#me: talks about her dismissal of us as being individuals of our own outside of just being her children and the lack of privacy

[hirazuki]

Personal rambling under the cut because I feel the need to share this absurdity, feel free to ignore XD

I met and spoke with my mother yesterday for the first time in almost four years, to talk about why my sister and I have cut both our parents off (i.e. emotional abuse and neglect throughout childhood that has resulted for both of us in severe trust issues, c-ptsd, eating disorders, depression, ocd, suicidal ideation/attempts, anxiety, and emotional and social stunting, to name but a few things), and, as an example because she asked for one, I brought up the fact that she and our dad kept sis housebound (she literally did not go outside for like, eight years?) and crippled by her dependence on them that they cultivated, and that the first time sis used any kind of public transportation alone was at the age of 26.

Mom's response: So taking the bus by herself as a child would have fixed everything?

Me:

[wingzie]

The Life of a Jikooker, Online and Offline

Sometime last year I revealed my real first name on Twitter. Though I am known more prominently as “Wingzie”, a name given to me by a good friend of mine, I wanted to add a bit more of a human touch to my account. It was a reminder that, even if I spend a rather large amount of time making posts, I also have a life away from the screen. There's been a few occasions when my army life and personal life have become interlinked.

I am lucky enough to have made wonderful friends since becoming Army. Thus, I will always say that your fandom experience and enjoyment will depend on who you interact with and what you engage with. It's because of these friends that I have been to South Korea or gone to Olle in London for BTS’ tenth anniversary. I've explored new local places or exchanged gifts. It's also because of these friends that I felt safe enough to talk about Jikook in my first ever group chat in 2019. I feel a certain love and connection between us, online and offline, that I don't think many others will understand. 

However, there is a certain loneliness in being a jikooker. I have been unfairly judged or dismissed just for talking about them. Either individually or as a unit. It calls into question why this is. I personally do not see myself as a shipper. The definition of a shipper is that you WANT them to be together and that is not the case with me or many other jikookers at all. The definition of shipping has changed so much that we are seen as bad people just for talking about them, when we are just talking about their moments together.

In the last few months or so I have experienced more of an Army life outside of Twitter. I have been to various offline events and spoken to so many and I couldn’t help but notice two things: 1) Jikookers have a terrible reputation

2) People are scared to talk about them as a unit compared to others. The first part can be somewhat understandable and it’s why I never bother fighting. It brings negative attention to them, when we should be boosting them instead. All they see are people just attacking each other and it is sadly true that a small number of Jikookers are Tae antis. I have left a few group chats because of that or because of ex-jikookers hating on Jimin or Jungkook. However, there are also a huge number of us that DON'T behave this way and it depends on what you focus on.

At a previous event I bumped into a local Tae bias. She clearly knew who I was and was under the impression that I hated Tae. I soon proved her wrong but I guess this is where some of the problems lie: There are a lot of focus on stereotypes, without giving us the chance to prove otherwise. I have also been to events where Army have cited misinformation and they needed to be corrected. I am aware that not everyone has my memory, but they were so callous about their comments that I was shocked. There was a huge disconnect between reality and what they were thinking and it is so important to check sources. Especially when BTS' history and ours is so rich and can be easily accessible in this social media age. 

Being scared to talk about Jikook is something that will always confuse me. I joined a BTS Discord and left shortly afterwards when I realized that they had a channel for every until apart from Jikook. I also went to an event shortly after the “You can handle it” Weverse Live and the group I was with mentioned every single part of that Live, apart from when Jimin was in the comments. They also said some things about Jungkook that made me feel really uncomfortable and they ignored what I was trying to say. They saw him as a puppet, for their own desires, rather than his own person. And I think that is also something I have seen on the increase lately. It should be allowed and in fact encouraged to talk about them as a unit without being shamed for mentioning them together. Ignoring them doesn't help either.

I am Jimin and Jungkook biased, but the definition of having a bias itself has also changed. You cannot say you have a bias now without automatically saying “but I love all of them”, when that should go without saying. I have seen this change since Mots:7 and it emphasises how much the fandom definitions have changed and how it has also shaped our communities. I have been to other events where I am sadly seen as an anti, once they find out my Twitter ID. My account includes all members, I just happen to post about Jikook and their moments most of all and there is nothing wrong with that. Ultimately, I wrote this without any clear message or goal in sight. I just wanted to express what I have experienced and my feelings about it. I will always cherish the memories I have with those that are closest to me and our beautiful conversations about BTS or Jikook. I just wish others did the same and understood what this community is actually about, online and offiline. My account will always be a safe place for all the members and I refuse to be villainized for talking about Jikook at the same time.  Much Love Wingzie/Becca

[doberbutts]

Yeah people acting like trans people are just automatically seen as our gender pre everything is very... dismissive of transphobia. There was that one article a while back of a southern black trans man who was a real estate agent who after a long time of being stealth was outed and went from being loved to hated at work if I recall treatment so bad he had to quit plus loss of clientele. I've also heard more casual transphobia after passing/going stealth, since people think they can be bigoted around me. If they think doesn't weigh on our minds how people hate us but don't know it... I'm very cautious with new friendships cause it's like will this person later on admit they dislike me without even being aware of it? Being post everything I understand the whole not being alone but being lonely.

Well like I said I think it all goes back to the fact that a lot of people have a very specific image in their mind of a trans man and that image often doesn't align with reality. For the record I think that happens with all transgender journeys- people have very specific images about what trans people look like and are mad when faced with someone who doesn't match that at all.

And, well. People are weirder about gender than they want to admit. Like my coworker who deliberately calls people she knows are men by feminine terms (girls, ladies, women, etc) and was so confused and needed it explained to her when the two queer men she was doing it to (myself, and our gay boss) said "hey that's uhhhhhh not a great thing to be doing......."

Or all the people who think men and women are inherently, biologically, completely distinct and practically seperate species. They get real mad if there's any or any overlap and that can range from the way bigots talk about their own homophobia to the way leftist praxis has gotten entirely out of hand with the way they treat transgender individuals.

I'm unfortunately used to having to be cautious with new friendships due to being mixed race- a lot of people feel emboldened to say some nasty shit to my face like I'm going to sympathize or agree with them, including a roommate's sibling sitting in my room looking me dead in the eyes saying she doesn't like black people and doesn't think that makes her racist like she thinks I'm going to agree and poor-baby her. I don't really have much advice outside of sticking to your boundaries and not tolerating bullshit once you find it.

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug - Chapter Four - Series

Summary: Since joining the team, Wanda Maximoff has captured all of your attention, even if she has no idea about this. In a six-part story, you'll do your best to give her everything she needs and maybe she never thought she deserved it. Along the way, you two might end up realizing you were in love with each other the whole time.

Warnings: (+18), Friends to lovers, smut in the last few chapters, slow burn, conversations about self-love and individual worth, mentions of anxiety, past trauma, avengers being a family, canon-fix, a lot of magic. Words: 4.875k

General Masterlist || Series Masterlist || AO3 || Wattpad

--//--

Chapter Four - Wanda Maximoff needs a drink

"Stop that, you're distracting me."

You frown. "I'm just breathing."

"Do you have to be so loud?" Wanda retorts still with her eyes closed.

"Well, maybe, I will have pneumonia and I’m about to die and you will feel guilty for the rest of your life for fighting with me about it."

A ball of scarlet energy hits your back hard and by your meditation position and being caught off guard, you lose your balance completely and fall into the lake in front of you.

Some of the meditating masters around you look at you, but Wanda continues with her eyes closed, a small smile playing on her lips as she takes a deep breath.

"Peace and quiet, detka. Peace and quiet." She asks again, and you walk off annoyed from inside the lake, leaving her alone in the garden area to search for dry clothes.

You have been at the Kamar Taj for a few weeks now, and Wanda's training means training for you as well. The Ancient One welcomed you with open arms, and everything Wanda learned, you did too. But while you were growing stronger, Wanda was growing more confused.

There was something about her power that didn't fit there, and it was only until that day that you were left not knowing what she was.

"Miss L/N, do you have a minute?" You raised your eyes to the bald woman, shrugging.

"Sure." She led you to a private area, not caring that you were making a trail of soaking steps.

"There's something I need to discuss with you, about your friend."

You grimace. "Don't you want to call Wanda? She's meditating outside."

"I already talked to her about it." The Ancient declares surprising you a bit. "You may have noticed some change in her behavior."

You sigh. Wanda has been particularly difficult the last few days, but you thought maybe she was stressed from the training. And honestly, you were the best at tormenting her, so you didn't think anything had happened.

"Is it something bad?" You worry. The Ancient One forces a smile, stopping walking.

"Here at Kamar Taj, we look after the education of the Masters of the Mystic Arts, Miss L/N." She begins. "But our masters are not the only ones capable of performing magic."

You scrunch your nose slightly. "Yeah, like witches and all that stuff, right? Isn't it all the same thing?"

"I'm afraid not." She says seriously. "A Sorcerer is someone who borrows energy from another dimension to perform spells. Witches are born with this innate ability and draw from their own life force the power needed to manipulate magic. The practice of witchcraft is seen as unnatural, and is forbidden."

You chuckle half-heartedly. "Come on, that's kind of hypocritical, don't you think?" You casually return, leaving her in shock. "In the end, everyone is doing magic. What difference does it make where the energy comes from or whatever?"

"That's a rather frivolous opinion on the matter, but I'm going to dismiss your position for the simple fact that you've only been here a few days." She retorts surprising you with her seriousness. The woman sighs softly. "Wanda is a witch."

You chuckle shortly. "Okay. So what?"

The elderly woman does not smile. "A natural witch, Miss L/N. Not a sorceress, like us from the Kamar Taj."

You grimace, rubbing at the back of your neck. "I don't think I understand, is this a problem by any chance?"

The woman sighs impatiently. "Did you hear any of what I just said? Witchcraft is a forbidden practice in the Kamar Taj, there is nothing we can teach here-"

You cut her off with an indignant laugh. "For heaven's sake, what's that now?" You inquire. "It was you who went after her in New York! And now what you want? That she should stop studying because she does a different magic than you? What the fuck is this?"

The Elder hesitates, taking a deep breath. "Miss L/N, I'm not kicking anyone out." She tries more softly. "Wanda is a witch, nothing we learn here is any good for her. I had a vision, of a powerful creature and her name came up. Because she is a magical being, I imagined that her abilities came entirely from the Mind Stone, but that is not the case. She is a natural witch who has had her powers amplified, she does not belong here."

You roll your eyes, turning your back on her. "Great! You guys are full of shit."

The Elder slams the door before you can leave the room, and you stare at her indignantly. "Push the anger away, and listen to me carefully." You swallowed dryly but stared at her. "Wanda emanates a powerful magical signature. More powerful than anything I have ever faced, and I am centuries old, Miss L/N. She needs to learn to channel that power, or that power will overwhelm her."

You think you've stopped breathing. "I-I don't...she'll be fine. She's learning, right?"

The Elder softens her expression, holding your wrist. "Not here. You've taught her everything you can, and she's better, but it's still not enough." She says, staring at you. "Wanda's power is not pure, Miss L/N. Witches are descendants of Hecate, the goddess of the Earth but Wanda has another blessing. Something darker, more potent. She needs help, and I can't help her here."

You pull your hand back. "That's not very comforting, ma'am."

The woman offers you a sad smile. "Some time ago, teachings were stolen from us. A dark book by a dark witch. Only other witches can help Wanda, Miss L/N."

"Didn't you just say that witchcraft was forbidden?"

The Elder crosses her hands in front of her body, smiling softly. "It would be hypocritical of me to persecute other practitioners of magic just because they don't follow my customs, don't you think?"

You chuckle, shaking your head. "When do we have to leave?"

"I meant what I said before, I wasn't kicking anyone out." She says. "When I told Wanda, she was reluctant. Our teachings are similar to witchcraft in some ways, and so they bring her comfort. But she won't be able to fool herself for much longer, Y/N. A Sorcerer could train for centuries and still not be able to produce a third of the power of a witch. Wanda needs to know her own nature."

You sigh, looking away, through the living room window to the gardens where she practices, seeming at peace.

"Where do I find witches?"

The old woman smiles, "They are everywhere." She jokes, before moving to write on a piece of paper an address of where to start.

She hands it to you but keeps holding it. "What else should I know, Uncle fester?"

The woman chuckles, playfully slapping you on the shoulder before completing, "With great strength, great affliction can fill one's heart. Many witches lose themselves to their power, grow unsatisfied with their limits, and lose their essence to sacrifices. Wanda will need someone to be there for her, reminding her of what really matters."

You swallow dryly, nodding in agreement. The door opens behind you, but before you leave, you turn to the Elder again. "Wong kind of invited me to Karaoke night, is it okay if we stay until Friday?"

The bald woman laughs, shoving the door in your face.

–//–

The night in Nepal was beautiful and starry above you, the street crowded around you. Wanda carried a backpack with her - It was the only thing you had with you, as the other bags were sent to the Tower earlier.

It was the last night in Nepal, and you wanted to have some fun before returning home. 

"Wong said it was this way." She muttered, pointing in the direction of the right-hand corner. Everything was busy, bars, restaurants, and food carts full. You threw an arm over her shoulders suddenly, a cell phone in hand.

"Say Namastē!" That's your warning before you take a picture of Wanda laughing and hiding her face in your collarbone. She sees you send the selfie to the group with all the avengers, which makes her smile. But when you forward the photo to another number, her curiosity wins out.

"To whom...?"

"Yelena, of course." You clarify before she even finishes. You are so excited to talk about your pretty friend. "She got a safe line a while back. She hasn't gotten used to all this stuff yet, but she likes knowing I'm okay."

"Very sweet." Wanda wryly but you don't notice, distracted in sending the photo. The brunette looks around and exclaims, "How about we get drunk?"

You hesitate softly. "Hmm, I don't... I mean, I've never-"

She looks at you in surprise. "Wait, you've never had alcohol? Really? Not even for missions as a cover?"

You roll your eyes. "I have tasted alcohol, of course." You clarify. "But I don't get drunk, Wanda. Different resistance, remember? But have you?"

"Sure, a few times." Wanda retorts, arm entwined in yours to guide you to the bar. "I went out drinking with the Resistance guys almost every weekend, and Pietro would often get drunk on our birthdays. Not to mention that Sokovia was cold as hell. There was always something alcoholic around."

You smile at the information. You like to imagine Wanda like this, having a normal adolescence in Sokovia, even if it is far from the truth. It brings you some comfort that it wasn't all about war, and that she found happiness in those stolen moments.

She must know what she is doing now - and you suspect Wong is part of it - because the bar you are in has a private area behind it, and the bartender gives Wanda a gentle wave as she lets you two in.

And when you descend into this new area of the bar, the drinks on the shelves look like nothing you've ever seen, and that's when you see a sea monster drinking colorful beer out of a mug, your suspicions are confirmed.

"I don't think it's polite to stare, darling. No matter how fascinating it is." Wanda teases from your side, and you grimace softly.

"Next time you could give me a heads up. Hey, we're going to a magic bar. Be prepared." You retort and it's her turn to laugh, leading the way to one of the tables at the back.

As soon as you order your drinks, Wanda clarifies to your curiosity that Wong brought her to this bar as a welcome, wanting to impress her about the world she didn't know. It worked, and for you too.

"Do you think magic drinks will get me drunk?" You ask as the glasses are left on the table. Wanda grabs hers first, raising it to mouth height. The way she looks at you affects you more than any drink.

"I guess we'll find out." She challenges back, and you swallow dryly, thinking it best to turn your glass over before you say something stupid.

It turns out that magic drinks are not made for getting drunk - that's what regular alcohol is for after all.

Magical drinks have the most diverse functions, and Wanda shouldn't be surprised that you didn't read the menu before ordering the same thing she did.

"I feel funny." That was the first thing you said as soon as the liquid fell into your stomach. "There's something... different."

Wanda raises her eyebrow, wiping the remaining liquor from her lips with her tongue. You blink, almost able to taste it. She leans over to get a better look at your glass.

"Oh, honey, you ordered the same as me didn't you?" It's a rhetorical question, one you would have no way of answering now, too focused on how good Wanda smells. Very good. "Take a deep breath, don't panic. This is called Īgalabāṭō, something like eagle sense. I came to a magic bar to see if we could locate some witches. But I don't have super senses and you do. The drink is giving me the ability to read magical auras, but it's increasing yours to the full extent. Try to stay calm..."

"Shit, that's not good." You lower your head into your arms, feeling it spinning. You can smell everything, taste everything, and hear the sounds even of the forming in the street. Your head feels like it's going to explode.

"You need to focus on something, detka. The effect is temporary, but it will bother you as long as you're feeling it." She directs, and you gasp with your eyes closed. Wanda reaches out to stroke your wrist, and it is her heartbeat that you decide to pay attention to.

The whole thing doesn't last more than five minutes, but it seems like an eternity. That must be why the drinks are cheap - the effect is short, and people must consume intensely to maintain it.

"I'll never do this again." You mutter once you manage to open your eyes again.

Wanda lets out a soft chuckle. "It's okay, sweetheart. Just try to heed the warnings. Why don't you ask for something that will make you calmer?"

"Now I'm afraid to drink anything." You murmur. Wanda strokes your wrist and you almost miss being able to feel each touch as intently as before.

"Tell you what, go to the bar and ask the Bartender what she would recommend for a first-timer. And while you're doing that, I'll introduce myself to the witch sitting two tables from here."

It takes all your mental control not to look up right away, and then you sigh. "Are you sure you want to do this alone?"

Wanda smiles. "Wong told me that witches are suspicious by nature, but tend to be more tolerant of their own kind. Approaching an unknown witch with someone as strong as you might give the wrong impression."

"I'll go to the bar, then. Shout if you need help, but I doubt it." You offer her a wink, taking your half-full glass to the bar, and Wanda sighs before going the opposite way.

The bartender is a half-horsewoman and for a second you wonder if the effect of the potion was giving you hallucinations. Clearing your throat, you ask the question Wanda suggested and are pleased with the centaur woman's kindness in explaining to you about the drinks at the bar in detail.

"[...] I noticed you asked for the Eagle, which I would never recommend for an enhanced one." She comments, and you clear your throat awkwardly.

"How do you know...?" She gives a little laugh as she interrupts you, pointing to a picture hanging behind the bar. It's the Avengers, and you're in it. "Oh, right. I forgot I'm famous."

She giggles again, bending down to pick up a clear bottle. "Technically, since if you've had Eagle, you're no longer a first-timer, but I'm going to be nice to you. This one is called Satya hō, and it's for you to tell me exactly what you want."

"Oh, that sounds interesting." You murmur innocently, missing the glint of mischief in her gaze. Grabbing the small glass she poured, you take a deep breath. "Well, good luck to me." You say before turning a sip full.

It doesn't taste like anything, which is a little disappointing because the previous one was incredible - Probably because it stimulates all your taste buds at once. - But this one doesn't even taste like water. It was like drinking nothing.

"Fuck, I thought it would taste like coconut water." You declare with a laugh, and the girl smiles, taking the glass back.

