#its liberating and devastating knowing that others know this feeling

[steampunkedparm]

we'll never have sex always gets me at the very last line i cant express to you how much this song means to me.

[sharpth1ng]

Ive already posted this in my server, so you may see it twice, but In case you don't see it there im posting it here too.

Im assuming most of you have seen the news about the us election. Honestly im feeling nothing less than devastated, and i would assume Americans are feeling ten times worse. Im so fucking sorry to you all, and I know that doesn't help at all. I feel angry, hopeless, and sad as fuck, and i dont know how to comfort anyone or advocate for the hope i think we deserve.

What I can do is remind you all who you come from.

Women, queer people, disabled people, indigenous people, black people, new immigrants- anyone who experiences marginalization- we have been through this before. Many times. So many lives have been unjustly lost and our rights have been trampled on over and over, and we shouldnt have to be dealing with any of that still in 2024. It feels insane that im even having to write this post right now.

But even with that crushing history, repeating itself over and over, we haven't been silenced. If anything we've gotten louder. We've been having mainstream conversations about oppression and liberation in the past few years that were completely undiscussed when I was a kid. The vocal support for trans people alone, even with the rise of transphobia, is unprecedented.

None of this is meant to tell you that it's alright, or that it's not that bad, because it is that bad. But what I'm telling you is that its been this bad before, only this time we're louder than we ever have been before and we'll be louder still next time. There are more of us than there ever have been before, and if they couldn't take us all out when there were fewer of us they wont manage it this time.

There were drag shows happening in gay bars when it was still illegal to be gay at all. There were Natives preserving language and knowledge out of residential schools, and black people inventing whole new types of art and resistance while they were still being actively enslaved, and those are just a few examples. The point is that we dont stop, we never have. We will keep making art, finding love, and joy, being fucking loud and fighting for each other.

It's ok to hurt, to be angry and scared. Let yourself feel all of those things because its the only rational response to this.

But don't let it shut you down. Your history is one of resilience, survival, and compassion. We're so much more than the oppression we face and we always have been.

Reach out to the people you love and tell them you fucking love them. Make plans to see them. Gather with your community and organize to support each other, find ways to protect each other, and above all else don't stop looking for joy. Don't stop making art. Don't stop showing compassion.

Solidarity is the most important thing we have right now, so don't give up on it.

I don't know how to close this message really, but i want to repeat I'm not telling you to have hope, I'm not telling you it's not so bad. What I am telling you is that you're stronger than you think. You come from strength, you come from people who faced odd that seemed insurmountable so that you could be here today.

If they couldn't take us out before they wont succeed now. We're only going to get louder, angrier and stronger. And when the tide swings back in the other direction, like it always has in the past, they better be fucking grateful that most of us will be fighting for equality instead of revenge.

[skyethel]

What does Judith Butler know about loading her son’s corpse in a cab? What does she know about the horror of turning a taxi into a hearse?

im so mad. i've been in mourning and a state of constant rage for palestine for the past few years, and these past weeks have been especially devastating. while im not palestinian myself, i have friends and family that are, and i cant help but be on edge about the things they cant afford to think about right now.

i read their 'thought piece'. its nothing new on that front, and thats why it makes me so mad. im really struggling to connect with the blind, white-american privilege of calling for non-violence in the face of a genocidal apartheid regime. the fucking gall of these so-called western intellectuals to preach how rampant anti-intellectualism has become just to turn around and buy into some colonial playbook of peace shit is hilarious. people i thought were with me on this, not only on palestinian liberation but on liberation full stop, have been a constant disappointment. i cut off so many ppl i called friends over the absolute lack of grace and empathy they handled this with. when are white western 'activists' going to stop treating us like timed bombs of irrationality?

this part in particular kept coming up and made me feel like i was going insane:

"When, however, the Harvard Palestine Solidarity Committee issues a statement claiming that ‘the apartheid regime is the only one to blame’ for the deadly attacks by Hamas on Israeli targets, it makes an error. It is wrong to apportion responsibility in that way, and nothing should exonerate Hamas from responsibility for the hideous killings they have perpetrated...The necessity of separating an understanding of the pervasive and relentless violence of the Israeli state from any justification of violence is crucial if we are to consider what other ways there are to throw off colonial rule"

literally nobody is asking anyone to 'exonerate' hamas. hamas is a military organization fighting the US-backed israeli occupation with smuggled weapons that is active in 365 km² at best. hamas is not even in the orbit when it comes to comparisons to israel.

israel said it with its own mouth that hamas is a product of israeli occupation. this isnt a matter of opinion, right? or am i too far left to think that a brutal occupation will radicalize its victims? and they gave them the means to become a 'terrorist organization'? how are you claiming to care about palestinians if you don't bother unsubscribing from the very schools of thought that constructed the occupation in the first place?

some of you 'leftists' have been lying about what you've been reading because where are the frantz fanon quotes you like to throw around, huh? where's the malcolm x, the angela davis? where are your insta posts with chomsky's books?

holy shit WHAT OTHER WAYS?

keep our communities out of your mouth. we are not some thought experiment you can exercise your conscience on. we're watching an ethnic cleansing unfold, and instead of supporting palestinians so many of you are playing out your own little fantasies of the 'progressive' solidarity you fail to show. sometimes, you need to fucking stop and listen instead of consulting the higher morality police on whether you need to 'contextualize' your incompetence.

[qoldenskies]

Omg I just read the entirety of the canary continuity and I love it so much! I was crying so hard by the time I was done with it!

Also, I feel so bad for all the brothers, especially Leo, Raph and Mikey. Not only is their brother hurt, physically and mentally, but they can't even do anything cause it was (unintentionally) their fault. Their relationship has broken, and they can't even fix it, because not only would Donnie think that they are lying about being nice again when they try to help, he can't even see them before having a panic attack, thinking that they are going to hurt him (or worse, kill him).

I can't wait to see what would happen in the future chapters!

hi!!! im so glad you enjoyed!! >:D

honestly ive been rolling around the particular angst with the other three in my head, and i've been excited to dive deeper into them and how they're handling it but i need to get through a particular part of the story before i can properly switch to their povs, but you better bet it'll be happening!!!

its the pain of not being able to show him the kindness and gentleness he deserves after everything that happens to him. despite his fear and initial trepidation, he practically folds into april and splinter when they reach for him, and he panics when he sees them leave, and he uses them as a lifeline when he's scared. already twice now they've talked him down from a spiral of panic and comforted him (although theyve been unable to do it when the others are around, so they always have to make them leave. even when they dont want to!) and it's somewhat established that it's not even normally how donnie responds to trauma. he usually needs a while to sit and process before he can come for comfort, and trying to push him does not work at All, but now more than anything all that he wants and needs is the affection they CANT GIVE HIM because he's utterly terrified of them, even though its ultimately the most important thing for him right now. more than anything donnie wants his brothers to keep him safe, but he thinks they're gone, and he doesn't know when the curse started, or what part of it was how they truly feel and what part of it was the curse speaking; and even if he did, they are a trigger to him and there's nothing he can do about it.

and for raph and mikey in particular, who are so tactile and affectionate (and are just as comforted by affection as the person theyre trying to comfort in most cases) its fucking devastating. with leo with his hidden low self esteem its still awful for him, but he knows what this feels like, he's only acting so different because he can't fall back on his old coping mechanisms; because they're the thing that HURT donnie, because the curse weaponized them, so he's turning to anger (in ME he is intentionally trying to start fights because he wants to be yelled at LOL) and trying to stay productive instead. but raph and mikey generally have always had the impression of themselves that they're Good People (mikey is very confident and he hasn't really been disillusioned at all yet, and raph is someone i see to be very secure in the idea that he's a good person, which can sometimes make taking responsibility/handling guilt difficult for him. although he matures substantially around the time of the movie) so its just. shattering.

mikey never saw himself CAPABLE of doing something this horrible (he's just a kid! sometimes he struggles to see past himself!) and with raph it was a confirmation of his worst insecurity; to some extent he has always seen donnie and mikey as so much more fragile than him (he does canonically understand that donnie is very sensitive/takes rejection super seriously, and he worries about hurting his feelings. ty donnie's gifts for the brains and brawn fuel i use you so liberally), and especially when he was younger he grappled with this fear of hurting them badly on accident (and he probably had in play before), and even with the self-restraint he displayed under the curse, he still caused all this CARNAGE... and there's nothing he can do about it. donnie can't even hear his voice right now without screaming. they both need to comfort in order to feel comforted and that's been ripped away from them, and they're doing so fucking awful. cannot wait to write their povs honestly i have a lot of ideas >:)

[velvetvexations]

i feel bad for transradfems because i know from experience how hard it is to accept that some people will never see you as the gender that you are, especially if youre gnc or a poc or disabled or not conventionally attractive on and on etc etc forever. it can be devastating to even think about. but at the same time its so frustrating to witness, especially when theyre trying to drag me & every other trans guy back down the neighboring pit of "you are a traitor to feminism for transitioning to the evil oppressor class". i just cant staaaaaand it. "actually society *does* think all trans women are True women, and all trans men are True men, and we all fit perfectly into their made up hierarchy no matter what" did you know its possible for people to believe you to be something you are not. are you aware that sometimes, people arent lying, theyre just wrong. tell me you know that

it's so fucking cringe and antithetical to liberation

[xxwitchylanexx]

From the Keys to Your Heart

Rebirth Retold Chapter 6

The parade in Junon isn't until the end of the week so maybe a little side quest to Crow's Nest to kill the time.

This is my longest chapter yet, and you should reread chapter 7 cause the beginning has changed a bit to fit in this new chapter. Thanks everyone for reading! Feel free to comment and let me know what you liked, and if you feel like this fits our Cloud <3

Masterlist

Chapter 7

Side quest spoilers

*~*

Under Junon didn’t exactly embrace your group with open arms, but you’d take what you could get especially since the members were labeled as eco-terrorists. The mayor, a hardened woman from years being crushed under Shinra’s boot, turned a blind eye and pointed you in the direction of a cozy inn in the heart of the fishing town. You had your reservations: the glint in her stare were practically made of dollar signs, and how she sat at the entrance like she was waiting for them, not to mention the bounty on your companions heads could drastically increase the quality of life for her residents. But who were you to turn down her hospitality when the prospect of a real bed outweigh your reservations.

You were eager to walk along the uneven cement pathways, the stone was so worn down from decades of traffic that the path was nearly just gravel now, as you imagined what these houses, warehouses, and businesses looked like before they deteriorated to the crumbling patchwork structures they were now. The town was probably charming, maybe gentle, before Shinra installed gaudy support structures and the big steel plate above their heads, what once gave hope for a city metropolis now sucked the life and sunlight from the very heart of the under city. You could almost see it in your mind, cute vintage houses made of the finest dark wood, with olive shutters on the windows. Aesthetically pleasing open verandas that connected right to a shopkeeper’s house so they could run their mom n’ pop shop right outside their homes. An intricately designed harbor that really gave the town its spirit with top of the line boats to fish, after all Junon was known for its fishing.

Now those darling houses were patched with driftwood and corrugated tin, most houses had spiderweb cracks in more than half of the windows, and the shutters were long since abandoned. The shops were still open but the owners eyes were hollow and shaky on their feet, too weary from the day to day fight to keep breathing. The docks were in shambles, the planks throughout its entirety had more holes than wood and what was patched was half assed with whatever material they had on hand, but the most devastating aspect of Under Junon was the ships and the sea. Each vessel was anchored on the shore under Shinra’s order. The nets were moth eaten and moss grew along the sides where the boat met the water. The sea was polluted and greenish yellow particles floated within it, the air was smoggy and thick. Without their boats you assumed the people were going hungry. What once was a bustling port town was now the slums 2.0. Meanwhile Shinra turned a blind eye, the only ones hearing the townsfolk’s protests were the foot soldiers who operated the elevator.

You sat in the town square on the circular benches near the anchor they immortalized when they first founded Junon, it was the very first anchor they dropped on their first deep sea fishing voyage, that's what the plaque says anyway. Your inquiring eyes moved over to the colossal skeletal fossil of the towns greatest rival, The Terror of the Deep. Its maw hung open and its empty sockets bore into your own. Funny how their symbol of liberation, now foreshadowed their impending doom.

The sun had set beyond the horizon an hour or two ago. The others split apart to gather any potential info on where the guys in robes were going next or any details on the big event that Shinra was preparing for at the end of this week. You heard whispers, but nothing solid. However one thing seemed pretty clear from a rumor that everyone seemed to be repeating. Rufus Shinra was coming to town, and where the president goes the Turks follow.

