mutters. “I will beat his ass, Y/N.” You roll your eyes playfully before your hands cup his warm cheeks, "I love you, calm down, he's just a boy. You’re not beating anyone's ass." "Yeah, so am I and look where that ended us." He gestures towards the two of you. You raise a brow before chuckling, "There is nothing wrong with the two of us, we turned out quite fine.”

“Okay, true.” he trails off, “But, she’s my sister, just yesterday she was crying because I took all her dolls and hid them,” he breathes out, the realisation that his little sister is no longer little, sinking in harder than you had thought.

“You both grew up, c’mon… You knew this day was coming.”

He nods, he knows you’re right, but he isn’t going to verbally admit it, at least not entirely. “Mmm, yes, but still,” he shrugs, “I don’t like it, I don’t like him.” His eyes flicking towards the living room where the two teenagers sit on the couch. “He’s holding her hand, I can see,” he mutters with disapproval, “Who does he think he is?”

“Alright Mr.Overprotective, they’re holding hands, it's harmless.”

“It starts with holding hands,” he sighs, his eyes softening as you cup his cheeks,

“You sound like my father, calm down… Breathe. Let’s eat pizza and watch this movie,” you give him a reassuring smile before kissing his lips before he can even mutter words.

You and Shawn take the pizza into the living room where you are formally introduced to the friend, you do your best to keep Shawn from interrogating the poor guy, Shawn turning to stare at you even moment you interrupt his attempts at being the overprotective brother.

The night plays out well with Shawn managing to grow withdrawn the moment the movie starts, you hand keeping him at arm's length the entire time to make sure he doesn’t decide to randomly pounce on the friend for simply holding her hand.

Once Aaliyah and her friend, leave, you give Shawn a sweet smile as he leans against the kitchen counter on his phone, his fingers typing away. He lifts his head the moment he hears your footsteps getting closer.

“How you feeling after that?” You challenge as he places his phone down and extends his arms out to you, benevolently drawing you closer to him.

He expels his  breath in a whose, “Very on edge, but I have to let it go,” he informs you, leaning down and pressing a few sweet kisses to your lips, “Thank you for keeping me sane and level-headed tonight,” he mumbles against your sweet tasting lips.

“You’re welcome,” you respond with a small smile, tenderly pulling away. “Is this how you’re going to be if we have kids?” you question, cocking your head to the side as he raises a brow and nods,

“Our children are not dating,” he informs you, causing you to laugh as you step away from him,

“Okay, Shawn,” you giggle, wandering towards the hallway.

“What’s funny? I am serious, especially our little girl, she isn’t dating,” his voice travels behind you as he follows you down the hallway.

“Whatever you say,” you smirk to yourself, entertained by his protective self.

“She’s not, she is going to even go to an all-girls school, boys will not be in her life,” he continues, “And where do you think you’re going without me? Hm?” He considerately caresses his hand to your wrist before gently turning your around to face him, his eyes bright and charming as they stare down at you.

“I’m going to our room while you plan out how you’re going to keep our future children from dating,” you respond with a wide grin.

“It’s going to happen,” he continues with a smile, “Speaking of our future children, when are we having these future children?” He curiously questions, “I wouldn’t mind practicing in the making of them.”

“That was not smooth at all,” you gently scold him, your hand swatting his chest, “these future children are not happening until we are married and I have made my way closer to the top of my firm,” you inform him, mainly referencing that you must first have a ring on that finger before children become something to thoroughly discuss.

“Mhm, I’m working on that ring,” he winks cheekily, hinting to something that you have both been anticipating for quite a while.

“Uh-huh,” you hum, “Well, until then, I am going to bed,” you tease his lips once more before untangling yourself from him and stepping into the bedroom, his body being hot on your trail.

“See, I am not quite satisfied with that arrangement, can we tweak it a little bit?” he queries with a cheeky grin, taking you by surprise when he pulls you into him, a chuckle escaping from your lips. “I’ve missed that chuckle,” he smiles broadly, your hands pressing to his chest comfortably.

“I bet you have,”

“I have,” he nods, “Missed doing this, too.” He whispers before he leans down, his lips brushing against yours before he kisses you deeply, erupting the same old flame inside you that he erupted the first night he took you out on your first date, four years later and he still puts your world into a chaotic spin. You smile into the kiss, your hands climbing upwards to his shoulders before your arms drape loosely around his neck, his hands moving to rest in the small of your back, drawing your bodies closer together.

[reject-princess97]

NCIS Imagine

Requested by @sexy-bookworm-fangirl  

“I would like to request some NCIS. Reader is basically like a small puff ball, and the entire team is SUPER PROTECTIVE (Ziva, Gibbs, McGee, Abby, Ducky, and Tony) and this random suspect disrespects her, and they just unleash their fury at her. And the Reader is just standing there, smiling and wondering when they will be finished destroying this poor women's mental functions”.

(I tweaked it a little, the suspect who disrespects the reader is guy and each member takes it in turns to 'mess' with him and reader is dating Tim McGee)

I know it's shorter than usual sorry.

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

"Look Y/N I'm just saying, If you were ever to pick somebody to fight with you, who would you want on your team, me or McGeek." Tony asked and he threw another paper ball at Tim who was trying his best to ignore him and work on the task Gibbs had given him.

"And I'm just saying Ziva, no offence to my Timmy but he is more of a tech guy."

"That's true." Tim agreed, keeping his attention on the computer screen in front of him. I smiled over at him and turned my attention to tony and watched as he threw more paper balls at Tim. There was a considerable age difference between both Tony and I. I suppose that's why he treats me like a little sister, but then again so do all the team, except Timmy but it would be strange if your significant other treated you like a sister. Again there was a slight age gap between Tim and I but nobody ever really cared.

I shook my head as a piece of paper hit my head. I looked at Tony and frowned as another came towards me, I quickly lent to the side successfully dodging the paper ball.

"And what about me?" Tony asked turning his paper missiles back to Tim. I shrugged and sighed.

"Lets see, you're annoying, always late, you're big headed and you always have your foot in your mouth and well, Ziva is a bad ass babe who can take any of you losers out with on shot." I shrugged as I waked over and sat by Ziva's Desk and gave her a high five.

"She's right again." Tim agreed again, not lifting his head to look at anyone once again, keeping his attention on the screen as he typed at the keyboard. Tony grunted and shook his head.

"Quiet probie and Ziva why can she call you babe but when I do I get a whole world of pain." Tony asked Ziva, pointing at me. she only smiled at Tony and shrugged.

"It's not so offensive if a woman says it as it is usually implied as a compliment." she laughed.

Just then the elevator doors opened and in walked Gibbs, pushing a suspect in front of him. I smirked at Gibbs who shook his head as the guy just tried to break the restraints he was in.

"Sam Marks, the owner of the club next to the ally way where Mary Jones was found. Tony, with me." Gibbs instructed but apparently Sam wanted to make a request.

"I want that one there, let her come and play." Sam smiled nodding towards Ziva.

"I don't thinks so creep." Ziva said, sounding extra bored with the guy. I smiled at her and shook my head as I moved off of her desk and walked towards tony's Desk.

That was when he turned his attention to me. "What about to short stuff, you wanna know what a real man feels like? And after that you can clean my house and bring beer" He asked, Gibbs pulled the guys arm tighter and he screamed out in pain. "Ahhh what the Fuck, I only asked the girl if she was up for a date, not like I asked the bitch for a fucking lap dance."

Suddenly the whole office went silent, everyone just starred at the guy who had dared disrespect the teams 'Baby sister'. I wasn't one to enjoy drama unless it involve Tony and Ziva but I couldn't help but hope this guy is going to get what's coming to him.

Gibbs smiled at Ziva and shrugged, "Ziva, can you take Mr Marks to the interrogation room, and be care full, the floor needs a bit of work, make sure you don't fall and hurt you self." Gibbs told her, Ziva stood and nodded, and grabbed the guy by the arm and leading him down the hall where the interrogation rooms were. Everyone soon got back to work until we heard a loud scream coming from the direction Ziva and Sam Marks had gone.