"So honey, how are you feeling?"

You shrug. "Same as before, just a little upset that the drink didn't do me any good." You reply. "I wanted something that tasted nice. Sweet."

" All right, I've got some options for you." She murmurs, moving to grab other bottles. But your attention differs back to Wanda talking to a witch at the end table, and you sigh before turning your attention back to the bartender, who has held out some bottles for you.

"Sweet drinks are usually linked to emotions, cupcake. So we have Blue Ḍalphina, for sexual affective stimulation, this one here that's called Light Pink, to increase connection-"

"What the fuck, are they all love potions?" You cut in an impressed laugh. The bartender smiles, nodding softly.

"Technically, yes. Although love isn't really possible to put in a bottle."

You hum, looking at the jars as you mumble. "It's not like a love potion is going to do me any good." You retort. "They don't work on people who are already in love do they?"

The girl raises a curious eyebrow. "I've heard that they don't. But who's the lucky one?"

You blink away from the bottles, half confused. "What lucky one?"

She doesn't seem surprised by your confusion, licking her lips as she repeats, "You said you were in love. Is it for the pretty girl who came with you?"

You sigh, a silly smile filling your lips. "Oh, Wanda? Yes, she's pretty, isn't she? She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life. Did you know that when she wakes up, her eyes are a darker shade of green than normal? And her voice is so husky and her accent is thicker..."

"Okay, Romeo, you need to tell her that not me." The bartender cuts you off with a laugh. You almost whimper in fear.

"No, I can't tell her that!" You retort. "She's my best friend, my most important person in the world. If I ruin everything, I'll never forgive myself. She's worth more than a stupid crush."

The girl sighs, shrugging. "I don't know, buddy. That doesn't sound like a stupid crush." She murmurs, and seeing your annoyance, pushes back one of the glasses gently. "How about a little courage?"

You swallow dryly, hesitating. "M-maybe not. I want to be ready for real, I don't want it to be just because of a spell."

"It's your call, sweetie." She assures meekly, and you sigh taking your eyes off the orange drink. 

"What about these others?"

While you were testing drinks, Wanda was having her patience tested.

"[...] Well, baby witch, I couldn't tell you about others, could I? We are not a very open community." Wanda knew that this woman had a magical signature - Weak, even with the drinking - but still existing. Now pulling out information really was Natasha's skill. Damn, she missed her training with the widow. If Nat were here, she could figure it all out in two seconds, she was sure.

"I don't want to seem nosy, of course." Wanda tries to get into the game with forced smiles. "I've come a long way, and I haven't made any friends of my... people. If you know what I mean. When I felt your magic, I figured you could help a sister."

The witch adjusted her hair behind her shoulder. "You felt my magic, huh? Very flirtatious of you." Wanda giggled nervously, feeling her face heat up. "You're awfully cute, but I'm sadly engaged. Perhaps you'll have some chance of seducing some nymphé at the end of the bar."

Wanda swallows dryly, not quite knowing what to say about it. Luckily, a tall, lanky man approaches them to speak to the witch.

"I'll be right out, Marie, my target left the bar five minutes before us. But thanks for the tip anyway." Says the man, and leans gently toward the woman. "And keep your coven girls under control, will you? I don't hear about any more trouble outside Salem. This is Sorceress territory."

He forces a polite smile at Wanda, who tries not to think too much about the shiny dagger at his waist or the scar on his eye.

Marie, who had not revealed her name until now, immediately notices that Wanda has listened to the entire conversation intently. She dismisses her friend, and when Wanda clears her throat, making mention of getting up, she holds her by the wrist. And this time, her magical signature screeches out.

"You must be a powerful little witch." Marie whispers, studying the younger girl's face, "To be able to sense my magic with a cheap potion. But you look so lost... What's the matter sweet child, nobody claimed you for a coven?"

Wanda stammered, surprised and uncomfortable with the way Marie seemed to be mocking her. She tensed when the witch brought her fingers to her cheek. "I-I don't know any coven." She confessed and had the impression that she had no choice but to do so. Marie's dark eyes suddenly so deep in her mind, overshadowing the entire bar.

"Oh, poor little thing." Murmured the woman. "Who was it that left you alone without instruction in this anti-witchcraft territory?"

"I-I..."

"Miss Laveau, I am sorry to interrupt." It was an employee of the bar, a security guard perhaps. And he had a phone in hand. Marie moved her hand away from Wanda's face - Who started breathing normally again - but continued to hold her wrist. "It's your girls again. Some trouble I fear. A fight with Werewolves. You'd better get there before the hunters."

Marie cursed in another language, before nodding in thanks to the security guard who left. She let go of Wanda, who hugged her own wrist, to grab her coat hanging from the chair. But before she left, she leaned over to speak.

"A Coven is the only family a witch can truly have, Wanda Maximoff." She declared, and the smaller witch raised wide-eyed at her. Marie held up her hand and turned Wanda's face toward the bar with a gentle nudge on her chin. "Your little pet won't last, dear. Everyone turns their back on witches eventually."

Wanda faces her with a soft snort. "Don't talk about her, you don't know nothing-"

"I don't need to know her." Marie cuts in seriously, lowering her hands to put them in her pockets. "Witches belong to their coven, or they die. There is no middle ground, Wanda. Walk alone and you won't last long."

Marie turns around, and Wanda takes a hesitant step toward her. "How do I find one?"

The witch looked at her over her shoulder. "They find you. And I find it odd, that a witch of age remained unclaimed. Where were you hiding all this time, sweet baby?" Marie leaves her with that question, walking away. Wanda tries to follow her figure with her gaze, but she has the impression that she is still bewitched because the woman practically disappears.

She decides to put her doubts away and come back to you in the bar, maybe sharing what she has discovered will help you to have some idea.

She didn't expect to find you in such a... needy state.

"Wanda! She's here, my best friend! Hi Wanda, I missed you!" You declare excitedly as soon as she arrives at your side, wasting no time in throwing her arms around your neck. Wanda almost loses her balance, laughing confusedly and exchanging a look with the bartender, who is discreetly taking other drinks out of your reach.

"Oh, what did you have?" she asks curiously, completely clueless by the way you are way too close.

You giggle against her collarbone, before turning away to answer. "So many things! Two pinks, a blue one, a green one, even the transparent one..."

Wanda looked at the bartender. "Is that safe?"

The centaur shrugged. "She's an avenger, I suppose it is." She retorted, and the answer made Wanda's eyes glow red. The centaur cleared her throat. "She'll be fine, m-ma'am. The effect will have worn off by tomorrow."

Wanda forced a smile, before turning her attention back to you, her eyes the normal color now. "We'll get you a place to sleep, sweetheart."

The centaur cleared her throat as Wanda helped you stand. "We have rooms for rent. On the second floor."

Wanda nodded in thanks, and it was a very difficult battle to get you upstairs with the way you clung to her. 

At some point, you stumbled into the room, and you somehow - Wanda was sure it was the muscle memories of the training - knocked her onto the bed, climbing all over her, and pressing your lips to her neck.

"God help me." Wanda murmured affectedly to the ceiling, her hands on your waist. You giggled drunkenly, but not traditionally.

"I am a god indeed. Glad to help." You murmur back.

Wanda chuckled, giving your waist a gentle squeeze to pull away, and she immediately regretted it, the way your dark eyes were staring back at her, it was even more disconcerting than before. "Y-you're drunk, and gods don't get drunk." She recalls, her breath hitching as you put your hands on the side of her head.

"That's a myth, Thor gets drunk all the time." 

"Maybe he's not a very strong god..." She tries to keep the conversation going, her eyes closing on instinct by the way you are leaning in. 

"Oh, blasphemy." You tease lowly against her lips. And the rubbing is enough for Wanda to regain what little consciousness she still has left. She turns her face away, and you kiss her jaw, grunting in frustration on her skin. She gasps, taking advantage of your shock to push you onto the bed and stand. 

"You're bewitched, Y/N. You need to sleep." She rations, but you whimper against the pillow like a child before turning your face to her, almost whimpering.

"But I wanted a kiss."

Wanda giggles nervously, her cheeks burning. "Detka, we can't kiss. We're friends."

You huff. "That's not fair. I won't be your friend then, I'll be your detka. Just your babe."

Wanda's heart inflates with warmth before it breaks. She assumes, immediately, that this is the potion speaking. Swallowing the emotion away, she tries to coax you to sleep.

"You are my detka and my friend, but I need you to sleep. Can you do that for me?"

You begrudgingly close your eyes. "Yeah, I can do anything for you. Anything you ask. Because you are pretty and I love you."

Wanda chokes softly, twiddling her fingers. "Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"How do you love me?" She tries, and you hum again, by the time she goes to repeat it, you have fallen asleep judging by your deep breathing.

Wanda breathes in and out, trying not to panic. She loves you, of course. Friends love each other. And of course, you do too.

Fuck, since when have you looked so gorgeous in your sleep?

Wanda leaves the room with labored breathing. She goes back to the bar, looking for something to help her stop shivering.

–//–

"Looks like you two had a fun night."

You and Wanda grunted in distress at Clint's teasing. Everything seemed so loud and clear.

"How did you find us?" Wanda managed to ask, pushing the top cover off her body that covered more of the chair than her. You hid your face under the pillow. The archer shrugged.

"Wong mentioned this place when we knocked at his door, and when you guys didn't show up for the meeting point, Nat and I did a little searching. She's having the time of her life down here, but I reckon I'm too old to deal with mythological creatures."

"I'm dying." You complain on the mattress, your head bursting with pain. "Somebody do something."

Clint laughs. "Wow, you have a hangover? The first time is really the hardest. How did you manage to get her drunk, Maximoff?"

Wanda shakes her head softly - regretting it - and retorts, "She mixed magic potions, I had nothing to do with it. Where you guys left the quinjet, I can't wait to get home and use a bathtub."

Wanda tickles your feet on the way to the door, effectively making you laugh and awaken begrudgingly. She pushed through the bitter feeling of ignoring yesterday's events for the sake of your friendship and nodded to Clint as she said she was going to find out if a magic bar had aspirin.

You sat up in bed and frowned as you touched your shirt over your chest, unbuttoned and without a bra.

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay there?"

"Fuck I don't remember anything from last night. You don't think me and Wanda..." You looked back at your bra on top of the chair where she was sleeping and chuckled nervously. "N-no, no chance. We didn't... I wouldn't have forgotten. I didn't-"

"Wow, that's interesting gossip." Clint sneers, laughing when you threaten him with a pillow. "Hey, don't take your frustration out on me. And by the way, know that it's quite possible to forget. What did you drink anyway?"

"Everything." You mutter in shame, sinking your face into the bed, "Kill me, I won't live with this humiliation."

"God, I forgot how dramatic you are." He mutters wearily. "Let's go home, okay? We have a visitor in the tower."

You move your face, raising a curious eyebrow. "Who?"

Clint smiles, "The only true god of the group of course." He teases, and this time you throw the pillow in his face.

[saruvanthewhite]

Target Corp.

Store 0320

Colma, California

After several years of busting my knuckles and my ass, putting up with the anxiety and the bullshit, I am now jobless. They said it was performance and behavior.

A couple things about those points they failed to mention or own up about:

First, performance suffered for a number of reasons. More was being put on the plate, admin stuff that wasn’t even fixing things, reporting that wasn’t even official forms to fill out & weren’t even official Target forms; Just things the individual boss wanted us to fill out. That involved hunting and finding for information through several different systems. All data that could’ve been pulled with a clever SQL command on demand. It added more wasted time to our day and left us with less time to do the other things that we needed to do like fix ʇıɥs. That and toxic individuals in the workplace about whom I made noise. Was anything done about those people? No. Did those people ramp up their psychological and verbal abuse? Yes, they did. Did management like me making noise about it? No, they did not. Were the people responsible for it given a talking to or removed? No, they were not. Was I the only one who had made mention of ʇıɥs like this? No I was not. Was I the loudest about it? Yes, I was. So working under duress because you have executive team leads, a store Director, & an administrator-only boss gaslighting you isn’t supposed to make you feel some kind of way or speak up about it? Apparently, that’s what Target expects; Fall in line or we’ll smack you down. I noticed their efforts to get me out stepped up as soon as I made mention of our store directors dismissive & gaslighting behavior. That & as soon as I named my bosses boss as somebody who didn’t understand what was going on and even agreed with some of what my old boss was saying about her. But he can say stuff about her and I can’t.

And second, as far as behavior is concerned, they didn’t like me expressing my frustration with the unreasonable ʇᴉɥsllnq going on in that store. They didn’t like me taking issue with no one respecting the equipment I was expected to maintain. They didn’t like me speaking up about how difficult my job was.

They especially didn’t like me mentioning PMLs are paid pennies on the dollar for what we do and then as salt in an open wound, we’re told to celebrate how much money we’ve saved the ƃuıʞɔnɟ store in a year. Given Target’s own calculations, I saved their ƃuıʞɔnɟ Colma store over $5 million in the last 12 months. If only a fraction of that had been paid as part of my pay, I could be out of living in a van, and in an apartment with a safe space for my children; which is what I have been trying to do for years now. Target wanted me to celebrate some huge number I had saved the company at that store, but only wanted to pay us a tiny fraction of what our work was actually worth to them.

Do you think they could be bothered to maybe even try to house this person? They acted surprised when they found out how hard life is for me outside of the store, and then offered to help me only to pull the rug out from under me as they were getting those wheels turning. They fired a hard-working homeless guy who is trying to get his life back together after HR was trying to work with him to do it. That takes a special kind of callous corporate mindset of which Target should be ashamed.

Working for Target in this role felt a lot like Sisyphus except I didn’t have to kill anyone like Sisyphus did in order to be ʇıɥs on like that. Perhaps somebody a lot more like the man Sisyphus was purported to be should do that to the abusive sʞɔnɟ there. But as for me, Target can ʞɔnɟ right on off.

For the rest of us…

Do not shop there, do not give them any business, if you have anything related to them, get rid of it. They sell ʇıɥs and make you believe it to be a good product. They treat their staff poorly, don’t pay enough and i’ll just say it because I couldn’t while I worked there, the Colma store in California has a huge rat problem. Yes, RATS. They even had damage control called in when a customer took a video of one on the sales floor. I did my best to help knock the population down while I was there and even got it under control with no sightings. But careless and stupid behavior on the part of a few individuals has brought the population back up. I caution anyone who goes there to buy groceries, to not.

Their food & beverage executive team lead can’t. She just can’t. I would speak to her and receive a vacuous look in return. Absolutely nothing behind the eyes. And the person who heads up food and beverage in this district once put my safety in danger by swinging a hammer next to my head, never having apologized for it. Never.

 The store in Coloma also has an executive team lead who is most likely undiagnosed bipolar. He will be cruel and petty one day and positively sweet and innocent, the next. It disrupts workflow. They have another ETL there who is snarky, rude, solipsistic, disrespectful, and ogles the small young girls that work there. & he’s married too.

The store in Colma has employed a food and beverage team lead who cannot think worth a ʇıɥs. She can’t drive heavy equipment safely and lied about what happened when she knocked over an entire goddamn shelf of milk. She’s rude as ʞɔnɟ too; pushing her way past anyone trying to get out of an elevator before they can exit. I don’t think I ever had an experience with her getting on an elevator where she didn’t shove her way past me before I exited.

That’s not all that’s wrong there regarding food and Bev either. If you go through the milk section, you will find different dates on cartons of milk scattered over the shelves. You will also find out-of-date baked goods on the shelf. If you look carefully, you will find rat fæces underneath some of those shelves.

Another thing I was responsible for that location was the care and maintenance of their handheld equipment assets. If you walk into a Target store, every single employee will have a mobile device on them for their particular role. Part of my responsibility was maintaining the integrity and health of those devices. Do you think I experienced any buy-in from the team in that endeavor? No. At over $750 a device over 108 devices, I was the only one taking care of them, and no one else ƃuıʞɔnɟ cared. As a matter of fact, people actively disassembled what I have been ordered to keep integral. People would sabotage the efforts with which I was tasked to maintain the equipment. But I was held to account for other people ƃuıʞɔnɟ up. Still hadn’t lost one in over a year. That was thanks to me. I expect six to eight to go missing by next week because that’s an average of assets I had to hunt down every week. On a related note, if you go into that store, and you see one unattended, take it.

For myself, I know that if I must shop in a Target store, I will be looking for unattended Zebras to appropriate and sell back to the company.

The PMBP for that location stress the importance of his subordinates meeting with store directors every week. Yet the Store Director at this location found ways to duck out of that meeting, getting this repair technician in more trouble every week.

[sunder-soul]

PROMPT 1: Hellooooooo! First off ur writing goes off, second off listen to this idea that i truly think u can bring to life... reader n tom r in a relationship and someone tried to slip tom to love potion but ofc he doesn't fall for it and his gf is like ??? and then they rub their relationship in her face LOL. anyways no worried just thought this would slap! Admire u n ur work!!

PROMPT 2: hey i love your the last of your rules series and everything else you’ve written. i’m not very creative so idk what exactly i’m looking for plot wise i just trust you since everything you’ve written is good but i was wondering if maybe you could write a tom x ravenclaw reader please. the ravenclaw reader tends to be more emotionally reserved and isn’t big on physical affection and maybe tom finds that interesting in a way? idk this idea might suck but felt like asking anyways...

Decided to combine these two because I could see them working really well together… :D

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Retribution

Summary: After somebody tries to slip Tom a love potion to break up him and Ravenclaw Reader’s relationship, they get a little bit theatrical in response...

Wordcount: 1.8k

Content warning: none.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Good morning,” says Tom evenly, lifting a wide-brimmed cup to his lips and taking an even sip as he looks at you.

“Is it?” you say dryly, sitting down opposite him at the Slytherin table and pulling out the new Magical Theory textbook. “Have you looked over this yet?”

“I have,” Tom replies with a very small smile. “Not to your liking?”

“Sophus writes like it’s still the seventeenth century,” you say with a shake of your head, “which isn’t surprising considering I don’t think he included a single reference from the last two hundred years… I mean honestly –” you wave at the title on the front of the book, “– ‘Corpus Magikus?’ Even the title makes it sound ancient.”

“Did you have any criticisms about the actual content per chance?” Tom asks as he lifts his tea again – though it doesn’t quite hide the amused smile on his lips. “Or did you not manage to get past the articulation?”

You give him a look. “The articulation is just as important as the content.”

“I completely disagree,” he replies easily, his cup clinking as he rests it back on its saucer, “regardless of how it is written, his points are extremely sophisticated.”

“I’m not talking about the quality of his points, I’m talking about how well he makes them accessible,” you say at once, picking up a piece of toast and buttering it lightly, “he can have the best criticisms of Magical Theory in the world and no one will care if they can’t understand what he’s saying.”

Tom arches a brow and leans forward on the table, resting on his forearms. “You’re placing the responsibility of understanding an argument on the person presenting it, and not the person receiving it,” he says fluidly, “personally when I find something difficult to understand, I take it as an indicator that I need to return to the topic after better preparing myself.”

