#please don’t be tone deaf in the comments I don’t fight with white people about race

[avese23]

A reminder that it as a pronoun has been used between white people respectfully for a very long time. In Romeo and Juliet (Early Modern English) the Nurse (a servant) calls Juliet (the daughter of a Lady) “it” in a way that is read as affectionate or familiar (being used towards a child) and is not derogatory. Just like they is not new, it isn’t either. If you meet enough queer people you’re going to find all sorts who use it/its

Another friendly reminder that “it” and “they” are not created (or rather, conditioned) equally. While the equivalent of “it” in other languages is near synonymous to the singular they (especially in languages such as my ancestral one which lacks gendered pronouns all together because pre colonization was a different brighter time) in English it is a loaded term. Language matters, context matters. Words aren’t just words, anyone who has been on the receiving end of harassment rooted in bigotry knows this. People often associate the stigma around “it” with the dehumanization of trans people (as it is often used in that way. Has been, still is) and therefore as a queer person see no harm reclaiming it because it’s *their* oppression right? However dehumanization is, shocker, not limited to white queer people. The word “it” has been used to dehumanize black and brown people for generations.

So while there’s nothing inherently wrong with using the it/its series, or using it for your friends, it does not hold the same connotation as other pronouns. And expecting other people to incorporate it into their vocabulary as if referring to people as “it” had no history besides queer people is insensitive, even if that wasn’t the intent.

Some queer people love it/it’s, heck I’m mutuals with many qpoc who use the pronoun series. But humans aren’t a monolith so it’s important to be careful when using “it’s” or neos that words carry meaning and words and gender are seperate social constructs so be careful jumping to conclusions about people’s boundaries. I am proudly queer and use the word and no one can stop me from identifying myself or my friends who use it as such. But I’m not going to force someone who has trauma around the term to call me queer even if it’s the best term to describe my identity. Because boundaries aren’t the same thing as misgendering. Someone refusing to use “it” is not the same as someone refusing to use “they” a term that is not dehumanizing to anyone.

Hope this helped. It’s not a simple topic and it requires empathy from both sides.

TLDR; using it/it’s is totally valid! Not feeling comfortable using a word with a loaded history, also a valid boundary! Ask the person respectfully if there’s an alternative set to use instead because not everyone uses “they.” Or don’t use pronouns for that person at all, just use their name.

non-it/its users need to get their shit together fr

[alinaastarkov]

You know what’s weird? The misconception that Arya is only good at physical things like fighting. Before everyone else, only she & Jon figured out the Lannisters, seeing their classism for what it was. She rightfully befriends & defends the smallfolk, can figure out complex situations like the trap for her in King’s Lansing with the fame Stark soldiers, and survive war, hunger, and violence. And in Braavos, she is learning so much from languages, reading people, & even mummery and courtesy.

Right? It’s insane because she’s also not that good at fighting. She has barely trained with Needle and though she can kill a guy, it’s mostly wild and untamed with little form and she has not trained in a long time. But she’s super intuitive. Sure, Robb figured out Joffrey was a little shit, but only when they fought, and it took Bran longer to understand the same about the Frey boys. Meanwhile, Jon and Arya are here understanding their classism from the first. And her friendship with the smallfolk is something that Varys lists as a reason why Aegon should be king, so it’s clearly a wise thing.

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher's boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block. Just the sight of him was enough to make Sansa feel sick, but Arya seemed to prefer his company to hers. - Sansa I, AGOT

We all remember this, yeah? Well, it’s just an extension of this:

Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. "Know the men who follow you," she heard him tell Robb once, "and let them know you. Don't ask your men to die for a stranger." At Winterfell, he always had an extra seat set at his own table, and every day a different man would be asked to join him. One night it would be Vayon Poole, and the talk would be coppers and bread stores and servants. The next time it would be Mikken, and her father would listen to him go on about armor and swords and how hot a forge should be and the best way to temper steel. Another day it might be Hullen with his endless horse talk, or Septon Chayle from the library, or Jory, or Ser Rodrik, or even Old Nan with her stories. Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her "Arya Underfoot," because he said that was where she always was. She'd liked that a lot better than "Arya Horseface." - Arya II, AGOT

This is the exact behaviour that seems to constitute a good lord or king, and good kings are wise, and part of wisdom is taking advice from people who know more than you. Chances are, other nobles with the exact same education and class biases will not know more than Arya or any other highborn, so getting to know these people are really how a lord gets to understand the people he rules and become wiser as a result. If you keep to your own class, you will never learn or truly understand anything. Arya understands this from her father’s lessons, and it clearly shows how wise she is. The fact that other characters talk about how good and wise this behaviour is (not talking about Arya, just generally) just confirms this.

"It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone. Every man I take into my service is a risk, I understand that, but how am I to win the Seven Kingdoms without such risks? Am I to conquer Westeros with one exile knight and three Dothraki bloodriders?" - Daenerys I, ASOS

Remember this? Same thing. Dany is defending her choice to keep Arstan and Strong Belwas, and if you’ll recall, that was a very good decision in deed. It’s only people like Sansa who view these people as beneath her which is an unwise mentality, and makes her comments about the smallfolk later feel so tone-deaf and ignorant.

And then there’s King’s Landing. For a start, Maegor killed everyone who built the Red Keep so no-one but the Targaryens would ever know the ins and outs, and yet Arya finds a way out by herself. She also sees through the Kingsguard trap with Meryn Trant, finds her way out of the castle, and sees through the thing with the boat which would probably convince most people.

When she saw the guardsmen on the third pier, in grey woolen cloaks trimmed with white satin, her heart almost stopped in her chest. The sight of Winterfell’s colors brought tears to her eyes. Behind them, a sleek three-banked trading galley rocked at her moorings. Arya could not read the name painted on the hull; the words were strange, Myrish, Braavosi, perhaps even High Valyrian. She grabbed a passing longshoreman by the sleeve. “Please,” she said, “what ship is this?” “She’s the Wind Witch, out of Myr,” the man said. “She’s still here,” Arya blurted. The longshoreman gave her a queer look, shrugged, and walked away. Arya ran toward the pier. The Wind Witch was the ship Father had hired to take her home … still waiting! She’d imagined it had sailed ages ago. Two of the guardsmen were dicing together while the third walked rounds, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Ashamed to let them see her crying like a baby, she stopped to rub at her eyes. Her eyes her eyes her eyes, why did …? Look with your eyes, she heard Syrio whisper. Arya looked. She knew all of her father’s men. The three in the grey cloaks were strangers. “You,” the one walking rounds called out. “What do you want here, boy?” The other two looked up from their dice. It was all Arya could do not to bolt and run, but she knew that if she did, they would be after her at once. She made herself walk closer. They were looking for a girl, but he thought she was a boy. She’d be a boy, then. “Want to buy a pigeon?” She showed him the dead bird. “Get out of here,” the guardsman said. Arya did as he told her. She did not have to pretend to be frightened. Behind her, the men went back to their dice. - Arya V, ASOS