A shrill scream pierced through the evening chill, and panic followed. “Help! Priscilla is in trouble!” You seen Cloud dart out of the inn, a hand firmly wrapped around the hilt of his sword. The others soon joined him in a circle, hovering over the narrow stone stairway that led to the docks. Please…. just don’t get involved… Your inner voice pleaded. Your head wasn’t in the game. Aerith’s teasing and Gabe’s implications weighed you down significantly. Your body was sore and tired from falling down a mine, sleeping on a rough rocky terrain, and riding chocoback for a whole day. Overall your head was foggy and sluggish, your edge was dulled and your instincts lagged behind.

But of course they were going to help, they always did, and despite every muscle in your body begging for relief, you hauled yourself off of the bench to follow them into danger.

*~* Who would’ve thought you’d save two people from drowning within two days, and why on this floating rock through space does no one else know CPR? You groaned, your shoulders slumping with the breath that left your body, as you stalked back up the stairs from the utter disaster of battle. You reeked of fish, and brine. Your clothes were wet from the slimy terror splashing in and out of the too warm sea. Your back ached from bending so far back that you almost fell over, all to avoid being smacked by a fish tail. You only wished you’d stabbed the overgrown goldfish harder. The only thing reigning in your fiery temper was the free room, all to yourself, with a shower and a laundry facility.

The inn was one of the only buildings that still held a calming warmth. You traced the pattern of the sage green wallpaper with a fingertip as you passed through the halls, taking time to admire the paintings of sea creatures cased in handcrafted golden frames.

You ascended the staircase to the next floor and rounded the corner at the top, walking right past a door that was left ajar thinking nothing of it before stopping in your tracks just past the frame as Cloud’s voice filtered past the doorway. His words were dry, almost emotionless, but if not for that underlying sadness you would’ve thought nothing of it and carried on.

“Was that another test?” You braced your weight alongside the wall, your palm brushing against the ridges and dips along the surface.

“What? No!” Tifa sputtered, her voice high and defensive, before heaving in defeat. “Why try to deny it. I guess it was. I’m sorry.” Your pulse quickened as the room remained silent the only thing to be heard was the rush of blood in your ears. You didn’t need to be inside to feel the thick tension that built between the two much like the twisting nausea that crawled inside your stomach. >Just how close are they?

Cloud huffed. “We’ll find time to talk, just the two of us. Figure things out.” Your nostrils flared, your esophagus began to burn as the bile worked its way up. This was none of your business.

Your feet carried you swiftly away from there, much like a mouse running from a cat, past the next door and stopped in front of the room designated to you. Your vision tunneled and your surrounding grew hazy as his voice replayed ‘just the two of us’ in your head. Your eyes stared blankly at the 203 on the doorplate. You could faintly hear your name being called, but you were unsure if it was real or just the quiet yearning of your heart that you were struggling to accept.

You closed your eyes and propped your head against the door, inhaling deeply to calm your rapid heart beat, and turned the handle of the door and slipped into the comfort of the rooms closed walls. Your lungs expanded freely without the eyes of your friends around, as you sagged against the door frame. It's none of your business. You reminded yourself as you tilted your head towards the ceiling letting your eyelids slide close.

You slowly peeled your eyes open to look around. This room was similar to the rest of the inn as far as wall style went, only this one was a rich red instead of earthy green. A queen bed, all done up in blankets of cream and tan, was pushed right up to the right side of the room. It was well lit with a square fixture on the ceiling overhead and a few table lamps. A round rug covered the wood and provided a layer of insulation from the cold creaking floor.

With a strangled groan you pushed yourself off the door and shrugged off your equipment, leaving it to fall haphazardly to the floor. Every muscle in your body burned as you lumbered over to the bed, your clumsy feet catching on the rug a few too many times. But every moment of pain was worth the relief you felt as your face nuzzled into the plush mattress and warmth flooded you as you buried yourself under the blankets.

Regardless of the pure exhaustion that plagued you, sleep had continued to evade you. Your head swam with the event of the day and thanks to Aerith’s little accusation yesterday you came to the conclusion this horrendous feeling must be jealousy, though if you admitted it you’d have to accept the fear and anger that’s welling inside you too. Gods you angry. Not at her, or Cloud, or Tifa, but yourself. How the hell did this happen? You don’t do feelings, and you certainly didn’t do romance. Seduction and infatuation, sure, but never love. It was a liability, a weakness, one could exploit if they wished. So where did it all go wrong?

It didn’t help that his room was right next to yours. Only the thin drywall between your two headboards separated you, and his thumped against the plaster rhythmically, his raspy grunts muffling through to keep your rapid thoughts circling the thought of him. Were those reps he was counting? Leave it to him to have a nightly workout.

You sighed, and mentally imagined as the conflicting emotions, the jealousy, the wishful thinking, the ghost of possible feelings, all the warmth and comfort, and pushed them all into a tiny metal chest at the deepest and darkest place that house all the other memories you kept locked away. You can’t be jealous because you don't care. You just needed to keep your distance and in a couple weeks you’ll be at the saucer and can put this whole fiasco to bed. A tiny murmur of sadness shined from the useless organ in your chest, which you quickly stamped down too. This will pass. After all you’ve gotten rather good at separating your mind from pain. You don't see how this was any different.

Once you did finally achieve the sweet release of unconsciousness you were submerged into the hideous atrocities of your childhood. Usually your subconscious could identify when you were reliving one, and change the course of the dream world, but after all of the challenges today- and yesterday- brought, your body and mind were just to exhausted. Your collective presence was pulled down into the sedation of lethargy.

It started back in the saucer. You had just won the last race, beating out the slimy asshole Chuck, and now you stood in the glamorous stables, a brush in hand and a treat in the other. It felt as if your head, or eyes, was vibrating as you ran the brush through your silver chocobo’s feathers. You heard sniffling, but kept your eyes on your bird. The last thing you wanted was to catch his attention. “No…please, stop…” Your pulse spiked, and blood ran white hot with fury. You set your brush down calmly, and assured the bird in front of you that everything would be okay.

But when you turned around to beat the shit out of the guy, you were suddenly clawing desperately at the gritty ground. Adrenaline flooded your brain as pure desperation clutched at your chest and constricted your airways. No… not here… Not again… Footsteps dug into the gravel and the ground under you vibrated. A group of men circled around you, four at least. The one closest to you gripped your ankle hard enough that it would bruise and began to drag you back into their makeshift circle. Tears fell rapidly, and your nose ran like crazy. You tried to focus on the taste of your own tears to distance yourself from the burning pain in your fingers as your nails cracked against the tiny pebbles and pieces of cement as you clawed at anything to get away.

You found that escaping was futile, so changed gears trying to kick frantically to open a chance to escape, all you needed was an ounce leverage. A small part of you just wanted to stop. Your lungs burned. Your fingers were bleeding. Your vision blurred. Your ears rang. Why fight it? There was no hope. You will die here.

A sick sadistic cackle seeped through the static. His gravelly voice, like an old muffler that rusted through where it should’ve connected to the carburetor, told the others to stop. You couldn’t make out his words, your consciousness was distorted like you were being held just beneath the surface of water, but his tone sparked fear in every fiber of your being. And like a match the embers of your resolve caught flame and blazed brightly once again. You kicked and screamed and scratched and even bit, as the other men shuffled around trying to grab whatever they could get their hands around to hold you down, but the moment you heard the clicking and shuffling of a belt coming undone you crumbled.

Your eyes filled with tears that refused to fall. Your mouth felt dry and your own cries, pleas, and begging sounded funny to your own ears. You searched for anyone, anything that might help. You knew hope was lost when your frantic gaze landed on the nosy middle aged woman in the window across the street. She held her silk curtains open with her fan, her cold impenetrable chocolate eyes watching you like it was the best entertainment she’d seen that night with no intent or sense of urgency to help.

Darkness pressed in on you until everything faded to nothing. Whether it be that you didn’t remember exactly what happened or if it was just so horrible that even your unconscious mind didn’t want to relive it, you would never know, but when you came to everything was red. No matter how many times you’ve relived this nightmare it always returns here. Your vision was streaked in crimson, bodies lay in piles around you. Some were intact, others were heavily injured, the rest were in pieces scattered around you. All of them in pools of their collected blood. Their eyes wide, still, and lifeless. Their expressions frozen as if they were screaming for their lives that never reached your cotton filled ears.

You caught an image of yourself in the rippling reflection in the puddle around your bare feet. You looked like an emissary of Odin himself. S/c skin smeared with blood, and every fiber of your awkwardly torn clothes soaked as well, and dripping down the planes of your thighs. Your sunken eyes were hollow, and lifeless beyond the flicker of wrath held within. Sobs convulsed through your tiny malnourished body and the rusted knife shook violently in your hand. A scream pierced your ear drums and everything began to shake violently. Pressure began to build and squeezed and—

You shot up from the mattress like you were struck with magic, gasping for a clear breath and clawing at the clothes that clung to your form. Loud knocking rattled the door, and a voice you weren’t entirely familiar with yelled at you from the other side. Your thoughts were far away when you stumbled to the door. You took a deep breath and collection your carefully collected facade before pulling the wretched door open. The ninja girl that you saved yesterday smiled widely at you, her lips moving a mile a minute but nothing reached your ears. You weren’t sure if you should consider her a bad omen or a breath of fresh air.

She barely gave you enough time to fix your hair and put your boots on before she herded you into Cloud’s room for weird introductions and strategy planning. Only to find out that the mayor did, in fact, rat you out. You couldn’t find it you to be angry with her though.

An engine roared to life just outside the inn, as Yuffie escaped out the rattling window. The obnoxious revving made your ears ring again and your head throb behind your eye. You’ve met some weird people while traveling with the gang but you never would’ve guessed Cloud had a biker stalker, and surprise surprise hes another soldier. You’ve been awake for all of an hour, and you were so weary you nearly said your goodbyes and parted there. If it wasn’t for that small masochistic part of you that was comforted by the chaos you would’ve been on the first chocobo home.

Once you all regrouped you discussed what you should do now. Shinra wouldn’t arrive until the end of the week when the parade was scheduled to begin. You had three days to kill, and it didn’t seem like a smart move to go topside until the day of. Barret and Cloud didn’t exactly blend into a crowd. So Barret sought out the mayor with a bone to pick as you kept to the back. You just felt so out of place. You didn’t belong with these people. Every piece of you just fought to stay upwards under the immense pressure.

Though here you were, listening as the mayor explained why she did it. She even gave him a portion of their bounty in exchange for the trouble, and the argument stopped there. She pulled her dry brown hair back into a tighter pony before returning her gloved hand to her hip. “Well, since you clearly didn’t have anything better to do, think I could out source you to work?” The mayor, Rhonda, spoke. Barrett nudged Cloud’s shoulder before shuffling in front of him. “The remainder of your bounty- I need it delivered to someone. I’ve already got a porter picked out too.” She whistled and a gray whippet dog came running before sitting back on his haunches at her feet. “This here’s Salmon. Since he’ll be the one making the drop, it’s your job to get him there safe.”

“Doesn’t seem like too much if a hassle, but… who exactly is this money for?” Barret rasped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My son. Haven’t seen him in a spell, not since he left town… and never looked back. This gil is me washing my hands of him.” She mimicked hand washing to accentuate her point. “He’s a grown man. Can’t be clingin’ to his mom’s skirts- or her pocket book.”

“We’ll take the job, for a price.” Cloud said as he shifted his weight.

“Much obliged. Once you make it to the Crows nest, find Toby. He’ll make sure you get the reward. But if I find a single hair outta place on Sam, you won’t live to enjoy it. You keep my boy safe.” She said with a finger pointed at his chest. You scoffed, you hardly doubt that she would last a minute against Cloud, let alone you.

*~*

You decided that Barret was just a man made up of intense contradictions. He was loud, brash, quick to jump the gun, yet could be incredibly gentle, and cautious. He was as stubborn as he was loud and nearly six feet and four inches of hulking muscle. A walking intimidation, yet the first to go to bat for his people. His face, while moderately attractive, was made of sharp lines, and a strong jaw. His glare struck in many through the dark lenses of his shades, and his resting bitch face had people running for the hills. Not to mention the gargantuan canon grafted to his arm. He was both a fierce, loving, and protective father, and the paragon of terrorism- something Shinra monopolized on that.

So the scene unfolding just before you really struck a chord in you. You were never intimated by him personally, you had nerves of steel and skills to back you up, but to see all that muscle, all that bark, hunched over this white and grey mutt scratching behind an ear and cooing his promises to keep him safe with puckered lips like he was speaking to an actual child really dispelled all illusions of his tough guy persona.