“That works fine as an individualistic perspective,” you reply at once, leaning forward to match him, “but a book isn’t written for an individual, is it? It’s written for an audience. A book like this is measured by how wide an audience it can reach, meaning the responsibility is half on him to write accessibly, and half on the audience to go away and fill the holes in our own understanding. That’s when information is dispersed most effectively.”

“Your priority is the dispersion of information as a whole and not the expansion of your personal field of knowledge, and that is the crux of our differing opinion,” Tom says, sitting up straighter and tilting his head calmly.

“I am very aware,” you say dryly, “but you shouldn’t dismiss the importance of charisma when it comes to spreading information. After all, academics aren’t exactly known to be the most charismatic people most of the time, so you end up with intelligent, useful tomes that are utterly incomprehensible to most people –” you nod at the text again, “whilst compelling idiotic drivel is widely consumed.”

The Daily Prophet lands with a thump on your breakfast plate as the delivery owl swoops away with a mournful hoot, and you share a pointed, very wry look with Tom.

Tom breathes a little laugh and laces his fingers around his cup. “So you’re not looking forward to Magical Theory, then.”

“I am,” you amend, frowning, “I just hope the class follows more like Waffling’s work than this.”

“Of course you like Waffling,” Tom smirks, lifting his cup, “he effectively writes in verse –”

Tom suddenly freezes, his brow furrowing lightly. You raise a brow at his sudden reaction. “What?”

He looks down at his tea, still frowning.

“Tom?” you prompt, bemused.

“Someone has attempted to drug me,” he says in complete seriousness, looking up at you.

You stare back, bewildered. “Is… is this more Tom humour?” you ask after a moment, “you seriously need more practice at making jokes, Tom, you really are terrible at it –”

“I’m not joking,” Tom interrupts crisply.

Your scrutiny drops to the cup in his hand. “How can you tell?”

“My tea smells like you.”

Your brows raise. “Excuse me?”

“My tea,” he repeats evenly, his dark eyes coming alight with a flicker of amusement as he leans closer, his cup still in one hand, “rather suddenly smells like you. I can only assume someone has managed to slip Amortentia into my cup sometime during this conversation.”

You blink at him. “Oh,” you say simply.

Tom’s lips curve into a more defined smirk at your expression.

“Well who’s trying to drug you then?” you ask quickly, looking away.

“An excellent question,” he says silkily, eyes still on you. “Their motive is hardly a mystery, so that should narrow it down.”

You roll your eyes and level him with a flat look. “Nothing could narrow it down less, Tom,” you drawl, “half the school is in love with you, and the other half is in denial about being in love with you.”

Tom arches a brow and looks very pleased with himself. “Should I drink it and we can find out?” he asks in amusement, lifting the cup.

You huff a laugh and take a bite of your toast. “Go on then, but don’t expect any sympathy from me when you’re pouring your heart out to some random stranger in front of the whole school a minute from now.”

His hand freezes with the rim of his cup an inch from his mouth, amusement faltering.

“That’s what I thought,” you smirk. “If you want to play it that way you’re going to have to be smarter than that.”

“Oh?” he asks, dark eyes narrowing. “And what would you suggest?”

“If someone drugged you during this conversation then they’re probably watching for your reaction,” you say casually around bites of your toast, “so just look out for someone who’s waiting for you to dramatically break up with me.”

“According to you, that would be the entire school,” Tom mutters, looking significantly more disgruntled than before.

A grin slowly builds on your face. “That was nearly a real joke, Tom,” you say ironically, “Merlin you’ve come so far…”

He shoots you a flat glare and you snicker. “Alright, sorry, I’ll stop – look, if I storm out of here looking upset and you act all conflicted and brooding for the rest of the day, whoever it was will probably try to come talk to you.”

“How theatrical,” Tom deadpans.

You shrug. “Do you want to know who drugged you or not?”

His eyes remain on yours for a moment, and then he lifts the tea to his lips. You watch him pretend to drink, your eyes lingering on the tea glistening on his lips as he lowers the cup.

“Don’t lick your lips,” you say quietly, not quite able to look away.

Tom’s other hand shifts slightly where it’s resting on the table between you, and the tea vanishes both from his lips and the cup. You give him another dry look. “Show off,” you accuse, smiling, “wandless and non-verbal, huh?”

“If you ask nicely, I’ll teach you how to do it,” he smirks.

You huff a laugh and slide Corpus Magikus back into your bag. “I should make my dramatic exit soon,” you say casually, finishing your toast and looking around the hall absently. “Perhaps we should have a fight first.”

“That would make it more convincing, yes,” he says delicately, still looking amused.

“What shall we fight about?"

Tom’s expression immediately cools and he leans in so close that you can see the patterns in his dark irises. “The content doesn’t matter,” he says smoothly, a glimmer in his eyes despite his utterly blank expression, “rather, the articulation.”

You hold his gaze for a second, fighting the urge to smile. You force yourself to stand suddenly, as if he’s said something of great offence. “I’ve never seen you so quickly converted to my opinion, Tom,” you say icily, leaning down to him over the table and hoping it looks like you’re angry.

“You made your argument very convincingly,” Tom says immediately, lifting his chin coolly.

“Actively demonstrating my point, I suppose,” you snap, standing straight. “I’m going to storm out now.”

“I’ll see you in class,” he says dismissively, pouring himself more tea.

You turn on your heel and leave, ignoring the curious eyes following you on your way out and not letting the smile break on your face until you’re well outside the Hall. Now all you have to do is wait.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Amelia Staghart,” Tom says in your ear before swiftly sitting down next to you in Potions that afternoon.

You raise a brow at him, watching as he arranges his Potions kit on the desk – Staghart is sitting a few desks behind you at that very moment and can most definitely see the both of you. “Are we no longer having a fight?”

“I grew tired of that pretence rather quickly,” Tom says curtly.

You smirk. “Did she talk to you?”

“Yes.” He looks decidedly irritated.

“A lot, huh.”

He shoots you a glare and you bite back another smile. “Are you going to report her then?” you ask, writing the date out on your parchment.

“No,” Tom says softly. You glance up curiously at his tone and find his dark eyes watching you write, before they flick up to yours. “I can think of a more pertinent retribution for her to endure,” he finishes quietly, not looking away.

“Retribution?” you echo, arching a brow with a slight smile. “And you accuse me of being theatrical.”

But Tom only leans closer and – to general astonishment – places a very gentle kiss on your cheek. His lips linger soft and warm on your skin for a moment as you’re frozen in place, staring at him as he slowly draws away an inch. His eyes roam your face as you blink in surprise, his lips curving into another humorous smile at your expression when there’s a sudden SMASH from behind you.

The entire class turns from where they’ve been staring wide-eyed at Tom’s display of affection to see Staghart’s inkwell knocked asunder on her desk, spreading black ink across the wood and dripping down to the floor, her eyes wide and her expression thunderstruck as she stares at you.

“Clean that up at once, Staghart!” Slughorn says disapprovingly as he strides into the room. “I certainly hope your clumsiness does not extend through today’s lesson – we’re brewing poisons today, class!”

Staghart goes red as the rest of the students titter and chatter, furiously glaring at the pool of ink dripping into her lap. 

You glance at Tom and share a silent look of amusement before the two of you simultaneously turn back to your notes, still smirking.

[bakugohoex]

Can you do Jean x reader where they are both undercover at Marley 💕💕💕

part one: “this isn’t a date jean, we’re undercover”

paring: jean kirschtein x female reader

cw: season 4 spoiler but there is no manga spoiler at all, fluff, language 

word count: 2600+

a/n: i had to read so much for this fic, but i got the jist of it, again making sure you guys know there is no spoilers for the manga in here and onlt a season four spoiler do if you guys havent watched the latest episodes be warned

summary: in which you and jean are undercover doing reconnaissance in marley, want turns to investigating a local bar leads to feelings finally being brought out from the two of you

part two  | part three 

↞ back to attack on titan masterlist 

The dress you wore covered your thighs and knees, it hugged you, the soft material being a drastic change from your normal attire. It was a warm mid-day, birds chirped and the sound of Marleyans engulphed your ears. In the 6 years in which you had known Jean you hadn’t ever expect an undercover mission taking place in Marley of all places.

He walked with your hand in his own, you smiling softly as you spoke nonchalantly to one another. It was unamusing and more a distraction than anything else. He picked the newspaper up on the stall, paying quickly as he walked back, you followed which felt more like being dragged along by his strong grip.

The way the top of his fedora sat on his now long hair, he heard about the victory of the Marleyans from a passer-by and with his hand in your own he opened the newspaper up. It was reconnaissance, you and him both knew you were supposed to act like one of these people even if they did think of you both as devils.

“I think we should visit that bar that woman told us about, a lot of the men there get drunk and reveal a lot.”

He looked down at you, your hands still connected. He had grown so much in all these years now reaching over 6ft, his long hair and scattered hairs along his chin making gorgeous. He had become the leader both you and Marco knew he would become.

“They’ll all stare at you, why would I want that?” he mutters.

You laugh at his antics, “you’re such an idiot.”

“You’re the one holding my hand.”

“Jean it’s a mission we have to pretend to be together for the performance.”

He raised an eyebrow you had full view of his face; his eyes were tired from the late nights working on the next plan of action. But most importantly, the fact that the two of you had to share a bed. He couldn’t even touch you as your small frame would sometimes push against his chest.

You smiled at the boy getting him out of his trance before skimming through the newspaper again. “We’ll go tonight after the meeting.”

You nod as the two of you walk towards the docks of Liberio. Both you and Jean were in the internment zone, a nice old woman allowing you to stay on top of her shop. Even with her being nice her opinions on titans and those within the walls were a lot cruller than u had expected.

It had been awkward the first time sleeping beside each other, you both looked up. Not facing each other but instead watching as the clock ticked away until one of you fell asleep. You both woke up wrapped in each other’s arms, and an awkwardness had set between you two from that night. You both would try to face away from each other but one way in another you ended up touching each other in some way.

He helped you up the stairs to where the little shop was kept, you both had gained some currency mostly from stealing it, but you never expected to stay here long. Only to find information until the true invasion would begin. Of course, the others were already here in their own recon missions, but you and Jean had been the first ones and had found out the most about this stupid town.

The biggest thing being that they hated Eldians of any type. You both walked through the double doors the woman smiling at how pretty you both looked together.

You had a meeting with the rest of the survey corps, Hange leading it, you got changed into what you’d wear to the bar knowing it was going to be a long night.

Jean stood at the door watching at how you easily took the dress off. You both didn’t care about changing clothes in front of each other, you’d seen worse from each other and it meant nothing after the tortures of titans.

The short dress fitted you perfectly and as Jean eyed you up and down, he craved any touch by you. He had taken the blue tie off and the suit jacket and waistcoat off leaving him in the white button up and trousers.

You smiled at how his hair stuck to the back of his neck, when he had first started growing his hair out you had loved it seeing the boy turn into a man. You both had changed since your cadet days and as much as you missed it you couldn’t say that being an adult didn’t have its perks.

“You know Y/n, I’d definitely accept any date proposals from you.”

You rolled your eyes at him, he always tormented you with the flirting. “Jean you really are a pain in my ass.”

“Such vulgar words from a pretty woman.”

You wanted to stab him with your ODM gear but instead stuck with jabbing him with your knee into his stomach. Normally when he was a lot younger it hurt him easily, but he seemed unfazed by the action almost finding it cute.

“Why did u have to grow so much? Short Jean was better.”

“Are you saying 15-year-old me is better than now me?”

You think back at the boy, bringing your finger to your chin. “Both you and 15-year-old you are pains to be around.”

He moves his face to your ear you could feel the hairs brush against your cheek from his chin as he spoke, “it’s okay Y/n we both know how you really feel.”

Rolling your eyes, he grabbed your hand almost out of instinct, you both leaving the shop as quickly as you came. Turning the many corners that Hange had told you to take after each different meeting.

The amount of walks you both went on should be unnecessary but the people of Liberio barely batted an eyelash at the two on you.

The dress was low cut and having all these new clothes made your heart warm up. You hadn’t worn different clothes in years, always the same uniform which you grew to dislike.

“Hange really sent us on a fucking expedition.” You mutter as you lean against Jean’s side.

He leads the way walking towards an unknown battered up building. It looked like it was being constructed and you were met with the scouts.

They eyed you both up your outfits standing out. “running late per usual.” Levi mutters.

As much as you had grown on Captain Levi, he still had a discomfort towards most of you. Both Jean and you let go of hands with ease standing beside each other. Before the meeting begun mostly talking about what had occurred and most significantly the defeat of Marleyans against the Mid-East.

“You know what that means, sometime soon is our time to act.” You professed, the new knowledge coming as a relief as it would soon be time for your plan to truly occur.

Armin and Mikasa spoke, the whereabouts of Eren being unknown due to his consistent disappearances. Watching these people grow you truly understood the mutual torment you all felt. As you were all dismissed all you could think about was the consistent opposition you all faced.

“I think the bars down here.” Jean retakes your hand as you smiled at him.

“Once this is over what do you think will happen.” You ask him softly.

“I don’t know.”

“Remember when we first met, and you were adamant on becoming an MP.” He listened raising an eyebrow. “Look at you now Mr Commanding Officer.”

You were proud of your friend he had worked hard to achieve this status. “You really are proud of me aren’t yah.”

You rolled your eyes gently hitting his side. “I’m telling the truth I’m proud of you.”

You had been timid in your choice of words you were proud, and he knew you were proud of him. Walking into the bar, the significant smell of alcohol mixed with sweat made you grossed out.

It was a rule to not drink under the survey corps and you hadn’t really cared for drinking. So, the sight of so many drunk people drove you mad, how easily a night of drinking could lead to a failed future.

Jean pulled out a chair for you before going to the bar, “I’ll get your favourite.”

You nodded playing with your fingers trying to listen in on the conversations that were occurring. Many Marleyans chatting shit about the Eldians and most specifically those of paradise island.

Your fist clenched as Jean brought two drinks out. “What is it?” You question looking at the red drink in front of you.

“You told me you liken cranberry juice once, i got you some”.

Your eyes widened at the boy, “Jean i said that like years ago.”

“Shows you how much i do care about you.” You rolled your eyes sipping on the drink. You both conversed but remained consistent with your spying on individuals.

“Those guys are talking about you.” Jean coughed out sipping his drink.

“I should go up to them i might get some information.”

“Don’t.” You raise an eyebrow going up to his ear. “They might steal you away.”

“This isn’t a date Jean, we’re undercover.” The way you spoke his name made him melt, he wanted to hear more of your voice specifically moaning his name out.

You stood up ready to go speak to them before you heard something come from their mouths. “If i ever saw one of those island folks I’d slit their throats and make their kids watch.”

You felt sick to the stomach by the comment and wanted to leave. Jean hadn’t heard it and as you stood frozen, he called out your name.

“Let’s get u outside.” He whispers taking your hand as you silently followed. “Are you okay?”

You nod, “I guess it just hit me we’re hated here the way the act towards us is the way we used to act against titans.”

You felt his arms wrap around you. He knew you hadn’t spoken much about the comments and that now you hit the realisation you’d confide in him more.

“I want to go back to the shop.” He nods as a comfortable silence settled in.

You cling to his arm wrapping your hands around his own. He loved the way you cling onto him like he was your protector, and you were his queen.

Walking down a long alleyway, you see some Marley men smoking and drinking. They’d be easy targets if you wanted to kill them, hearing them speak and whistle as you both walked past. Before one of them grabbing your wrist made Jean’s instincts kick in.

He punched the guy who had touched you, his filthy hands still lingering close to your body. The way Jean with ease was able to put down the two men who looked bruised and battered.

He put his hand out for you to take, he didn’t speak. Just bringing you the comfort you needed from this whole new world experience. Everything was so much bigger outside the walls and you couldn’t ever imagine putting innocent people in walls to keep them trapped.

The events of the night led to an uncomfortable silence once you arrived back to little room on top of the shop. He stripped his shirt off due to the excessive dirt it had got on it. You admired his body, the way each muscle sat perfectly on his abdomen.

You sat on the bed fidgeting with your clothes, you played with the hem of the dress which Jean could see your upper thigh from you doing.“Do you want to talk more about it?”

“I just… i guess it’s the reality.” You muttered as Jean sat beside you his shirt off. Titans seemed less scary than any of these indoctrinated Marleyans any day.

In the years Jean had known you seeing you vulnerable and passive made his heart ache. He took you by the hand letting you attach yourself to his side.

You were scared about the upcoming invasion and even worse you didn’t even know who you’d be fighting. The uncertain of it all being too much.

He walked up to you, moving closer to your smaller frame. “You didn’t have to punch those guys, I...I would’ve said something.”

“Y/n, you’ve been silent all night, you expect me to believe that you would’ve done something.” He bends down his knees touching the ground as he kneeled in front of you. His hands moving to your own stopping you from playing with your dress anymore.

Bringing your hands up to his mouth he kissed it as you could see some bruises, you stroked your thumb against the bruises hopefully it would settle down with some ice later. “What you said back in the bar?” You start to speak but you really had nothing to say, “about not going to those men.”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt if you talked to them and…” He trailed off.

“And?” You question.

He looked up at your bright face filled with love and happiness something he hadn’t seen in a very long time. “And you bring joy, in a shitty world like this I guess you’re the only one who truly brings a smile on my face.”

“Jean when did you get so sappy.” You giggle at his flustered look.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.” The tone in your voice was begging him to take you.

He rolls his eyes, his tongue flicking against the inside of his mouth as he stood up looking at you. He was even taller than before. You were a mouse compared to his frame; he bent his back bringing his face closer towards yours before a hand was placed on your cheek.

He closed the gap between the two of you, making your back hit the bed. His other hand moved to your side as he was on kissing you whilst he was on top. Your back arched at the movements wanting to feel his body on your own, as you deepened the kiss. Your hands in his long hair pulling his body closer to your own, as you felt the hardness come from his trousers.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t its baby.” He spoke stoically a cocky grin plastered to his face.

You smirked as he let go of your lips, moving his mouth to your neck as he moved your dress down your body, with your collarbone and neck revealed for him. He left marks and sucked on spots making you moan his name loudly.

“I’d…I… would n…never.” The moans engulphed you, you craved him even more.

He had never expected to hear you moan his name, and the sound of it, with you underneath fuelled him even more to continue the act. You closed your eyes as he bit and sucked on your collar before licking the side of your neck. The saltiness it brought making him lick his lips before he went back to kissing you.

The kiss was deeper, quicker than it previously had been, you placed your hands on his exposed chest. The way a single touch from you sent shivers down his spine, “I’ve always like you, y’know.”

“I assumed so.” You giggled, his body was on top of you trapping you between his broad arms and shoulders. It was a sight and you loved it.

You brought yourself up leaning up with your elbows, your dress was half off you and the way he looked at you knew that what would happen tonight had been long awaited from many many years ago. 

proceed to part two here

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[testudoaubrei-blog]

Content note for discussions of eternal damnation, and all sorts of other shit that will trigger a lot of folks with religious trauma.