It’s clear Cersei came up with this plan and it almost fools her, so if not for Syrio she might have fallen for it and gotten herself captured. Very clever of her. Also, I didn’t want to bring Sansa into this but it’s always her stans parroting this dumb Arya-is-stupid-and-masculine narrative so let’s be real here: I think Arya absolutely would have survived in King’s Landing based on evidence from the books, but Sansa would not if the roles were reversed, purely because of the simple fact that there is no way Sansa would have escaped King’s Landing to begin with. Sansa, who despises the smallfolk and thinks it’s vulgar to spend time with them and doesn’t care Jory died because his replacement is more handsome, would not have known that they were not Stark men. She would have seen the cloaks and the ship and run up to them telling them her name and she would be captured. Not only is knowing the people who serve you a wise way to rule, it also saved Arya’s life here. 

And I can’t believe it still needs to be pointed out that she didn’t survive in the Riverlands because of luck. She didn’t fight her way out of every situation, which would have gotten her killed. She listened, she learned, and she knew how to survive in an environment where even plain silence could mean your death. The way she’s learning in Braavos also speaks for itself. My girl is learning/knows 5 languages!

Arya Stark is really fucking clever guys!

[todomochi-uwu]

1, 2... and maybe 3 (1/3)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Kirishima Eijirou; Bakugou Katsuki x reader; Kirishima Eijirou x reader

Warnings: Angst, Poly relationship

Author´s Note: This is the first part of my commission for @beemmmv thank you so much for asking for this, I really hope you enjoy it!!!!!

Bakugou's back was pressed against the dark wood bed heading, his head in between his hands, the trembling of his shoulders wouldn´t seem to stop, his eyes were swollen to the point everything seems just a blur while his mouth failed miserably trying to keep the sobs in. 

Kirishima was on the other side, he didn´t seem to be any better. small drops of blood fell off his lips, his teeth bite them down in anxiety and sorrow, his hands clutched the fabric in his shirt in a desperate attempt to stop the ache in his heart. 

Only one question had managed to take all the oxygen in the room, asphyxiating them, leaving them cornered.

                                                                Where had things gone wrong?

Nothing seemed to add up, no sign, no red flag.

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

Going back to when they first years; naive; predictable; no experience at all into what feelings were. They would have never thought that those fist bumps would turn into awkward hand holdings; playful insults would now have a hidden meaning and lingering feelings would insert themselves in the conversation, but before they knew a small peck on the lips in celebration of Bakugou´s new hero license ignited something so big and wonderful it almost felt unreal. 

Everything was great. They made it work.

Kirishima knew how and when to be patient, but also to extern his doubts and thoughts, while Bakugou, although took a while, learned how to manage his insecurities and express his feelings. 

Some things were new, feelings, for example, saying I love you had a new tone to it, hugging and kissing was such an experience, but also some pretty bold statements had been made, they were NOT into girls. 

Funny, considering none of them had even liked someone before or knew what the fuck they were doing. 

Mina had commented along the lines, "Sexuality and points of view will change along we grow, maybe not entirely, maybe just small details, but they will." Might be a crackhead, but she knew what she was talking about. 

But they were sure of themselves.

So... What in the hell had happened?

A bunch of snarky comments and the power of a thunderstorm.  Miya.

The first day she appeared she managed to sweep everyone off their feet, strong looks, determination in her eyes and the scene she had made were enough to declare her place in the room. She stood tall in the ground, small freckles adorn her face along with her rose pink lips, her eyelashes stood long and curvy framing her big brown eyes that were covered behind thick square glasses. 

"Hey, four-eyes you are sitting in my fucking seat. Care to move?" A foot kicking the desk hard enough to make it move and hit the wall. 

She couldn´t be bothered, she got up and went to the back of the classroom, not even sparing a glance to the porcupine looking man.

"The fuck? I'm talking to you, are you as deaf as you are blind, bitch?" Once again, no fucks were given. And that was enough to tick off Bakugou, in a matter of seconds he was up in her face. Truly a mistake. 

"If you don't mind I have better things than to be tacking care of a rabies dog, where´s your caretaker? Shall I fill up a complaint with animal control, because I believe you don´t belong to a classroom but a cage." She pushed her finger against his chest making him back away, not a fraction of fear in her self, she knew his kind, pompous, wannabes who bark much but no bite. "I know who you are Bakugou Katsuki, first and third place in the sports festival, Endeavour´s intern, Ground Zero. Let me tell you something, and you WILL listen, am not here to get yelled or put down by a guy who spits more saliva than he makes sense, make us both a favour and sit down like a good boy and you might receive a treat if you behave. Are we clear?

Complete silence. Midoriya´s jaw was on the floor along with everyone else´s in the room, hell, even Todoroki´s eyes were wide opened and small drops of sweat ran down the right part of his forehead. 

No one knew what to do or how to react until a red spiked hair man decided to include himself in the scene. 

"Oh my god, I am so sorry. Bakugou can be a little bit much to handle, but I assure he doesn´t mean wrong, he's just not good with strangers, please please don´t take it so personally." He grabbed the blonde one by the collar, but he made no effort in detaching himself, still not understanding what just happened. "My name´s Kirishima, welcome to class 3A." And with that, he left the room along with Bakugou; reprimanding him for his actions and stating that he didn´t act manly at all. 

After this, people were a little afraid of approaching her, but soon they found out it was just her standing up for herself, she usually was sweet and considerate, more of a listener rather than a talker, and not a follower. 

Her leadership truly showed when in practice missions she managed to come up with a plan that went accord everyone's needs and strongest points, she took suggestions and comments, people looked up to her. A true icon. 

About her quirk? Thunderstorm. Her ability to invoke a storm at please was amazing and well worked. Her body would lift off the ground and her eyes would turn pearl white, rays ran across her skin, decorating it, her hands sparkled, she looked invincible. 

And two pairs of eyes could notice this.

Kirishima´s eyes always wander to where she stood, he knew it was wrong but the way the dark coloured suit hugged her hips along with the heels she wore it was simply unbelievable, the rhythm she followed while walking; while exercising: while fighting. He was enticed. 

His boyfriend was no different, Bakugou would never admit it, but he would watch from the side every time they had to combat, the way she would frown when calculating was arousing and it was even better when she had her legs tight around Deku´s neck, choking him while pulling his arm, immobilizing him. 