“Don’t you worry. Any monster that wants to getcha is gonna have to go through me.” He gave one more scratch under the dogs chin then straightened out to his full height. Salmon, the dog, turned on his heels and scurried down the beaten and barren path that led away from the rotting stench of the sea town. You followed along at the back like a captured spy now held hostage.

There was no joy right now, your circumstances and inner mockery only intensified the emptiness that lingered, but you tried your hardest to focus on the changing terrain, the rocky footpaths slowly fading into something a little more green. There wasn’t much of point you discovered as the back of Tifa’s head beckoned your scrutiny. Every swish of her perfect brown hair ticked like a bomb under your skin just waiting for the clock to hit zero. Her motherly nature shined brightly and lessened Aerith’s concerns, and in that moment you wished you were more like her. Tifa could easily validate someone’s feelings while providing a soothing direction. You actually envied her ability to connect with people, something you struggled with, and it occurred to you that this may have been the first time you’ve ever viewed someone as competition, and the notion left you uncomfortable especially since you truly did enjoy Tifa’s company.

There was still hours of hiking left, and you didn’t want to stare daggers at her back for the remainder of it, so you picked up your pace and slipped between the two of them until you took up a place between the guys at the front. Out of sight out of mind, right? Thankfully for you, Barret was loud enough to drown them out, although being up here came with it’s own challenges. You tried to subdue the rapid thoughts that created the lingering weight that plagued your body, and resisted the deep seeded temptation to sneak a peak at the blonde man to your right. You kept telling yourself that this new stubborn obsession stemmed from curiosity, that’s why, no matter how many times you swiped away the words that formed behind your eyelids, the question always circled back to the forefront of your mind. Was Cloud and Tifa an item? A wistful sigh slipped past your bow shaped lips. You didn’t need to see him to know his eyes were on you, searching for a reason for your distress.

You saw his mouth open to say something out of your peripheral, but before he had a chance to voice his concern Barret was barking out a question, and his heavy gaze finally moved on both giving you a sense of relief and longing. “Hey, Cloud! Remind me, how old were you when you left home?” Fortunately, or maybe not, Barret’s inquiry also piqued your curiosity. You certainly didn’t need to know anymore about him, but the topic was a good distraction from the chaos brewing in your head.

“Fourteen.” He answered simply, his attention returning to the trail in front of you. “No, wait, it was spring so thirteen.”

Barret sucked his teeth a moment in thought. “Suppose that’s usual for small town boys like you. What’d your mom have to say?” As if you didn’t have enough problems rattling inside your skull, as the word mom hit your ears your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. You didn’t think about mothers a whole lot, specifically cause you didn’t really have one. Though now that you were thinking about it, it was hard not to wonder what his mother was like. She must have been a strong woman to have raised such a stubborn man. What would you have been like if your own mother had survived?

“Not much.” The words left his lips so casually as he shrugged. “Didn’t try to stop me- like you said nothing unusual about it. But…”

“But?” Barret badgered.

“Two-thousand gil. She offered me that. ‘Make a fresh start’.” You looked to your shoes to hide the yearning look on your face.

“Guess mom’s are the same, all over.” You scoffed inwardly. Yeah, if only that was true. The mother-like figure you had to endure was a far cry from a good role model. She hadn’t even provided the basic safety and shelter, at least not for free. In her eyes you were just a cash cow, and the debt you racked up just living with her was enough to keep you there forever if not for Sam.

“I turned the money down though. Didn’t need it. I was planning to enlist straight away.” You raised your head to sneak a glance at him for the first time since yesterday. The slant of his mouth inched upwards, a ghost of a smile, like he was recalling the memory. You wonder, did she worry about him? Was she sad to see him go? Was she lonely? It might be sick to wish someone to be sad, but for his sake you did. What kind of mother would she be if his absence didn’t bother her?

“But you still can’t help settin’ your price at two grand. Sentimental ain’t cha?” Barret wiggled his eyebrows at him, Cloud’s lack of response answered his question.

About two hours in your party approached the coast line, and your inner turmoil seemed to mellow out like the slow crashing waves against the rocky shoreline. You held your hand above your eyes as a make shift visor as you looked up at the scorching high noon sun. Something course rubbed along your calf had you casting your stormy e/c eyes down to the source. Red’s large golden eyes, albeit spotted with burning circles that swam as your eyes readjusted, peered up at you as his fur brushed lightly against your skin.

“Are you alright?” He asked, the timbre of his voice so smooth it did put your heart at ease, maybe a litter bittersweet but it was something nonetheless.

“Yeah.” You lowered a hand to ruffle the fur on his head. “I appreciate your concern, but I'm okay. I didn’t get much sleep.” Your gaze wavered from Red to Barret briefly as Barret belted on a “Okay, hear me out.” which usually meant trouble for the rest of you.

“What?” Cloud snapped, his patience for the hulking man nearly spent already. You cocked an eyebrow at Red as you gave him a toothy grin. You angled your head towards the men hoping that Red caught your drift. You sincerely enjoyed the banter and nitpicking between the two.

“Ya know how some parents stop their kids from leavin’ the nest? Claimin’ ‘it’s too soon’ or ‘they’re not ready’” Barret ranted waving his arms here and there to make a point. “Any excuse to keep them at home.”

“What about it?” The crease between Cloud’s eyes returned and his frown deepened.

“Loads of parents’re like that, but I told myself I’d be different.” His big meaty palm thumped at his chest right above his heart. “I’d never keep my little girl from flyin’! I don’t wanna clip her wings! I want ‘er to soar!” Both arms raised through the air, flapping childishly like a bird. Cloud scoffed with an exaggerated eye roll, the barely noticeable smirk not going unnoticed. Barret swirled around to get into his space. “I hear you scoffin’. You think I can’t do it?! You think I’ll keep er all to myself!”

Cloud stopped in his tracks and crossed his arms, his baby blues amusedly gazing over the hulking man. “Oh yeah.” You snickered.

“And that’s what scares me!” Barret erupted, his arms falling heavily to his sides. The two of them moving their feet once again. “As much as I wanna let ‘er fly, I dunno if I’ll be able to let go when the time comes! Maybe I’ll panic- get in her way, hold her down, all to keep her safe! Oh, Marlene! I wish you could be my baby girl forever!” You stared wide eyed at his hysterics. You couldn’t believe what you were looking at. Is he crying? You shot a look at Red to see if he was seeing this shit too. He heaved a heavy sigh, and shaking his head. He wasn’t nearly as entertained as you.

Soon the coast line faded and the path led you higher up hills, and up a rocky cliff past an old decaying boat, an old weather worn flag still lamely adorned the mast. The crumbling brittle ferns were replaced with lush leafy plants and full swaying trees the farther you got from Junon. It wasn't until you passed one of Chadley’s information towers that the gravel path ended and you came across patches of little yellow flowers. Each patch bloomed with different shades of yellow; some light like the sun, others deeper like the hues in Red’s eyes and your favorites were pale and light like the color of a Woodland chocobo or the spikes of his wild hair.

“Oh my sweet baby girl!” His cries took you by surprise, but the tears streaming down his cheeks really left you dumbfounded. This can’t be the same guy who blew up a reactor. It just can’t.

“What now?” Cloud snapped, his steady loss of patience over the day coming to it’s end.

“Your daddy… your silly daddy… he’s gonna…” Barret’s sobs were briefly interrupted as he sniffled wetly between deep shaky breaths. “He’s gonna fail you! Oh, I can’t let you go! I just can’t!”

“Barret, get your shit together!” Cloud snarled. “Marlene’s barely out of diapers. You got time!”

“Right, right. I’m just getting worked up over nothing! Yeah! She won’t be leaving me for awhile!” His sentence started a bit crestfallen before perking up towards the end.

That seemingly was the end of the conversation, but then a few minutes later as you were passing one of the beaten down chocobo rest stops you seen a wicked smirk form on Cloud’s face from the corner of your eye. “Then again…” He trailed off in a mocking tone. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Barret chastised him with a stern ‘Hey’ then the two of them turned to look at you as you doubled over in hysterics. It just caught you so off guard. You hadn’t seen Cloud really joke around, but this fucker was turning out to be a mischievous little shit just like Aerith.

You straightened up and took a deep breath to compose yourself. You reached out and pushed against Cloud’s arm with a wide smile on your face. “You’re such an ass!” His smile faltered as the light force made him take a step back before it changed into something more gentle, more intimate, and you quickly turned to Barret. He stood there frozen and quiet which you didn’t actually think was possible. The girls giggled along behind you, Aerith giving you a pat on the back and then you started moving again. “I wouldn’t worry Barret. After all you clearly know what’s best for her.”

“You mean it?” he asked. You nodded.

“Just look at now. You left her behind to keep her safe, even though I’m sure you’re missing her.”

“You’re right!”

“Also…” you snuck a glance over at Cloud before finishing your train of thought, “Just like Cloud’s mom when she offered him money, you can let her fly and still be the air under her wings. Support is everything.” You heard him sniffle again and you rolled your eyes. Gods he was so unexpectedly emotional. His steps thundered loud against the ground was your only warning to the crushing hug he enveloped you in.

He wrapped his arm around you from behind and squeezed you to his body, picking you up off your feet in the process. You squirmed in his embrace, kicking your feet trying to free yourself before you submitted to your fate. The girls came to your rescue, and tried to pull you free, each pulling on an arm. Aerith even tried to tickle him to get him to release you. When he finally set you down your eyes caught Cloud’s again. The gentle smile, and softened eyes made your chest warm and fluttery. You swallowed it down, and chalked it out to be lingering exhaustion, and stretched out your now sore back.

Salmon started barking from up ahead, and your hand dropped to the hilt along your back out of habit. You couldn’t see anything, but your ears trained on a rhythmic flapping sound, and the hairs on your arm stood up. “There!” You yelled. The others looked up and seen the giant winged fiends. Sandstorm Drakes. “Take cover!” You ducked behind a giant red tank as one of them cast aerora, and you cursed under your breath. You peeked over the metal tank as Cloud grabbed your arm and pulled you back down to cover. Heavy winds soared above you as your chest heaved with adrenaline.

“You okay?” He asked looking no worse for wear.

“Yeah.” You let the quiet settle you as you thought out a plan. You weren’t bad at aerial fighting, but in this instance you didn’t have any long range weapons. You could jump, but you doubted you get a good enough range to land any hits. If you could time it right to use the tank for height you should be able to reach. Cloud shifted besides you and another idea formed in your head as you registered the sound of his sword clanking against the metal tank. You did have materia. You gaze flicked to his, and a sly grin spread across your face. “I can give you an opening.” You could hear Barret screaming at the flying creatures as he shot at them and chime like music of Aerith’s magic hitting its mark. The screeching of the drakes continuously got louder and louder along with the increase pressure of the wind whipping around the battlefield ringing in your ears.

He gave a curt nod before jumping back out there. You creeped around the side of the tank and clutched at the bangle around your wrist concentrating on the green materia slotted into one of the chambers. The orb began to glow before you released the spell and aerora was cast on the closest drake. Its wings beat heavily against the current, but its protective aura faltered and disappeared. You jumped into the fray and scurried behind Aerith’s shield clutching your bangle as you prepared another spell.

A sharp cry pierced the sky as one fell to the ground with an echoing thump as Cloud pierced it in a upward arc. Your second spell landed much like the first however as it’s shield flickered out it became enraged and locked its eyes on Cloud’s falling form. It began to swoop and before you could fully think it through you raced across the land and jumped. Of course you wouldn’t reach its height on your own but as Cloud descended he held his blade flat on its side. As you gained height you planted your feet firmly onto the blade and pushed upwards giving yourself more momentum to gain altitude.

You pulled your sword free from its scabbard and angled back. As soon as the you were in range you plunged the sword into its chest. It’s screech pierced your ears and made them ring painfully the proximity disorienting you for a moment. You firmly brought one foot to its chest and kicked with all your strength to free your sword the movement adding an extra distance between you and the carcass. As fell you realized the fiend was following the same path down only a few feet beside you and there was no way to change direction or move out of the way before it crushed you. You sheathed the sword, the weapon only to cause more harm if you were land on it, and turned you body so you would land sideways. The impact will painful, but you’ll be able to roll away before the drake’s crushing weight would flatten you like a pancake.

Here it comes. You thought as you tucked your arms in before your body met the unforgiving ground. You bit your lip to contain the scream that died in your throat as your arm took the brunt of the impact. You rolled three times before coming to a halt.