Gibbs left and soon enough we got back to work, or at least Tim and I did, Tony had followed Gibbs as requested and Ziva had stayed with them. I sat at my desk picked up my red ball, "Jones heads up." I called to an agent on the other side of the room and threw the ball, which he caught with ease.

"Parker." Jones shouted throwing the ball to agent ball and he threw it to Carlson and she threw it to Tim who threw it to me. We kind of went like this for a while until I caught it and I spotted the director making his way down the stairs.

"Director Vance." I called throwing the ball. He caught it and raised an eyebrow and he tossed it to Tim. "Mcgee" He said before he continued his journey down the stairs and stopped by my desk.

"I see you're still 'Testing the agents reflexes' around the office" he smiled at me.

"You know it sir, an agent with crappy reflexes are useless on the field sir." I shrugged as the ball was tossed to me and caught it without even looking at it. "See, I have great reflexes." I grinned, at which point Gibbs came into the room, the suspect walking behind, a very nasty looking red mark on his cheek.

"Wow, what happened to you?" Tim asked him. He looked like he was about to speak but Ziva answered for him.

"The floor by the interrogation rooms need a bit of work, very uneven." She shrugged. I nodded at her and raised my eye brows deciding to play along.

"I know, it was just yesterday I saw someone take a fall. Landed on his back not in week for at least to weeks. Quite tragic really." I smiled at her and the laughed as Sam Marks grunted as he touched his face.

"Oh you think this is funny bitch, you should..." Mr Marks began be before he could say anything Abby came rushing in with a cup of coffee and Caf-Pow in her hands,

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs. " She rushed as she ran towards us. Then she did the unthinkable, she tripped and spilled the coffee and Caf-pow all over the man who just couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Ahhhh Jesus Christ, what the hell." He yelled. I stood up and took his shirt off quick.

"Wow, today is really not your day." I smiled at him. He just sent me a glare before walking off trying to put his shirt on.

"You know that guy needs to learn how to speak to women properly." Tony shook his head.

"Yeah, and maybe you could join him." Ziva mumbled as she sat down.

"That will teach him, nobody calls our baby a bitch and gets away with it." Abby smiled, pulling me into a hug. I looked at her and cocked my head to the side in confusion. "Tim told me what had happened." She told me. I smiled over at Tim who winked at me, making me laugh.

"Well, Thank god he's gone." I shrugged.

"Yeah I wouldn't be so sure. Ducky sent Jimmy down and slashed the guys tires," Abby told me.

"And he won't be able to get in to his phone for a while as I changed the pass word on his lock screen from here." Tim laughed as he picked up the ball and threw it at Tony, whole fumbled to catch it and dropped it.

"Wow, your reflexes suck." I told him he just threw the ball at me and I caught it with ease. I smiled at him and winked as I threw it to Ziva who did the same.

"Tony, don't throw things at Y/N" Gibbs shouted and he passed Tony and hit the back of his head making us all laugh.

"One of these day agent Y/L/N, you won't have you little bodyguards to protect you. and on that day, I will bring you a whole new level of pain and embarrassment." Tony warned me, once Gibbs was out of earshot.

I smiled and stood from my desk and slowly walked over to Tony who gulped at me when he saw Ziva, Abby and Tim doing the same. I leaned in real close to his face and glared at him, hard.

"Bring it." I whispered, before turning around and smiled at the other who laughed as I skipped childishly to my desk, like an innocent little girl.

"Why must you guys always take that little sociopaths side. I've known you all longer that her." I heard Tony mumble to the rest of the team.

"She's my best friend." Abby answered as she came and sat on my desk, taking a piece of candy from my candy jar that I kept on my desk.

"I'm in love with the girl." Timmy shrugged as he want back to his desk opposite mine. I shot him a smile and laughed.

"I love you Tim McGee." I told him, earning a wink from him.

"I just like her more." Ziva answered sitting at her own desk, smiling over at me, I simply just smiled back.

 "Besides, she might be small, but the girl is a bad-ass babe and would kick our asses if we ever crossed her." She laughed as she threw my ball back to me which I caught with ease and I set it on my table.

X

[pure-dragon-age-trash]