But there were also small things, simple and almost unnoticeable things that made her lovely, the way she small and giggle when Mina kept making lame jokes; the way the tip of her tongue would come out when trying to wing her eyeliner; her baby blue painted nails scratching the back of her shaved blonde hair; or how excited she would get when dripping little drops of pink colourant in the batter for the cupcakes she made. 

Everything amount and made them drop on their knees, their hearts out for her.

Looking on the other side, she wasn´t above feelings. She first noticed the shark-like boy, the way he would cheer up his friends, the words that came out of his heart and the way his smile would light up his entire face. She was confused with what he meant with being "manly" but quickly caught on, it meant being a hero, a good person, and he truly lived up to that. She saw him in the job, she saw him in school and she saw him in his casual state, and she had no doubt, he made her heart flutter. 

With Bakugou things were a little more... Harsh? Bickering, comments back and forth, she would pin him to the ground and he would have her face against the floor. And while he was a dick, she could see through it, she could see his fragileness, but also his determination. The way he would care without saying it, or the small efforts he made trying to tone down his attitude. 

And then. Sad. Tragic. Heartbroken. 

Kirishima and Bakugou were a thing. They had been for a couple of years now. 

"Ugh I can´t believe two of the most decent guys in the class are already taken, that leaves us with stoic Todoroki, pervert Mineta and trembling Deku." Hagakure let out, exasperated. 

"Who are the other two?" Miya giggled, ohh the drama. Boy, she did not expect what was happening next. 

"Bakugou and Kirishima, but I can't even be mad. They are so fucking cute together." 

"Wait, wait. They are together? I thought Kirishima was only just a great friend." She could hear her heartbreak bit by bit, the oxygen running out her lungs and her mouth going dry. 

"No, girl. Two years now. It was a bit of a shock at first but not unexpected, y´know?" 

"Right." And that was the only thing that could come out of her mouth, the two men she loved, the ones who made her skin get goosebumps and sighs leave her mouth. 

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

Falling in love was the easy part. Dealing with it? Not so much.

They were unsure and scared, they knew they loved each other, but they also love her. Afraid of hurting each other feelings, they decided it was better to stay quiet. 

Bakugou loves Kirishima and wasn´t ready to lose him.

Kirishima loves Bakugou and wasn´t planning to have him out of his life. 

But it was becoming more and more difficult to hide it, jealousy and longing were now present. 

Suddenly the way Todoroki´s eyes looked at her made Kirishima´s teeth clenched to the point of hurting. Sero´s arm was too close for Bakugou´s liking. Deku´s excitement to see her made Kirishima go way too harm on him at training. And the constant flirting Kaminari did gain him a punch on the eye by Bakugou. 

Things were getting out of my hand. All of it leading to how things were right now.  Communication had been lost, doubts all over the place and the fear filling their hearts.

"Katsuki" Kirishima's broken voice and nasal tone made his partner's heart clench even more, "Could you please tell me what's going on? I am sure I can help if you just let me, you don't have to face this alone."

He decided to stay quiet, Kirishima had been the one and the only person who could see right through him, he could see through the anger, the superiority complex, the hate in his soul, and the idea of breaking the one person he loved, it simply killed him. 

"Baby please, you have to talk to me, I just... I just..." Tears were falling again, sobs coming out not allowing any words to come out. "Bakugou, I just don´t want this to end, not like this, not ever. So I´m begging you, please tell me what's wrong."

And he tried, he did, after a few breaths he managed to calm down a bit, enough to talk at least, "I don´t want to hurt you, Ei."

"I promise you won't, talk to me, babe." He promised his forehead against the door. 

"I think, I think I like someone else." He stayed quiet gathering his thoughts, "I think I like a girl."

Kirishima eyes widened, his heart beating increasing, even more, they were walking on eggshells, "Okay, are you okay with that?"

"I don't know."

"It's normal to be scared baby, but it´s also normal if you like them. I also do."

"You do?" This time Bakugou was left without words, could it be that...?

"Yeah, at least I think so." He remembered the talk he had with Mina earlier that day. 

"I don´t know Mina, I guess I always thought that..."

"Just because Bakugou is your boyfriend doesn´t mean you are gay, Kiri. Sexuality has a pretty big spectrum, doesn´t mean things are either black or white, for all you know you could be bisexual, pansexual or omnisexual; or maybe you just like one girl and she's the exception, we don´t know, all you have to know is that this is okay, you are not wrong, you are not bad. You love Bakugou very much and you will get through this, just talk to him."

"Thank you, Mina"

"Can I... Can I know who you like?" The blonde was hesitant, not sure if he wanted to answer that.

"Okay, but before I want you to know that I love you so much and that this doesn't have to change anything between us, okay?"

"Okay. "

"I like Miya."

Kirishima´s eyes were wide open, relief washing over his entire body and a strange sense of excitement replace it, he had an idea. 

"Hey, Katsuki. Do you know what polyamory means?"

[icedteaandoldlace]

So there’s this “101 Reasons to Ship Snowbarry” video that keeps coming up on my YouTube suggestions. Idgaf about Snowbarry, and I’ve already hit the “not interested” button on similar videos before, but since I can’t seem to get away from video suggestions like this, I’m just gonna watch it and liveblog it, and bet that for every entry on the list, I can come up with a corresponding rebuttal for why Barrisco would make an even better couple. (I’m not gonna comment this ON the video ofc, this is just for my own amusement.)

Click the link above if you want to see the stuff I’ll be responding to, but be forewarned, that video is like, way long, so naturally it follows that this post is gonna be, too.

Additional note: If you are a Snowbarry shipper who has stumbled across this post somehow, now would be the time to stop reading, and also to add the “anti Snowbarry” tag to your filters if you wish to avoid running into posts like this in the future, ‘cause I ain’t interested in engaging in shipping wars.

Anyways, let’s go:

1. "How they met." Cisco woke Barry out of a coma by playing/singing a song about bisexuality, 'nuff said. (Also, part of the purpose of that scene was to introduce Caitlin as the serious, “down to business” one, and Cisco as the warmer, more easygoing one who’s trying to make Barry feel more comfortable.)

2. "They're both scientists." What is Cisco, an Instagram influencer?

3. If Caitlin being Barry’s personal doctor gets her romantic points, then the same should go for Cisco being his personal tailor. Actually, he should get more points, because there’s no moratorium on romantic relationships between tailors and their clients.

4. The way Barry and Cisco gaze into each other's eyes for non-medical purposes. This is too easy.

5. Uh. Cisco being the voice in Barry's ear while he's running, and often the first person he calls out to for help solving a problem.

6. They frequently take hold of each other's hands and shoulders.

7. Cisco comforts Barry while Caitlin tends to his wounds.

8 through 12 is literally just stuff about Caitlin being a doctor, and I don't find this stuff relevant enough to rebut because there's nothing inherently romantic about any of it.