Before I get started I might as well explain where I’m coming from - unlike a lot of She-Ra fans, and a lot of queer people, I don’t have much religious trauma, or any, maybe (okay there were a number of years I was convinced I was going to hell, but that happens to everyone, right?). I was raised a liberal Christian by liberal Christian parents in the Episcopal Church, where most of my memories are overwhelmingly positive. Fuck, growing up in the 90’s, Chuch was probably the only place outside my home I didn’t have homophobia spewed at me. Because it was the 90’s and it was a fucking hellscape of bigotry where 5 year olds knew enough to taunt each other with homophobic slurs and the adults didn’t know enough to realize how fucked up that was. Anyway. This is my experience, but it is an atypical one, and I know it. Quite frankly I know that my experience of Christianity has very little at all to do with what most people experienced, or what people generally mean when they talk about Christianity as a cultural force in America today. So if you were raised Christian and you don’t recognize your theology here, congrats, neither do I, but these ideas and cultural forces are huge and powerful and dominant. And it’s this dominant Christian narrative that I’m referring to in this post. As well as, you know, a children’s cartoon about lesbian rainbow princesses. So here it goes. This is going to get batshit.

"All events whatsoever are governed by the secret counsel of God." - John Calvin

“We’re all just a bunch of wooly guys” - Noelle Stevenson

This is a post triggered by a single scene, and a single line. It’s one of the most fucked-up scenes in She-Ra, toward the end of Save the Cat. Catra, turned into a puppet by Prime, struggles with her chip, desperately trying to gain control of herself, so lost and scared and vulnerable that she flings aside her own death wish and her pride and tearfully begs Adora to rescue her. Adora reaches out , about to grab her, and then Prime takes control back, pronounces ‘disappointing’ and activates the kill switch that pitches Catra off the platform and to her death (and seriously, she dies here, guys - also Adora breaks both her legs in the fall). But before he does, he dismisses Catra with one of his most chilling lines. “Some creatures are meant only for destruction.”

And that’s when everyone watching probably had their heart broken a little bit, but some of the viewers raised in or around Christianity watching the same scene probably whispered ‘holy shit’ to themselves. Because Prime’s line - which works as a chilling and callous dismissal of Catra - is also an allusion to a passage from the Bible. In fact, it’s from one of the most fucked up passages in a book with more than its share of fucked up passages. It’s from Romans 9:22, and I’m going to quote several previous verses to give the context of the passage (if not the entire Epistle, which is more about who needs to abide by Jewish dietary restrictions but was used to construct a systematic theology in the centuries afterwards because people decided it was Eternal Truth).

19 Thou wilt say then unto me, Why doth he yet find fault? For who hath resisted his will?

20 Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus?

21 Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour, and another unto dishonour?

22 What if God, willing to shew his wrath, and to make his power known, endured with much longsuffering the vessels of wrath fitted to destruction:

The context of the allusion supports the context in the show. Prime is dismissing Catra - serial betrayer, liar, failed conqueror, former bloody-handed warlord - as worthless, as having always been worthless and fit only to be destroyed. He is speaking from a divine and authoritative perspective (because he really does think he’s God, more of this in my TL/DR Horde Prime thing). Prime is echoing not only his own haughty dismissal of Catra, and Shadow Weaver’s view of her, but also perhaps the viewer’s harshest assessment of her, and her own worst fears about herself. Catra was bad from the start, doomed to destroy and to be destroyed. A malformed pot, cracked in firing, destined to be shattered against a wall and have her shards classified by some future archaeologist 2,000 years later. And all that’s bad enough.

But the full historical and theological context of this passage shows the real depth of Noelle Stevenson’s passion and thought and care when writing this show. Noelle was raised in Evangelical or Fundamentalist Christianity. To my knowledge, he has never specified what sect or denomination, but in interviews and her memoir Noelle has shown a particular concern for questions that this passage raises, and a particular loathing for the strains of Protestant theology that take this passage and run with it - that is to say, Calvinism. So while I’m not sure if Noelle was raised as a conservative, Calvinist Presbyterian, his preoccupation with these questions mean that it’s time to talk about Calvinism.

It would be unfair, perhaps, to say that Calvinism is a systematic theology built entirely upon the Epistles of Romans and Galatians, but only -just- (and here my Catholic readers in particular will chuckle to themselves and lovingly stroke their favorite passage of the Epistle of James). The core of Calvinist Doctrine is often expressed by the very Dutch acronym TULIP:

Total Depravity - people are wholly evil, and incapable of good action or even willing good thoughts or deeds

Unconditional Election - God chooses some people to save because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, not because they did anything to deserve, trigger or accept it

Limited Atonement - Jesus died only to save the people God chose to save, not the rest of us bastards

Irresistible Grace - God chooses some people to be saved - if you didn’t want to be saved, too bad, God said so.

Perseverance of the Saints - People often forget this one and assume it’s ‘predestination’ but it’s actually this - basically, once saved by God, always saved, and if it looks like someone falls out of grace, they were never saved to begin with. Well that’s all sealed up tight I guess.

Reading through these, predestination isn’t a single doctrine in Calvinism but the entire theological underpinnings of it together with humanity’s utter powerlessness before sin. Basically God has all agency, humanity has none. Calvinism (and a lot of early modern Protestantism) is obsessed with questions of how God saves people (grace alone, AKA Sola Fides) and who God saves (the people god elects and only the people God elects, and fuck everyone else).

It’s apparent that Noelle was really taken by these questions, and repelled by the answers he heard. He’s alluded to having a tattoo refuting the Gospel passage about Sheep and Goats being sorted at the end times, affirming instead that ‘we’re all just a bunch of wooly guys’ (you can see this goat tattoo in some of his self-portraits in comics, etc). He’s also mentioned that rejecting and subverting destiny is a huge part of everything he writes as a particular rejection of the idea that some individual people are 'chosen' by God or that God has a plan for any of us. You can see that -so clearly- in Adora’s arc, where Adora embraces and then rejects destiny time and again and finally learns to live life for herself.

But for Catra, we’re much more concerned about the most negative aspect of this - the idea that some people are vessels meant for destruction. And that’s something else that Noelle is preoccupied with. In her memoir in the section about leaving the church and becoming a humanistic atheist, there is a drawing of a pot and the question ‘Am I a vessel prepared for destruction?’ Obviously this was on Noelle’s mind (And this is before he came out to himself as queer!).

To look at how this question plays out in Catra’s entire arc, let’s first talk about how ideas of damnation and salvation actually play out in society. And for that I’m going to plug one of my favorite books, Gin Lun’s Damned Nation: Hell in America from the Revolution to Reconstruction (if you can tell by now, I am a fucking blast at parties). Lun tells the long and very interesting story about, how ideas of hell and who went there changed during the Early American Republic. One of the interesting developments that she talks about is how while at first people who were repelled by Calvinism started moving toward a doctrine of universal salvation (no on goes to hell, at least not forever*), eventually they decided that hell was fine as long as only the right kind of people went there. Mostly The Other - non-Christian foreigners, Catholics, Atheists, people who were sinners in ways that were not just bad but weird and violated Victorian ideas of respectability. Really, Hell became a way of othering people, and arguably that’s how it survives today, especially as a way to other queer people (but expanding this is slated for my Montero rant). Now while a lot of people were consciously rejecting Calvinist predestination, they were still drawing the distinction between the Elect (good, saved, worthwhile) and the everyone else (bad, damned, worthless). I would argue that secularized ideas of this survive to this day even among non-Christian spaces in our society - we like to draw lines between those who Elect, and those who aren’t.

And that’s what brings us back to Catra. Because Catra’s entire arc is a refutation of the idea that some people are worthless and irredeemable, either by nature, nurture or their own actions. Catra’s actions strain the conventions of who is sympathetic in a Kid’s cartoon - I’ve half joked that she’s Walter White as a cat girl, and it’s only half a joke. She’s cruel, self-deluded, she spends 4 seasons refusing to take responsibility for anything she does and until Season 5 she just about always chooses the thing that does the most damage to herself and others. As I mentioned in my Catra rant, the show goes out of its way to demonstrate that Catra is morally culpable in every step of her descent into evil (except maybe her break with reality just before she pulls the lever). The way that Catra personally betrays everyone around her, the way she strips herself of all of her better qualities and most of what makes her human, hell even her costume changes would signal in any other show that she’s irredeemable.

It’s tempting to see this as Noelle’s version of being edgy - pushing the boundaries of what a sympathetic character is, throwing out antiheroics in favor of just making the villain a protagonist. Noelle isn’t quite Alex ‘I am in the business of traumatizing children’ Hirsch, who seems to have viewed his job as pushing the bounds of what you could show on the Disney Channel (I saw Gravity Falls as an adult and a bunch of that shit lives rent free in my nightmares forever), but Noelle has his own dark side, mostly thematically. The show’s willingness to deal with abuse, and messed up religious themes, and volatile, passionate, not particularly healthy relationships feels pretty daring. I’m not joking when I gleefully recommend this show to friends as ‘a couple from a Mountain Goats Song fights for four seasons in a cartoon intended for 9 year olds’. Noelle is in his own way pushing the boundaries of what a kids show can do. If you read Noelle’s other works like Nimona, you see an argument for Noelle being at least a bit edgy. Nimona is also angry, gleefully destructive, violent and spiteful - not unlike Catra. Given that it was a 2010s webcomic and not a kids show, Nimona is a good deal worse than Catra in some ways - Catra doesn’t kill people on screen, while Nimona laughs about it (that was just like, a webcomic thing - one of the fan favorite characters in my personal favorite, Narbonic, was a fucking sociopath, and the heroes were all amoral mad scientists, except for the superintelligent gerbil**). But unlike Nimona, whose fate is left open ended, Catra is redeemed.

And that is weird. We’ve had redemption arcs, but generally not of characters with -so- much vile stuff in their history. Going back to the comparison between her and Azula, many other shows, like Avatar, would have made Catra a semi-sympathetic villain who has a sob-story in their origin but who is beyond redemption, and in so doing would articulate a kind of psychologized Calvinism where some people are too traumatized to ever be fully and truly human. I’d argue this is the problem with Azula as a character - she’s a fun villain, but she doesn’t have moral agency, and the ultimate message of her arc - that she’s a broken person destined only to hurt people - is actually pretty fucked up. And that’s the origin story of so many serial killers and psycopaths that populate so many TV shows and movies. Beyond ‘hurt people hurt people’ they have nothing to teach us except perhaps that trauma makes you a monster and that the only possible response to people doing bad things is to cut them out of your life and out of our society (and that’s why we have prisons, right?)

And so Catra’s redemption and the depths from which she claws herself back goes back to Noelle’s desire to prove that no person is a vessel ‘fitted for destruction.’ Catra goes about as far down the path of evil as we’ve ever seen a protagonist in a kids show go, and she still has the capacity for good. Importantly, she is not subject to total depravity - she is capable of a good act, if only one at first. Catra is the one who begins her own redemption (unlike in Calvinism, where grace is unearned and even unwelcomed) - because she wants something better than what she has, even if its too late, because she realizes that she never wanted any of this anyway, because she wants to do one good thing once in her life even if it kills her.

The very extremity of Catra’s descent into villainy serves to underline the point that Noelle is trying to make - that no one can be written off completely, that everyone is capable of change, and that no human being is garbage, no matter how twisted they’ve become. Meanwhile her ability to set her own redemption in motion is a powerful statement of human agency, and healing, and a refutation of Calvinism’s idea that we are powerless before sin or pop cultural tropes about us being powerful before the traumas of our upbringing. Catra’s arc, then, is a kind of anti-Calvinist theological statement - about the nature of people and the nature of goodness.

Now, there is a darker side to this that Noelle has only hinted at, but which is suggested by other characters on the show. Because while Catra’s redemption shows that people are capable of change, even when they’ve done horrible things, been fucked up and fucked themselves up, it also illustrates the things people do to themselves that make change hard. As I mentioned in my Catra rant, two of the most sinister parts of her descent into villainy are her self-dehumanization (crushing her own compassion and desire to do good) and her rewriting of her own history in her speech and memory to make her own actions seem justified (which we see with her insistence that Adora left her, eliding Adora’s offers to have Catra join her, or her even more clearly false insistence that Entrapta had betrayed them). In Catra, these processes keep her going down the path of evil, and allow her to nearly destroy herself and everyone else. But we can see the same processes at work in two much darker figures - Shadow Weaver and Horde Prime. These are both rants for another day, but the completeness of Shadow Weaver’s narcissistic self-justification and cultivated callousness and the even more complete narcissism of Prime’s god complex cut both characters off from everyone around them. Perhaps, in a theoretical sense, they are still redeemable, but for narrative purposes they might as well be damned.

This willingness to show a case where someone -isn’t- redeemed actually serves to make Catra’s redemption more believable, especially since Noelle and the writers draw the distinction between how Catra and SW/Prime can relate to reality and other people, not how broken they are by their trauma (unlike Zuko and Azula, who are differentiated by How Fucked Uolp They Are). Redemption is there, it’s an option, we can always do what is right, but someone people will choose not to, in part because doing the right thing involves opening ourselves to the world and others, and thus being vulnerable. Noelle mentions this offhandedly in an interview after Season 1 with the She-Ra Progressive of Power podcast - “I sometimes think that shades of grey, sympathetic villains are part of the escapist fantasy of shows like this.” Because in the real world, some people are just bastards, a point that was particularly clear in 2017. Prime and Shadow Weaver admit this reality, while Catra makes a philosophical point that even the bastards can change their ways (at least in theory).

*An idea first proposed in the second century by Origen, who’s a trip and a fucking half by himself, and an idea that becomes the Catholic doctrine of purgatory, which protestants vehemently denied!

**Speaking of favorite Noelle tropes

[moontheoretist]

When she and Tony Stark meet it is very clear that he was not expecting her there, “Jesus Christ, who the hell are you?” he asks, hand pressed to the space over his heart. His right arm is in a sling and that does not look good. “Is there something wrong with your arm?” she asks. It did not appear to be in a cast and she saw no bruising. His breathing was restricted though and that did not bode well either. She narrows her eyes at the thought of someone harming her King’s soul mate but she blinks, letting the anger go. Now was not the time or place. “None of your business, and you are?” he snaps, glaring at her suspiciously. “Dora Milaje,” she responds vaguely, “and I am here on the behalf of King T’Challa.” “T’Challa can fuck off,” Tony snarls viciously and her eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me,” she says in a dangerous tone. Soul mate or not she would not allow him to insult her King. “Anyone who is involved with Steve Rogers is no use to me,” he snaps. Her eyebrows remain raised, “I understand that Steve Rogers has caused you pain, but I do not understand how that extends to King T’Challa,” she says calmly. Perhaps too calmly but Stark either does not understand the danger or he does not care. Stark rolls his eyes, “I’ve spent the last five years dealing with people who blindly follow Steve Rogers around like a bunch of fucking lap dogs, I don’t need to have one more person tell me that I can never compare. I know that. No need to have anyone else remind me,” he says bitterly, his lip curling up in disgust. That changed things. “I here because the King is not sure what to believe about you. He and the Dora Milaje agree that the information about you is too conflicting to draw a reasonable conclusion. So I am here to try and find the truth, to see what you’re really like. I must admit that I do not like you,” she says honestly. Perhaps the man would take the honesty well. He does not, instead he flinches hard but the expression is gone very quickly. “Great, then you’re just like everyone else. Go report back to your king, tell him I’m as worthless as everyone says I am,” Tony says, turning and walking towards his kitchen. “I do not like many people, that does not mean that you are not a good person. And my personal opinion of you means little when you are not meant for me,” she says. Tony’s shoulders tense at that but he turns slowly to face her. “What do you want to know?” He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in days and she supposes that it is very likely that he has not. The man had chronic insomnia and she suspected it made his very obvious PTSD worse. The dismissals from everyone else around him, including his closest friends, probably did not help the situation. “Why did you support the Accords?” she asks bluntly. Cutting to the heart of the issue was what she was good at, and it saved her time and effort beating around the bush. “Steve told me that I needed to trust people, to listen to them. He was right, so when the opportunity came to listen I did, or at least I tired but apparently that wasn’t right either,” he snaps bitterly, that disgusted look back on his face. “You feel guilty for Ultron,” she says and it is not a question. He flinches at the bot’s name, he certainly felt guilty for being the creator of such chaos. “Of course I do, who the fuck wouldn’t? I nearly ended the world when I ran that program and I should have said something to someone,” he says. She finds that curious, his anger at Steve and his acceptance that Steve was right in his conclusions about his communication skills or lack thereof. “But you did talk to someone, Dr. Banner. I know that he is currently missing but surely you count your communication with him as something,” she says. Banner appeared to be the only Avenger who was not adverse to Tony. The two bonded over science and Tony’s lack of fear of him. “Lot of good that did,” Tony mumbles. “But you spoke to him and he agreed that it was a good enough idea to try,” she says. “So what if I did? Everyone blamed me for it anyways, might as well take the blame. Bruce said it could go wrong and I didn’t listen, I should have.” He leans against the counter and sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just because your team blamed only you does not mean it was fair. It is not like they are lacking in recklessness and stupidity themselves. What kind of moron releases a brainwashed assassin onto the world? Steve Rogers is very lucky that seems to have had no consequences. And his taking the word of Bucky Barnes as proof of five other Winter Soldiers was not wise either, the man hardly knows what is real and what is not, he is still partially under the control of HYDRA conditioning. Only a fool would take the man’s word at face value. I believe that your holding off until you found real proof of the Winter Soldiers’ existence made you the most intelligent and clear headed of the group, at least in that moment. The rest of the team has far too much faith in a man who is living in nostalgia. Bucky Barnes does not, nor will he ever, exist again as Rogers knew him. He should accept that,” she says bluntly. It was a harsh truth, yes, but a man would never be the same after a trauma like that. Rogers himself was more than likely not the same man he used to be so he should not expect Bucky to be. He should also accept the reality of that trauma on his friend because living in his memories was not going to help Bucky Barnes. Accepting reality, no matter how harsh, was the only way to help Barnes heal from his wounds. It would not be easy for anyone but it was the most beneficial. “You… think I’m the smartest and most clear headed of the group?” Tony asks, looking beyond shocked. “In that moment, yes. You are not without your mistakes but that was not one of them. Tell me more about why you chose to support the Accords,” she says. This time Tony pauses for a long time and she lets him gather himself. It was important to make an accurate judgment. Finally Tony looks up, “Steve was right about listening to people. Sometimes I go too fast and I don’t think things through right, I’ve done it time and time again, even when I was supporting the Accords. I’ll make a snap decision that looks good at the time but I don’t talk to the people I’m supposed to be helping, I just make a decision and assume it’s for the best when it isn’t. I had one hundred and seventeen countries telling me to slow down and stop and I didn’t think that was something I should ignore. They weren’t making unreasonable requests, they just wanted a say in how we ran things and you can’t help people if you aren’t willing to listen to what they need you to do. I’ve learned that now,” he says. “Rogers thinks the best hands are still your own, you do not agree?” she asks, curious. Tony rolls his eyes, “no, he thinks the best hands are still his own, not our own regardless of what he says. You saw what happened when someone said no, it didn’t line up with his beliefs and instead of reaching out and asking to change things, or asking why things looked the way thy did he threw the whole damn thing out. Besides, if we’re talking histories here I have a near one hundred percent fail rate. The best hands aren’t my own so I thought maybe if I had someone else vetting my decisions they might be better but if that person isn’t Steve Rogers Steve doesn’t think it’s good enough.” Harsh words, but they were mostly true. She, too, found the Captain too rigid in his values. “And the agendas he spoke of?” she asks. He was not wrong for being suspicious of the government. They were corrupt, as near all systems were outside of Wakanda and even there they had their issues. At this Tony looks down, “I put too much faith in a system I know doesn’t really work that well. But we aren’t apolitical people, we know what the UN’s agendas were, they were clearly written on paper and we could have worked with that, used it to our advantage. But the fuck if I know what their agendas are. Natasha flip-flops more than a fucking fish out of water, so does Clint, I have no idea what Wanda’s thinking, you already know what I think of Steve, and Sam… well he’s an alright guy. I think he’s an idiot for following Steve around like a lost bird but he’s a good man. I know I made mistakes but that bullshit letter Steve sent me proves he doesn’t care.” She did not read the letter so she is unsure what he is talking about, “would you care to explain?” she asks, trying to be gentle. The man was raw, in pain, and it was bound to end badly for him. She was sure she had her answers but she was curious about the letter and more information would not hurt. “Oh he’s glad I’m back on the compound, obviously I moved back out, but he doesn’t like to think of me being alone because the Avengers were more mine than his. Pretty sure the fact that they’ve all always hated me minus maybe Bruce indicates that that’s a bunch of shit but whatever. And he has faith in people, in individuals? Really? Because I didn’t see any of that faith when people, individuals, were reaching out to us to talk to them and he slapped them down because what they wanted wasn’t what he wanted. And he’s never had faith in me. Never. I find it really hard to accept that he gives a damn about hurting my feelings, especially when he’s always assumed that I didn’t have any. And his stupid ‘I wish we agreed on the Accords but we didn’t so fuck you’ at the end was a real nice touch. He might as well have wrote ‘lol everything before this was a joke because I don’t really care what you think was right, it wasn’t what I think is right so you’re wrong’. At least we can both agree that he was a selfish prick keeping my parents’ deaths to himself,” he mumbles. So Tony Stark fell somewhere in between his public image and someone she did not know. He was clearly emotional, in pain, and that was not going to go well for him but he was not a bad person. He was not what the Avengers thought he was either. “You’re parents’ deaths?” she asks. “Yeah, I mean I can’t keep secrets or so he reminded me about a million times with that Ultron bullshit, but he can keep the fact that Barnes killed my parents to himself. Guess all the shit I do is totally fine if he does the same damn thing. I don’t listen and accidentally create Ultron I’m a problem, and that’s fair, but he can ignore the whole fucking world and that’s totally A-Okay with him. I can’t keep secrets, but it’s fine if he does. I can’t be suspicious of government structures without being labeled ‘insubordinate’ and ‘arrogant’ but when he does it it’s fine!”