Temptation

(Author's note here, I am TRASH for this ship, and I love my gay sinamon rolls. My girlfriend pointed out that mages typically hold back their magic and only rarely unleash their raw power. I was inspired the the gay flowing within me so I wrote this drabble. Please enjoy, and if you like, leave feedback.) Dorian had never craved power enough to give into the whispers from demons and spirits. He had been tempted, but the full knowledge of what those entities wanted in return kept him grounded. Until now. Dorian had always been attracted to power. The very first manifestations of magic had appeared in the form of fire from clenched fists. He had been a toddler, screaming at the maid who dared to feed him vegetables. The maid had been terrified screaming for the masters. Dorian’s father had been so pleased at the appearance of magic at such a young age that Dorian had dined on fine Tevinter desserts, and the vegetables had been forgotten. It was then that the whispers started. It was then that his father warned of the dangers of the spirits and demons and blood magic. The first offer from a demon had been innocent enough. In a dream, a sweet faced servant had approached him in a palace that glistened, filled to the brim with toys. It was a spirit that had offered him all of the sweets his young heart could desire. His father had warned him of those desire demons. “They always want something in return” he had warned. While tempted at the prospect of never again having to endure the taste of boiled greens, he had refused. Enraged, the desire demon had attempted to posses him as he slept. It was then that he learned how to rebuke them. The second serious offer had come from yet another desire demon. He was a lanky schoolboy with awkward edges and a deadly secret. A secret that could destroy legacies and could rip apart his family. The undeniable desire of lust filled him, but he hushed his deepest craving for love. The demon knew this, and in his dream a beautiful and sinfully desirable man had approached him. They had dined on grapes all while the man teased and beckoned for Dorian. It had seemed so irresistible, but they knowledge that this thing would demand his life in return for an illusion gave him the will to deny it. The demon had not taken the rejection well. The third time he had been truly tempted had been by the rage demon. With its white hot fury and how it cradled his anger. He had finally come out to his father. He had drawn the line and said that he would not marry whom his father had chosen, and that he would stay true to his heart. His father had taken it differently than he had imagined. He expected the rage that had followed every disappointment, the all too familiar scorn and lecturing with a scarlet face. Instead, his father had remained unnaturally quiet and unmoved. The only thing he had uttered was, “So be it” before he had resigned to his quarters. Like a foolish youth that he was, he thought he had won. He had pranced back to his library with pride, practically glowing. He could’ve never anticipated that his father would go to such lengths to try to correct his deviant child. He had awaken to chains digging into his skin. The confusion bled away to pure contempt and anguish when his father’s face appeared in the Maker forsaken cell. He glared at his father, met his distraught eyes with his own rage fueled ones. Maker they were so similar, so determined. He never let his gaze falter, not through the torture or the rituals, he wanted his eyes to bore into his father. He would never admit it, but he had screamed. His father had left, obviously bothered by his son’s stare and what would take place. The magisters were close friends, friends that had counseled his father, had broken bread at his table, and now they surrounded him with ceremonial daggers and spells tomes bound with human flesh. Anything for the fucking legacy. It was during the waves of torture and countless failed rituals that the voice had called to him. It begged to help him break free and to exact revenge on those whom he had trusted so dearly. It was so tempting, to accept the demon’s offer, but his resolve to be nothing like his father drove him to bide his time, nursing his fury and hurt pride. He had played along, acted like the magic had changed him. One of the men had taken pity on him, his heart softened by the screams of the boy he had grown to care for like a son. It was that man who had whispered apologies as the rituals drained him. It was that man who had brought him his meals. It was that man who had loosened the shackles in the dead of night. It was that man that Dorian had spared. It had been a balmy afternoon when he had received word from the spymaster that a few particularly powerful Venatori had made camp in the Hissing Wastes. He had not meant to trouble his Amatus, but the man was a Trevelyan and knew how to coax out secrets. And so they had embarked with Blackwall and Varric in tow to find the pests. The Hissing Wastes were aptly names, nothing but sand and and ruins as far as the eye could see. The enemies here had been toughened by the unforgiving nature of the terrain and the pure ferocity of the wildlife; therefore, they presented a challenge to defeat. He had told his Amatus that he could turn back at any time, that it wasn’t necessary for him to rush out and deal with his problems. That man had flashed him that trademark smile and insisted that the Venatori were a threat to all, and since they worshipped him it was also his burden to oversee in their destruction. He was always so damn smug. With those steel eyes and hair like black silk. Maybe it’s a Trevelyan thing. He mused. To think that one could so easily play with fire. He knew the dangers, but, “Maker be damned, I don’t give a fuck.” He always had a way with words that made his stomach churn and his heart swell. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much to see him fall. There had been a dozen of them, all spread out amongst the camp. Blackwall had engaged the massive soldiers with a yell and a running start. Varric had stayed on the fringes, setting deadly traps while firing his deadly contraption of a crossbow. Dorian had kept a safe distance in order to properly cast his spells, but Cain had thrown himself into the fray. He weaved in between bodies and blades with skill to plunge and slash wish his deadly daggers. As the battle raged, the more fell to their somewhat systematic combat. However, something irked Dorian, like they were missing something. That this group of Venatori would not fall so easily, so when the last man lay dead, he checked their arms. The unmistakeable pattern of horizontal and vertical lines that covered the arms of the dead chilled his blood. “We need to get out of here.” he said urgently. “What’s wrong Sparkler, does their lack of fashion make you uneasy?” Varric joked. “No, but the marks that would suggest a powerful bloodmage is near does make me a bit fearful.” A deep ad horrid laugh made them all turn towards the part of camp they had neglected, and a mage clad in Magister's robes wielded a staff adorned with a skull. He laughed as he drained the blood from his fallen men, feeding himself with it. Blackwall charged first, head on with all of the bravery of a Warden. The magister, now interrupted and distracted was struck by a blade in the back. Every Time Cain performed his hidden blade attack, Dorian struggled to keep his eyes on him. He moved so unnaturally fast, and seemed to strike from the very shadows. Both being everywhere and nowhere all at once. The battle raged on, they were winning Dorian told himself. He ignored the churning fear that gnawed on his insides as he cast, spell after spell. Soon, the magister fell under Cain’s blade, and he turned to face Dorian with a triumphant smile, face all covered in blood. They didn’t know that the magister was not, in fact, dead, but merely resting in the sand, drawing mana from the blood that poured from his many wounds. Dorian noticed this all just moments too late, screaming as the magister began healing himself. The fourth time he had been tempted was when the undead magister channeled his blood into power, and in anguish struck out at Cain with an unrelenting force of magic. He watched as his Amatus screamed and writhed in agony. The smell of burning flesh sickened his stomach, and the sight of Cain burning in that Maker forsaken desert snapped something within him. All reserves had been broken, and he screamed with the anger that threatened to tear apart his soul. The aura that surrounded him sizzled with magic, and he was surrounded by fire. A level headed Dorian would reason that a fire mage would be resistant to his fire attacks, but he was too far gone. He rushed towards the magister, breaking his magical barrier with a wave of his staff, and grabbed him by the throat. He lifted him with little effort, fueled by his rage and unearthly magic. He willed every last wisp of his mana to flow into burning the magister beneath his fingers. His brown eyes glowed like embers, and he yelled like a man possessed. The magister screamed and writhed underneath his grip, but he held fast and the magister’s flesh and bone were burned away. It was only when the magister had burned and crumpled into ash did he relent, allowing the heat to cool and for the magic to ebb away. He turned to see Blackwall and Varric with weapons drawn, ready to put down their friend for fear of possession. He merely walked past them and knelt beside Cain. His chest heaved painfully and the burns streaked across his skin inflamed and agitated by the sand. “Maker I hate the desert.” he wheezed out. “Always with the quick wit.” Dorian said as he grabbed his hand. Cain wove his charred fingers through Dorian’s. “You’re so warm.” he murmured as he nestled his head in Dorian’s lap. Dorian smiled and he willed the magic to flow through him. This time it was a soft sensation that created a very different type of magic. He was no skilled healer, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. “We’ll set up camp, find some firewood from their camp and whatnot.” Blackwall said, reminding the two lovers of their friends’ presence. “And I’ll help supervise.” Varric chimed, waving Blackwall over to the now empty Venatori camp.” All was silent save for the occasional grunt from Blackwall and Varric shouting orders. Dorian stopped the flow of magic intermittently to drink from his supply of lyrium potions. He started again, reinvigorated, and placed one hand on Cain’s chest and his other on his face. Cain had closed his eyes in bliss, savoring the gentle warmth that followed Dorian’s magic. “You’re always so warm.” Cain mumbled groggily, obviously sedated by the health potion. Dorian chuckled and caressed Cain’s face, running his thumb lovingly over his well defined cheeks. “I mean it. You come from a land of warm sands with your skin kissed by the sun.” he continued sleepily, “and you’re always warm. Dunno if it’s the fire magic or the great genes but you’re always smokin’ hot.” Cain giggled deliriously at his own joke. “Fasta vass, stay still.” Dorian scolded, but smiled despite himself. Cain opened his eyes to gaze up adoringly at Dorian, reaching out clumsy fingers to touch his face. Dorian removed his hand from Cain’s cheek to hold Cain’s hand to his face. Dorian was never fond of public affection. Sure he loved to partake in public acts of flattery and teasing, but he always toed a line to uphold an imagine if not for his sake, but for his partners. He would never whisper confessions of love to his Amatus in front of people, Varric would never let him hear the end of it, but he did allow himself to accept Cain’s sweet gestures. Cain had taught him that it was okay to be vulnerable, and to truly not give a single, solitary fuck what the high court of squabbling nobles thought. He noticed Cain’s eyes sober and grow serious for a moment. “Something on your mind, Amatus?” he asked softly. “Just a little scared that I lost you.” “No magister can best me, I assure you. I could never let an ill dressed ruffian take me down.” he said, voice swelling with grandeur and bravado. “S’not what I meant.” Cain mumbled. Dorian grew quiet. “Thought I’d lost you to a demon or somethin’, they’re drawn to that sort of hurt.” he said as he removed his hand from Dorian’s face in search of his hand. Dorian wove his fingers through Cain’s and they rested their hands on Dorian’s lap, next to where Cain’s head lay. “I would never allow myself to become the same as the men who tortured me, or allow anything, man or demon, to control me.” he said softly. Cain, pleased with Dorian’s promise, closed his eyes again. “Sleep now, Amatus.” Dorian had been tempted, but nothing could control him. He had fought for his freedom that day in the cell filled with magisters, blood, and fire, and he had won. He had won the right to forge his own legacy, to love freely and unafraid. No demon or man could take that away from him. And underneath the sky that bled hues of orange and blue, Cain slept soundly in Dorian’s arms. And underneath that vibrant sunset in the grueling expanse of sand, Dorian had never felt happier.

[caltheriusdrex-blog]

Chronicles of Drex

I looked ahead of me at the oncoming horde of bandits. They were all swords, rifles and leather. So much leather... The sun gleamed off the polished brown of their vests and wraps and I caught myself wondering how many cows it must have taken to produce such a volume of the stuff. For an instant I imagined a ghostly moo pleading for vengeance amidst the cries and shouts and snickered to myself as they charged toward me. They had certainly taken a great deal of livestock from the village along with all the other loot they could plunder during their previous raids. And now they were going to pay for it.