13. "They both have fun together." Yes, Cisco also, the fun having, it happens, lots. Even more, actually.

14. Not really sure what to say for this one. Barry and Cisco noticing when each other is sad and then checking on each other (at Cecile’s baby shower and Barry’s bachelor party, respectively, and also on other occasions), comes to mind. That doesn’t have to do with noticing each other’s lips, per se, but I’ve never thought of either of these SB scenes as moments where Barry was staring at Caitlin’s lips, just as moments where he’s noticing her expression/overall mood, which is something he does with Cisco (and vice versa), too.

15. They all have nerdy hobbies, dude, they're nerds.

16. This one for SB is "she makes Barry drunk on purpose", which, y'know, she did because he wanted to be able to get buzzed, which Cisco has succeeded in helping him do, too (and the drink he made was more effective and longer lasting), but the way this is phrased is kind of suggestive, like Caitlin was doing it to lower his inhibitions (which she totally wasn’t), and uuuuhhhh, don't romanticize that maybe???

17. Cisco put all that tech into Barry's suit, including delivery menus from his favorite restaurants + wrote him an instruction manual, and sped up all his favorite shows so he could catch up on what he missed while he was in the speed force.

18. Barry makes Cisco's (and everyone's) hair fly everywhere when he speeds out of a room, too. Like, this is just basic physics, fam, wyd?

19. Barry also uses his powers to help Cisco. And...literally everyone who needs his help, this is basic superhero stuff, wyd?

20. He is impressed with Cisco, frequently.

21. Just having nicknames? He calls him "bud", "dude", etc., and one time he called him "Cis". (Bonus: Iris and Cisco have called Caitlin "Cait", too, so it’s not just a Ronnie and Barry thing.)

22. Cisco can make anything to help Barry. They're literally top-notch genius scientists, I don't even

23. Obviously they think each other makes great company, they're best friends. All of them.

24. They comfort each other. Again, best friends + Team Flash pep talks are a major staple of the show.

25. He needs Cisco, too.

26. They...they care about...my god, it's like you people have never heard of FRIENDS.

27. Honestly, how many times have we heard Barry tell Cisco he believes in him, or heard Cisco gush about what a great hero Barry is?

28. Helping each other conquer their fears. Yep, that's another one that applies to like, everyone on this show.

29. "They both have experienced loss" IT'S A SUPERHERO SHOW! Also, that's just life. Name one main character on this show who hasn't experienced loss. Nash and Wally have both experienced loss, and I have yet to see anyone ship them.

30. "They both can sing really well." Okay now. This one is true for Barry and Cisco, but uh...Caitlin is literally tone deaf. I'm not being mean, Danielle Panabaker knows good and well that she can't sing, and she has talked about Carlos side-eyeing her when she gets going because she's not good at it. THAT'S OKAY! There's nothing wrong with not being able to sing, but--WHY would you claim that she's good at something that she clearly is not? She wasn't on pitch for a single line of Summer Nights, and she straight up changes keys mid-line in the mockingbird song in that other clip, and just...what even is this entry?!

31. Watching over each other, yeah, another basic staple of being friends and superheroes.

32. "He is always standing behind Caitlin" AND LOOK WHO'S STANDING BESIDE HIM!

33. Remember that time fake Jay "died" and Cisco stayed with Caitlin until she fell asleep? Remember when Dante died and Caitlin slept on Cisco's couch to keep him company? Remember all those times Barry or Cisco were rendered unconscious, and the other stayed by their bedside until they woke up?

34. Basically just a continuation of 33. See above.

35. "Maybe 'okay' will be our 'always'." Hmm, what WOULD Barry and Cisco's "always/okay" be? Probably just calling out each other's names tbh, they do that a lot. Or perhaps, "For real?"

36. Is2g. Being only one call or text away is, again, a staple of the show, considering everyone in it is a close-knit found family and knows there's a very good chance that that call or text might be saying, "I'm in mortal danger, please come save my life at once."

37. Funny, I already pointed out once before (in a different post) the fun parallel of how Caitlin will sometimes go running to whoever her love interest is at the moment, or she'll call out his name, while Cisco is at the same moment running to Barry/calling out for Barry.

Side note: did they really think including Barry's proposal song to Iris would give more weight to their why-to-ship-Snowbarry argument?

38. I mean...Barry kind of carries everyone everywhere. You don't really get to see it, but how the heck else do you explain all the times he whooshes people in and out of places? He can't just drag them, otherwise the soles of their shoes would either wear down fast or catch on fire.

39. Okay, no shade to Barry and Caitlin's friendship, and some of these moments are really great, but generally speaking, their hugs do not compare to the ones that either of them has with Cisco. Also, note the group hug scene, conveniently cut off before Cisco joins in, because unlike the Romione + Harry hug in the Prisoner of Azkaban movie, there's no way to interpret it as a third wheel/cockblocking moment, because the moment Cisco declares it a group hug moment, Barry and Caitlin both agree, and you can see it on their faces that they are delighted, and think that Cisco joining in their hug has just made it even BETTER.

40. Henry gladly accepts a hug from Caitlin, immediately after laughing at Cisco's awkward moment and giving him a fatherly reassuring pat on the shoulder. I think it's safe to say he approves of all of Team Flash.

41. Oh look, another thing Barry and Cisco and multiple other characters do.

Good god, I'm not even halfway through this yet. This is like that time I tried to climb Diamond Head.

42. Ah, superhero poses, yes. That thing that...superheroes...do. Like, all of the ones on this show. And in general.

43.  "They begin to resemble each other." They're just white, fam. OH MY GOD, I SOMETIMES TAKE MY SUNGLASSES OFF WITH ONE HAND, TOO! OT3 MUCH????? 😱 Lol what even??

44. How many times throughout this video am I gonna have to repeat that everyone on this show has these moments? Also, speaking in unison with someone because you had prior knowledge of what they were going to say due to yourself or someone else time traveling, is not the same as being in sync with them because you’re close. (He said “Weather Wizard” at the same time as Cisco, too.)

45. Idk what to even say to this one. Like, Iris is obviously the love of Barry's life, and Cisco is obviously his favorite best friend and the person he would be with if he didn’t have Iris.

46. *John Mulaney voice* AND THEN THEY DIDN'T! Seriously, though, both of the people they were trying to get over were perfect for them. I don't have a Barrisco specific rebuttal for this one though.

47. So by this video's logic, that one scene from 4x03 means that Barry, Harry, and Cisco should be a threesome, huh?

48. "I did it because it gave me an excuse to bring him back."

49. .................is this even an argument?

50. They're both good looking people, darling.

51. Wrong, sir. They fight like siblings. Trust me on this one, I have six of them.

52. Trauma response. I'm moving away from Barrisco arguments and just saying the first thing that pops into my head now. But seriously, this is a normal reaction to trauma/loss.