The Truth Never Set Me Free (I Did It Myself) by TenSpencerRiedPlease

[farfarawaygirl]

Hey Emma,

Hope you’re feeling okay! The weather changes where I am isn’t being friendly to my migraines.

This episode just wasn’t good. I get that it was fine to some people and it made sense to some. For this one, it’s as if we don’t like it, we automatically get called for bad takes. I’ve seen a couple things today where people said that we could keep our bad takes inside our brains. That doesn’t fly, we’re entitled to an opinion too.

I thought we were making progress and we were getting some of the old Tim and Lucy back as individual characters.

I was wrong. Tim just didn’t seem like Tim. I know him and the subject of fathers don’t get along for good reason, but that doesn’t excuse how little he tried to help Lucy. Like “call your mom and have that hard conversation”. That’s common sense and Lucy probably already thought of that. Prickly!Tim during Isabel’s downfall would have been more helpful and supportive! He could have gone with her for moral and emotional support when she went to talk to Aunt Amy! He could have volunteered to help Lucy dig for info on social media. There’s so much more that Tim could have done. As a friend, he did the bare minimum.

Lucy broke my heart this time. That’s understandable considering the situation. Yet, no one picked up on it. Yes, Tim asked her if she was okay, but outside of that, no one really tried to be comforting towards her except Tamara.

All of this makes me miss Jackson more, he would have at least been there for Lucy.

Then we get to the whole Patrick thing. Seriously? The same name?

Thank you for checking in! Weather certainly knows how to mess up a brain.

Honestly, the thing that is most import here - is that we are all adults and as such, should respect each persons autonomy to have their own opinion about how they are feeling. Instead of just calling something a bad take, why not create an environment where discourse is both fun, and a little bit persuasive! I like a lively discussion, and really do think that most (not all - use your common sense to draw the line) takes, are a valid. For me, it all comes back to being critical of the media you consume - that absolutely includes understanding your perception, and your biases, as you take it in.

Feel free to quote me on this, telling someone to leave a take inside their brain is rude at best, (based on feedback I have decided to change a word here - this was done in the interest of transparency) needlessly antagonistic, dismissive and a whole host of other problematic things at worst. Genuinely, we could all stand to be kind to people, and I try (and fail) to do that in my life. I didn’t see anything like this, but I am not always in the tags these days! 

One cool/fun/super shippy take-away that I haven't seen discussed yet happened in the little conversation that Tim and Lucy shared when she got Patrick Walsh's name. I don't know if anyone else had caught this specific detail, but I did see it giffed (thank you gif makers!) - Tim, in the show, on duty, called Officer Chen, Lucy. I still get a kick out of this. Obviously, this sticks out to me the most! In an episode where I was not blown away by Tim, this little use of her first name was a nice surprise.

Tim was not his best self this episode, in a show where we have seen him make himself vulnerable, and seen him push the limit with Lucy, a half joke about Dilbert didn't move me. This is not a shipping issue, this is a character issue, because Tim has been radically inconsistent in season 4. He is soft one moment, buddy buddy, dismissive, eye-rolling - and yes, everyone can interrupt those actions differently, but for me, Tim has consistently missed the mark, and lost his edge. Not in a character growth kind of way, but in a writing discrepancy way. This may not be surprising as by season 4 some of the actor would have bled through into the character and in how the writers might view Tim. Not cataclysmic, but annoying.

Had the writers wanted, it would have been an easy insert to have Tim be in the Tamara roll - which leaves me wondering, do they not want that level of intimacy with Chenford now, or are they building something more with Tamara? Lucy lost her best friend this season, and her biggest emotional highs and lows have been with Tamara. I think there has to be a reason for that, even if I don't know what.

Is this the end of Patrick Walsh? Does this springboard us into a real Vanessa and Lucy conflict? Why do both of Lucy's dads have the same name? As always, I have so many questions.

Here are some of my Tamara questions - is she a surrogate sister, or best friend? Is Lucy reparenting herself through Tamara?

Thank you for this lovely, thoughtful, kind and honest ask. This made my day. As always, be critical if the media you consume, and be kind!

[pennyserenade]

TINY DANCER 

tags: javier peña x female oc, javier peña, rockstar!au, fluff  rating: t ( teen ) (for now) warnings: language, alcohol  word count: 1.6k+ summary: a band of young men from laredo, texas are on the verge of rock’n’roll stardom and anita rodríguez is the woman who follows them into it. a story of rock’n’roll and all the fluff that follows notes: this is very self indulgent and heavily inspired by the movie almost famous, as well as whatever fleetwood mac had going on, and the book daisy jones & the six. as you can tell, this is a genre of fiction i favor heavily, and i’m more than happy to make this everyone’s problem. thank you for baring with me

Summer time has never tasted so sweet on the tongues of these impassioned young men from Laredo, Texas, she bets. Perspiration covers their foreheads as they stand under the much too bright colored lights, and the crowd before them cheers them on with an eagerness that belongs only to those who really loved music. And they respond like men who really love music—all smiles and grins and heavy panting from giving their young bodies away to it. One might even say their souls.

Even from behind the curtain, she can feel the wave of electricity that rolls off of them. It is a beautiful thing to hear after suffering under the heavy blanket of Texas heat for her own performance.

They had liked her alright, responded about as warmly as they could for an opening act they hadn’t really known, but they turn these young men into Gods. She feels it tight in her stomach, that everlasting and endless excitement reserved for falling in love, not with people, but with moments. Even if it’s all for not, this little musical and spiritual journey she has partaken on, she will at least have been there for the moment these men had exhaled themselves into true and complete stardom.

Not bad for a band called El Fuego, she thinks.

“My God they’re something, aren’t they, Anita?”

Her sister holds aside the curtain to make room for herself. “The one in the really tight jeans was talking to me during your performance. He’s beautiful, I swear it. Just godly.”

Anita smiles. “You can’t fall in love with rockstars, baby sister, it’s unethical and impractical. Have your years with me taught you nothing?”

“Yeah, but those rockstars were a dime of dozen and tight jeans looks like sex out there,” she whines. Anita scans over the men, trying to decipher whom she might mean. That’s when she catches Tight Jeans’ eyes. She gives him a grin and without missing a beat, he gives her a charming wink. A wink reserved for a man on top of the world.

“What’s his name?” Anita asks.

“Javier Peña,” she responds. “He’s just gorgeous isn’t he? They all are.”

All Anita can do is grin as she continues to watch the rest of their performance.

****

This isn’t her first rodeo. This isn’t even her second or third or fourth. In fact, she’s lost track of the times she’s been led back to hotel rooms with a slew of people she doesn’t know, swept dangerously up in the shared euphoria that is the after show comedown.

In her hand she holds her second drink of the night. It’s a concoction she’d mixed for herself, made up of too much juice and too much alcohol, but she deserves it, she reckons. She’s opened for a damn good band and she’s a pretty damn good singer most of the time, and that Javier guy has been looking at her all night, despite the group of women that surround him. He has a good way of being present with them and present with her, too, genuine grins and attention for all to spare. Like the charming and humble lead guitarist he is, he strums idly at an acoustic guitar while he speaks with the women.

She’s been standing in the same place for too long, drinking the same second drink, listening to the beginning of songs he starts before he falters off into the next one. Even over the light hum of chatter and the radio nearby, she can focus on him. She watches his fingers as they strum—watches the way he doesn’t need to look down at them to keep them steady and trained. He’s a professional musician, through and through, even if he may just be some guy from Laredo to most individuals in the world. His manager had been so brave to wager that they were going to hit nationwide success by next week when one of their songs got radio air. She asked if she could keep opening for them, when they got big. All he did was grin. She likes to think it’s a yes.

“Hello.”

Coming back to earth, Anita finds Tight Pants in front of her. Not starling close, but enough to elicit something ghastly in her.

He smells of leather and good cigarettes, and her baby sister was right, he does look like sex. He’s all lean muscle, and though the perspiration has gone from his forehead, she bets if he were to lean in close and press his lips to hers, she might be tempted to taste the residue of it in what would become haste and passionate kissing.

“Hello,” she responds.

“I’m Javi, from Laredo.”

He extends his rather large hand for her to take, and she does. She wonders if this is the approach he uses with a lot of women. He’s good looking enough to be dangerous, but then again, she’s smart enough to understand where the line between fun and serious ends and begins with these men. She’s a rockstar too, privy to sex and drugs just like the lot of them, even if she is just a one man band.

She puts her hand in his and he gives her a firm shake. “Anita,” she says, then inspired by the liquid courage in her, she adds, “From somewhere warm, but hopefully headed some place better.”

He gives her a laugh and she finds that unfortunately, it’s the sort that makes one’s own lips tug upwards.

“You sounded good tonight. Did you write that song?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “You sounded good too. I mean, you probably know that already, but.” She smiles. “Who writes for you?”

“Graham.”

“Graham’s the...”

“Lead singer. Dirty blonde over there talking to your—“ He looks at her. “Sister?”

She nods. “Yeah. She said she had talked to you earlier.”

“Yeah. We talked about your someplace warm. California, is it?”

“Cali indeed.”

“I’ve never been.”

“Well, Javi, I’m sure you’re about to.”

His dimple appears for her. He looks at her like she wishes he wouldn’t, because it makes her badly want to stick to his side for the rest of the night. And on his lips.

Even more unfortunate for her, he rummages in his pockets and pulls out a packet of those good cigarettes that make up his aroma. He opens it and takes one out for himself, sticking it between his lips, before offering her one.

“You smoke?”

She takes one. “Sometimes,” she nods. “Are we allowed to, in here?”

Javi shrugs his shoulders as he lights his. “Dunno,” he responds. She leans forward so he can light hers too. “Suppose we should go sit on the balcony on the off chance that this is the one hotel in America that doesn’t allow it?”

****

“You know Me and Bobby McGee, Laredo?” she nods down to his guitar.

The air outside is just cool enough to be comfortable in, so, despite that their cigarettes have long been stamped out and the party inside awaits them, they stay on the patio, rooted to the furniture. He hasn’t made any moves on her, a fact which takes her by surprise, and so they’ve lulled into a comfortable ebb and flow of natural conversation.

He tweaks his fingers on the neck of the guitar before he begins to strum the strings of it . His hair, overgrown in a way that suits a man of his occupation, cascades over his forehead as his brow becomes pinched from focus. In an instant, from his fingers comes the tune of her desire. He looks up at her, grinning, once he gets into the flow of it.

“¿Hablas español?” he asks, over his guitar.

“Un poquito, but not much,” she tells him. “Why?”

“No reason,” he dismisses, “Can you sing Me and Bobby McGee?”

“Sí.”

He laughs. “Well, put on a show then.”

***

She sobers up halfway between the sun tucking itself into the sky and the sun peeking back out from the horizon, but she can’t remember when. They’d played a lot of songs and her throat feels hoarse, but she can’t recall any one song that had felt particularly clear. It all sort of blended together up until this moment.

Javi lays, back rested against the chair, looking tired. His guitar now rests beside him, quiet, and he stares out at the city below them.

There’s a soft hum of normal people doing normal things below them; the horn of an eager taxi driver, the breaks of a bus, the chatter of patrons going in and out of the hotel.

They sit in the comfort of this city’s morning routine while she smokes his last good cigarette. “I was never much for staying up all night,” she tells him, passing it over to him.

He takes it between his lips and nods. “I was never much for sleeping all night.”

“And why’s that?”

He shrugs, exhaling the smoke. “Don’t know. Sometimes the past haunts me, sometimes it’s just too fuckin’ hot, sometimes it’s the company.”

“Mm,” she hums. “I must admit, I didn't peg you as the get-to-know-me-in-the-early-morning type. Thought you’d be content just charming me with your guitar for the rest of eternity.”

“Well,” he passes the cigarette back to her, pushing his digits against her own in the process. “I’m not, really, but we’ve talked about our favorite songs all night and you’re our opener for the rest of this tour, so why not?”

She takes a drag off the cigarette. “I’m not the opener for the rest of the tour.”

“No?” he asks.

“No,” she shakes her head. “This was a favor, I think. A very kind one.”

He looks out in front of him, falling into silence. Thinking.  Then he says, “I think I’m in the position to call in some favors right now if you’d liked to be. The opener, I mean.”

She lets the smoke out from the side of her mouth, which has risen up into a wide grin. “Javier from Laredo, I think I could kiss you right now.”

He takes the cigarette back from her fingers, offering her his own grin. “I think I’d like that,” Javi says, tone soft. Genuine.

She swings her legs over the side of her lawn chair, and holds herself up just far enough to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. He turns though, not entirely on purpose, she thinks, and their noses brush against one another. She rises from her seat when he leans down and fills the space between them, resting against his own chair as his lips move against her own.

No tongue, though. He pulls back after a few seconds, brown eyes full of warmth. She’s surprised by the amount of control he has over himself. Surprised that he wants to use it, too.

“I better go check on my sister,” she breathes out, resting her hand over his chest.

“Okay,” he nods. “I’ll see you in the next city, Anita.”

“Yeah,” she smiles.

“Look for me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she promises.

She likes this man and his tight jeans, she’s decided. Likes him a lot.

EVERYTHING : @astroboots , @frannyzooey , @wyn-n-tonic , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @melaniermblt , @theorganasolo​ , @amneris21​ , @honestly-shite , @over300books , @elegantduckturtle, @pbeatriz , @pretty-brown-eyess , @brcwneyes  ,  @chronic-nosebleed

JAVI :  @wyn-n-tonic , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @disgruntledspacedad , @melaniermblt , @walt-breslin , @theorganasolo , @amneris21 , @hb8301 , @penajavier , @darnitdraco , @over300books , @dobbyjen , @paperbag33 , @rebel-fanfare , @p3dr0pasca1lov3r247

TINY DANCER : @itssmashedavo (just because i thought this might interest you)

[flameohotwife]

Happiness and Love

Here is my contribution to @kataang-week day 2: Blending Cultures! Aang and Katara are expecting their first child, and discuss how they want to pass down each of their cultures. Basically just shameless cloud family fluff. Enjoy!

ao3 | ffn

Katara sat on a balcony of the Southern Air Temple, resting her hand on her finally-swelling belly while she watched Aang going through his bending forms below. She missed being able to spar with him every morning; keeping her skills and reflexes sharp, but Aang wouldn’t risk hurting the baby accidentally. They would still do their waterbending katas together later, under the moon, at least. That was something to look forward to.

As she took a sip of the tea Aang had left for her, she thought about the child growing in her womb, and how they would raise them. She had known going into this relationship--long before she was old enough to think about having this family--what it would mean to marry outside the Water Tribes. That she may have to sacrifice some aspects of her culture to also let parts of her partner’s shine through their children; through their family.

Even their wedding had been a mix of Water Tribe and Air Nomad traditions, from their vows to their clothes and even the food. Aang had briefly tried to insist on a traditional Water Tribe ceremony, since weddings hadn’t even been all that common amongst the Air Nomads (though they did happen, despite what some propagandist Fire Nation texts may have said about the Air Nomads being…sexually promiscuous and allergic to commitment), but Katara had put her foot down. Their wedding was not about her, or Aang, individually. It was this new thing they had created with their relationship. A beautiful mix of water and air, just as their child would be.

She was brought out of her reverie by a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said, looking up from her tea to catch Aang’s bright grey eyes. She wondered if their baby would have his eyes. All of her thoughts seemed to flick to the baby these days.

“Hi,” he returned brightly, pressing a kiss to her forehead before sitting beside her on the bench, pouring a cup of tea for himself. “Thinking about anything in particular?”