You flopped your head back for a second to just process the pain shooting through your body, a warm heat radiating from your forearm. You took a few shaky breathes as the intensity faded. Nothing that a simple cure spell wouldn’t heal. You propped yourself back on the uninjured elbow to make sure everyone else was okay. Aerith dusted of the bottom of her dress, Tifa was messing with the straps of gloves, Barret was adding extra bullets to one of the fiends, Red sat back licking a paw, and Cloud was faced away from you slotting his sword back onto his back. Looks like no one else is hurt.

As the fiends broke down and return to the lifestream in ribbons of twirling luminescent greens you tuned in to the way the Planet welcomed them home. You always wondered why humans didn’t return to the planet the same way. Souls, yes, but the bodies are usually sent out to sea or buried, sometimes even cremated. You weren’t sure if other people could feel it the way you do, but it felt different when the two species returned. Fiends are warm and accepting of the change as if that was what they were born to do. Humans felt more complex, though it could be because you were the one to send them ‘home’. Some fought it, other times the strands felt empty or sad, or extremely angry, but no matter the emotion the lifestream was there to accept them, leaving their empty husks behind. You could only hope that people who leave this life to cross to the next, who died of natural causes, went more peacefully.

Does Aerith feel them too? It was a valid question. As a Cetra you imagined she could feel the lifestream better than you. Could she hear them?

The hand that was outstretched towards you came into focus as you blinked yourself back to reality. “You good?” Cloud asked as you took his gloved hand in your own.

As he pulled you to your feet a sharp pain blazed across your forearm. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from reacting though his blue eyes flicked down to the offending appendage. You huffed as you regained your footing cocking your good arm on your hip to mask the throbbing. Damn thing is probably broken. “Why does everyone keep asking me that today?”

“That wasn't an answer.” He shot back as he scratched at the back of his neck.

You huffed and poked his forehead with a finger. Your eyes narrowing as you studied him. “You’re to observant.” You spoke low and smooth, then retreated from where you wished to be.

Salmon barked down the road and if the windmills, and tattered fences were anything to go by you were close to Crow’s Nest.

*~*

Cloud followed after Toby into the wooden walls of Crow’s Nest and down the rocky trail that led into the fortress. Toby rambled on and on though it all went in one ear and out his other, you consumed every little thing that raced through his head right now. He’d taken his eyes off you for a second as seven of you entered and in that second you were gone, and if he was being honest he wasn’t sure if he’d find you again.

Walking in he couldn’t help but notice the sturdy structure, safety was always his top priority. It was smart that they used the rough rocky mountain as part of their defense, he’ll give them that, but they needed a much gate and guard system. Then there was these sand bags piled up along the left wall, and he could only hope they weren’t there to hold up the wall— it wouldn’t surprise him though.

At the bottom Tifa and Aerith also broke off the main group to take a look around, and with some luck one of them would run into you. The gravel under his feet turned to smooth stone, albeit uneven, as he descended into the heart of the town. He paused to scan his surroundings, that’s what his excuse was anyway, but really he was searching for you. He relented before climbing up the stairs to the bar after Toby, Barret and Red close behind him.

He caught the gist of what Toby wanted. Fiends at the lighthouse, and Kyrie causing more trouble. He huffed and rolled his eyes, a hand landing on his hip in irritation. With Red’s nose and his annoyance directed at the wannabe merc they decided they should probably deal with this. They could set out in the morning, take care of it, then make their way back to Junon in time for the big event.

He didn’t spend another minute taking about it though, he was already down the stairs and looking for their lodging for the night. With that injury he thought that’d be the best place to start his search.

When that came up empty, checked out the cliffs that overlooked the sea. More often that not he’d run into you- on purpose, but he’d never admit that- on your own away from their make shift camp for the night basking in the quiet of nature. He liked to think it was the privacy you craved, much like himself, though when you were asked you said you just felt more relaxed under the open sky. But, now as he stared out and the sunset over the cliff side you were nowhere in sight.

He seen the flow of the skirt of Aerith’s dress before he heard her. “Looking for Y/n?” He turned to see her better at the pier just up the staircase next to him. Both of her hands were clasped behind her back as she swayed along with the wind, the wood creaking beneath her feet as she moved.

He didn’t hesitate, or grow embarrassed, this time. “Have you seen her?”

She skipped down the steps her smile growing in diameter as she stepped up to him. She opened her mouth to tease him, he was sure of it, before her brows wrinkled and a frown replaced her smile. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen her since we came in.”

“Right.” He nodded and mumbled a quick ‘Thanks’ before stalking off, with just a bit more gusto, to resume his search.

You’ve been acting strange since last night- no-before that. Whatever Gabe said to you was the beginning. You distanced yourself from everyone leading your chocobo behind the rest of them. You masked it with a charming smile and deflected questions, but he noticed. He always notices. The light didn’t reach your eyes as you joked around, and you didn’t even try to scold Barret for being obnoxious. He seen the way your movements were sluggish, how you stumbled on your feet as you hacked at the Terror of the Deep. He waved it off as exhaustion, so much has happened in just two days. Even he was wearing down. He hoped a good nights sleep was all you needed.

But you looked worse than just exhausted as you slumped over the door in the inn. All worry and doubt he felt from his conversation with Tifa disappeared when he seen you. You looked so defeated. The door the only thing keeping you on your feet as you stared vacantly at it. His chest tightened and he stumbled closer. He didn’t know what to do. Comforting people wasn’t exactly his specialty though when called out to you that seemed to help. His heart dropped to his stomach when you just shrugged him off and slipped inside your room leaving him to stare where you were just moments before. He warred with him self for a moment between knocking on your door or leaving you be, ultimately he turning back to his down and going inside with a slump in his shoulders. Had you even noticed that he called out to you?

He couldn’t sleep of course, not that he ever did anymore. Even the tiniest of sounds were enough to have him stirring, but last night he was filled with a restless energy. Every time he closed his eyes your crestfallen expression appeared. He tossed and turned for upwards of an hour before giving up, settling on some sit ups until his muscles ached and his eyelids drooped.

When the first rays of sunlight filtered in through his window everyone was herded into the room, and that’s when he started to think he’d done something wrong. You lingered in the back, you didn't offer any suggestions, you wouldn’t look in his direction at all. Every time he checked on you you had that same far off look glued onto your pretty face. He couldn’t think of anything he did to upset you, unless he creeped you out in the mines- and honestly he wouldn’t blame you. The timing just didn’t make sense though. You got along fine until you left the ranch. He spent most of the day agonizing over how to mend the situation, and frustrated that he was too awkward to know what to say.

Then out of nowhere you brightened up again, your laugh as breathtaking as the radiant smile on your face. Pride swelled in his chest and a heat rushed to his cheeks. He made you laugh. His heart still throbbed when he thought about the way your hand felt so warm against his upper arm as you pushed him playfully. He didn’t think you’d been listening to Barret’s nonsense either, yet there you comparing the knucklehead to his mom.

He really thought that would be the end of whatever was going on with you, but now he thinks he may have overstepped. He was just going to tell you your fighting was good as always or maybe something less lame when he held out his hand to help you up. But he saw it. Your lips pushed together in a thin line, your eyes slid shut, and if it weren't for his enhanced senses he would’ve missed the sharp breath that you sucked in. His eyes flicked down to your arm. Your arm tensed creating an unnatural shift of bone underneath the skin. He just stared dumbly at it. “Why does everyone keep asking me that today?” Playful tone and a clever deflection once again. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed the issue. You clearly were hiding it from everyone, which made him irrationally angry. What you said next worried him. With a finger pressed to his forehead your whispered words cut sharply into him, “You’re too observant.” Your eyes cold and hardened, but he swears there was an underlying fear beneath the icy exterior and then he realized maybe you two weren’t that different.

You built this solid wall around yourself to keep everyone a safe distance around you never being aloud to cross the distance. You can’t get hurt if you never let anyone in but in reality you just cage yourself in. He did the same, only he used his broody nature and impassive strength. Until the plate fell he was able to do a job with no concern for the client, keeping a barrier between their problems and his feelings, now with this journey being so entwined with Sephiroth it was hard not care. Maybe that’s why he feels drawn to you. For the first time he wants be the one to reinforce your strengths. He was determined to reach you even if he had to break the damn doors down himself.

His hand threaded behind his neck up to scratch at his nape as he went re-climbed the steps to the bar taking two stairs at a time. He stalled at the top as a familiar remedy. The gentle and harmonious hum echoed through the open frame leading into the unfinished bar.

Melancholy and nostalgia filled him and constricted his chest like a vice. He ambled slowly to the wooden framing and settled himself against the smooth stone to watch the scene unfolding before him. He had expected Tifa to be the one playing this old song. Instead there you were. Sat straight on the black wooden bench your fingers gracefully pressing against the old piano keys creating the melody song he heard growing up in Nibelheim. The song took him back to his childhood bedroom listening intently to the girl, Tifa, next door practicing it at all hours of the day. You were the only one consuming his thoughts now, and what a vision you were. Your e/c irises were hidden behind closed eyelids. The smooth planes of your face looked relaxed, but dejected. His awestruck stare followed down the slope of your perfect button nose, and over the bow shape lines of your down-turned lips The low lighting from the lights strung above the both of your heads emphasized the highlight in your hair swayed back and forth around your bare shoulders in time with the glide of your fingers as you recalled each note meticulously from memory.

He glanced quickly around the bar finding nothing but empty seats around round tables. His legs brought him closer to you out of their own volition as if the very thought of you beckoned him closer. “Where’d you learn that?”

Your fingers faltered on the keys, and your body lurched in fear, a tiny squeak escaping your lips. Cute. “Son of a-” You took in a deep breath to calm yourself before the full weight of your glare was on him. “You’re the only one that has ever snuck up on me! Stop it!”

He laughed, the noise sounding odd to his own ears. “Sorry.” He scratched at his nape once again as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He propped Hardedge against the wall then closed the distance between you. He felt silly for lowering himself onto the narrow bench so slowly but he wanted to make sure you had no objections. The bench had just enough room to sit comfortably apart, but with a newfound sense of courage he slid closer to you, feigning ignorance to the available space, so the sides of your arms rest against one another. His pulse pounded in his ears and his hands grew clammy as they rested on his knees.

“I was at a ranch near Nibelheim. The owner’s daughter taught me the song.” You looked up at him with curious orbs. “You grew up in Nibelheim, right?” He nodded his head. “Tifa, too?”

His throat clenched at your inquiry. Nibelheim wasn’t something he usually talked about, the mere memories enough to dredge up a rapid river of intense emotions. Fear, hatred, devastation. He often found it to be a topic of great discomfort. It could've been the song that eased the wounds or possibly all the discussion of his mother this morning, but for the first time in a long time he wasn’t so hesitant to talk about home. “Yeah.”

You looked back down at your fingers that hovered over the keys. “You guys must’ve been close.” You mumbled.

He shrugged, “Not really.” He was hyper focused on the way your arm brushed against his as he readjusted. “I was… I’ve always been… like this.” Awkward, and unsociable. He wanted to say.

He hadn’t realized the difference in your height before now as he towered a head and half above you. His soft gaze falling down to your lips. It was enough that he’d have to lean down to—

“But, you guys seem really close now.” You peered back up at him through the loose strands of hair framing your face. He quickly turned his head to stare at the wall to hide the heat that was spreading under his skin.

“I guess…” His relationship with Tifa seemed to be rocky as of late, but he couldn’t deny she was important to him. “She’s like a sister.” His answered lamely as he turned his attention to the keys before him.

“Really?” The inclination of your voice pulled his eyes back to your own, the warm hue soothing the wave of anxious jitters he was experiencing. “I would’ve pegged you guys to be more than that.” You bumped the ball of your shoulder against his bicep.

“What? It’s not like that.” He quickly huffed. His reaction pulled another musical laugh from you, something he was slowly becoming addicted to he feared.

“If you say so.” You teased.

The tension in your body practically dissolved with his answer, and the sparkle in your eyes that he’d grown accustom to returned casting the once dull and emptiness back to the recesses from which they came. He relaxed and exhaled the bout of nerves that plagued him before he settled into the comfortable silence. You returned to playing the Nibelheim lullaby, the warmth of your arm rubbing against his taking precedence at the fore front of his mind, when he remembered why he was worried about you in the first place. He observed your facial expression at first looking for any signs of discomfort and when he saw none he moved his attention to the offending appendage. His frown deepened as he looked for any unnatural shift beneath your skin. It appeared to be fine. There was no bruising or swelling. Your movement was clean and precise. You must have snuck off to mend it in privacy, but even with healing materia it must be sore. “How’s your arm?”