I smote my staff down directly in front of me with both hands and began to gather my will as I drew energy from the ley line that ran beneath my feet. Under normal circumstances I had enough magic within me to roast a swine, light a candle and conjure an illusory dame to dine with. Stars willing enough energy leftover to bed said dame, AKA my hand and pretend-land... I certainly didn't have the amount of magical spunk capable of taking on the hundreds of men approaching.  Lucky for me we were about to have it out right above the biggest line in the entire Litheran Forest. Suckers.

I felt the energy coursing through my staff and into the spell I was crafting. The staff was slightly taller than I, made of rich dark wood with a horned dragon head carved into the end of it. Within the wooden eye sockets two red gems began to radiate a crimson light. My muscles twitched as the electric sensation of the energy hummed through me. I imagined the emptiness of it, the cold vastness of space and the crystalline plains of the place within the void, the place I'd only seen in my dreams, and I prepared to perform one of the most daring magical feats I'd ever attempted.

They were only about 35 feet away and closing fast. Several members of their DeadEye marksman squad crouched down and leveled their rifles at me. The lead gunner (in noticeably finer leathers) whistled a signal to fire and an explosion of sound answered him as the group unleashed a barrage of bullets at me. Surely they expected to find nothing left of me but bloody scraps of meat, fortunately for me the glyphs I'd made on the ground earlier in the day worked in my favor. The first of the bullets hammered into the air about 1 foot from my face and exploded against the barrier surrounding me. Up until this point the shield was only slightly visible from up close as a wispy transparent bubble but now it glowed orange and then red as more bullets exploded against the same area of it which happened to be directly in front of my face. Assholes weren't called Deadeye for nothing I guess. Without the glyphs I'd prepared there was no way I could have held a shield against so much force. I strained slightly to keep the barrier inplace, but my main focus stayed on the working I was about to unleash on these animals. I waited until they got close enough for me to see the burns I'd added to Rograk's already ugly mug. The arrogant asshat leader of this bunch of two-bit thugs. His iconic redsteel greataxe was raised high and he looked eager to chop a little off my top. I could hear his hoarse roar over the sounds of other war-cries. Though of course there were about several dozen bandit guards positioned to serve as a safety cushion between him and I. Pussy. I waited for him to get close enough that I could see his eyes. And then I did it. "INANIS PATENTIBUS!!!" I shouted as I raised my staff and smote the earth again. Thunder sounded from above as my staff drove into the earth and I unleashed all the energy I'd gathered, focused on the space right behind Rograk's ass.

Time seemed to slow down as the nearest bandit closed and I felt the spell begin to take effect. There was a tiny popping noise followed by a current of air pulling towards the center of the horde. It began as a breeze that quickly grew to hurricane speed which pulled from all directions towards my focal point. Rograk was the closest and he let out a startled cry as he was forced directly back into the small center of the rift behind him. He appeared to be squatting oddly, off his feet in the air. As if sitting on an invisible floating toilet.  His eyes opened widely showing the white of his eyes. And he started screaming. The sounds of suction were very audible, but not more so than his cries. He trembled and shook and struggled helplessly, held in place by the suction behind him. The bandits nearest me ceased their charge when they heard the ear piercing shriek of their leader shitting out his guts into the portal behind him. Serves him right, rapist-murderer. His shriek ceased abruptly as the portal pulled his torso into his legs and his spine cracked and broke then he was swallowed by the blackness entirely. With the portal no longer clogged by their leader's fat ass the void began pulling hungrily at air. The nearest bandits stumbled from the force of the winds and began tripping over one another. The look of fury and rage on their faces vanished and was replaced with utter horror as they realized how thoroughly they had underestimated “that magical asshole”as they had referred to me previously. I marveled at the working I'd accomplished, a sizeable tear in the fabric of space and time. It looked like a large wavering sphere of darkness. I could glimpse stars and odd crystalline structures on the other side. It swelled and grew, and as it did so too did the pressure in the air. The men nearest were whipped and dragged screaming into it, warbled distorted screams coming from their mouths Then everything and everyone in the vicinity began flying towards it.  The wind swirled around me, my black duster flapping wildly within the confines of the shield I had prepared as I worked to protect myself from my own magic. The entire mass of the horde, hundreds of men were squeezed and crammed together towards the portal. There were unmistakable cracking sounds as many necks and limbs were broken from the pressure of so many bodies being forced into the dark opening. I saw an unfortunate man wearing a horned lizard skull soaring across the air into an even more unfortunate man at the receiving end of an accidental headbutt that disemboweled him and broke the neck of the man wearing the skull. The portal continued to grow larger, viciously swallowing everyone into it. It happened so quickly. And then they were gone, hundreds of men pulled into the X-Zone never to return.

I wavered and had to use my staff to keep my balance, it may have been borrowed energy but the amount of will it took to channel and shape it had taxed me, I felt like I was going to faint and if I did I'd simply be ripped towards my death like the others. I fought against the oppressive urge to lie down and take a dirt nap as I focused again on the ley line. I struggled and concentrated in an attempt to grasp onto the magical current for the energy I needed to close the gate, but with my will waning I only caught strands of the mystic energy. It felt as if I was trying to cup water into my hands as it dribbled between my fingers wastefully into the dirt. I felt the shield around me weakening and it became harder to resist the pull in the air. The gate was growing larger still, I watched as an entire flock of birds overhead was briskly pulled and engulfed into the portal. Dirt, rocks and shrubbery nearby was torn from the ground. I was suddenly terrified. I'd prefer a sword through the neck over a trip to the X-Zone any day. What waited on the other side was far worse than death. For one I'd have to deal with any bandits who didn't die in the process of being crammed into the other dimension, and I'm sure they wouldn't be too happy to see me again. My secondary concern would be happening upon any of the denizens of the foreign plane. Without  a line to tap into I'd be nearly defenseless, and the kind of death they would grant would certainly be neither quick nor painless. My third concern was how much devastation the portal would cause in my absence. It wouldn't grow indefinitely, but I'd poured enough power into it that it would likely last several moments, and at this rate that could mean a quarter of the town would be consumed, at least several buildings full of the people I was supposed to be helping.

I redoubled my efforts and reached out to the fear within me, used it, infused my will with it. just as the final threads of my shield were unraveling I reached out and grabbed onto the line with my will, wrangling it. I drew in a great big gulp of magical energy just as I felt the subtle burst of my shield collapsing around me and saw myself lifting off my feet, flying head first towards the gate. I screamed, panic evident in my voice. "PROPE! INANIS PROPE!!!" I pushed my palms out toward the oncoming void and released everything I had left in me...

Evidently it worked. I became aware of that fact as I groaned and rolled myself onto my back what must have been several moments later. I was covered in dirt and sat in a sizable crater staring up at the darkening sky. I heard voices nearby and saw a frightened old farmer in coveralls defensively holding a pitchfork out in front of him as he stared down at me. "I'll take my payment in coin, a bed, and one of your fine ass daughters to join me in it." I slurred. Then everything went nice and quiet and black as I passed out from exhaustion.

[san-bika]

Old Habits Die Hard - Lance-Voltron fic

Bring on the Langst ficlets!! Many plot bunnies were had over the holidays.

***Trigger Warning - EDNOS; disordered eating in general***

****This is a paid comission, meaning someone asked for me to write this, worked with me while writing it, and paid me for it. Please see the notes regarding this fic below from the person who requested it.****

NOTA BENE - I, figandmelon, appreciate the concern for my health but the italicized text below is not mine, as I wrote above, but is the sweet girl’s who commissioned the story. She had written a rough outline and gave a me a few paragraphs to start with. I don’t have food issues and this story is not meant to promote or romanticize disordered eating. I have written a follow-up story to this to prevent any idea that this is a good thing or that I approve this. That story was not commissioned by the girl but I felt I needed to write it. Also see the unedited text below - I had fixed the grammar but my patron has asked me to revise it to what she actually wrote! Sorry!

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

I am working out some food issues. Please dont take this as any kind of endorsment of disordered eating.

Food is delicious, Good, important, and healthy. Food is one of the necissities of life and it is amazing how many ways food is prepared tasty healthy, inventive good for the environment, etc. Food makes us strong and can heal us and is tied to our all culture and heritage and family.