She caught a glimpse of the smile he tried to hide behind his teacup and knew he’d caught her daydreaming about the baby again. She couldn’t keep her own lips from curving upward or her heart from fluttering. She was so happy for the opportunity to bear his child; to create a family with him, and bring more of him into the world. Though she had truthfully considered him family since she was fourteen years old, this way of being a family was different, and new, and so, so exciting. Katara couldn’t wait to see what this family they created together would look and be like. She knew Aang felt the same way by the fact that he’d practically been floating around the temple, making extra time to pray for her and the baby, and waiting on her hand-and-foot for the last three months since she’d told him.

“Just the baby,” she sighed, setting down her now-empty cup. She fixed him with an apprehensive stare, and he set down his cup too to give her his full attention. “Do you think we’ll be able to do a good job… you know, passing down both our cultures? It’s soimportant to pass down their Air Nomad heritage, regardless of what type of bender they are, or aren’t, but… they’ll be half Water Tribe, too. I want to be able to celebrate our holidays, andyour holidays. Eat both types of food with meals just like we do now sometimes. Obviously we’ll be respectful about the meat just like I try to be now, but, I just… I worry a little bit that one culture or the other will get focused on, especially if they’re a bender, but they will still be part of both of us.”

Aang gave her a reassuring smile--he had always been so good at calming her when she was rambling and getting lost in her own worry--and took her hands in his. He couldn’t put into words why or how much he loved her for considering things like that, even if it bordered on overthinking sometimes. That she took his heart and his culture, which had been gone for over a century at this point, into account when planning how to raise their children.

He remembered how his heart had squeezed and felt lighter than the air he bent at the thought that she would even want to have babies with him, back when they were still discussing it as a theoretical. She had insisted that she wanted to give him his lost culture back, and he had argued that she was all he ever wanted, but that creating new life with her would be a privilege he would cherish forever. And now here she sat, with only a few months left to go before they could meet the child they had made together. His excitement was beyond measure, but his love--he never thought he would feel love this intense and all-encompassing, and he had loved Katara truly and deeply since they were still kids. He almost couldn’t believe how much more he loved her every single day. Almost.

“Oh, Katara,” he started, trying to find the right way to say it. He didn’t want her to think he was dismissing her concerns. “Sweetie, I love you so, so much. How did I get so lucky that you found me, and love me, and want a family with me? Just the fact that you’re even worrying about this… I’m sure it won’t be easy, but I know the two of us can find a good middle ground for our family. Like you said, we do a pretty good job of that already.”

He leaned over to kiss her gently, sweetly on the lips, feeling as if he may burst from the love he felt for her. He pulled back to see that she still didn’t look convinced, though the worry in her eyes had definitely lessened.

“You know what I think?” He asked, determined to return her to the confident, happy Katara he knew and loved.

“What do you think, oh wise Avatar?” She knew that, though he hated being called by his title in most instances, he didn’t mind the occasional teasing from her, since she had never seen or treated him like that was his only identity. He threw her an amused look before continuing.

“I think that we will consult your elders on naming our baby, using the name of someone close to us who has passed, in Water Tribe tradition. I think we will have a Pangsai--a birth ceremony, and a pancake feast after our baby is born to welcome them into our extended, blended, found family, in the Air Nomad tradition. I think you will wear our baby under your amauti for easy feeding and bonding. And I won’t be able to resist kissing their little head when I see it poking out. I think they will get to pick a bison from the new herd. I think they will go ice dodging. I think we will travel to your family’s home for the Winter Solstice every year. I think we will celebrate the Autumnal Equinox at an Air Temple. I think we will eat sea prunes--well, the two of you can, anyway--and seaweed noodles, and dumplings, and moon peaches, and sweet buns, and buttered tea, and bison milk, and all of our favorite foods from home.

“It will be a little bit of both our cultures, but it will also be something new. Just like when we bent the clouds over Makapu, combining air and water to create new shapes, our own little cloudbaby will be a little bit of each of us, but also their own person, with their own likes and dislikes. And I don’t know about you, but I am so excited to meet them and learn about them and nurture their wild and crazy dreams, just like we’ve done for each other all these years.”

As he talked, describing what he thought their life as a family would look like, tears gathered in both of their eyes. They had both come so far, and lost so much, to get to this point. Where a few years ago they were still in mourning for the loved ones and childhoods they had lost to war, here they were celebrating the creation of new life. Where they were both the last benders of their respective races, here they had the chance to birth a new one. Even if their child wasn’t a bender, they would still be carrying the heritage of both their people; people nearly or completely lost due to the war, and they both felt so lucky to be in this position. Together.

“Aang…” her voice was watery, and she couldn’t even begin to articulate what she was feeling. But she knew he knew. He always knew.

He pulled her into a crushing hug, careful to avoid squeezing her belly. “I love you so much, Katara. You have no idea what this means to me, to make this new life, with you.” There were tears streaming down both their faces, now, and he was reminded of a similar hug in the Serpent’s Pass a long, long time ago, when he had first told her how much he loved her, in his own way. “I can’t wait to see our own family, so full of happiness and love…”

She pulled back to look him in the eyes, knowing exactly what he was referring to, and it dawned on her that he may have known even then that they would be here one day. She wiped his tears tenderly and pressed a loving kiss to his lips before startling with a yelp.

“What is it? Is everything okay?” Aang asked, concern clear in his eyes.

“It’s… the baby! They kicked! Here, feel,” she took his hand and pressed it to the top of her bump, and within a few seconds he could feel something pushing back at him. “It still feels so weird to me.”

“Katara, it’s… that’s our baby!” It wasn’t the first time he’d been able to feel this, but it was still new. He looked shocked and elated every time, as if it was only a dream to him until he could feel the baby moving with his own hand.

“Mhmm, it is,” she beamed. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling so wide but she didn’t care. He was so childlike in his wonder, and she was incredibly excited to bring more of his spirit into the world. They would sit there for hours with his hand on her belly, and the joy would not abate.

They knew it wouldn’t be easy; nothing in their life had been. But they also knew it would be worth it. They wouldn’t be perfect parents, but they would do their best not only to raise this little one well, but also to teach them about both parts of their heritage. If they could have a little more of each other to love, a perfect blend of water and air, a new, beautiful human to add to this world, they would thank the Spirits every day for this life. And it would be enough, always.

[shhhhsh]

About Tim’s New Story….

I just really hope they address Tim’s mental health. Like, DC just been ditching really good plot lines in favor of being “woke” or pandering. Just look at all the live action shows.

Now I’m not saying they can’t make Tim queer/bi/gay, but (as someone pointed out to me) Tim’s previous story writer was bi and he still chose to write Tim as straight & in a healthy romantic relationship with Stephanie Brown. I’ve seen several people who identify as queer/bi say that to have Tim go “ ooooh I’ve fooled myself into thinking I was straight, but now I’m freeeee” sends the message that Tim’s previous relationship failed b/c he was with a woman and not because of Tim’s poor mental and emotional health.

To go back to my previous statement; by him not writing Tim as bi tells me that he didn’t want or care for Tim to be bi, but instead saw Tim as, or preferred him to be, straight. The writer had free control to write Tim how ever he wanted and yet he chose to keep Tim straight. And he actually liked & wanted Tim/Steph. Again, I’m not saying Tim can’t be queer/bi, I’m just saying I find the motivations for this possible change very fishy. Almost as if the new writer is trying to get brownie points for pandering to a portion of the fans.

I think this way b/c in every other media where a character is revealed to be LGBTQ they just did it. They didn’t beat around the bush or do any queer coding/baiting. They either announced it, just made the character that way right out the gate, or just dropped the bomb w/out warning (as seen in Netflix’s Voltron, Amazon Prime’s Invincible, and Nickelodeon’s Legend of Korra respectfully).

DC currently has a bad habit changing things to be “woke” and bragging about it or shoving it in our faces. DC is becoming the “pick me girl” of superhero media. If you want to do it, just do it. Again I just get the “look at me, look at me” & “carrot on the stick” vibes from them now. If you truly feel in your heart to do something you would just do it without the need for recognition or to be so dramatic about it.

Now what I much rather see & think it’s a natural progression for Tim:

I personally believe that if Jason, Dick, & Damian can get a story that attempts to give them character development beyond romantic relationships (romance was more of a B-plot to the character driven A-plot anyway) I think they can give it to Tim as well.

I know that the Bat-Family all struggle with some form of mental health problems (most commonly paranoia and PTSD). However, I would like to point out that trauma is was what brought the others into the vigilante lifestyle, while Tim & Barbara became traumatized because of the vigilante lifestyle. Yet, Barbara was shown overcoming her trauma and using it as motivation to get better. Tim is yet to have this moment.

We all know that Tim struggles with depression, self-esteem, and suicidal tendencies. I mean heck, him becoming Red Robin only happens because of Tim’s degrading mental health. I hate to say it, but Tim is very psychologically broken and has been show to get so depressed that he can’t even get out of bed some times. To my knowledge, Tim is the only one in the Bat-Fam that struggles in his head with the idea of not being needed, useful, or forgotten when in reality that is furthest from the truth (Steph, Jason, & Damian also feel like the black sheep periodically, but that is because they have been presented with real evidence that would lead them to logically believe this. I.e being actually forgotten or dismissed for past mistakes despite great efforts to better themselves).

While yes, Dick did Tim dirty by replacing him without having a proper conversation first, the motivation was because he saw Tim as his equal and not Damian. He thought highly of Tim, but Tim couldn’t see that over his offense. Tim is so beat down by life that he see’s everything with negative lenses. Everyone came to check on Tim’s mental health but Tim took it as an insult instead.

And even though now Tim has reached some form of “peace” in his life, that only happens because the people he lost came back (Bruce, Conner, Bart, Cassie, etc). Tim never fully learned to handle grief, to handle his emotions, instead he represses them. Again in the Red Robin run, the main reason he doesn’t believe in any form of God is because he can’t logically justify the pain he has gone through. He is hurting and doesn’t know how to deal with that. In his original Robin run, when he tried talking someone out of committing suicide……the words and comfort he gave….that wasn’t something that was just inside Tim, this is something that was told to Tim. This is followed by him calling Dick to get the same pep-talk he just regurgitated to someone else.

In short: Tim is hurting. Deeply. And having been someone who’s emotional & mental sanity was pushed to the brink and attempted to jump off several times, I think it’s really sad that DC just ignores it. Now as someone who’s gotten the help they needed & now helps other people who struggle with the same issues as myself & Tim, I think that they’re going to say a lot of Tim’s problems come from him not being “aware” of his own sexuality, which is just sad.

In the story in question, Barbara talks about Tim not having a solid identity. People are more than their sexuality. People are capable of making future decisions for themselves without it hindering on their sexuality. If Tim was real, I would brake down his struggle as so:

Tim refuses to go to college and do something more with his life because he cannot see anything beyond his current circumstance. And the only reason why Tim cannot see anything beyond his circumstance is because he has no internal sense of purpose, identity, and acceptance beyond the cape & cowl. And when Tim finally found that in being Robin, Tim held onto it as a lifeline. There’s a reason why everyone says Tim is basically Bruce 2.0: it’s because he is Robin/Red Robin/Drake & Tim is the mask. At a young age, he did not grow up having these things instilled into him due to his parents neglecting him at a very important age in his development. Tim raised himself, and for a lack of better terms; an idiot cannot teach themselves to be smarter, an idiot becomes smarter by learning from the intelligent. A child can’t teach themselves to be an adult, they have to learn from others to grow & better themselves.

Now a parent doesn’t necessarily have to sit down and give a lesson about how to be an individual, but children learn how to live life by watching their parents. A good example of this is the rest of the Bat-Fam; they all grew up with some form of parental figures that taught them how to behave (for better or worse). Of course children have their own personalities, which is why two kids can go through the same type of trauma but come out differently, but it is a battle of nature vs nurture. Steph, Jason, Cass, & Damian grew up in abusive/unstable homes, while Dick, Barbara, & Bruce grew up in loving homes, but their personalities & character dictated how they responded to trauma. They took what life gave them and decided what to leave or take.

Tim had nothing to work with & is basically playing catch-up with the rest of his peers.

In a weird sense, Tim is like Zuko from The Last Airbender: only living to serve their father’s purpose. Anything outside of that they don’t know what to do. They’ve been trained to be something externally without been given a chance to figure out who they are internally.

Again you are not your sexuality, your sexuality does not determine who you are as a person. When a person struggles through life, it is due to the conditions of thier soul. Everything starts internally and shows it’s self externally.

I want to make that very clear because I am truly scared that in DC’s attempt to claim “clout” they are missing the bigger picture. Tim doesn’t have identity problems simply because he “doesn’t know” he likes boys, but because DC never gave him is own identity to begin with. Robin was never his own identity, Red Robin was never his, & Drake was his first attempt to make his own but he quickly gave it up so that he can be Robin once again. What is Tim going to do once Damian gets back? Is Damian going to get his own identity before Tim? Or is Tim just going to go back to one of his old identities?

I would like for Tim to personally move on from being a vigilante and rejoin civilian society for a while. Go to college, do something for himself and only for himself. Give Tim the self-discovery story, let him heal, and grown to be his own person. Besides you can never have a functional romantic relationship if you are not a functional individual. Self love > romantic love.

[imagine-loki]

Hiding In Plain Sight

TITLE: Hiding in Plain Sight

 CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 10

AUTHOR: wolfpawn

 ORIGINAL IMAGINE:Imagine coming from a line of nobility or royalty and being in an arranged marriage with Loki in an attempt to strengthen your kingdom / alliance with Asgard. You’re not entirely on board with the idea but figured that the best you could do was to get to know your fiancé. You form an agreement with Frigga for you to pose as Loki’s personal servant for a few months so you can get to know who Loki really is – beyond the veil of his responsibility to the Asgardian throne, behind all the masks he wears when facing the public, to really know who Loki is behind closed doors as you slowly fall for each other.How long will you keep up the ruse with the God of Lies? RATING: General Audience

NOTE - I finally got my ass in gear and finished something, thank Loki.

Raven gave him a withering look. “Again with the ‘she’ and ‘her’. You are going out of your way to be insulting at this stage.” “But you are Raven? Not ‘Breanna’?” Loki demanded. 

“My grandmother called me Breanna. It’s one and the same.” She dismissed. 

“You hid yourself as a maid?” 

“I did.” “Why?” “I heard so many stories about you, so incredibly conflicting, I wanted to see for myself.” “So you pretended to be a maid? You…” Loki’s eyes widened. “You scrubbed my toilet.” He grimaced at that thought. 

“In fairness, whatever else was ever said about you, your hygiene is impeccable.” 

“Why?” “I told you.” “But why?” 

“I learnt you are intelligent and can understand many languages and are very much able to comprehend the spoken word so I don’t think I need to repeat myself again. I know it is something you also dislike. You told me that the first day I spoke to you.” She walked around a little. 

Loki studied her for a moment. Watching how she walked, so obviously well-bred and the manner in which she was speaking showing a significant education. He shook his head slightly as he spoke. “My brother said time and again that the Elven princess was raised in a manner that was meek and subservient. You have been insubordinate since the day you walked in here.” 

“How can I be insubordinate to you, we are of equal standing. The extra children of the ruling monarch, merely existing in the slight offchance our older siblings do not make it to taking the throne.” She challenged.

“I think your father would rather a republic than have you on the throne.” Loki pointed out, his tone half of anger, half merely stating fact. 

“I think he would too but the law is that I can take it regardless of my gender, I just need all four of my brothers to not get on it and have heirs.” She eyed him with intrigue, watching the glut of emotions swirling around in his face. Anger seemed to be winning as the most notable one. “I suggest airing your anger now. It will make this easier in the long run.”

“Was my mother in on this all along?” “Yes. I wrote to her to get her words on your character. Sadly, she gave the view of a biased and loving mother. So, convinced I would see your personality for myself in other ways by being your maid, she suggested I take Tatianna’s place for a few weeks. I can see you have a good rapport with her, so I can see why she would think that.”

Loki felt his anger rise at his mother’s involvement. “My brother, my father?”

“For the Allfather to know anything, he would have had to have come to your rooms whilst I was here, he never did, ergo, he never knew anything of it. Thor was not part of the plan. What I had not anticipated was that he recalled the few occasions that he met me in passing while talking to my brothers over the centuries, especially in Vanaheim. He confronted me, wanting to know why I was playing such games. He did not agree with it but the Allmother and I convinced him to remain silent.” 

Loki’s lip curled in anger at his brother knowing such things but also knowing that he had the excuse of being told to say nothing. Not that it would save him from a few choice words and more than a few spells and hard blows when Loki would be able to inflict such on him again. “You spied on me, and you thought it wise?” He scoffed in disgust. “How did you envisage this little reveal going? Pray, do tell.” “I suppose it’s obvious that I had not thought through that fully. I was hoping the Aesir I was meeting was actually a nice being so I would at least feel guilty.” 

Loki’s brow rose at that. “You have the audacity to say such things with all your deceit.”

“You literally are nicknamed the God of Lies, tricks and mischief, I would have thought you would have been impressed if nothing else.” “I am anything but.” He became irate at her answers. “You have no right to speak to me like this, you deceitful wench.” He walked to the bedroom door and opened it. “Get out.” 

Raven felt hurt but understood fully and had expected him to react in such a manner, sighing, she walked to the door. “Well, it’s done now anyway.”

“What?” Loki had no inkling as to what she was referring to. “Getting this conflict out of the way. I was getting bothered waiting for it.” She spoke as she walked through the door. 

“You anticipated this, really?” He did not believe her. 

“I anticipated this, at best. I thought you would fly into a rage and throw me out at worst but then again, I thought you had not arrived for lunch because you had realised who I was and were giving me the very much expected silent treatment. Something I would wager all the ore on Alfheim I am going to be receiving from this point forth. I did not think it would last this long.” “What would last this long?” “This conversation. It lasted far longer than I had expected.” She shrugged as she walked to the door. 

“Did you really learn to be a maid for this?” “I hardly knew how to be one before. I had to at least pretend to know what I was doing.” “You were so desperate to try and make a fool of me?” “It was never about making a fool of you, Loki. I told you, I wanted to know what to expect here. I tried to find out by other means but to no avail. Unlike you, I had to move to another realm and live with a man I had not met in almost seven hundred years outside of the briefest of moments.” “So you thought the way to get to know me was to scrub my toilet, that is your thinking of me? That is what you considered in getting to know me? I honestly expected you to have little self-respect with how you were raised, what with it being a misogynistic realm but you really do not have any self-worth with how you acted.” He walked over to the main door of his rooms to open it. 

“Well, when your muscles ached and you wanted them relieved and when I neatened your belongings, you did not complain and don’t you ever look down at those who clean your toilet. You would not last five minutes in the real realm without your seidr, you pretentious prick.” 

Irate at her venomous words, Loki walked forward towards her but stopped suddenly when she flinched as though expecting to be struck. As much as he wanted to say something as vitriolic back, he refrained. “Your little stunt was nothing more than pathetic and ridiculous and your name calling even more so, but it clearly was futile because if your observations were even the slightest bit accurate, you would know I would never lay a hand on you.” 

“I knew that. If anyone will bear any physical brunt of this, it will be Thor.” 