53. *Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh* I'm not even gonna say it this time, you already know.

54. Again, have you people ever had anyone in your life that you cared about, ever? I'm starting to get concerned, honestly. But for the sake of bringing Barrisco back into this, hey, remember that time Barry and Caitlin both got kidnapped on the same night and Cisco was completely beside himself?

55. This is getting out of hand.

56. Pretty sure dating Caitlin didn't even make the list for Barry's reasons to dislike Jay and Julian (also, he liked Ronnie, the guy she loved the most, so...)

57. Judging Barry for being a dumbass + helping an exposed girl out =/= jealousy. Granted, there was some jealousy in that last clip, but not because Iris got the man; it was because Barry was all set to live happily ever after while Caitlin was, y'know, struggling with powers she didn't want and another person living in her head that kept fighting her for control of her body.

58. Refer to season 1 episode 2, wherein Cisco is the person helping Barry from the beginning, and Caitlin asserts that she is on Joe's side when he tells Barry what a stupid and reckless idea trying to be a superhero is.

59 + 60. "Let's bring our boy home." / "Let's go get our girl." Do I need to cite either quote?

61. Again I ask, did a human make this list?

62. Don't make me tap the sign.

63. One word: Elseworlds.

64. If you'll scroll waaaaaaaaaaay up there, I already covered that Barry and Cisco hold hands A LOT.

65. Oooh, I made a meme about this one! Not after watching this video, I just see SBers say this all the time, and it drives me crazy.

I used this in my Snowbarry fandom drama presentation for my squad’s presentation party a while back.

Side note: ~INTERESTING~ how Caitlin being a doctor is ““romantic”” when she’s treating Barry but ““motherly”” when she’s treating Cisco. I can’t even.

66. ......I’m sorry, I’m just not seeing how the dramatic irony of them stating that Killer Frost will never be a problem on Earth-1 is pertinent to shipping them as a couple.

67. Hannibal Bates and Caitlin are perfect for each other? Weird take, but okay. Oh, and there Caitlin is trying to freeze Barry to death. Wasn’t there a point somewhere up there about her never wanting him to get hurt?

Side note: Hey, what’s the name of that guy who saved Barry in this scene?

68. Bruh, that’s just her dynamic with everyone that season.

69. Barry and Iris, Barry and Cisco, Cisco and Caitlin, Cisco and Harry, Caitlin and Killer Frost, Cisco and Killer Frost--just naming some duos that are more iconic than Barry and Caitlin. Again, no shade to their friendship--I really like them as friends!--but the shippers stay making it out to be more than it really is.

I also just have to point out that although Killer Frost was the one who willingly teamed up with Savitar/whom Savitar sought out first, when she comments on their team up and says it’s “Barry and Caitlin together again”, his response is to point out that she’s not Caitlin and he’s not Barry. In contrast, when he takes Cisco against his will and forces him to modify the speed force bazooka, he still refers to Cisco as his best friend.

70. Make up your mind, does Savitar count as Barry in this or not? Because he totally grabbed Caitlin by the throat once.

71. I don’t know how to break this to you, but not enjoying it when someone is in pain is just being normal. (Do I even need to point out Cisco’s empathetic cringing compared to Barry’s looks of mild discomfort, or...?)

At some point this went from being about Barrisco to being about Cisco being the favorite friend to both of them, idk.

72. He. Is. Literally. A. Superhero.

73. Man, what did I JUST say? Also, can we just acknowledge the build up to Crisis on Infinite Earths for a second, wherein Frost very quickly accepts that Barry is supposed to die in order to save everyone else, while Cisco has infinite crises of his own at the idea of having to accept Barry’s death--which, I might add, he never actually does? Neither does Iris, for that matter. They tried to accept it, and they thought they did, but they didn’t really.

74. Oh fuck it, just read 73 again.

75. Okay, what even is this one? Two scenes where they are not present for each other’s “deaths” and thus don’t react to them, meanwhile Cisco is devastated in both of them?

76. Same thing I’ve already said several times before.

77. How many times do I gotta point out that this is a superhero show?

78. Just really trying hard to find enough reasons to make this list 101, huh? (What is Firestorm, chopped liver?)

79. Because violence = chemistry apparently. Wasn’t there another entry about how they can never hurt each other or something?

80. I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the vibrating hand that shredded Cisco’s heart before either of those scenes happened.

81. It’s like SBers think they’re the only two characters on the entire show.

82. I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over all the other vibrating hands triggering Cisco at least once per season. But sure, Barry and Caitlin are the only two who know suffering.

83. Two words: Flashpoint. Dante. Also, not seeing how this one is romantic.

84. That’s just a Caitlin/Frost thing, fam, it only happened to Barry because he got whammied by Prism, who caused the same effect in everyone else he whammied. (Cisco’s eyes turned purple once when he got hypnotized.)

85. Please. I beg of you. Get friends. Interact with a human person.

Side note: “I trust you” was almost what I put for Barrisco’s “always/okay”.

86. “Don’t call me that. I don’t know you, string bean.” / “I don’t know who you think you are, but around here, people call me Mr. Ramon.” / “The name is Vibe.” (Again, romance where?)

87. Kinda like how Mirror Iris and Mirror Kamilla have slightly dressier tastes than Real Iris and Real Kamilla.

88. ....Anyways, Vibe........

89. The first time because Cisco saved him, the second time because she froze him just enough to fool Grodd, not enough to actually kill him. (Again I say, what is Firestorm?)

90. So romance. Very love. Much relationship.

91. ANYWAYS, CISCO. (And uh, hello, IRIS???? Joe? Harry?)

92. See 88.

93. This one might be a fun ship parallel if Caitlin had actually been involved in Barry’s brain zapping, but instead it’s just like, “here’s two random scenes that are kinda similar in completely insignificant ways”, like the evil clothes thing a few entries back.

94. Another entry that just demonstrates that their one-on-one moments together, while good, just don’t compare to either of their one-on-one moments with Cisco. I can’t be the only person who sees this.

95 + 96 + 97. I can’t muster up enough interest in any of these shows to watch them all the way through. Is this supposed to impress me?

98 + 99 + 100. The only point this proves is that they have multiple ship names. (I thought their evil ship name was Savifrost?)

101. Mm, sorry, sweetheart, Westallen, Barrisco, and Snowstorm all have them beat in this category.

This post really got away from me, at this point idk what I’m even doing, but I went on too long to stop now.

Oh, shit, there’s a bonus round.

Honestly, I fail to see how a lot of these supposedly “match”? But as for the ones that do, that’s just your basic TV aesthetics, I forget the official name for it. They’re matchy-matchy with Cisco in some of those shots, too, because TV matchy color psychology whatever. It’s a whole thing, every TV show and movie does it.