If you start to feel diffrently about food or struggle wth eating, get help as soon as you can and avoid a long &dangerous road.

Please know this isn’t realy a headcanon I have for Lance. I see him feeling like this, yes. But I had these feelings when I was a kid and my last years in school when I had no money to buy food and just ate whatever we threw out at work. This is my way of letting go of that. Thanks.

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

Rating: T - disordered eating, anxiety

Pairings: Klance (ish)

Length: 1585 words

Tags: angst, disordered eating, OCD, anxiety

Lance glanced down at a large bowl of space gelatin, blocky and trembling from the movements around the table.

It wasn’t ideal given its green coloring or gel consistency. It tasted vaguely like a sweet chicken broth, off-putting but you got over it. It wasn’t tostones or yuca or black beans and rice but you played the hand you were dealt. Lance knew that all too well.

For all of its drawbacks, the goo sure was plentiful. It was dispensed from hoses, for quiznak’s sake. And it doubled as a hydration source.

Food was a spartan necessity for Alteans; their pleasures tended to indulge their senses of touch (shape shifting in micro and macro ways was both a talent and physically enjoyable, which Lance occasionally liked to daydream about…alone if you catch the drift) and superior sight (apparently double pupils and triple retinas and lenses gave them something like super mega HD vision and millions of colors to delight in) rather than taste. Allura and Coran usually ate the goo quickly and with oh-so-perfect manners.

Everyone was eating and chatting. He lifted the spoon and licked it but felt his throat seize before dropping it into the bowl. This wasn’t going to work. And if that was the case Lance was going to do what he did best. Make a scene.

“Princess, aren’t you feeling tired?”

Allura looked up at Lance’s raised voice interrupting her quiet interlude with Shiro. “No Lance,” she said slowly, “are you? I thought the training session had an appropriate difficulty level. Perhaps you-”

“Well you should be cuz you’ve been running through my mind all day.” Finger guns. Wink. Lecherous smile. Ugh, he was the worst.

The silence was actually painful and the brunette felt all kinds of first and secondhand embarrassment for himself. But it was worth it not to worry the others needlessly.

“LANCE, why?!”

“Really, why though?”

“Come on buddy, you’re still on this?”

Allura was speechless but the twitch in her eye spoke volumes. Coran looked torn between laughing at the pun (he loved puns, dad jokes, basically anything that would make the average person or alien groan) and shaking his finger at the disrespect.

Pidge stood up with her bowl and laptop balanced in some unholy manner, her nose curled in disgust. “Well.. I’m off to my room. If I stay here for another of Lance’s pick up fails, I’ll lose my appetite and I’m a growing teen.” She hurried off still muttering. So quick to judge, Pidge?

Lance felt the red flush of shame creep up his neck. But if this was going to work, he’d need to go all in.

“Aww come on guys! I can’t be the only who sees that Allura and I are soulmates. I mean she’s like my catnip! Uhh, lion nip?”

A chorus of groans and complaints was his response. Allura was aghast, forming words without speaking, clearly ready to unleash fury on the unfortunate paladin.

But with perfect timing Coran escorted her away, clearing their perfectly clean bowls and sending an apologetic half-smile to the blue paladin. “This way, Allura, some space will do us all a world of good so we can come back and practice our flight drills in excellent form tomorrow. Space will clear our heads, isn’t that right Lance?”

The pilot wanted to laugh at the redhead’s twitching mustache but couldn’t. He just summoned an awkward smile/grimace and turned to see how well his plan was working.

Keith had started in on his second bowl of goop, eating so quickly that Lance had to look away before his stomach turned. Guess that desert shack didn’t have an etiquette book after all.

Hunk had scooted off to start dishes in the kitchen. He didn’t handle conflict too well. Man, Lance would have to do something really nice for him to make up for this ridiculousness. Maybe he could work with Pidge to set up some solo interspace video chat time with his alien rock girlfriend….

Shiro was already gone. Huh. He must actually have a crush on Allura and truly not be able to hear even the lamest of pick-up lines meant for her with any modicum of dignity. Or he must have wanted to kill Lance for the sheer audacity of hitting on the last known survivor of her species while aware it was an unrequited crush.

Yeah, Lance didn’t feel great about that either but he didn’t exactly want to tell the other Paladins that he couldn’t eat sometimes.

After Keith had downed the last of his food, he pushed his chair back and strode off with that permanent aggression to clean his bowl.

Lance noticed the faint eye roll and scoff as he walked past him and added that to all the other chips on the shoulder. Well, he was sitting with his spoon up and mouth open like some elementary school kid. He tried to adopt a more effortlessly cool pose but the hothead had crossed the room already and had his back to him.

That went well. Lance McClain, ruiner of dinner parties and cargo pilot extraordinaire.

He wilted a little as he felt the exertion of the day’s exercises. He hadn’t managed much that morning either. He needed to eat but he just… couldn’t.

Every time he lifted that spoon, he wondered if Javier had eaten dinner yet. Or if he’d gone to bed after drinking a cup of water so the little ones, Yany and cousin Carlito could. If Uncle Jorge had found a workplace that would hire him despite his disability. If Mama was taking care of herself.

Had Elisa managed to find a summer job to help Mama stretch her stamps? Were the food pantries any good this summer? Pidge and Hunk had figured out that it was sometime in July, Lance couldn’t remember. All he knew was his siblings didn’t get supplemental meals from school in July. In summer, they were on their own.

He lifted the spoon again but his growling stomach started roiling with nausea. He lowered the spoon. Of course he could have food whenever he wanted. Of course it would be like that.

Despite being the shittiest person in his family, he had found a nice cushy place where food was so plentiful, it wasn’t even a thought. People could complain about it. And even if he hadn’t found Blue, if he had been at the Garrison, he would have had three perfectly rationed, calculated, and healthy if tasteless meals plus snacks whenever he wanted.

Getting into the Garrison had been a promise. He would make it out and provide for his whole family. Even those teasing cousins who gave him a hard time about how tall and lanky he was.

They all had sacrificed enough that his absence was a loss. Mama and Papa had needed to work so hard just to pay for the testing. Now that he had effectively dropped out, all his studying and scholarships, all of his family’s money, stretched so thin with so many needs, it was all for nothing.

If he at least had dropped out and gone home, he could work. He could contribute. He could make Javier and Mama eat at least. Here his destiny was to save the world or die trying but at his family’s expense.

Always at his family’s expense.

Lance slammed the table with his closed fist, willing his frustration and other more painful things to dry up. He swallowed to prevent the nausea from making him sicker but feelings of bitterness and shame drew more tears out of him.

He dropped his head over the full, jiggling bowl. Twisting his hair between his fingers, he imagined it with cartoon eyes and a smile but it didn’t help.

He was a Paladin of Voltron. He needed to be strong to defeat Zarkon and help his family. He needed to eat.

Lance lifted the spoon from the table. He choked down a bite and clamped long brown fingers over his wide mouth. He managed to keep it down but it was a close thing.

Rather than better, he felt worse, like he had run a marathon without water. His throat burned as if the space goo was stuck in it. A headache came on around his temples. His eyes watered.

Had Mama even eaten today? Would she? Could she? Was there even food in the house?

Lance rose quickly. Thick emotion warped the air around him and he swallowed hard against his sadness. He threw the space goo in a trash receptacle and left the bowl on the table. It was a dick move but would throw off any suspicions for now. And Hunk, bless his sweet angelic nature, wouldn’t hold it against him.

Normally he would share his food with the mice but they were too damn chummy with Allura and if they told her that he skipped a whole meal, he’d definitely be questioned.

And at this point he wasn’t sure what would help him, if anything even could.

He loped off towards Blue in a haze, one hand firmly clenched around his mouth and the other around his aching stomach. He missed his mother terribly and his lion was the closest thing to her. Just sitting next to her was all he wanted.