Loki had to admit, she did learn something in all of this with that comment. “Yet, you flinched as though expecting me to strike you?” “I am not a warrior, I have not learnt how to not flinch when someone rushes forward. But I know you would not. If you had been a risk to me, I would never have come here alone.” She ensured to look him in the eye as she spoke to show her sincerity. 

Loki had to admit, that was a valid excuse and indeed statement regarding her safety. “Good, at least you grasped that much in this.” He opened the door fully and indicated outside. 

“I guess the deceitful wench will leave the pretentious prick to his day, then.” She walked towards the door. 

“Norns but you have to have the last word, don’t you?” Loki pushed the door shut again with some force. “You’re supposed to be silent.” “You literally said one of the things you were looking forward to least about being married to me was that you loathed the idea of a subservient and silent wife. My father should have had someone warn you, I tend to be too sarcastic for my own good, always have been, but you noticed that already too.”  “If I had only known.” Sarcasm dripped heavily from every syllable he spoke. He looked at her for another moment. “How could you possibly have thought that we could even attempt to build anything on this?” “You never wanted to build anything, you spoke terribly of me the whole time I was here. You would not even use my name.” “What is with you and that particular issue? Why does it matter so greatly to you?” Loki snapped. “You are like a dog with a bone.” 

“What is your obsession with not using it? You have nothing but contempt for me, both in your actions and your words, and have done so before you even realised it was me and do not think for one second I have forgotten your horrid words to your little friend about me, much less my realms’ people. Whatever damage I have done to the idea of creating a cordial relationship, you clean blasted it off the realm long before.” “I already told you, I do not think such, I was just venting.” “I told you in that very same conversation that I do not suffer fools. And if you think me to believe that statement, you are calling me one also.” “I bear no ill thoughts to the Ljósáfar. I would not have my seidr be so strong but for the ability to wield it perfected on Alfheim. I have nothing but respect for the race, you as an individual, on the other hand, not so much since you decided to try and trick me.” “There was no try, I succeeded in doing so.” There was some smugness to Raven’s smirk. 

Loki’s lip curled in anger at that statement. 

“I recall that day too that you wished to show me that you have no ill against my race, yet my parents and brothers did not deserve the respect required to welcome them, did they?” She shook her head. “You don’t respect us, you respect no one, not even yourself.” This time, she walked to the door and opened it, not wanting to speak to him any further. 

“What comes of this?” Loki asked, not wanting to acknowledge her fairly accurate analysis. 

“I do not know. You were adamant before, I am nothing but a duty. As a prince, you will be forced to do such duty. Our parents will not forfeit this agreement. My parents because it ensures I am no longer a burden, yours because, as you so crassly put it before, it solidifies my father’s alliance. So I guess we simply avoid one another outside of required interactions. I will not bother you, and you will ignore me. When this farce is done, I will stay in my rooms, you in yours and since I know Thor is being forced to court soon, we do some form of ritual dance that he has as many children as my father and we will not be required to do such things and you can have your conceited little harpy mistress and be happy.” 

Loki was going to spit a comment back at her about the woman in reference but he noticed the genuine hurt and heartache in her features that startled him to silence on that matter. He quickly analysed her words again while she seemingly attempted to recompose herself. He did not know what in her statement caused her to react in such a way but it did startle him. “I am still trying to fathom the reasoning for all of this.” 

“I wanted to know the true Loki, the one not putting on a facade for his father, or society, the being I would see every single evening after a long day.” “For what purpose?” “I spent my whole life having to be silent in public and mostly silent in private. I spent it being told how to act and who to speak to and how to speak to them. I wanted to know if I had to do that for the next few thousand years again or if it would be different. That is why I did it. I wanted to know if I could finally have someone to actually care for me as a being and not expect me to be what they want me to be, nothing more than a living doll. Norns, but you are right, had I but known.” And with that, she left the room. 

[marchtomydrums]

In the beginning part 5

Alex Cabot X Casey Novak X Reader

Rated M.

It has been a month since Casey and Alex discovered that you were a virgin. Both standing by their words, not pushing you, and allowing you to set the tone. The three of you agreed that you would have your first time with each of them separately. Both wanting you to be fully ready and comfortable with both of them individually. Alex was currently out of town on a two-day business meeting. While you missed her this gave you and Casey the opportunity for someone on one time. The pizza and movie are a forgotten thought as you both cuddle up on the couch in a heated make-out session. These became normal between you two gradually increasing each time. You moaned into Casey’s mouth as her tongue explores your mouth. Casey chuckles when she feels your hips buck slightly upwards.

Your hands make their way down to her breast circling her nipple through her shirt. Casey moans into your mouth pulling back slightly completely out of breath. “We have to stop.”

“Why?” You say looking at her in confusion.

“Because things are happening and here soon I may not be able to stop myself,” Casey says trying to calm her body down.

“What if I don’t want you to stop?” You ask innocently playing with the hem of her shirt.

Casey loses her breath for a moment looking at you stunned. “Are you sure?” You nod your head yes as you lean up to kiss her. Casey pulls back “not here.” She whispered.

Casey leads you upstairs to the bedroom. Your heart is racing the whole way you know she’ll let you back out if you want too but right now you want her.

Casey stands in front of you, your back to the bed. She leans in to kiss you softly. Her tongue dipping into your mouth. You pull at the hem of her shirt, she pulls her shirt off and her pants quickly follow. She smiles at you as you gaze at her body in awe. Casey carefully removes your shirt and pulls your pants down until you kick them to the side. Moving to lie in the middle of the bed you pull Casey on top of you. The two of you kiss for a while. Hands roam becoming familiar with the other's body. Casey goes to unhook your bra before she looks at you for permission. You nod. She unhooks your bra throwing it to the side. Casey looks down at your breasts as her fingers traced your nipple.

“You are gorgeous.”

“So are you. “

Casey smiles and leans down to kiss your right breast and then your left. Flattening her tongue she licks over your nipple and then blows out cool air causing the nipple to rise. Casey takes her time getting familiar with your upper body. Listing to your steady breathing and small gasps. Casey starts to descend lower until she's pulling off your underwear.

“You are so beautiful, baby,” Casey whispers above you.

Casey makes her way down to legs kissing both sides of your inner thighs. You gasp as you feel a small kiss on your clit. Casey looks up at you and smiles as her tongue takes a long lick up through your slit.

“Casey.” You gasped holding on to the bedsheet on either side of you. The pleasure was something you’ve never experienced before. Casey’s tongue did wonders on your lower region. You feel her pull back and her fingers roam between your lips carefully running circles on your clit. Your body tenses a little when you feel her fingers at your opening.

“It’s okay baby. Just relax.” Casey reassures you.

“Can you come up here?” You ask shyly.

Casey makes her way up your body leaving little kisses before she makes it to your lips. You can taste yourself on her tongue. Casey pulls back for a minute “are you okay?”

“Yes. Just stay here with me. Please.” You ask wrapping your arms around her body.

“Of course,” Casey says kissing you once more. Her hand makes its way back down your body and a single finger enters you. Pushing in and out of your body you moan as you hold on to her. She pulls out and adds two this time causing you to gasp at the sudden pressure and fullness. She waits for a second letting your body adjust. While she waits she’s kissing you and whispering words of affection in your ear.

Finally, she moves, her fingers pushing in and out of you making your hips rock along with her. Casey is gentle and slow with her movements. Curling her fingers she hits something inside of you that causes your hips to rise. The pleasure is overwhelming as you hold her body in place.

“Casey.” You moan out to her getting her attention. She looks at you and smiles. Her thumb finds your clit causing you to cry out.

It doesn’t take long before your orgasm hits you. The world seems to stop for a split second as your body experiences a new kind of pleasure and pain.

Casey holds on to you as your muscles contract around her fingers. She pulls out gently dropping beside you on the bed and pulls your body next to hers.

“You okay?”

“Mhm.” You mumble trying to get as close as you can to her.

“I love you y/n.”

“I love you too.” You smile as you kiss Casey.

“I’m glad you were my first.” You say shyly.

“Me too baby.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After your night with Casey, you couldn't be happier. We had an amazing night and she was so kind and gentle with you. The two of you have made progress and it was wonderful. However, you and Alex not so much. Alex was just harder to talk too and she worked all the time. She came off as cold and uncaring. Sitting outside her office I can hear her and Jack going at it. Both screaming at the top of their lungs over this case. Jack storms out of the office going on about his day. Alex is out the door not even a moment later telling you to hurry up before you two are late to court. You roll your eyes and follow behind her. The jury didn't see Alex’s side and we lost. Walking back to the office I offer to grab Alex a coffee from the break room she quickly dismissed me saying she could get her own. I sigh watching her walk back into the office. I head over to the break room where there are a couple of girls there. They all smile and greet me.

“So how is it working with the Ice Queen,” they ask.

“Just great let me tell you.” they laugh at my answer.

“I can't understand how Casey deals with her. She's such an bitch. She doesn't care about anyone but herself. “ one of the girls tells me. I say nothing just smiling and going back to my desk. I feel guilty that I didn't say anything since technical I'm in a relationship with both of them. However, Alex is so rude to me and everyone else that I can't much blame them. Sighing I get up to head into her office to drop so more files off. As I walk in I see Alex sitting at her desk.

“Do you know how to knock or did you not learn that in your small town?” Alex asked me.

“What is your problem!?” I yell at her surprising both of us.

“You! You're my problem! When we are in the office I am your boss no matter what is going on in our personal life. Understand?”

Alex is up out of her seat leaning over her desk as if she’s challenging you.

“You know what Alex screw you! I do everything you ask of me and then some. I'm just trying to do my job but you're always looking for a reason to bitch at me. “

“Poor thing is this your first big girl job? Can't take the heat?” she asked you in a condescending tone.

Looking back at her you try to keep your tears at bay. Alex is so frustrating and now she's just being cruel. Shaking your head you just walk off.

“ What that's it? “ she asked.

Turning around you meet her gaze.

“Yeah, Alex that’s it. I'll have the other files for you by the end of the day. “ you tell her before you walk out. Walking back to your desk you try hard not to cry in front of anyone. Just quietly sitting back at your desk trying to stay busy.

A few hours later you finish up, knocking on the door waiting for permission to enter. You walk over and drop the files on the desk going to walk out.

“Y/n.”

Sighing you turn around to face Alex not really wanting to get into another fight.

“I want to apologize for today. I was out of line. I was upset with my verdict and I took it out on you. “

“It's fine. Thank you. “ you mumble attempting to walk out.

“Wait, um, Casey called she wants to know if Meatloaf is okay for tonight. Or would you rather go out?”

“I think I'll just head home tonight.”

“Why? What about Casey?”

“What's the point Alex?! “ you yell tears welling up in your eyes.

“You clearly don't like me. You don't want this. And yes I do like Casey a lot but I wouldn't put her in a position where she felt like she had to choose. For some reason, she loves you and I won't do that to her. So it's just best if I take myself out of the equation. “

Alex makes her way over to you and closes the door behind you. Taking your hands in hers she leads you over to the couch.

“Y/n, I'm sorry. It takes me a while to open up to someone and I’ve already told you this and at this point, It sounds like an excuse. Casey really likes you. She told me that you had sex.”

“Yes, we did,” you say as your cheeks flush.

Alex smiles. “I'm sorry if I've been rude to you or made you feel unwelcome. That wasn't my intention. You may not believe me but I want to try harder with you. I want us to work on this. Please give me a chance.”

You see the tears in those beautiful blue eyes and that smile and it makes your heart melt. Even though you want to stay mad at her she almost makes it impossible. You glance down at her lips and lean in and kiss her gently. She moans into the kiss.

You pull back from the kiss smiling at her.

“I hear you Alex I understand believe me I do, and I will give you a chance. But I'm not your punching bag and I won't be treated like one.

“I know, I’m sorry. I will do better I promise.” You smile at her nodding your head. You move from the couch locking the door while Alex is looking at you confused.

“What are you doing?”

“Locking the door.”

“Umm, why?”

You giggle as you sit back down on the couch.

“Because I kinda want to make out with the ice queen.”

Alex laughs pulls you down so you’re laying halfway on top of her.

“Okay, but we can’t tell anyone I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

You smile at her as you lean back in to kiss her.

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [94]

x. a little sacrifice

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: language, mentions of anxiety, blood, injuries, death, violence, genocide.

Summary: clarke’s arrival in bardo throws everything off, and one of your own seeks revenge against the people of bardo.

a/n: I feel like the next few updates are gonna be rough, so please remember to trust me bc I’ve got your backs, okay? the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

Clarke seems to remember that she’s in a room full of people, all eyes on her, because you watch her mask slip back into place as she shifts the gun closer to Cadogan’s temple. “Let them go.”

“They're not my prisoners, Clarke.”

Clarke looks at you, her eyes begging you to say you’re joking, but with no guarantee you can get off of this planet and no guarantee that you can save Hope, you offer her nothing. You keep the same blank expression on your face as she nods, “Great, then here's the deal. I'll use the Key to help you, but only after you let my people return to Sanctum.”

Her eyes stay locked on you as she adds, “All of them.”

Cadogan looks over all of you and shrugs. “You're free to go with her.”

Your brain runs through the offer, looking for holes, but finding none. If all of you are allowed to leave, that means you can take Hope, and all of your people will be safe. There’s no way in hell you’re going to leave Clarke behind on Bardo to deal with the disciples on her own, but at the very least you can make sure the others are safe and finally off of this inescapable planet. But as you prepare to open your mouth and agree to the offer, someone speaks up for all of you. “We're not going anywhere. We have a war to fight.”

You almost spin around and give Echo a look, and your left hand curls at your side, wanting to hit her for keeping all of you stuck here. And you suppose that now you have the answer you were waiting for this whole time; Echo is no longer on your side. She really has bought in and fallen under the spell of Bardo. 

You hear her walk off, and you turn to glance at Octavia and Diyoza, both of them seeming as panicked as you are beneath their blank demeanor. And because neither of them are arguing to the contrary, you speak up on their behalf, turning your gaze back to Cadogan. “We're staying too, sir.”

Diyoza and Octavia turn and leave, and you shift your gaze to your twin, hesitating, hoping she can read the hidden expression beneath your blank mask, confirming that you’re still you. And though you still just want to run to her and hug her, you force your body to turn and head towards the door. On your way out, you pass by Gabriel, his eyes locked on you as you move, but you keep your eyes averted, not wanting Anders to see your excitement at seeing your friend. You spent three months thinking he was dead and pretending you didn't care, and it's a relief to see that he’s still alive, but you can't erase all the work you did in this moment. Not yet. Not when Echo has forced your hand. 

You pull on your helmet and step back into position, thankful that the emotion on your face is now hidden, allowing a few tears to spill from your eyes and down your cheeks. The other disciples fall in around you, taking up their position as Clarke steps away from Cadogan and stares at you in absolute shock, not understanding how you could just walk away from her. But her shock quickly morphs into anger and she turns to face Bill, lifting the gun and pointing it right at him. “What did you do to them?”

Anders is the one to answer, “We didn't do anything. They're simply committed to the cause, ready to serve mankind in the Last War.”

Cadogan adds, “A moment that will soon be upon us now that you're here, with the help of the Key.”

Clarke lowers her gun and steps towards the revered Shepherd, her voice low and serious. “So here's the new deal: we talk to our friends alone. I don't even want to see your men in the halls. You want my help? Earn it.”

Cadogan stares at Clarke, his gaze heavy with happiness, like he just found a hidden treasure. His gaze never leaves her as he calls out across the room. “First Disciple Anders, have all nonessential personnel return to Livsec.”

“Sir, I'm not sure if that's-” Cadogan and Clarke both turn to cut Anders a look, and he immediately backs down. “Yes, my Shepherd.”

“Good. Your Shepherd stays here, the rest of you out.” When no one moves, she turns to glare at Anders and the group of disciples just outside the door, lifting her voice to snap, “Now!”

Everyone remains frozen in place, awaiting orders, until Cadogan looks at Anders with a smile. “Go, I'll be fine.”

Anders backs away, worry written all over his face as he turns to face all of you, and you’re shocked to see it, sure this is the first time he’s lost his cool around all of you. He steps into the hall, motioning for all of you to follow, and you turn in unison to walk back towards your rooms, the door to the Stone Room, to Clarke, to your escape, closing as you pass. Anders leads all of you through the halls, stopping at the end of the hall to address you before you leave. “I want all of you to stay in your rooms. We can’t do anything that will put the Shepherd at risk. Everyone is dismissed, except for Echo and Miss Griffin.”

You freeze in place, sure that you already know why you’ve been singled out, but curious as to why Echo is. Everyone else files around you and heads towards their respective rooms, leaving you and Echo alone with Anders. Once it’s just the three of you, he motions towards your helmets. “You can remove your helmets.”

You reach up and remove your helmet, moving it to rest in your right arm as you look up at Anders expectantly. He turns his focus to Echo first. “Since you chose Hope’s punishment, I want you to make sure she is on Penance before the others can get to her.”

You freeze again, taking in his words. He wants Echo to send Hope to Skyring now, before any of you can save her. Even if she’s only there for a few hours, it’ll be years for her on Skyring because of the time dilation. You can't let them send her away. “Miss Griffin.”

You are pulled out of your thoughts, your gaze lifting to meet his eyes, which are watching you closely. “Due to your twin’s arrival and lack of cooperation, you will be staying with me at all times, where I can keep an eye on you.”

You understand the implication of his words, what he really means but isn't saying: by his side, where he can use you as leverage. But you know you can't say anything, not in front of Echo, who has bought in, or in front of the groups of people that are still filing past, running to their rooms to abide by Anders command. He dismisses Echo, sending her off to banish Hope, and you watch her leave with wide eyes, fearful of what will happen if she’s successful. Because no one knows that Hope is being sent away at this moment, not her mother or Octavia, not even Hope herself. And you stand there conflicted, wanting to run after Echo and stop her, unsure what to do as Anders hovers nearby, motioning for you to follow him. 

Ultimately, you cave, deciding to follow Anders until you can get away and stop Echo, hoping that you can get there in time. Taking the First Disciple out in the middle of a crowded hallway is almost a guaranteed death sentence at this point, so the only thing you can do is hope that he takes you somewhere with less people, somewhere you can ditch him and get back to Echo. Anders leads you down the hall, turning to look back at you every few seconds, seemingly fearful that you're going to run off. But you don't, not yet, and you allow him to lead you away, towards some unknown destination. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you enjoy.”

You pull a face as you stare at his back, wondering if you should be more worried than you are in this moment. For some reason, you are eerily calm, despite the challenges in front of you. You're stuck with Anders, Echo is going to get rid of Hope, and your twin is on this planet somewhere, probably looking for you. Despite it all, your anxiety is low, which you’re thankful for, as your head is clear and a plan is forming. It doesn't take you long to realize that Anders is leading you to the oxygen farm, towards the empty halls on the other side of Bardo, making your escape plan much easier. 

As he presses the button for the farm and steps inside, he turns to look at you with a small smile. “I thought we could practice controlling your emotions while we wait.”