Your e/c orbs narrowed slightly, your nostrils flaring as you exhaled sharply. He was actually beginning to like this side of you. You’ve been level headed and witty the entire time, along with being a good conversationalist and polite when speaking to anyone. So to see your temper flare and an attitude when this didn’t go your way was almost refreshing to him. Perhaps something was fundamentally wrong with him, or maybe a part of him took pleasure that he was the only one to see it. “Nothing materia couldn’t fix.”

He itched to press the issue further to see more of your fiery personality, but her erred on the side of caution. Your answer was satisfactory so he supposed he could drop it. He peeled his eyes from you, now slightly embarrassed he’d been staring for so long, and looked down to the keys on the old instrument. He let his own fingers slide over the naturals and pressing onto each note softly creating a different song he’d learned in Midgar. Your fingers slide off and landed in your lap. He could feel the way you gawked at him the weight of it nearly burning holes into the side of his head. He felt heat rush to the tips of his ears as you propped yourself up on an elbow to watch him.

“So Mr. Soldier, when on Gaia did you have the time to learn piano? Or was that part of your training too?”

He realized he never actually told anyone this, and the thought of sharing it with you made him feel exposed. Yet he wanted to share this piece of himself with you. “I got homesick… when i enlisted. I had a lot of time on my hands before I climbed the ranks.” Your bought your hands back to the ivory notes pressing down on a few to play a complementary part the song. The two of you sat together of upwards of an hour side by side playing a few different melodies you’d learned over the course of your travels.

You movements stilled and fingers hovered above the keyboard. You turned around, your back now facing the piano, and looked above to the sky through the holes in the ceiling. He too let the music die there and angled towards you. As you admired the sky he shamelessly stared at you. His chest tightening as his eyes trailed over the slope of your nose and glazing over the smooth strands of hair illuminated by the twinkling lights and rays of moonlight.

Your irises moved down to meet his own as a smile graced your lips. “Thank you.” You voice sounding smaller in comparison under the stars. “I feel lighter now.” His brows scrunched minutely as he briefly pondered your words. He didn’t have to chance to linger on the statement, though, your soft warm hand inched towards his. You gently laced your fingers through his and giving his a small squeeze before pulling away and standing up. With one more pat to his shoulder you walked towards the entrance. “Good night, soldier boy.”

He gazed up and the night sky hoping to find what you found so intoxicated by the moon, and he caught himself smiling. He didn’t know if your growing relationship was romantic or not, but he decided that he wasn’t going to shy away from it like he did with almost everyone. No, if he wanted to be the air under your wings then he too would bare his soul to you.

[notmoreflippingelves]

It suddenly occurs to me that although "Island of Youth" seems at first a relatively innocuous fun little adventure on the surface, it's actually one of the more quietly devastating Elena of Avalor episodes when you consider it in the context of Esteban's backstory and stop to think about its wider implications. I'm going to put the rest below the cut as it got VERY long and because I do briefly touch on some character headcanons that may be triggering for some people. (warning for some discussion of abusive power dynamics especially as they relate to sexual harassment/coercion).

The episode is set on Esteban's birthday but even though the show does not explicitly remind us of this, this isn't just any old birthday for Esteban. This is specifically during the first birthday that he's had since the liberation of Avalor. It's set during the first birthday in forty-one years (!) that Esteban will be able to celebrate with his family again.

And while Esteban himself is acutely aware of its special significance, the rest of his family is probably not. Because from their perspective, they celebrated Esteban's birthday with him only last year--even if they did so with an Esteban who looks and acts distinctly different from this one. (Elena is the only probable exception as she was the only one besides Esteban to really feel the passage of those long years, even as they did not physically age her as they did him. It's probably why she organizes the surprise party in the first place and charges herself to keep Esteban company while"distracting" him from the surprise).

And though it's only just-barely alluded to in the show itself, this is also the first birthday Esteban's had since he was a teenager--the first birthday in over four decades--where he wasn't eking out a miserable existence trapped under Shuriki's thumb.

His decision to look for the fountain of youth is not the rather pathetic wish of a vain, bitter older man wants to relive some of the glory days of his youth. It's the very understandable wish of a tired, jaded (if also admittedly vain) older man who who never got have a proper youth in the first place--let alone any glory days to cling to.

He did not have the opportunity to squander his own youth, because that youth was taken from him by Shuriki--just as she took Esteban's family, country, and innocence away from him. (And yeah, I know he is partially to blame for his own bad situation, but in Esteban's defense, he was an insecure, frightened and stupid teenager at the time and as a result made the same sort of bad decisions that insecure, frightened, stupid teenagers are wont to make.)

In order to survive--not thrive, merely to survive--under Shuriki's thumb, Esteban was forced to grow up and grow up fast. And grow up in ways that no one should ever have to.

This is true in general but especially true if one tends toward the interpretation that Shuriki may have abused her power over Esteban to take advantage of him in other ways (i.e. sexually) .

In which case, his vanity throughout the show might also have this underlying Freudian excuse undertone to it that Esteban himself may not be consciously aware of. Over the years of Shuriki's reign, Esteban learned to view his looks as perhaps the only thing keeping him alive. So he learned to meticulously maintain his appearance, because as long as he remained handsome, virile and charming, Shuriki would be less likely to have him executed.

And I highly doubt that Esteban would be able to break out of this conditioning--that losing his looks might mean losing his life-- even after Shuriki's defeat. In Esteban's paranoid mind, finding the Fountain of Youth is just another way of protecting himself in the event that Shuriki should return (because there's no way he's not going to be looking over his shoulder for her the rest of his life).

All of which frames his ultimate decision--his choosing to save Elena rather than the canteen of youth-restoring water in a much more complex and noble light.

He's not giving up on a second chance on a youth that he'd voluntarily squandered; he's sacrificing his last opportunity at a real "first chance" of youth on his own terms. Because he recognizes that Elena's life is worth more than the life Esteban never got to have.

He's not reluctantly conceding that his cousin's life is worth more than Esteban's own vanity. He's conceding that his cousin's life is worth more than his own means of survival. In a small, understated way, he's making the choice that he should've made decades earlier: putting his family's safety before his own.

Although the show really doesn't dwell too much on the meaning of this (unsurprisingly), this episode provides a really interesting parallel with the finale. We see early signs that when it really comes down to it, Esteban can be much braver and much more selfless than even he realizes.

[atinylittlepain]

Of Saints and Sinners - Chapter 4

Joel Miller x f!reader/f!oc

masterlist

warnings | 18+ dark themes, angst, canon-typical violence

a/n | this one is tough, y'all. we find out how our girl got all those scars...

It’s been five days since the men left Jackson. There’s been no sign of anything, no clickers, no bandits. They’ve made it through the mountain pass and are left in the eerie silence of the crumbling highway, on the edge of Idaho crossing into Oregon. Steve has taken some of the steel out of his attitude, becoming at least civil with Joel. Alex is much kinder, much more open, and he and Joel often make decent conversation.

Alex and Steve have both been slowly providing Joel with information about her, about this group called the Washington Liberation Front. A militia that was able to overthrow FEDRA, claiming Seattle first as its own and slowly spreading outposts across the state of Washington. Way before that happened, when everything went down, she had been at Whitman College, quickly shuttled into the Seattle QZ. Steve had shared a freshman seminar class with her, a passing acquaintance, so when she saw him in the triage center in Seattle, they both grabbed onto each other and never let go. They were both young, and smart, and had easily inserted themselves into the growing resistance that became the WLF, securing minor leadership positions as FEDRA fell in Washington state. 

“I still remember when we figured out that she was immune. We were out on a raid mission, got completely swamped by clickers. Our team got split up, I lost track of her. Got back to base and when I found out she hadn’t returned, I figured she was gone, another devastation.” They’ve set up camp for the night in a shelled-out gas station as Steve whispers these memories, hanging his arms over his knees as he sits against a wall. 

“Imagine my surprise, my relief, when she comes stumbling back to the gates four days later. They had to hold me back from hugging her while they tested her for infection, it felt like my heart exploded when the scanner went red.” He takes a deep breath, “but she swore up and down that she had been bit that first day she was out there, and she still hadn’t turned three days later. She showed us the bite on her shoulder and it was unlike anything we’d ever seen. It was healing.”

Joel thinks of the scars she had shown him, the glaring evidence of violence endured and rejected.

“They put her in solitary immediately, under observation. The Front had cobbled together a de facto medical team, former doctors and scientists. They kept her there, in the hospital, for two weeks. No one would tell me what was going on, just that she was still her but that they couldn’t let me see her, couldn’t let her back out among us.” 

Steve stops, shudders. Alex dips his head towards his chest, closing his eyes.

“And then, at the end of those two weeks, they let me in to see her. She was fine, the bite was fully scabbed over, no infection. She told me they were gonna release her the next day so she could get back to work, that they’d bring her in for more testing later on.”

“They didn’t release her though. When I didn’t see her at breakfast or lunch, I went to the hospital looking for answers. They hadn’t released her, they had moved her. Said that her body was too valuable, that she needed to be placed under full medical observation. Not that she was too valuable, her body was too valuable.” Joel feels sick to his stomach hearing this all too familiar story.

“They told me it wasn’t my place to be asking these questions, that I needed to remember my position before they reminded me themselves. Those were still early days for the Front. Someone said the wrong thing and suddenly you’d never see them again. I was terrified, I didn’t fucking know what to do. I figured she was too valuable a fighter, too valuable a soldier for them to kill her. That they’d get whatever they wanted from her and release her.”

Steve’s hands are shaking as he huffs out an exhale. “Months went by. They knew that I was worried, that I hadn’t just dropped it. I’d get a message every few weeks from a higher up, letting me know she was safe, that they still needed to keep her under observation. It had been ten months when I finally started to lose it. I couldn’t keep my head down any longer.”

“There had been a raid by the Seraphites, at the hospital. My team had been sent to pacify the situation. I was by myself, clearing out the top floor and I found a doctor, one of the doctors, bleeding out.” Steve’s staring straight ahead as he tells this story, fists clenched now, voice resolute.

“He had a gunshot wound in his left side. I dug my thumb into the puncture, twisting the bullet deeper, and I told him to tell me where they were keeping her. And he sang. I shot him in the head.”

“It was easy to get people to help me find her. She was well-liked by most, a natural leader and a good friend. They were keeping her in an enclosure in the old Woodland Park Zoo. The fucking zoo. It was an off-limits area for civilians.”

Steve pauses, wringing his hands, glancing at Joel beside him. “It wasn’t hard getting her out. I had the best of the best with me when it came to fighting, but when the others saw what had been done to her, they abandoned us. I guess they were scared of her, or scared for her, I don’t really know. But I had a car ready, packed up. I hid her in the back and we got the hell out of Seattle before anyone was the wiser. Never looked back.”

“I remember I stopped the car the minute we crossed state lines, asked her to let me treat her wounds. I think it had finally sunk in, what I had seen. When we found her, she was chained at the ankle in a plexiglass cage –” Steve hiccups and Joel can see he’s now silently crying, shaking in both sadness and rage. “N-naked from the waist up, a-and all over her back–” he takes a sharp inhale, “well, she showed you the scars. That’s nothing compared to what it looked like fresh.” 

“All these years, I’ve thought about it, and I still can’t figure out what they were trying to do with her, why they did that. Were they just trying to see how many infections it’d take before she succumbed to it? Trying to figure out how her body fought the infection by exposing her to it over and over and over? Or were they just using her as some sort of perverse entertainment? The miracle woman who gets back up everytime.” Steve takes a shuddering inhale, letting his shoulders slump.

“She was fucking terrified. Didn’t even really trust me, kept asking me if I was gonna have to take her back soon.” He scoffs, “I guess I understood that, after she’d been betrayed by so many. I just kept promising her and promising her that I’d– that I’d never let her get taken back there again.” Steve’s taking shuddering breaths, eyes squeezed shut.

Silence descends. Alex is crying. Joel is speechless. Steve mumbles, “I don’t wanna say anymore right now. I can’t.”

Joel tentatively rests his hand on Steve’s forearm. The younger man squints at him through the dim light. “We’re gonna find her. We’re not gonna let it happen again.”

He’s not sure where those words come from. He’s not sure if they’re even true. But it’s all that he can offer this shivering man. 

“We gotta get to them before they’re back in Washington. The minute they hit home turf, we’re screwed.” Alex wipes his nose with his shirt sleeve, looking at Joel, “we’ve got all of Oregon to find them then.”

The three men resolve themselves to silence in the aftermath of these words, each stuck in his own mind, replaying what’s been said, what’s been lived.

Little do they know about two miles further up the highway, she’s waking up after having been drugged endlessly for the last week, and she has no intention of going back under anytime soon.