Lance didn’t see Keith walk out from the kitchen doorway and pick up his bowl. The red paladin’s face was neutral but his keen eyes were lit with worry and disbelief.

[dragnews]

Convict History Matters in Australia. But What Else?

Some of the convicts probably deserved it. But walking among Port Arthur’s dead, it was hard to escape the sanctimonious rigidity of the English class system, made even more extreme by the culture of 19th-century incarceration.

I found myself imagining a prisoner who had arrived young, grinding out a 10-year sentence under the harsh condescension of British soldiers. He’d depart with a skill — Port Arthur was basically an industrial labor camp — but how could he not also leave with a deep disgust for class distinctions and authority?

Here, I thought, lie the roots of Australia’s egalitarian ethos, traced back to a visceral rejection of the hierarchy that defined prison settlements like Port Arthur.

This, after all, was the place for castoffs. Delinquent boys as young as 9 and troubled men with wives and children (not to mention a few meddlesome Irish and American activists) were all shipped off in former slave ships and put to work here in a country that was not easy to tame.

The challenges of the land required camaraderie. The British system enforced divisions, putting a small elite above a mass of rebels and rogues. No wonder that those who stayed in Australia preferred to see themselves as “mates” more than gentlemen.

Nick Dyrenfurth, a historian who wrote “Mateship: A Very Australian History,” has argued that convicts were the first to embrace the concept.

“The convicts brought with them from Britain the term ‘mate,’ and they used it amongst themselves,” Mr. Dyrenfurth said when his book was published. “They even rather provocatively termed their jailers ‘mate’ and the basic message was, ‘You’re no better than us.’”

Continue reading the main story

American culture bears a similar imprint. We like to see ourselves as revolutionaries who defeated British pomp and monarchy with guerrilla war tactics and demands for equality.

But, of course, history is a forever struggle. What we choose to promote and overlook often changes, and reveals more than we may intend.

The United States continues to grapple with the legacy of slavery; It took until 2016 for the country to create and open The National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington.

Tasmania’s convict past was also sidestepped for decades, with Port Arthur left in ruins before becoming what it is today: an impressive apparatus for remembering, complete with a ferry, interactive exhibit for children and well-trained guides.

Photo

More than 336,000 people visited the Port Arthur Historic Site in 2017. Credit Damien Cave/The New York Times

But seeing Port Arthur transformed raises additional questions. (The mass shooting that happened here in 1996 is a subject for another day.)

Richard Flanagan, the Tasmanian novelist, laid out the challenge better than I could in a recent speech to the National Press Club, in which he asked why the “state-funded cult of Anzac will see $1.1 billion spent by the Australian government on war memorials between 2014 and 2028.”

His critique was not with remembering the Great War’s heroes, but rather with the lack of investment in other elements of the country’s past — one glaring blind spot in particular.

“We could ask why — if we were actually genuine about remembering patriots who have died for this country — why would we not first spend $100 million on a museum honoring the at least 65,000 estimated Indigenous dead who so tragically lost their lives defending their country here in Australia in the frontier wars of the 1800s?” he said. “Why is there nowhere in Australia telling the stories of the massacres, the dispossession and the courageous resistance of these patriots?”

Continue reading the main story

His full argument goes beyond questions and critique (though there are plenty of both). He also offers a path forward and a measure of hope even for those who disagree with him.

And it’s rooted in what I observed on Dead Island, in the way that the rigidity of one era had given birth to something more fluid, more equal and new.

“We pretend that our national identity is a fixed, frozen thing,” Richard said. “But Australia is a molten idea.”

In other words, history matters not just because it never disappears, but also because it does not dictate. It can prompt change.

The question is: How?

I’d love to hear about your views on that — and about your experiences with Australian history.

When did you connect with the past in a way that felt real and revealing? Or when have you thought the process of remembering needed to evolve?

You know how to find me: Email nytaustralia@nytimes.com. Join our Facebook group while you’re at it.

And if you like what we’re doing with this newsletter, forward it, and tell your friends to sign up to receive it in their inbox every week.

Continue reading the main story

Now for some of my favorite stories this week, and a recommendation we know you’ll love.

______

Brexit and Nostalgia

Photo

A scrum of wholesalers at the daily auction at the Grimsby Fish Market. Credit Andrew Testa for The New York Times

Speaking of England and rebellion, check out this feature on Grimsby, the English town that voted heavily in favor of Brexit in part to protect a dying industry (fishing) at the expense of one that’s growing (fish processors).

Does the past hold too much sway for all of us, or just those who romanticize a rugged cruel occupation?

______

The Women Easing Coders’ Stress

Photo

Shen Yue, who has a degree in civil engineering, giving a colleague a massage in her role as a “programmer motivator” in Beijing. Credit Giulia Marchi for The New York Times

Now here’s an interesting opener for a story about the new global economy: “China’s vibrant technology scene is searching for people like Shen Yue. Qualifications: Must be attractive, know how to charm socially awkward programmers and give relaxing massages.”

Hats off to the writer, Sui-Lee Wee, who pitched this story at our correspondents meeting in Hong Kong a few months ago.

______

Australia This Week

Photo

A diver surveying damaged coral in the Great Barrier Reef after a mass bleaching in 2016. Credit XL Catlin Seaview Survey, via Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

• Damage to Great Barrier Reef From Global Warming Is Irreversible: A huge heat wave killed 30 percent of the reef’s coral in 2016, and continuously high temperatures are preventing its recovery.

• Trump Decides American Envoy Headed to Australia Will Go to Seoul Instead: The decision to nominate Adm. Harry Harris as the ambassador to South Korea is seen as a diplomatic blow to Australia, a close American ally.

• Diary of a Song: Watch how Australian songwriter Sarah Aarons and her producing team made “The Middle,” which started as a voice memo and ended up being an international hit.

• This Man Doesn’t Star in Every Australian TV Show. It Just Seems That Way. Patrick Brammall, an award-winning actor who appears in some of Australia’s most prominent recent series, is all over Netflix, Hulu and Amazon.

Continue reading the main story

• For These Characters, Foreign Cultures Are Just Another Consumer Good: The globe-trotting cosmopolitans in Michelle de Kretser’s satirical new novel, “The Life to Come,” make a fetish of travel and prepare exotic meals with an eye to Instagram.

• Road Trip to Nowhere: The search for a new botanical garden that might as well have been a mirage.

• Kangaroo Pelted With Rocks Dies in Chinese Zoo, and Fury Flies: Attacks on the animals in southeastern China have unleashed anger and bafflement about the behavior of visitors.

______

Around the Web

Time to mix it up: Here are a few things I’ve been reading beyond The New York Times …

Richard McGregor offers a level-headed response to questions about whether China will punish Australia for its focus on Communist Party interference in Australian politics, arguing that China has neither the time nor inclination. [The Interpreter]

Emily Nussbaum manages to cut the “Roseanne” boosters off at the knees with her deconstruction of The Joke, you know, the one Roseanne made about “all the shows about black and Asian families.” [The New Yorker]

James Bennet, our Opinion editor, opens up in a lengthy Q. and A. with his friend John F. Harris, explaining his attempt to create a space for civil discourse, and the difference between reporting for Opinion and reporting for the newsroom. [Politico]

______

… And We Recommend

We noticed that you like our monthly guides to Netflix Australia (here’s April’s) so we’ve decided to experiment with some additional movie assistance.

Here’s our list of what movies to see (or skip) in Australian cinemas this month, with summaries, release dates and links to reviews from our New York Times critics.

“A Quiet Place” seems to be a local and international favorite.

Continue reading the main story

The post Convict History Matters in Australia. But What Else? appeared first on World The News.

from World The News https://ift.tt/2r4lgIC via Today News

[cleopatrarps]

Convict History Matters in Australia. But What Else?

Some of the convicts probably deserved it. But walking among Port Arthur’s dead, it was hard to escape the sanctimonious rigidity of the English class system, made even more extreme by the culture of 19th-century incarceration.