If anyone actually followed along this far, congratulations on your attention span, my brain could never. Idk how to end this post because it strayed so far from my original intent and basically just turned into a Snowbarry Fandom Doesn’t Make Sense Presentation 2.0

You know, I like to try not to generalize and stuff, and I’d like to think that maybe not all SBers are racist and that some people genuinely just like the ship because they think that makes sense or something, but then I look at their reasons for shipping it, and it’s just the dang blandest thing I ever did see, and they have to reach so far when they try to explain why they think they’re the best “couple” on the show and just??? I am the queen of shipping friends who never get together romantically, but Barry and Caitlin just don’t got it, son. Tbh part of the show’s appeal to me is the fact that there’s no threat of Caitlin ever getting with either of her male bffs in that way, because Cisco is like her brother, and getting with Barry just wouldn’t make sense. It just befuddles me to no end that they are such a wildly popular ship and not a rare pair, because the way their relationship is in canon is just exactly the way it should be.

That’s it, I guess. I’ve already invested this much time in this, so I might as well post it.

Also, please don’t anybody try to start anything in the comments section of this video, this fandom has enough drama as it is.

[eternalstrigoii]

Unfettered -- I

A revamp-sequel to Caged Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Forest Dark Fey Reader; Maleficent x Diaval; Conall x Jungle Dark Fey; General Percival x Shrike; Philip x Aurora; King John is Everyone’s Dad (reprise)

               “No, no, no! Please, please, please!”

Your flesh burned. Your flesh had been burning for weeks. Your blood was like molasses baked to fired stone on the floor of your cage. The thick, iron band around your neck welled more to the surface. Your senses should have been dulled to it, but they weren’t. Iron cuffs around your wrists kept you locked in place while white-faced iron men forcibly extended your broken wings.

The pain ricocheted through you. The queen watched impassively as you screamed. One snap. Your wing muscles violently recoiled. Two snaps in a different place. No, no, no, not more breaking, they already hurt so much!

“Don’t forget the little ones.” Her voice was cold.

Tears ran down your face. Dripped to sizzle on the oven-hot floor. You couldn’t move anymore, your pain was so great. Still, they pulled your wing taut, and something was jabbed through the bars. Once. Twice. Harder. The fragile little bones between muscles and membranes broke without a sound, and you were crying. You didn’t even struggle. What could you do? Where could you go? Ingrith had you. She would kill you.

And he was right.

       You awoke with a gasp, startled right out of sleep. A bonfire still roared beyond the confines of your nest, and you crawled toward it habitually.

Some part of you still expected to find your father sitting by it when you emerged, drinking herb water from stone cups long after Udo and the fledglings had gone to bed.

But you were not in the nest, or in its forest; you were on the moors, and Ini was the one awake, pouring over the roughly drawn diagrams you’d all put together during dinner. Ulstead, the Midlands, Perceforest. The end of their borders were the end of your guaranteed safety, as though your safety was guaranteed anyway.

“Where is he?” you asked, and you hated that it was the first thing out of your mouth.

“Patrolling.” She was so casual about it, as though they hadn’t tried to kill him just a handful of weeks ago. “He still doesn’t trust them.”

“He shouldn’t.”

You were trembling, not that you realized. You crawled over a log and rested your half-limp wings against it, as though the warmth of the fire would be all it took to erase the panic from your chest, the excruciating phantom pains that lingered still.

“You sleep worse than he does,” she commented, barely looking up. “And he’s been to war.”

He wasn’t tortured, you wanted to reply, but you didn’t. You had nightmares about that, too – violent nightmares where they made him watch. You knew he’d fight, you knew he’d do everything in his power to keep you safe, and that would be why they killed him in front of you – why the queen would’ve had you unbound so you could hold him in your arms while he choked on his own blood with an iron bolt in his heart.

Oh, skies, you shook. Now the tears were inevitable. You were like a child, waking up sobbing at the first thought of violence against you – as though it could be undone.

Papers rustled as Ini put them aside, tucked carefully away from the fire. She came to join you, wrapped her arms and her wings around you. “Oh, Cassia…”

“I need him,” you whispered, and for once, it wasn’t Borra in your thoughts. You needed Conall to guide you. To be there, to soothe you, to press his head with yours and smile softly and sing to you like your mother had when she was alive and the sob that ripped out of you was guttural and wild and it made Ini press you close against her like a child, her palm flat against your cheek as she rocked you, tucked close into her side.

What’s the matter? Papa didn’t kiss it better? Your brother used to sneer when your emotions overtook you, and your father never hesitated to sweep in, gather you on his hip and remove you from the situation completely. I would rather you know you can depend on me than let you struggle when you shouldn’t.

He had been so close to you when he died. Nearly there. Over the trees and across the river. You never wanted them to find you, they would’ve been killed, but that didn’t ease your pain when you thought about how close to him you were – how nearly you’d been able to see him, see them both. Tell them goodbye.

“He was looking for you,” Ini murmured into your hair, “the night she plunged into the sea. He never stopped looking for you, Cas. Neither did Borra.”

That was exactly what shouldn’t have been said. You screamed into your forearms like a fresh-set scab had been ripped off an infected wound. You hadn’t done much crying in Ulstead. Now, free of suspicion, home with your family where you belonged, grief consumed you.

So close and so far and so near but no longer.

Your crying woke Shrike. You heard her grumble, her nest rustle. She padded out to join you both near the fire, put her strong wings around you. “Calm.” She rubbed firm circles into your back. “What is it, another nightmare?”

“Another memory,” Ini replied, squeezing your arms. “It’s hard not to have Conall to turn to when we need him.”

You never thought anything could be worse than the queen’s guard snapping your hollow bones again and again. Not the pain in your immobile wings afterward, the pieces of bone embedded in your muscle, the severed tendons poorly healed, or the fact that you could no longer fly on your own.

But awakening with the child version of you still alive and seeking the comfort of your now-dead father, that was worse.

That was so much worse.

You wished you’d died there, in the castle. You wished the only thing that had been left for them to find was your body, if Ingrith hadn’t destroyed it first. They broke you so thoroughly that you would never be repaired and that still hadn’t been enough, and you wished that if they hadn’t, that you had been able to die fighting.

Grief consumed you.

Shrike had plumage like your mother. Tired as she was, grumpy as she could be, she was the one who took you back to bed and laid down beside you. She folded you in her wings, drew yours close to you, and groomed spots of them gently.

“There’s snow in the mountains,” she sang to you in her rough, pleasant voice, though you never thought any of you would remember these songs or their words. Not after years of waiting for war, burying the peace of your childhood under preparation. “High up in the mountains, there’s snow in the mountains and rain down below. We’ll go to the mountains, high up in the mountains, we’ll go to the mountains and I’ll show you the snow.”