[ichangedmymind2]

an actual defense of Lily Orchard or how I came to be radicalized by an unjust society and modern internet culture

I don't know how to phrase it other than, like, I think the more I learn about this person it makes me reflect on how the internet itself has kind of forgotten its 'roots'. Well, perhaps more that the internet was kind of the native lands of the weirdest strangest nerd people you can imagine. Or at least, in a sense, anyone could pitch their flag and exist in a way that made sense to them, even if it was just a temporary fantasy. A way to manifest a better version of someone you cannot really be in the real world. A place of direct expression and creativity and communication. If we are to foster justice in a society of idiosyncratic individuals its kind of hard to do so when we retroactively remove humanity from those who have no recourse to defend themselves. I see how Lily Orchard is treated and I can't help but feel that everybody keeps making the same mistake regarding this person, victims or otherwise. If this is to have begun with Lily being abused as a child and functionally never 'growing up' as a person as a result, why should we as people continue the cycle of abuse? Its kind of disgusting to me how so many people so desperately want Lily to react, to conform with a level of 'awareness' or 'shame' about anything and everything they did or didn't do. Why? If they are that same little girl who was abused by an adult, someone she thought she could trust, why should she trust anyone ever again? No really, why? Do you actually care about Lily? You talk of people as cursed artifacts that can be whisked away with a few magic words. Secured from the hands of the unscrupulous, a threat to liberate others from. When Hot Allostaic Load was written, it was perhaps the greatest most pertinent piece of writing in regards to how trans women are treated even in the most safest accepting of places. How they are desperately unsafe even in those places, how fast they can be othered and demonized and sacrificed to sate the bizarre insecurities of anyone else. And I feel like, even as old as the writing is, it still holds as the penultimate example of how trans annihilation is a woeful default setting in 'society' in so many aspects. From how people perceive trans women, even children, as threats. How people project the worst aspects of themselves upon them with an uncanny instantaneous retroactive fervor.

Why wouldn't I be skeptical of how Lily Orchard is treated as a trans woman. it gets to be so much, I have to wonder if tolerance and empathy isn't a real thing at all. Just a cute gratuity, a turn of phrase. A way to express some kind of understanding but without the comprehension required of it.

Heaven help you if you are a total fuckup and you hurt people because it is by your nature to fuckup. Is this world not for you? Are you not allowed the dignity of humanity but to be cast as some kind of primordial wretched beast that has to be shunned lest the contamination spread? What about that phrase, it holds true: Hurt People, Hurt People. Lily Orchard is the poster child for this in the most literal sense. She was hurt, but then we have the gall to act as if its something uniquely devastating or strange when she hurts others? Well, I apologize, but I can't just do it anymore. I feel bad if people are hurt, but after a certain point folks have to stop expecting more from a person who never really shown any inclination toward anything but toxic interpersonal interactions due to trauma. You all want something from this person, and all you ever get is the worst of yourself. I keep seeing this time and time again. It doesn't matter who it is. When someone is subject of such intense stigma, even if its supposedly warranted. So what? They have no meaningful power. They cannot actually hurt you in any way that they've already been. Its all a mass delusion. There is nothing here, just a weird nerdy little girl who was abused a child and the consequences from that. Exercised again and again and again and again and again.

[tharizdun-03]

Oshi no Ko is always at its best when it’s gritty and direct. The series tends to cop out of its arcs by the end to deliver a "happy ending", which was quite the issue in season 1, but so far isn't too bad (tho I guess we'll see). It's certainly the most effective material the show has had because digging into how production scenes work is just something that Akasaka is very good at.

Given that, I'd like to dig into the actual issues I had with season 1. Because, as good friends as I am with many of them, my arguments are often still misinterpreted and oversimplified.

Regarding Akane's arc, I actually found it to be one of the stronger points in season 1. The depiction of Akane's online harassment and suicide attempt was powerful and well-executed. It highlighted the very real and devastating impact of online hate mobs. However, my issue with this arc was how it ultimately failed to provide a systemic critique. Akane's storyline ends with her returning to the very situation that instigated her suicidal thoughts, and she's met with applause and cheers. Instead of challenging the industry and its practices, the show settles for a neat and tidy ending that doesn't address the deeper problems. It's a trick that Oshi no Ko often uses. It focuses on "bad fans" when the actual root issue here is industry practices (especially with a dating show for minors). And I didn't care for liberal platitudes and putting band-aids on the issues which just amounted to "it is bad when fans are means so then they had to try and fix it with their own Twitter revenge plan." This naturally leads to another argument.

That I "blame the issues of the real-life idol industry on the story content and want the characters to abolish it" is not accurate. My criticism isn't just about hating everything related to it and wanting it abolished. It's more about the show's failure to provide a genuine critique. Oshi no Ko touches on the exploitation and corruption within the industry, but it often falls back on blaming "bad fans" rather than addressing the systemic issues at play. The portrayal of Hoshino Ai and other female characters as shallow and one-dimensional for example (for all of Ai's talk about wearing a mask, she acts identical on screen and off screen), also undermines the show's supposed critique and perpetuates harmful gendered stereotypes.

So, while I do have strong negative feelings about how the show handles the idol industry, my criticism is more about the show's lack of depth and its failure to challenge the status quo meaningfully. It's not just about wanting the characters to abolish the industry but wanting the show to offer a more honest and radical examination of its flaws.

If we're gonna talk about my overall issues with season 1, I actually had several. The show suffers from delusions of grandeur. It presents itself as a deep and complex masterpiece that tells hard truths about society, but it ends up perpetuating many of the sins it claims to criticize. The show is essentially a self-indulgent piece of pandering wish fulfillment.

Second, the handling of Hoshino Ai was a problem. She’s portrayed as a perfect, plastic mannequin who never shows real emotions. For a show claiming to reveal the dark reality of the entertainment industry, Ai's character is incredibly shallow and unrealistic and that lack of genuine depth undercuts the show’s supposed critique of the idol industry, making it seem more like an otaku fantasy than a serious examination of the issues.

Third, the reincarnation angle is both weird and unsettling. The protagonist’s reincarnation as his celebrity crush’s baby is creepy and off-putting. And it's not just in the sense of "ooh weird and problematic me don't like" because that's a reactionary, knee-jerk reaction to it. But it muddles it so much that I don't even know how to take Aqua's feelings for Ai.

Fourth, Aqua’s character is a significant issue. He’s a mopey, brooding edgelord who manipulates those around him, especially the female characters. His actions give the show a creepy, paternalistic vibe. The female characters often exist to be saved by Aqua or to fall in love with him, which undermines much meaningful exploration of their struggles within the industry.

Finally, the show fails to offer a genuine systemic critique of the idol industry. While it does point out issues at times, multiple of its arcs boil down to "harassment by fans" which is a fandom issue and not so much an industry issue, shows us how it stops short of addressing the deeper, systemic problems. Why critique the institutions that perpetuate exploitation and abuse when we can just blame bad fans instead?

Season 1 was mostly a shallow, self-indulgent show that failed to live up to its promises of a serious critique of the idol industry. Its handling of characters and themes is problematic, and it ultimately perpetuates many of the issues it claims to criticize. I didn't like how it shied away from the gritty reality of the situation, and often just focused on bad fans or made a really contrived series of events to force an easy happy ending to the situation. Once again, Akane's arc was not about how her situation was bad in the first place, but Akane's fans were bad to her and that's what they had to fix (ignoring any systemic critique), and Aqua managed to convince the Director to help them with one conversation (contrivance to get an easy happy ending). And that's just one example.

Season 2 is still fundamentally the same show. It won't change the core issues. But it just focuses on industry stuff and how it works, and not having anything to do with whether fans are good or bad since it just focuses on the creators, which gives it strong material at the moment. So that's where we are at.

[mediaevalmusereads]

If We Were Villains. By M. L. Rio. Flatiron Books, 2017.

Rating: 3.5/5 stars

Genre: thriller

Series: N/A

Summary: Oliver Marks has just served ten years in jail - for a murder he may or may not have committed. On the day he's released, he's greeted by the man who put him in prison. Detective Colborne is retiring, but before he does, he wants to know what really happened a decade ago.

As one of seven young actors studying Shakespeare at an elite arts college, Oliver and his friends play the same roles onstage and off: hero, villain, tyrant, temptress, ingenue, extra. But when the casting changes, and the secondary characters usurp the stars, the plays spill dangerously over into life, and one of them is found dead. The rest face their greatest acting challenge yet: convincing the police, and themselves, that they are blameless.

***Full review below.***

Content Warnings: violence, misogyny, suicide, blood

Overview: I followed the author of this book on tumblr way back in the day while she was blogging about her writing journey. To be honest, I didn't have a strong opinion about her one way or the other, but I found the premise of her book intriguing. As a lover of premodern and early modern English literature, I figured I should give the finished product a whirl. Well, I finally was in the mood. Overall, my opinions on this book are a little mixed, but leaning towards positive. While I do think Rio does a good job creating a Dark Academia atmosphere and the emotional devastation of the last half of the book was well-executed, I think her characters and prose leave a little something to be desired. Still, for a debut novel, this was fairly memorable, so it gets 3.5 stars from me.

Writing: Rio's prose has its ups and downs, with some parts flowing quite well and others not so much. When the scenes were full of action (for example, the Macbeth performance and the Julius Caesar rehearsal afterwards), I was fairly engrossed in the story, so I think Rio does best when there are moments of tension inserted into performances or just after (like at various parties).

However, I also think Rio could have done more to show rather than tell. Because this book is told in first person, our narrator, Oliver, tends to be very straightforward about what he is feeling as well as side comments about background or context info. Personally, I felt like Rio could have held back a little more or been more abstract about how characters were feeling and acting.

Furthermore, I had some mixed feelings about using Shakespeare quotes as dialogue. Looking at the author's note in the back, it seems like Rio took this quirk from real-life grad students she knew at King's College. So while I don't doubt that some people do this, in a novel, it comes across less as realistic and more as pretentious. Maybe that's the point; after all, most of these characters aren't "good guys" and Oliver does say at one point that the school felt like a cult. But for me, I couldn't quite determine if Rio was deliberately creating a pretentious atmosphere to heighten the Dark Academic mood or if she was simply showing off her knowledge of Shakespeare's works. Either way, I felt the quotes a bit over-used and would have preferred if they were sprinkled in less liberally.

Overall, though, I did like the pace and the ease at which I could move through the novel. I was able to read this book fairly quickly, and things were straightforward enough that I never felt confused or lost.

Characters: There are a number of characters in this book, but I'm going to focus on the 7 protagonists, just to keep things brief (ish).

Plot: The plot of this book follows fourth-year theater student Oliver Marks as he and his classmates defend themselves from a bully while putting on Julius Caesar at their exclusive, elite arts school. (Obviously, it's a little more complicated than that, but I'm trying to avoid major spoilers).

This book is strongest in the second half when all the students grow more and more tormented by their actions and begin fracturing. Rio does a fairly good job of showing how characters began acting irrationally, and in a lot of ways, their descent mirrors some of Shakespeare's works.

I also thing the devastation of the end worked out well, and it was heightened by the emotional tension between Oliver and James. I do want to caution readers that if you're sensitive to the depiction of deaths of queer characters, you should skip this book. But personally, I found it somewhat fitting given the subject matter and the thematic connections to Shakespeare's works.

The main part of the plot that I didn't think flowed well was the beginning. The beginning was a little awkward in that Rio spoon feeds us a lot of information: characters narrate their family situations one after another, like Rio just wanted to get it out of the way. On top of that, there is a scene where one of the instructors interrogates a student until they disclose their greatest strength and greatest insecurity. To me, this seemed a lazy way to communicate characterization, and it almost soured me on the rest of the novel.

As a unit, I really did like the idea of these 7 characters essentially standing in for archetypes. I think it meshed with the themes of the book fairly well, and I liked the easy companionship that a lot of them had. I also liked that their relationships were often messy, especially during the second half of the book; it made them more interesting and when they began to break down, it felt all the more chaotic.

As individuals, however, I think things get a little murky.

Oliver, our narrator, is somewhat of a blank slate in that he doesn't seem to have a very defined personality, but maybe that's the point. He's stereotyped as the "support" or even the "nice guy," and there were times when I could see that shine through. He does seem to care about his friends and does admit to being naive, so I don't want to give the impression that he's entirely without merit. The main thing I didn't like about him was his attitude towards his sister, who has an eating disorder. He's not very considerate of her, and while I can understand being upset that his future at school is financially threatened by her, he snaps at her and says some pretty awful things. He also seems to characterize his family as awful, and while I understand the negativity there, compared to other characters, he has somewhat of a normal suburban middle class family. His whining about them, then, felt entitled.