I found myself imagining a prisoner who had arrived young, grinding out a 10-year sentence under the harsh condescension of British soldiers. He’d depart with a skill — Port Arthur was basically an industrial labor camp — but how could he not also leave with a deep disgust for class distinctions and authority?

Here, I thought, lie the roots of Australia’s egalitarian ethos, traced back to a visceral rejection of the hierarchy that defined prison settlements like Port Arthur.

This, after all, was the place for castoffs. Delinquent boys as young as 9 and troubled men with wives and children (not to mention a few meddlesome Irish and American activists) were all shipped off in former slave ships and put to work here in a country that was not easy to tame.

The challenges of the land required camaraderie. The British system enforced divisions, putting a small elite above a mass of rebels and rogues. No wonder that those who stayed in Australia preferred to see themselves as “mates” more than gentlemen.

Nick Dyrenfurth, a historian who wrote “Mateship: A Very Australian History,” has argued that convicts were the first to embrace the concept.

“The convicts brought with them from Britain the term ‘mate,’ and they used it amongst themselves,” Mr. Dyrenfurth said when his book was published. “They even rather provocatively termed their jailers ‘mate’ and the basic message was, ‘You’re no better than us.’”

Continue reading the main story

American culture bears a similar imprint. We like to see ourselves as revolutionaries who defeated British pomp and monarchy with guerrilla war tactics and demands for equality.

But, of course, history is a forever struggle. What we choose to promote and overlook often changes, and reveals more than we may intend.

The United States continues to grapple with the legacy of slavery; It took until 2016 for the country to create and open The National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington.

Tasmania’s convict past was also sidestepped for decades, with Port Arthur left in ruins before becoming what it is today: an impressive apparatus for remembering, complete with a ferry, interactive exhibit for children and well-trained guides.

Photo

More than 336,000 people visited the Port Arthur Historic Site in 2017. Credit Damien Cave/The New York Times

But seeing Port Arthur transformed raises additional questions. (The mass shooting that happened here in 1996 is a subject for another day.)

Richard Flanagan, the Tasmanian novelist, laid out the challenge better than I could in a recent speech to the National Press Club, in which he asked why the “state-funded cult of Anzac will see $1.1 billion spent by the Australian government on war memorials between 2014 and 2028.”

His critique was not with remembering the Great War’s heroes, but rather with the lack of investment in other elements of the country’s past — one glaring blind spot in particular.

“We could ask why — if we were actually genuine about remembering patriots who have died for this country — why would we not first spend $100 million on a museum honoring the at least 65,000 estimated Indigenous dead who so tragically lost their lives defending their country here in Australia in the frontier wars of the 1800s?” he said. “Why is there nowhere in Australia telling the stories of the massacres, the dispossession and the courageous resistance of these patriots?”

Continue reading the main story

His full argument goes beyond questions and critique (though there are plenty of both). He also offers a path forward and a measure of hope even for those who disagree with him.

And it’s rooted in what I observed on Dead Island, in the way that the rigidity of one era had given birth to something more fluid, more equal and new.

“We pretend that our national identity is a fixed, frozen thing,” Richard said. “But Australia is a molten idea.”

In other words, history matters not just because it never disappears, but also because it does not dictate. It can prompt change.

The question is: How?

I’d love to hear about your views on that — and about your experiences with Australian history.

When did you connect with the past in a way that felt real and revealing? Or when have you thought the process of remembering needed to evolve?

You know how to find me: Email nytaustralia@nytimes.com. Join our Facebook group while you’re at it.

And if you like what we’re doing with this newsletter, forward it, and tell your friends to sign up to receive it in their inbox every week.

Continue reading the main story

Now for some of my favorite stories this week, and a recommendation we know you’ll love.

______

Brexit and Nostalgia

Photo

A scrum of wholesalers at the daily auction at the Grimsby Fish Market. Credit Andrew Testa for The New York Times

Speaking of England and rebellion, check out this feature on Grimsby, the English town that voted heavily in favor of Brexit in part to protect a dying industry (fishing) at the expense of one that’s growing (fish processors).

Does the past hold too much sway for all of us, or just those who romanticize a rugged cruel occupation?

______

The Women Easing Coders’ Stress

Photo

Shen Yue, who has a degree in civil engineering, giving a colleague a massage in her role as a “programmer motivator” in Beijing. Credit Giulia Marchi for The New York Times

Now here’s an interesting opener for a story about the new global economy: “China’s vibrant technology scene is searching for people like Shen Yue. Qualifications: Must be attractive, know how to charm socially awkward programmers and give relaxing massages.”

Hats off to the writer, Sui-Lee Wee, who pitched this story at our correspondents meeting in Hong Kong a few months ago.

______

Australia This Week

Photo

A diver surveying damaged coral in the Great Barrier Reef after a mass bleaching in 2016. Credit XL Catlin Seaview Survey, via Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

• Damage to Great Barrier Reef From Global Warming Is Irreversible: A huge heat wave killed 30 percent of the reef’s coral in 2016, and continuously high temperatures are preventing its recovery.

• Trump Decides American Envoy Headed to Australia Will Go to Seoul Instead: The decision to nominate Adm. Harry Harris as the ambassador to South Korea is seen as a diplomatic blow to Australia, a close American ally.

• Diary of a Song: Watch how Australian songwriter Sarah Aarons and her producing team made “The Middle,” which started as a voice memo and ended up being an international hit.

• This Man Doesn’t Star in Every Australian TV Show. It Just Seems That Way. Patrick Brammall, an award-winning actor who appears in some of Australia’s most prominent recent series, is all over Netflix, Hulu and Amazon.

Continue reading the main story

• For These Characters, Foreign Cultures Are Just Another Consumer Good: The globe-trotting cosmopolitans in Michelle de Kretser’s satirical new novel, “The Life to Come,” make a fetish of travel and prepare exotic meals with an eye to Instagram.

• Road Trip to Nowhere: The search for a new botanical garden that might as well have been a mirage.

• Kangaroo Pelted With Rocks Dies in Chinese Zoo, and Fury Flies: Attacks on the animals in southeastern China have unleashed anger and bafflement about the behavior of visitors.

______

Around the Web

Time to mix it up: Here are a few things I’ve been reading beyond The New York Times …

Richard McGregor offers a level-headed response to questions about whether China will punish Australia for its focus on Communist Party interference in Australian politics, arguing that China has neither the time nor inclination. [The Interpreter]

Emily Nussbaum manages to cut the “Roseanne” boosters off at the knees with her deconstruction of The Joke, you know, the one Roseanne made about “all the shows about black and Asian families.” [The New Yorker]

James Bennet, our Opinion editor, opens up in a lengthy Q. and A. with his friend John F. Harris, explaining his attempt to create a space for civil discourse, and the difference between reporting for Opinion and reporting for the newsroom. [Politico]

______

… And We Recommend

We noticed that you like our monthly guides to Netflix Australia (here’s April’s) so we’ve decided to experiment with some additional movie assistance.

Here’s our list of what movies to see (or skip) in Australian cinemas this month, with summaries, release dates and links to reviews from our New York Times critics.

“A Quiet Place” seems to be a local and international favorite.

Continue reading the main story

The post Convict History Matters in Australia. But What Else? appeared first on World The News.

from World The News https://ift.tt/2r4lgIC via News of World

[tsw-story]

Chapter 64 - Power Overwhelming

Five rumps were resting upon furnishings in Deena's living room. They were far from relaxed, no matter how comfortable the sofa was, because it was two twenty according to the clock that echoed with the clicking sound of a second hand. Not knowing was almost worse than a loss—how powerful was the Ley Point, would Eldrian be able to stop Tyreth from stealing it, what was happening now?

Kevin thrust up from his seat. “I can't stand it! Why didn't we go too?”