You missed them.

You missed your mother. Your father, most of all. Your brother, killed in battle (you were told after you’d recovered enough to handle the news, which you still hadn’t handled). You missed the child version of yourself, how sure she was that her freedom was a good thing – if you were bound to nothing, nothing would ever be lost.

You cried until you slept.

                The clash and clang of armor did nothing but rattle your nerves. Skies and stars, Borra was ferocious. He showed no mercy to the king’s-men-in-training who’d arrived to serve on the royal guard; it was as much his training with bronze armor as it was theirs, not that it evened his advantage. Philip was just as easily overwhelmed, though you could see the intent in his face – the desire to prove his strength to a man he hardly knew.

King John took his breakfast with you, on the balcony just outside the dining hall, where you could overlook where they staged battle in one of the enclosed courtyards. Your herb water – tea – remained untouched despite your request for it.

“Here,” he placed a buttered roll on a wooden plate and passed it toward you. “Take some of the jam. It’s fig!”

You were tired and your head throbbed from your eyes to your forehead, but you smiled at the old man. “Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?” the once and maybe still-ruling king could be socially tone deaf, but he did his best not to tread too harshly on your unhealed wounds. So to speak.

You lifted your wings. They did that much for you now, but they didn’t fold properly. One of them barely folded at all after having been spread to let the bones set. “They’re half immobile, but they’ll do.” The violation of your soul remained unhealed.

“I’ve sought reparations on your behalf, you know.” His attention wasn’t even on them anymore. He had single-minded focus as he set another pastry – this one filled with fresh blueberries and drizzled with still-warm cream, something you couldn’t resist even if you wanted to – onto your plate. You took it from him, and took a large bite while he spoke. “That little creature in the sewers—”

“Lickspittle,” you clarified. “The pixie-made-gnome.” You knew nothing of their culture, but the intimacy of having your wings removed and being forced into servitude didn’t fail you. “Ingrith stole his wings, also.”

He wasn’t expecting you to be as empathetic as you were. You were no fool, you knew the woman hadn’t forced his hand in the atrocities he’d taken part in, but you still had to bite back tears at the recollection of someone’s hand on your face, lifting your head when you were too weak to do it yourself. Water at your lips. Someone refused to let you die even when the woman called you an animal to your face; despite the primal fear that gripped you whenever a human man looked at you now.

Human men who weren’t Philip and John, though that had been a difficult transition by itself.

“He’s going before the tribunal.” John was still quite proud of himself for that, and you wouldn’t be lying to say you also were. He was a good man, a good king. Just. But not always as aware as he should be. “He’s not the only one.”

Borra would be happy about that. Justice for your people. Justice for your fallen, even those who hailed from the moors.

You, on the other hand? No tribunal would erase the shots that took your father’s life. No measure of justice would give you back the full use of your wings or the peace in your heart. You saw the way Maleficent held herself, she who had once been wingless, and you wished you had the strength to do the same.

He ducked his head, tried to hold your eyes. “Is that alright?”

“Of course,” you replied. “I hope you weren’t planning on opposition.”

“Not from you,” he admitted, and took your buttered roll to add a generous amount of fig jam. “Not toward the tribunal, at least. I haven’t a clue how old you are, but you every time I look at you, I swear you’ve gotten thinner.”

It was the opposite, and it made you smile. You knew you’d been fed just enough to keep you alive and nothing more. Hunger was never strong enough to overcome your physical pain, and the scars that covered you like one of the young queen’s dressing gowns kept that on display. When you returned to your people, you ate like a wild animal. You made yourself sick for days. Despite the symbolic regular serving of goat while you resided in the palace, it took you weeks to feel full again.

“My father would’ve liked you.” You squeezed his hand and ate that one too. Then, at last, you had some tea, and the warmth of it gave you pause enough to rest the ceramic cup against your temple for relief.

“I would’ve liked him, based on the child he raised.” John squeezed your hand in return.

Your smile became more genuine, even as you heard several men go backward at the same time. Maybe because of it.

Borra was kind to you. Gentle in ways he had never been before. When you woke this morning, and Shrike had already gone, he was beside you, preening your wings since you still couldn’t do it by yourself. He hadn’t hesitated, when he saw your fixed gaze, to join you in your nest and fit his body against yours so that you could soak in the warmth of him. Your favorite places to kiss were the hollow of his throat and the space just above the gap between his wings. You loved to fit your body against him in return; wrap your arms around him when he slept and hold his head against your chest. Nearly took out your face on his horns more times than you could count, but that didn't rob you of the pleasure of it.

“Cassia,” John’s voice was a bit more grave. You felt better, though, letting yourself linger on pleasant thoughts. The throbbing in your face from your midnight cry had subsided some. “I need you to be there, at the tribunal.”

You stared at him. You knew what he was asking, but it refused to process. Metaphorically speaking, you’d mentally stalled out several weeks into your capture; you hadn’t processed the fact that your people had gone to war, that you’d collectively agreed to leave the nest on a whoever-desired trial basis, or that Borra was in love with you. (Though putting the thought to words filled you with inexplicable pleasure.)

“I know what I ask is far more cruel to you than I have ever desired to be, but there will be significant opposition to measures of reparation. The nobility and the gentry, in particular, need to be convinced.”

Phantom weight rested on your chest.

“John,” you began, though you didn’t know where you’d end. You recalled phantom whispers. Men daring each other to touch you while you burned with iron fever. Nudges at your hands becoming the jab of a weapon through the bars, making you startle and recoil and cry out. There were little wounds along your sides, adding to the count of your scars; from the tips of pole-axes, from the points of spears. You recalled, suddenly, with painful vividness, someone drawing a line down your hip with a sword.

You pulled away from him without warning. Your wings beat, but generated no wind. The phantom weight on your chest had become a tightness, and your heart pounded like the thunder of hooves.

You relived your ordeal regularly. He couldn’t ask you to do it for an audience.

But you are, some nagging little voice whispered, so why not?

You had to grip the stone railing for support. You faced the courtyard – Philip and the young men, and some part of you not hazed with anguish saw the concern written plainly on the prince’s face.

Borra didn’t miss a beat. The moment they faltered, he was there on the other side. Your cheek rested nicely in his covered palm, and you leaned into the heat of his touch.

Delirious with fever and delirious with pain. Being dragged out in a collar without regards to your broken wings, dropped in a bath of ice. You fought. It hurt, you hurt, it did nothing to soothe your wounds. But you were held down until you shook while someone scrubbed the molasses-blood from the bottom of your cage.

“Look at me.” He spoke only to you, his thumb brushing across the apple of your cheek. “Cas.”

You did. It took you a moment to find your lungs.