James, Oliver's roommate and best friend, is stereotyped as a heroic figure, and I could see some of that come out in his actions. What I liked most about James, however, was his relationship with Oliver; the two are best friends, but there are times when their closeness tipped over into homoerotic and romantic intimacy. I enjoyed the tension there, and it did make for a more devastating ending.

Meredith, who is figured as the temptress, could have been written with a little more grace. While I think it's ok that Meredith exists as a sexual woman who is anxious about people overlooking her as a person, it also seems like the narrative does just that, at least until the midpoint of the novel. I very much did not appreciate the misogynistic comments thrown her way, even if they were partially in jest. Her character grew on me more in the second half, though, so she wasn't all bad.

Wren and Philippa are a little harder to define. Wren, I think, is supposed to be the ingenue, but it was hard to see that in the way she was written. Philippa is described as someone who is always overlooked, and I think parts of the narrative do a good job of showing moments when she has a great impact. As individual characters, however, I felt like there wasn't much to distinguish them.

Alexander is a character who is always typecast as (I think) a fool, and off stage, he seems to be mainly defined by his excessive smoking, drinking, and gay sexuality. I didn't quite know how to react to him, in part because his hedonism felt repetitive, but his drug use in the second half made some sense, given all that was going on.

Richard, the "bully," was interesting in that he was simultaneously loved and hated. I liked that the other characters had a complex relationship with him; they agreed he was a phenomenal actor but also loathed his ego. They see him as part of their group and as a friend, but also frequently argue with him. Having this complexity meant that I couldn't quite see him purely as an antagonist, and I like living in that delicious grey area.

TL;DR: If We Were Villains suffers from a few missteps (mainly prose and some characterization), but is rescued by the deft handling of a friend group's ultimate descent into madness. While I think Rio could have done some things to reduce the appearance of pretense and more solidly set up the exposition of the novel, this was a fairly solid debut that delivered an emotional punch towards the end.

[anthonybialy]

Israel Battles Evildoers Who Got Rich for Some Reason

Hamas doesn’t switch to a rainbow avatar for June.  I’m trying to get liberals to hate them.  These are tough times for the anti-Semitic.  You don’t have to feel bad for the worst sort of haters.  Save concern for an assaulted nation that is demonized for existing.

Baseless vitriol has escalated to monstrous action.  Slaughtering people going about their lives constitutes the clearest violation of life itself as possible in case anyone’s unclear.  One party seems disturbingly so.  The sole country in the Middle East without oil functions the best, which enrages those whose faith revolves around jealousy.

One side created civilization out of nothing. The other tries to turn civilization into nothing.  All-time lies accusing Jews of doing awful things while actual awful things are done to them is one of humanity’s most appalling regular occurrences.  The latest war could only seem worse upon realizing it’s nothing new.

Half of the sides are fiendish.  Invading terrorists may just be the bad guys.  Forget gruesome nonsense about Israel stealing land nobody wanted and that they just might have resided upon a few thousand years ago: acting like both attacker and target are perpetrators is the sophisticated way to lie.  You just know Israel’s foes were asking by noon on September 11, 2001 why they hate us.

“Cycle of violence” is the dark magic phrase to spot.  Anti-Semites realize how unpopular they are right now, so they conceal their bigotry by condemning an alleged cycle instead of the terrorists who began it.  A mugger attacks victim.  Said victim defends against threat to life, property, and liberty.  Liberals shake their heads at the actions of both.  The phonily high-minded would’ve lamented the cycle of violence on D-Day.

Israel’s antagonists pair pretend outrage with actual harm.  As usual, Democrats spurred agony by trying to help.  That’s sadly the best-case scenario.  You might be more generous than deserved and presume they’re not actively encouraging mayhem.  The best case is that doing such would require planning ahead.

Stimulus checks for Hamas got their sole industry humming.  A foreign policy that was already discredited has added granting an allowance to barbarians as a bullet/low point.

It turns out there are worse bribes than giving liberals useless degrees at taxpayer expense.  You’ll be shocked to learn those who shriek about paying back money they borrowed to major in political science so they can afford to keep patronizing artisan baristas don’t grasp how budgeting works.

Blaming the police for crime has devastated countless innocent humans.  The principle has gone international.  The baffling view that cops were the ones causing problems enabled subway-shovers. Its daft holders covered Iran’s discretionary rocket budget.

The White House did their part to wreck society and inhabitants by bailing out America’s sworn enemy.  That’s America’s White House, for the record.  The typical excuse is their usual one, namely that they had no idea their ideas would unleash perniciousness.  Ruining budgets for Americans is accompanied by tossing cash at lunatic mullahs.

Democrats believed Saddam Hussein was building a chocolate chip factory, too.  The only thing keeping Iran from prompting more devastation is ineptness.  Joe Biden is here to help them.  Claims that Iran’s trust fund won’t be spent irresponsibly are based in a Post-it stuck on the cash sacks noting it’s for humanitarian aid, which would be laughable if not for the blood splattered on Israeli streets.  Their pet terrorists attacked Israel less than a month after funds suddenly became free. This presidency strongly discourages noticing consequences.

Earth’s most nefarious terror state used different bills to fund terror, so tell your conscience to pipe down.  Take from this pile, not that one.  A notion that’s either disingenuous or ignorant sums up liberal thinking.  The mob budgets in the same way, with the difference being they can operate businesses.

Iran’s centrifuges spin in celebration.  The usual mendacious scumbags cherish the subsidy, although they won’t send a thank you card.  Democrats have gone out of their way to enable shoplifters, violent agents of urban chaos, and border-hoppers, so the terrible assault against Israel is no more surprising than who facilitated it.

Leave it to liberals to not grasp how loosening up dollars permits spending on other things.  Why would anyone stick to some lame budget?  Iran could’ve just printed more money.

An unwillingness to modify a budget because it would mean less fun is the signature economic principle from the adult children staffing this White House.  You might have to choose grilled cheese instead of Chuck E. Cheese if funds are tight unless you live near the Tehran location.  Under Biden, bread is a luxury, but only in his home country.

Iran’s hobby is funding terrorism.  Their free-time pursuit was funded by Biden putting them on the honor system.  Aiding maliciousness while hassling the decent is regrettably natural from an administration through its consistent opposition to reality.

Biden’s pals are being uncool.  His fervent dedication to attempting peace by befriending the sinister hasn’t quite convinced them to behave.  He’s still lunching alone in the cafeteria.

Inflation making money worth less finally helps, as medieval intruders couldn’t buy as many implements to inflict atrocities.  Liberating funds on September 11 for a real cartoonish villain was not just symbolically disgusting.

Heinous Hamas will find a new homeland in the sea.  The prototypical human demons are as evil as they are stupid.  An excuse for Israel to remove a roving gang of serial killers will be executed with no help from a feckless president that allows mayhem like a substitute teacher.

Hamas failed to anticipate Israel’s righteously swift response for the same shortsighted reason lottery winners who don’t plan ahead spend until they’re broke.  They just bought rockets with the Biden cash infusion instead of McMansions.

Opening wallets so terror benefactors can grab walking-around money turns out to not be a super strategy for finances and pace.  A president who wants to disarm law-abiding Americans coordinated Venmoing the Hamas rocket fund.  Add “fungible” to the ceaseless list of words liberals don’t understand.

[marjansmarwani]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤ (—maddie/reyesstrand 💗)

Thank you, Maddie, I always appreciate the opportunity to self-promote (which is something I think we should all do more often)!

It took me a while to pick mostly because I have 130 Lone Star fics alone, but I tried to go with the ones I really, truly love. Which was hard because I loving a fic a requirement for it being posted at all. But I managed to select 5, eventually.

would've loved you for a lifetime

Prompt: Characters are secretly married and one of them is hurt at work ----- The story of how TK and Carlos came together, and how they almost missed out on their future before it even got a chance to start.

This is a favorite because I really think that some of the descriptions are closer to poetry than any actual poetry that I've ever tried to write. It was also the first time I ever worked with a non-linear narrative, which is a technique I love. The story of TK and Carlos secretly getting married was fun to piece together and reveal in pieces. When it comes to the actual language used this is still probably my favorite thing I have ever written.

I am not what you planned

Dr. Carlos Reyes can’t stand the newest paramedic at the 126. He’s cocky, impulsive, abrasive, and — while admittedly very good at his job — a thorn in his side. Paramedic TK Strand feels the same: he can’t seem to go anywhere in this damn city without someone singing the praises of the young, talented local-boy-turned-doctor. But as time passes some of the bravado fades and their true natures are revealed. Slowly they each start to realize that maybe the other isn’t as bad as they once thought and that maybe — just maybe — there is much more to them than meets the eye.  ---- aka the Dr. Reyes/Paramedic Strand Enemies to Lovers AU

Each of my AUs has a special place in my heart (especially the teacher AU, which I almost picked instead) but writing this one was such an experience, and writing the enemies part of this fic was probably some of the most fun I've ever had while writing. I don't think I'll ever be over this fic, truly.

the truth is stranger than all my dreams

Marjan likes to think that she’s confident, that she can take on anything. But things are showing her that she may not know herself as well as she thinks and that the future can be a scary thing. ----- A Marjan centric 2x04 Coda

Outside of tarlos and Owen, my favorite character to write about is Marjan. Because she is my absolute favorite, after all. But this one always sticks out to me because after the whole thing with Salim what struck me most was the unexpected uncertain future she was suddenly faced with, which I would imagine would feel both liberating and absolutely terrifying. So I wanted to explore that and I am pleased with how it came out.

why can't I hold on?

There is nothing in the world Gwyn Morgan loves more than her children. Loving them has never been hard, but having to stand aside as life took its toll? That was something else entirely—especially when it came to her oldest.  Or, 5 times Gwyn feared for her oldest son, and the one time she knew he would be okay 

My Gwyn fic, aka one of only two fics that have ever made me cry while writing. I love Gwyn so much, and I started writing this fic as soon as she was mentioned in the show. I originally paused on it to wait until we had a better feel for her as a character and ultimately didn't finish it until they killed her, which added a whole other dimension to the writing of this. I vividly remember working on this fic while sitting at my neighborhood coffee shop as Amen came on my shuffle. I had to leave because I started crying. But, regardless of the emotional devastation, I really enjoyed filling in some blanks and accidentally creating an origin story for the coma cookies. And I love her even more after writing this (I'm still not over what they did to her, btw)

the stain you can't wash out

In Owen’s experience, guilt went hand in hand with grief. — An(other) Owen character study that wouldn’t leave me alone after 3x16

The Owen grief fic (or one of them, at least). One of the reasons I like this one is the title, which came from a poem I attempted to write and failed. But mostly it's because Owen Strand is a mess and I love digging around inside his mind. I can't quite explain why I am so fascinated by writing fics by him but I think it has something to do with the fact that I see him as an actually fascinating character that they just don't use to his full potential. There could be some great stories told with the things they have already given the character, but they consistently make the stupidest choices when it comes to him. So I love this fic because I enjoyed reexamining his character in the light of learning about his dead brother and extrapolating how that effected him and informed everything he did from that point forward and how he masks his grief with his job, and how his work is what keeps him from going insane as it feels like penance that he is still paying all these years later. I enjoyed looking at all the parts of his life (and sketching out my idea for his first meeting with Gwyn) even if writing about his experience on 9/11 was intense.

Honorable mentions (because I can't help myself):

Stars Will Guide You Home - aka the carjacking fic, as affectionately named by @terramous

you can't hide from time - because I love the 252 crew as I imagined them here and would love to revisit them at some point in the future

[songbirdseung]

echoes of liberation / jeon jungkook

synopsis: Y/N experiences a breakup with their partner, leaving Jungkook feeling sympathetic towards Y/N. However, amidst the sorrow, Jungkook also senses a certain sense of liberation.

The night was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside Y/N's window. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone, the words of her now ex-partner, Han-Jung, still fresh in her mind. Their breakup had been inevitable, a long time coming, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Y/N and Han-Jung had been together for years. They had weathered storms, shared dreams, and built a life together. But as time passed, they realized that they had grown apart. The love they once shared had slowly eroded, leaving behind a sense of emptiness and resentment.

With a sigh, Y/N finally dialed a familiar number, and after a few rings, Jungkook answered. He was a friend who had always been there, a constant presence in Y/N's life.

"Hey," Y/N said, her voice trembling. "I just… I needed to talk to someone."

Jungkook could sense the vulnerability in her tone, and he immediately offered comfort. "Of course, Y/N. I'm here for you. What happened?"