“I understand, though some battles do need finesse,” Daveon responded, and readjusted his cap. “Remember what we talked about weeks ago. It's dangerous enough that this many wizards are in cahoots, so the last thing we need to do is charge into another country as an army. Next time, Kevin. Next time there's a big demon stomping through the land, we'll fight it together.”

He cursed beneath his breath. His fingers toyed with the band around his wrist, and he tapped his toe in painful anticipation, but he knew that it wouldn't make the clock move faster. It was inching closer to the time the Ley Point would apparently make its appearance.

“Kevin,” spoke the calm voice of Arlandria.

Was she truly calm? Kevin eyed her over, and he thought not. It was simply how elves sounded when they talked, despite the scenario. Perhaps that's why Tyreth was so intimidating.

“You're sweet for worrying about him. But that also means you have to trust him.”

Kevin shook his head. “I know,” he muttered beneath his breath, and then he maneuvers himself back down to sit uncomfortably on the couch. “Thank you. I do know that.”

“I trust him!” Renatta burst out. “He did not die that time I tried to kill him, so I think he is quite talented at living.”

“Though it's weird to say it like that,” Kevin replied with a chuckle.

Deena wasn't occupying the conversation in the slightest. She had a hefty tome, the Nekonomicon, resting over her lap as she sat alone on a seat beside the rest. Her eyes never left the pages. The way she sat back, much of her face was covered as well. None of them were given the chance to read her.

“It's time,” spoke Arlandria. “Two twenty-two. The Ley Point is here.”

***

Eldrian had no comprehension of where he was—what anything was. There were only flashing colours in every direction he turned. His feet were touching nothing, yet he gave no effort to fly, and all of his exhaustion and pain was nonexistent. He felt no hunger, thirst, or sadness. He felt very little, actually, almost like his mind and body were numb.

The prismatic light around him was blinding. At least, he figured it would be, but he had no need to avert his eyes. He stared in awe at the beautiful display, but it wasn't long before he felt its effects.

The power. The unbelievable power. It was far too much for his small body to contain, and he began to feel the sensation of a pressurized bottle ready to shatter in the freezer—one someone filled too full with water before placing it inside. He felt like he could destroy mountains, like an atomic bomb was within his chest, waiting to free itself, though he also knew he couldn't let that happen.

If he unleashed all the power of the Ley Point, he could kill the others that were there, and maybe more. He might eliminate a nearby town, or even worse. He had no idea the strength of this energy.

Sandoval squinted open his eyes and gazed both in terror and magnificence at the glory of the light that had appeared before them. It was a sphere of rainbow up in the sky. Eldrian was nowhere to be seen, but the rest were forced against the ground by this sun's intense aura.

“ Dios Ojo,” he uttered. “It's gorgeous.”

“God damn!” shouted Whitfield.

“If that boy doesn't unleash that power, it will destroy him.”

“So what if he does?”

“Then we're all dead, I'm afraid. No spellbreaker can stop this.”

“What about that other wizard? He can open a portal—Damn! He's gone. The little snake slipped away when we weren't looking, didn't he? Classic Canadian.”

Tyreth's blood vessels were near bursting. He grit his teeth, and as he lay on his back, he stared at the massive ball of power swirling in the sky. It was supposed to be his, and worst of all, the person inside of it was a human.

His arms trembled. His breathing was rapid. Finally, he forced his body up into the air, forcing the thick air aside with a ward emitting from both of his palms. The focus required caused him to scream out like a feral animal, and given the fury in his eyes, he wasn't far off.

“This isn't over!” he yelled. “You're not stopping me now. I got my grandfather's sword. There's other artifacts out there just waiting to be taken, and I'll be damned if I let you take what's mine!”

Eldrian began to panic. He had no idea what was happening on the other side. The Ley Point's energy was welling up inside of him, trying to find its escape, most certainly in the means of mass destruction.

“This is too much,” he said aloud. “What do I do? This is far too much! Tyreth doesn't have it, but now that I do, what now?”

A noise of whirling winds increased steadily in volume, even if the air seemed still within his sphere. It grew along with the rising levels of power, and from the outside, light shot out the sides like crackling bolts of lightning to strike various parts of the soil.

He tried to steady his breathing. “No. This is magic. I'm a wizard. I write reality with my mind. No, my imagination. All I need to do is concentrate. If I can't overcome this, then I'll never be able to call myself something like an archmage.”

Eldrian took a few deep breaths. “If anyone's listening, I don't usually talk to myself,” he whispered, and exhaled deeply.

He needed to direct the power—his focus cut off. There was no longer a struggle against the power, for in that moment, he was one with magic. He knew what he needed to do, even if it wouldn't be a smooth ride. Eldrian the wizard seized control of the Ley Point's energy and moved it like a puppet—his brain pumping, and now actually aching despite what was happening before.

As he forced the storm from his body, there was still some resistance, but he tore it like a bandaid from himself. Though things were even stranger now. He saw before himself a shadow, and it was clearly his own, which departed forwards, like his vision was struggling to comprehend the anomaly.

It happened quickly for those waiting outside. Suddenly, the entire landscape was bathed in colours, like a tsunami of paint, and a beam of outstanding strength fired straight up into the sky. It parted the clouds above them. Tyreth, however, was being enveloped by bands of light. He struggled against him to no avail, and he felt himself being pulled away not to a different location here, but a different world entirely.

His body started to shimmer. Then, he vanished away, cursing Eldrian in his native tongue one more time. It all began to fade shortly after, leaving behind only a swirl in the sky, and Eldrian was hovering several meters above them.

Eldrian descended slowly into a cloud of dust a distance away. The rest groaned and stood, and not only were they still alive, but they felt better. It was like their injuries had subsided. Sandoval gave Whitfield a nasty look, but it was only them remaining now.

That's what they thought. Two figures stood ahead, and it was a man and woman. They appeared lost and confused. The last thing they remembered was the black blade of Tyreth, cutting them open on their date.

“Are those two them corpses?” Whitfield asked.

“Yes. I believe there were two deceased folks here from the beginning.”

“Where's that kid that did all that?”

“I think he's gone. I can't see him anywhere.”

***

“Eldrian!” screamed Kevin as his best friend stumped through the magic door.

He embraced him, and to their surprise, not a scratch was on his body. No arms were missing. He wasn't bleeding out. Even his clothes were intact. He was still garbed in his costume, though his hood was pulled down to reveal his exhausted face.

“What happened?” Arlandria asked.

Eldrian fell into leaning against the back of the nearest chair. “Nobody got the Ley Point. I think Tyreth is back in the Elf World. That's where I was trying to send him, anyway. And nobody saw my face.”

Daveon sighed and leaned back on his seat. “Thank goodness.”

“Now I just feel like I've been torn in half. I think I need a nap.”

***

Various cells lined a polished marble hall. Each of them was blocked by a powerful ward that was nearly invisible to the eye, even to an elf. It was like glass one could speak through, yet had no hope of ever piercing. This is where those went that disobeyed the law of the land. Murderers, thieves. They existed here, even in Heaven.

Yaelos rest his hand on the outside of the cell wall. It felt cold.

“So, how did it happen?” he asked.

The black-haired man was a mess. He sat on the floor against the wall, despite there being a bench a couple meters away. His calm demeanour fell flat, and his hair, despite seeming to be perfect always, was a bird's nest of loose strands and knots. He stared a piercing, icy glare from a single, uncovered eye through his bangs.

“He broke you,” Yaelos said. “Didn't he?”

“No. I broke a long time ago.”

Yaelos lowered his head, and the two remained in silence for an incredibly long time. The guards wondered why he stayed if he wasn't going to speak, but he remained regardless. There was finally a time for him to depart, and he did so without saying a word.

Tyreth spoke instead. “Earth does have lakes like that one.”

He went home, knowing he may never see that man again. But then he remembered that he lost his friend far before all of this. When he arrived, he saw the only thing he needed to see—the only smile that mattered anymore. Eldrian stood there with Arlandria beside him. The wizard fulfilled his promise, just like he said he would. He thought to himself then, that humans truly are fascinating.