If it were anyone else, you might find the gesture sweet, pleased that he remembers your fondness for the woods and trees. But because it’s Anders, you’re worried something about it is much more sinister, because he’s too calculating to want to take an innocent trip to the tree farm. He doesn't care about you. He seems fascinated by you, sure, but most of that has to do with your connection to Clarke, not because he genuinely cares about you. Because the disciples don’t care about the individuals, so whatever interest he has taken in you is starting to feel more dangerous than it did a few weeks ago. 

You follow Anders deeper into the farm, walking behind him, sizing him up. If you can take him out now, you can go find Echo and stop her. The halls should be empty by now, making it easier to slip away unnoticed. And just as you’re preparing to lunge at Anders and attack him, he surprises you by attacking first. He spins around, something held tight in his hand, moving towards your shoulder. You duck just in time, catching him off guard, before you knock whatever is in his hand out of his grip. It hits the ground by your feet, but you don't have time to look at it, because Anders is now swinging a punch towards you, which you don't notice fast enough. His fist lands on your cheekbone, pain exploding across your left cheek, knocking you off balance a little. 

Anders seizes the opportunity and reaches down for the object, which you now see is a syringe, and your panic sets in immediately after that. You lunge at him, a growl ripping from your throat, aware that you don’t want whatever is in that syringe to be put into your body. You collide with Anders, knocking him back and onto the ground, rolling over him as you land. You recover first, scrambling towards him and grabbing him by the front of his robes and punching him with your other hand, giving him a bruise to match the one he gave you. You hit him again, getting angrier as you realize that he brought you here just to take you out. 

But Anders recovers and blocks your next punch, sending one of his own into your stomach, making you double over in pain. He stands and kicks you backwards, one solid blow to the chest, sending you flying onto the ground before he drops on top of you and reaches for your throat. You reach for his face, clawing and scratching, trying to stop him, but his hands close around your neck, beginning to squeeze. Anders looks crazed, his bright blue eyes standing out against the blood on his face, brought to the surface by your nails, and his expression is wild with anger as he squeezes the air from your body.

Panic sets in when the black spots dance around the edge of your vision, and you fumble around, searching for anything to use as a weapon, but finding nothing. You start to feel the fight leave your body until your hand closes around a tube at your side, reminding you that your disciple helmet is still connected to your suit. You tug on the tube and bring the fallen helmet closer, knocked out of your hand in the scuffle, and your fingers close around the helmet with a flash of relief. You swing it towards Anders, using all of your strength to hit him in the side of the head, knocking him off of you in the process. 

He falls away from you and you roll to the side, gasping for air, drawing in long breaths as you suck oxygen back into your body at an alarming rate. You can hear Anders shift beside you, still conscious, and you roll over to your hands and knees and try to frantically crawl away, trying to give yourself enough space to recover and fight him off again. But Anders growls in anger and reaches out for you, his hand clasping around your ankle, trying to pull you back towards him. You feel your eyes go wide in alarm, the moment reminding you so much of the fight for your life in Shallow Valley, and just like then, you don't want to die. There is too much at stake, and you have to get out of here and save Hope and Clarke and the others, before it's too late.

As you slide back towards Anders, tugged by the ankle, a glint of something shiny catches your eye. You look over, your gaze falling on the fallen syringe, and you reach out for it, grabbing it while you still can. You pull it close to your body, gripping it tight and hovering your finger over the plunger, waiting for the right moment. Anders gives it to you when he flips you over, preparing to choke you again, but you never give him the chance. This time, you act first, and you plunge the syringe into his shoulder, pushing the liquid inside of him with your thumb, watching his eyes go wide with the realization of what you’ve done. His face contorts into one of fury, and he mutters, “You bitch.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him curse, and it’s alarming, if not a little funny, to hear the word come from his mouth. But it’s all he manages to say before his eyes flutter closed and he falls forward, right on top of you. You push him to the side, sliding out from beneath him, before pressing a finger to his neck as soon as you're free. Whatever you injected him with didn’t kill him, his heart still beating strong, so you can only guess that it just knocked him out for a little while. 

You stand and stare down at him, his clothes streaked with mud and grass, his perfect white robes no longer perfect. You consider leaving him right where he is, but start to worry that doing so might raise an alarm before you’re ready, so you ultimately decide to drag him off to the side, hiding him beneath a row of bushes. You quickly strip out of your disciple suit as well, leaving it discarded beside him, not wanting to run in the slightly stiff material, now comfortably dressed down in some Bardo leisurely clothes. And the last thing you do before you run off is bend down and tug your sock down, removing the necklace from around your ankle. You slide the ring off and move it to your finger before reattaching the necklace around your neck, letting the moon hang in full view.

You leave Anders and your suit behind as you run through the farm and back into the hallway. You move as fast as you can, headed straight for the cell block, checking every room once you arrive. You finally stumble upon something in the last room in the hall, a guard laying on a bed, stripped of her uniform, a stab wound on the back of her neck. But there is no sign of Hope or Echo, and you feel your panic start to rise again as you rack your brain on where they could be. Ultimately, you decide to check the Stone Room next, because if Echo is taking Hope away, you’re sure that’s the first place they’d go, and you can only pray you’ll find them there. On your way, as you’re running down the hall, you see a disciple walking towards you, dressed all in white, a machine gun in his hand. It takes a second for you to recognize him as Gabriel, and you smile and call out to him, “Gabriel!”

He looks up in surprise, clearly so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't even hear you coming, and he drops the gun before running towards you, the two of you colliding in a hug for the first time since you were dragged from your shared room. You're both laughing when you pull apart, and he’s looking at you with relief when he mutters, “I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you were dead. They refused to tell us where you were or how you were doing.”

He smiles, shaking his head in disbelief a little before a look of confusion passes over his face. “Wait, what are you doing here? Clarke was on her way to come see you.”

“Anders made me stay with him as insurance, and then he tried to drug me. I fought him off and used the syringe on him instead.”

“You fought off a level 12 when you’re only a level 2?” He reaches up to brush a finger over the symbols along your cheekbone and you roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, what are you?”

“A level 3.”

You scoff, “Diyoza, Octavia, Echo and I-”

And you cut yourself off as soon as you say Echo’s name, reminding yourself of your time sensitive mission. You look at Gabriel in alarm, and he shakes his head, growing concerned. “What?”

“Oh god, Echo and Hope. Hope failed and they sentenced her to five years on Penance. Echo bought in, she’s taking her to the Stone Room right now to send her away.”

You start to run off, trying to push past Gabriel, but he reaches out and grabs you, holding you still as he says, “No wait, cielito, I just came from the Stone Room, and I never saw either of them.”

You look at him in confusion, “Then where the hell are they?”

“I don’t know. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on Cadogan, but I can come with you instead and help you find them.”

You shake your head, “No. We need eyes on Cadogan so we can keep the upper hand. You go, I’ll find Echo and Hope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” You smile up at him, and he smiles back. 

“I’ll see you soon. Go find the others so we can get off this planet and go home.”

The two of you break apart, running in opposite directions now. You switch your destination from the Stone Room to the living quarters, hoping you can find them over there instead, looking for Clarke and the others. As you run down the hall towards Echo’s room, you can hear the sound of muffled yelling steadily growing louder. Confused, you slow down, following the sound as you reach a door in the middle of the hall. You hit the button, stepping inside tentatively, surprised to have your gaze fall on Levitt. He’s tied to a chair, his face bloodied and bruised, blood all over his white clothes, a gag tied around his mouth. You run over to him and yank the gag out, looking at him in confusion, “Levitt, what the hell happened?”

“Echo. She's getting revenge for Bellamy. She killed two people in front of me and I broke, I told her how to get the Gem 9.”

You give him a look of absolute panic. “Gem 9? As in the bio weapon that could wipe out this whole damn planet?”

“Yes.”

“Where is she?”

“Raven said Echo’s probably planning to use the central humidification system.” 

You look at him in surprise. “Raven was here? Was Clarke here too?”

“Yes, with Octavia, Hope, Diyoza, and Miller.” 

You start to back away, panicking at the thought of Echo preparing to kill all of you in a need for revenge. “I have to go.”

“Wait, don't leave me here!”

“There’s no time, Levitt!”

“Please!”

The pain and fear in his voice affects you, so you look around, trying to find a way to help him but still save the others. Your eyes fall to a knife sitting on his desk, and you grab it and toss it near his feet, meeting his eyes as it lands. “If you can get yourself out of this, consider yourself a Grounder.”

And before he can say anything else, you turn and run off, heading towards the machine level. You run as fast as you possibly can, your legs carrying you through Bardo at an alarming rate. As you draw closer to the machine level, you swear you hear voices, the hairs on the back of your neck lifting in a warning. You slow down a little, making your footsteps light enough to listen, but still moving fast enough so you don't lose any time. And as you listen, you recognize Clarke’s voice urging someone to move faster. You break into a run again, your feet pounding along the tiles as you move down the hall and round the corner, coming face to face with a large group of people. 

Every available weapon lifts towards you, ready to shoot you and take you down, until they catch sight of your face and freeze, looking at you in shock. Clarke pushes through the group and takes off running towards you, and you run down the hall towards her, the two of you colliding halfway in a hug that nearly knocks you over. You grip your twin with desperation, tears springing to your eyes as you hug her for the first time in over five years. An audible sob slips from your mouth, emotion squeezing your heart in your chest as you think of all the things you want to tell her, all the things you need to say, but your brain struggles to settle on one thing. Clarke beats you to it, her voice soft as she squeezes you and whispers, “I’m so sorry about Bellamy, la lune.”

And the comfort that you needed from her from the last five years, the comfort from someone who loves you and truly understands you, it’s enough to send you over the edge. Tears start rushing down your face as you grip your twin tighter, choking back, “I couldn't save him. I failed him.”

“No you didn't.” She pulls away to look at you, her expression serious. As she reaches up to wipe the tears from your face, her eyes land on the bruise forming along your cheek, something that clearly wasn't on your face the last time you saw her. She ignores it to whisper, “This is not your fault.”

You nod, willing yourself to believe her, reminding yourself to put the blame on the people that deserve it: the disciples. You look at Clarke, your mind shifting to your niece. “How’s Madi? Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s-” She doesn’t get to finish, because a series of beeps rings out in the small space, followed by Hope’s panicked voice. “We’re out of time!”

Clarke looks over in alarm, and unspoken, all of you break into a run again, tearing down the hall towards the humidification system, situated at the very end of the machine level. When you reach the door to the room, you can see Echo inside, standing over a pipe, a dropper in her hand, and as Raven struggles to get the door open, you yell out, “Echo, stop!”

She freezes and turns around in alarm, the door to the room finally sliding open, allowing all of you to spill inside. Echo glares at all of you before directing her anger at Hope. “You were supposed to get them out!”

Octavia steps forward, defending Hope. “It's not her fault, we wouldn't leave without you, Echo. You don't have to do this. I get it, everything they took from you they took from me too, but there are good people here.”

“Who? Levitt?” She gives Octavia an incredulous look. “The man who stole your memories and gave them to the enemy? Who stole la lune’s memories and gave them to the enemy? All of this happened because of him. Way to honor your brother's memory.”

Clarke steps in next, taking a few steps ahead of you to stand beside Octavia. “Echo, this is not who you are. I know you think this is the right thing to do, but trust me, it's not. Grief is something we can learn to live with, but once you make a choice like this, it stays with you.”

You know she’s thinking of Mount Weather, of the genocide that has stayed with you, her, and Bellamy since you pulled that lever. It had such a profound impact on all of you, and despite doing it to save those you love, you’re not sure any of you would do it again, if given the option. Which is why preventing this genocide right now is important. But Echo fails to see the comparison between the two, practically rolling her eyes at Clarke. “This is nothing like the choices you make, Clarke. You take lives to save the people you love. This is vengeance, pure and simple.”

You step forward now, joining Octavia and Clarke near the front, Echo’s gaze shifting towards you. You shake your head, disapproving, and her face falls a little. “Echo, this is not what Bellamy would have wanted.”

“If they killed you or Octavia or Clarke, he would be standing right where I am! Three months ago, when you found out he was dead, I saw how that crushed you, I felt how it crushed me. And in that moment, I made a promise to myself that Bardo would pay for what they did to all of us. I’m doing this because it’s what we should have done from the beginning, and I know that none of you have the strength to do this. I'm doing this for you.”

“I love Bellamy with all that I am, but this is not how we should honor his memory. This is not how I want to honor his memory. I don't want you to do this Echo, not for me, or Bellamy, or any of us. There are good people here, innocent people, and they shouldn't die for something they had no control over.”

“Good people?” She scoffs and shakes her head at you. “How’d you get the bruise, la lune? Because you were fine when we separated in the hall.”

You look at Clarke, silently asking for help, aware that your answer is only going to fuel Echo’s anger, but Clarke isn't the one to speak up next, Raven is. She moves closer, her voice soft as she pleads, “Echo, you're my sister, and my sister wouldn't do this.”

Echo starts to cry, shaking her head as she fights off her tears, the decision already weighing heavily on her. “You're wrong.”

Raven stands firm, not backing down. “I'm not leaving, Echo. If you drop that, I am staying right here. You will have to kill me too.”

You step towards Raven, drawing Echo’s gaze. “And me.”

Echo looks between you both, her emotions warring inside of her, threatening to take over, and you all stand watching with bated breath, panicked on what emotion will win. There’s a sense of relief when a sob bursts free from her, and Raven steps forward and wraps Echo in her arms, whispering in her ear to comfort her. “It's okay. It's okay. We're here now.”

Diyoza walks over and slowly slips the Gem 9 from Echo’s grip, holding it carefully as you all watch Raven and Echo hug each other, thankful that Echo’s love for all of you is enough to stop her revenge. Clarke reaches out for your hand, holding it tight in her grip as you both watch, tears springing to your eyes again as Raven whispers, “We're gonna go home.”

“Good choice.” All of you turn towards the door in surprise, greeted by Anders, a glare on his face, his clothes still stained. He’s wiped most of the blood from his face, but the scratches remain visible on his skin, the bruise along his cheek already darkening, and there’s a knot forming on the side of his head where you hit him with the helmet. 

Clarke steps forward, her hand still holding your own, her voice angry and commanding. “We had a deal. I told Cadogan if I saw any of you, I wouldn't help him.”

“That was before one of you tried to kill me.” He turns to glare at you, and you glare back, both of you knowing damn well that’s not what happened. He turns to Echo, adding, “And before we knew that one of you killed three more of us, torturing another just to get him to give you a weapon with which to commit genocide.”

“The man makes a good point.” Diyoza steps forward, holding out her hand, offering him the unused Gem 9. “Let's call it even.”

“Even?” He takes the Gem 9 from her as he looks you all over. “I just told you three disciples are dead. You people disgust me. Look at yourselves: raised in the wild.”

He looks at you, and you feel yourself start to grow angry as he confirms what you already knew: that he thinks he's better than all of you. More civilized. “You're nothing but primal beasts, utterly in thrall to your feelings, prioritizing the want of self over the need of all others. You don't deserve the Shepherd's mercy.”

Miller lifts his gun and counters, “Brave words coming from a man standing alone in front of a pack of armed beasts.”

You shake your head, your eyes never leaving Anders. “He's not alone.”

Despite his anger with you, his admiration shines through as he smiles at you. “Smart girl.”

On cue, the disciples behind him leave ghost mode, four of them now visible and aiming weapons at all of you. Clarke, Raven, and Miller all react and lift their weapons, aiming them at the disciples who are aiming at all of you. Diyoza raises her voice to be heard over everyone’s panic. “Probably not a good idea to fire lasers in a room with a WMD.”

Everyone calms a fraction of an inch before Diyoza steps closer to Anders, giving him a small smile. “Let's get back to the Shepherd's mercy.”

“Echo will be sent to Penance for 20 years, but she'll be back before you know it. Unless by then, the code hasn't been entered to begin the Last War. In which case, she dies there.”

Hope snaps, “I have a better idea. You die here.”

Before any of you can react, Hope steps forward, a knife sliding out of her sleeve to slash Anders’ neck. In surprise, he immediately drops the Gem 9, which all of you lunge for, not wanting to crystallize to death. But Hope grabs it first, turning to run back towards the pipes, all of you turning to watch her in shock. None of you can grab her as she runs past, but Diyoza is right behind her, and as Hope squeezes one drop of Gem 9 into the water supply, you watch in shock as Diyoza reaches out to catch the drop before it can fall into the water. She immediately closes the door to the water supply, and you all run towards Diyoza in surprise, her hand already beginning to crystallize. Hope stares at her mother in shock before she screams, “No, Mom! No!”

“Get her out of here!”

You and Octavia heed Diyoza’s request and rush towards Hope, both of you grabbing one of her arms before you pull her back towards the door. Hope fights against you both, kicking and screaming, and Octavia yells to be heard over her, “Hope, it's too late!”

“No! No, Mom! No!”

Everyone else in the room is frozen in shock, and as Diyoza’s arm turns to crystal in a matter of seconds, she looks over everyone and yells out, “What are you all waiting for? Move! Go!”

The disciples leave the room first, Miller, Raven, Echo, and Clarke behind them as you and Octavia struggle to drag Hope out of the room. She fights hard against you both, you and Octavia using all of your strength to pull her past Anders’ dead body, the crystal now rapidly covering Diyoza’s body and beginning to climb up the walls around you. Hope screams as she watches her mother be engulfed, “I can't lose her, not again!”

“Hope, we have no choice!”

You turn to look at the door, nearly there now, the crystal rapidly closing in on all of you, and Diyoza watches on, the crystal climbing up her neck and spreading across her face. “Don't waste this, little one! Be better than me.”

Hope sobs as the crystal completely engulfs her mother’s face, no part of Diyoza visible any longer, and you and Octavia drag Hope through the door, yelling, “Get the door!”

Someone hits the button, the door sliding closed in front of you, cutting off Hope’s access to her mother. She pulls herself free from yours and Octavia’s grip and jumps against the door, sob after sob tearing from her throat. “Mom! Mom!”

And there's nothing that any of you can do except watch on as the crystals spread from Diyoza and take over Anders, spidering out into the air and along the walls, all of you safely on the other side, thanks to Diyoza’s sacrifice.

You watch on, crying as you and Octavia struggle to comfort Hope, another person taken from you on Bardo.

Part of you wishes you hadn’t stopped Echo, and that you crystallized the whole planet before escaping back to Sanctum.

But the rest of you knows that another genocide isn’t the answer. As much as you hate Bardo and the disciples and the Shepherd, there are innocent people here, and killing them, repeating the sins of your past, won’t fix any of the hurt that’s been done to you. 

It won’t bring back Bellamy.

It won’t bring back Diyoza.

It won’t bring back the part of you that died with your fiance. The dreams and memories that left when he did, all the hopes you had for your shared future together. No, a genocide won’t bring any of that back.

Unfortunately, knowing that doesn't make the loss any easier. Which is why you cry alongside the others, mourning the loss of the Navy SEAL turned terrorist turned freedom fighter turned Eligius prisoner turned mother. A woman that came into your life as an enemy, but left your life as a friend.

-

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