Y/N recounted the painful details of the breakup with Han-Jung, her voice breaking at times. Jungkook listened attentively, offering a sympathetic ear and words of consolation. But as he listened, he couldn't help but feel a certain weight lift from his own heart, a feeling he was almost afraid to acknowledge.

When Y/N finished speaking, Jungkook hesitated for a moment before saying, "Y/N, I'm so sorry you're going through this. It must be incredibly tough."

Y/N nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. "Yeah, it is. But it's also… strange. I should be devastated, right? But there's a part of me, a tiny part, that feels… relief."

Jungkook swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he replied, "I can't pretend to fully understand your feelings, Y/N, but sometimes, when something is broken beyond repair, finding the strength to let go can be liberating in its own way."

Y/N wiped away her tears and looked at Jungkook with gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you, Jungkook. Your support means the world to me."

Over the weeks that followed, Y/N and Han-Jung began the difficult process of untangling their lives from each other. It was a painful and emotionally draining experience, but there was an undeniable sense of freedom that began to emerge from the ashes of their relationship.

Jungkook continued to be a pillar of support for Y/N, offering his friendship and understanding. As they spent more time together, Y/N began to notice something different about Jungkook—a warmth, a kindness, and a depth of connection she had never truly appreciated before.

One evening, as they sat together on Y/N's balcony, watching the city lights twinkle in the distance, Y/N turned to Jungkook. "You know, Jungkook, you've been an incredible friend through all of this. I don't know what I would've done without you."

Jungkook smiled softly. "I'm just glad I could be here for you, Y/N."

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart racing. "There's something else I need to say, Jungkook. Something I've been feeling for a while now."

Jungkook looked at her, his curiosity piqued. "What is it, Y/N?"

She hesitated for a moment, then took his hand in hers. "I think I'm falling in love with you, Jungkook."

The words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Jungkook's eyes widened with surprise, but then a soft smile graced his lips.

"Y/N," he said, his voice filled with warmth, "I think I'm falling in love with you too."

In that moment, the weight of their past relationships and the pain of their recent struggles seemed to fade into the background. Y/N and Jungkook had discovered a love that was born from the ashes of their past, a love that felt like a breath of fresh air, a love that offered a sense of relief and liberation they had never known before.

As they leaned in to share their first kiss, they knew that their journey was just beginning, and they were ready to embrace the future together, free from the constraints of their past. In each other's arms, they found solace and a love that had been waiting to blossom, a love that was, in its own way, a beautiful and unexpected release from the past.

[qiangweirosa]

first kiss

" Giann forces Vyn to tag along to a formal event. Vyn can’t refuse anything Giann asks.

aka my hc for giannovyn first kiss!! "

relationships: giann/vyn tws: none wc: 1526 extra: set in pre-canon, absolutely devastating fluff and very self indulgent

read on ao3!

The bright lights. The people walking everywhere around the venue, talking amongst each other. The loud noise surrounding him. The oh so obviously painted on smiles, masking whatever thoughts their owner had in their mind. The quick glances they shot him when they thought he wasn’t paying attention, whispering with their companions. 

Vyn hated formal events. 

He thought he would finally be free from them when he had left Svart. Unfortunately, Vyn happened to have a very forceful friend who insisted on the psychiatrist accompanying him - Giann. 

And now Giann was nowhere to be seen, most likely talking to a business partner or whatever - frankly, Vyn couldn’t care any less, all he knew was that he really, really needed to get out of this place and of the crowd. 

He had been observing the venue for a while, swirling his drink in his glass. Finally, after some time, he spotted an exit to a far away balcony, in a less crowded side of the venue. He placed his - still untouched - glass down on the closest surface he could find, and headed towards that exit with quick strides. 

The fresh air felt liberating. He was right; there weren’t many people on the balcony, leaving him to take a breath and relax on his own. Vyn removed his glasses to run a hand down his face; these types of events really drained him out. He didn’t know if he would have the energy to drive home today - maybe he’ll simply crash at Giann’s like he used to. 

Vyn replaced his glasses on his nose, and walked to lean against one of the railings. He could feel the cold metal through his sleeves - cooling him down slightly. This outfit was suffocating, but it was a gift from Giann, and he couldn’t not wear it. 

He also didn’t have any other outfit fitting for such an event anymore, but that was another thing. 

Hair strands fell in front of his face. His head swayed slightly to the faint rhythm of the music, soothing him. As much as he didn’t enjoy these events, he had to admit the music was always something to look forward to. His fingers danced on the railing, following the beat, a low hum coming from his chest. 

Steps sounded behind him. Vyn tensed up. He quickly glanced to his right, his head moving to find the source of the steps. Just as he saw a familiar head of purple, he heard the voice of its owner. 

“Don’t look so startled, it’s just me.”

Giann offered him a smile as he walked to reach him. Vyn relaxed. He fully turned to face his friend, a light frown on his features. 

“Where were you?”

Giann’s smile fell. He glanced away, leaning on the railing next to Vyn. 

“I’m sorry. Some business partners started talking to me and I couldn’t get away. Before I knew it I had lost sight of you.”

A beat passed, and Giann looked back up at Vyn. 

“I hope you held up well, though.”

The psychiatrist huffed, a roll of his eyes accompanying the noise. Still, Giann could see the corners of his lips twitching up. 

“Of course I did. Are you sure that you held up without me?”

Giann laughed. He leant closer to Vyn as he did so, a teasing glint shining in his eyes. 

“No, not at all. I was about to break down, actually. I can’t live without you by my side.”

He threw his head back and placed the back of his hand on his forehead dramatically, his other hand on his heart. Vyn let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Don’t act like that isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

Another beat passed. Silence fell onto the pair, the music from the orchestra inside wrapping around them. Vyn’s gaze fell onto the lights inside; Giann’s gaze fell onto Vyn.

“Would you care for a dance?”

Vyn turned his head towards his friend once more, watching the hand outstretched towards him with skeptical eyes. 

“I beg your pardon?”

Giann’s cheeks flushed. He looked down for a second, hesitating, before looking back up at Vyn. 

“Me, you. A dance. Or are you not interested?”

Vyn blinked a few times. His face felt warm. It felt warmer the longer he stared at the man in front of him, looking somehow even more beautiful than usual as he blushed and looked at him nervously. 

Vyn took Giann’s hand in his. 

“I’d love to.”

Giann stood back straight, pulling Vyn close to him. The proximity caused Vyn to look up - their height difference suddenly feeling much realer. A hand settled on his waist, and he placed his on Giann’s shoulder. 

They felt stiff. Giann led with a step, Vyn following. Their stares never leaving each other, letting their muscle memory do the work. Vyn could feel Giann’s breaths on his face. He could also feel his heartbeat on his chest - unusually fast, probably matching his. 

They danced along to the music, no words spoken between them. Vyn turned under Giann’s hand, already craving back the heat of his touch on his waist. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

The dance lingered on. As they stopped, the two of them bowed, their intertwined hands still holding each other. Vyn brought Giann’s hand up to his face - pressing a gentle kiss to it. The music came to a quick halt; most likely to allow the musicians to take a breather before the next piece, and for the guests to move around the venue. 

The two men stood up, still standing just as close to each other. Giann’s hand floated right above Vyn’s waist, not quite touching him. His eyes softened, a smile on his face. 

“How about another one?”

Vyn chuckled, replacing his hand on Giann’s shoulder, mirroring his smile. 

“As if I’d ever refuse.”

And they kept on, swaying to the rhythm and enjoying the closeness in silence. 

Another dance - and another - and another. Giann invited him relentlessly, bringing him close to him again the very moment he was about to slip away from his grasp. 

Vyn felt lightheaded. No; he felt intoxicated, intoxicated by Giann. He couldn’t get enough of him, his head empty save for thoughts about the man that was holding him so carefully in his hands. 

Giann dipped him once more; Vyn held on, his arms wrapped around the other man’s neck, their faces so close he could feel his warm breaths on his face. 

Oh how he wanted to kiss him. 

Another turn. Another bow. Vyn and Giann kept dancing. 

Giann dipped him again - this time, as Vyn braced himself to raise back up with the music, Giann faltered. 

With a hand leaving Vyn’s and moving to hold the back of his neck, Giann leaned in and pressed their lips together. 

Vyn felt his heart skip a beat, the blood in his body rushing to his face - he took so long to react, and yet Giann hadn’t pulled away. Giann was greedy, and his greed involved devouring his companion’s lips until the sun rose, it seemed. 

Still, it seemed his greed was inferior to his body’s physiological needs, for Giann still pulled away to take a breath. He stopped himself right before leaning back in for another, Vyn finding himself chasing after the lips that were on his just a second ago. Giann leant his forehead against Vyn - they had stood back up since, the world seemingly forgotten as they stared at each other and spoke in a whisper. 

“You’re irresistible. I don’t know how you expect me to not want you. However, if you don’t share my feelings, tell me now and I’ll stop all advances.”

Vyn huffed, frowning in frustration. He grabbed onto Giann’s collar.

“You’re a stupid man, Giann.”

He mumbled, right before pulling Giann into him again, pressing their lips together again in a second kiss. 

Giann was slightly surprised; he quickly recovered, a smile coming forth through the kiss as he reciprocated. 

And even as they pulled away to steal breaths, Vyn and Giann found themselves unable to keep away from each other, their lips finding each other over and over and over again, kiss after kiss.

Vyn was pushed against the railing of the balcony - Giann caging him in. 

“I love you.” murmured in between two kisses. “I love you.” once more. “I love you.” yet again. Giann was punctuating his confession with his kisses and nearly making Vyn’s brain short circuit. 

He grabbed Giann’s face, slightly pulling him away and holding him into place a few inches away from his face. 

“I love you too.”

And he watched his face flush, an embarrassed smile taking over Giann’s expression. He kissed him once more. 

“Say it again.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“I won’t. You heard me loud and clear the first time.”

“You’re so mean.”

Vyn sighed. 

“Fine. I love you too.”

Giann’s face brightened. 

“Again.”

“You’re just like a puppy sometimes, you know?”

Yet Vyn couldn’t deny the request despite his best efforts, repeating the words over and over again until Giann was satisfied. 

[pangolinheart]

13. . How do they greet the world — what is their typical attitude towards life? How does it differ in different circumstances, or towards different subjects? Why do they take these attitudes, and why do they change? How do these tend to be expressed?

[From the 42 Character Development Questions ask game]

Z'rhiki greets the world with a smile. Or, at least, she tries to.

In general, she believes that there's more good in the world than bad, and that good and bad are not a mutually exclusive binary; good things can arise from terrible tragedy, and even people who have committed evil acts can still have good in them. She knows, perhaps more than most, that life can be cruel and the world often isn't fair, but she believes that even in the face of suffering people can make the choice to be good. Whether or not the world or humanity is fundamentally good, we can decide to make it better. So, she tries to put more kindness and love into the world than she necessarily gets out of it. She's suffered plenty (though perhaps not as much as some others she knows), but in spite or because of this she wants to spare others from the same pain, or at least try to alleviate it. She strives to be the person she would have wanted to have during her darkest moments.

This is all well and good in theory, but it's not always easy to put into practice. There are absolutely times when Rhiki feels like she's been unreasonably burdened by her role as The Warrior of Light. There are times when she laments how unfair life is. Why does she have to be the one who stands strong for others? Why does she have to be the one to sacrifice for the benefit of others? Even though she knows that these feelings are selfish, she can't help but have them occasionally. Sometimes after a particularly devastating blow, she questions whether all of her efforts are worth it. After Heavensward, she began to lose faith in the world, and in herself. She was hurt and angry and part of her just wanted to lash out, or at the very least give up and go home. But through the help of some friends she was able to reach a new perspective on her grief and pain. She now has more empathy for people who have been warped by sadness and rage into monsters, or people who have emotionally closed themselves off from the world and are apathetic to others. She knows how easy it would have been for her to end up in a similar place.

As she's grown and matured, she's come to realized that good has to be a conscious decision, and not always one that's easy to make. Kindness and forgiveness are often thankless and unsatisfying, but they're still choices worth making. She can't control what others does, but she can control what she does. So she decides to believe that the world is a good place, and that there's lots of good that's worth fighting for. She chooses to believe that life is worth living, even if it's unfair, and love is worth giving, even if it ends up hurting you. She tries to stay positive and hopeful in the face of adversity, if only to help others feel the same. She's liberal with smiles and hugs and words of encouragement. She looks for ways she can help, even if they're small and seem insignificant. She does her best to understand others, and give them the grace she can't always give herself. She resists the urge to care less, to become jaded and detached to ease her own pain; pain, after all, always has its roots in love.