You lived in a constant state of exhaustion, now. It was different when you needed to physically heal; then, you slept at will. Now, your thoughts were invaded by paralyzing fear and the aftermath left you thoroughly drained. You could’ve climbed over the barrier and into his arms.

“I will need you at the tribunal, also,” John said to him. “They need to know what’s been done to the moor-folk.”

He watched your face until your breathing calmed, and then he shifted back on his heels to see him, his free hand coming to rest over yours on the railing as though out of habit. “Tell them yourself.”

“Absolute rule can only extend so far.” John was…good and kind and patient and you suddenly hated that about him. “This isn’t Stefan’s Perceforest. I won’t have my people cowering in fear while my children beg them to understand.”

That much, they had to mutually agree on. There would never be peace if the humans remained afraid. They were right to fear you – to fear him. He’d asked only once about what you’d dreamt, and your response (they looked at you like wolves approaching their wounded kill; you knew their faces so well that it scared you. That they’d torn pieces from your clothes with their weapons in the process of drawing blood, clipped your feathers just to hear you cry out in pain at the touch) created a dangerous fury that you had yet to see subside. You told him nothing of the ice baths, of lying there, drenched and shaking, while your body burned (though Ini had said, in passing, that you were lucky to have avoided infection; with the state you were in when Aurora found you, it would’ve been your end).

“I’ll go,” you managed.

Borra scowled.

“You’ll need to talk to them like you would if you went before our council. I want to be there.”

“The both of you are our best hope for justice,” John pressed. “Peace can’t be maintained if we sweep what’s happened under the rug.”

Aurora got to him, you realized. Aurora, or Borra got to Philip and Philip got to him. But it wasn’t planned; he didn’t want you to do this. Nearly as badly as you did.

You laid your head against him. It was so much, all the time. If it could bring everyone peace, if it could avenge your fallen and secure a future, then you might as well become complacent with it.

“I’ll go,” you repeated, more quietly. Just to him. “But will you request me an audience with Maleficent before I do?”

He shifted his hand to your back. You hated that there was a railing between you, but the affirmation of the gesture wasn’t lost. You thanked him quietly into the bronze plating over his rerebrace.

“That’s enough for today,” Philip said in the courtyard below. You thought if he could’ve scaled the wall to join you, he would’ve.

Borra tried to meet your eyes. He wanted to be told when you were ready to leave, and you didn’t know if you were. You had been since John dared ask of you what he had, and yet…

“What do you want of me, at the tribunal?” Would it be like going before your own council? Proposing ideas in hopes of agreement?

“I want you to tell them what happened to you. Though, be prepared….you will have resistance.”

You felt his growl through his chest plate. Resistance to what? They could no more deny your scars than you could.

You laid your head on him. “They won’t believe I got them there,” you told him.

He must’ve stared at John for confirmation. John also must’ve nodded, because all of a sudden, he scaled the railing and joined you on the other side. “You’re asking us to offer ourselves like a sacrifice?”

You rested your hand on his chest.

“No.” The gravity never left John’s voice after that. “You’ll be protected. No harm will come to you as long as we rule this land. I’ve promised before, and I will again. I ask you to persuade them with the truth, nothing more.”

“Persuade them,” he half-spit.

You felt for a bare spot on his shoulder or his arm where you could touch.

“Calls for peace instead of calls for war.”

“Calls for justice instead of erasure,” John replied. “They’ll give you peace, but it won’t be wholehearted. I want ill-placed hatred eradicated from my kingdom.” Your feathers prickled like he might’ve been looking at you, and you hated to think that you –listless, iron-fevered, wounded you who John had decided to nursemaid when Aurora found you – were the reason the human king so abruptly became someone even Borra could reason with. “I’ll not have fey avoiding Ulstead out of fear, nor will Aurora in the other kingdoms.”

“And you think jailing a fey will change that? You’ll give them what they want.”

“I said nothing about Lickspittle being the only one to go before us. As it stands, trying Ingrith would be little more than symbolic, but we do have the surviving members of the queen’s guard as well as—”

“Don’t,” you managed. Do not rip the ground out from under us all.

“General Percival,” John finished anyway.

The human Shrike was fond of. Fond of, though you knew in your heart of hearts that she would never choose him over your people, and that if John decided to sacrifice him to the tribunal, that would be the choice she would never make.

You knew Borra knew that also, and you knew that he felt the choice, or lack thereof, was her responsibility and her responsibility alone. But you still ached for her, and you kept your back to John for long enough that Borra’s arm ensnared your waist.

“I don’t trust kings.” That went without saying; your people never had one and never would. Aurora could merge the kingdoms all she liked, but even while you lived on the moors, you were not moor-folk. “Ones who spare their servants nothing, even less.”

“What else would you have me do?”

You were aware, at least in part, of approaching steps. Philip, perhaps. Maybe Aurora.

But it was so much, all the time, and you pressed your head against him so your horns curled against the side of his neck. “Can you take me home?” you whispered. “Please?”

Hold yourself accountable, was the thing unsaid. You were willfully ignorant to your wife, you had to have been. You knew the shrew you married and sympathy can only go so far.

There was some quiet movement behind you, and the tension in Borra’s posture softened just a bit when you felt a cloth parcel press into your hand.

You looked up. Philip wrapped nearly half of the blueberry pastries you liked in ornamental paper and bound them in one of the crisp, gold napkins. You held the parcel by its knot and your traitor eyes dampened.

“Get some rest.” His touch on your back was gentle – so gentle that you almost didn’t realize his fingers had begun to brush one of your exposed scars. “You don’t have to decide now. And, whatever you do, the crown will back you.”

It was in your best interest to leave before you started crying again. You still hated it, for how weak you felt and how frequently it happened, not that it could’ve been helped. You were tired. You never slept well. The past haunted you, the future frightened you, and nearly all measures of your solace stood with you on the balcony.

You tucked your wings in as best as they would go to shield them against Borra’s self-made windstorm.

                You never had a dreamless sleep. Not since you joined him on the moors.

Tonight’s was, by far, the worst.

Because she’d taken your wings.

She’d taken your wings and sawed off your horns and bound you in iron like a puppet on a string. She made you hurt him, drive iron into his skin over and over until dark blood ran from between his lips. Even as you screamed, even as you cried, you had no control over your body. Your iron chains guided your hands even as you begged for her to stop, stop, please, you’re killing him, stop!

“STOP!”

And you were in his arms, pulled flush against his chest. Your cheeks were wet and your breath ragged. He was silent at first, his hand against the back of your neck keeping your head against him.

“Shh.” The point of his thumb-talon brushed your skin. “You’re safe now.”

You put your hands on his chest. You intended to go before the tribunal and do what? Put into words that you could never sleep? That the constant state of terror you felt twisted even the happiest parts of your waking life into nightmares that plagued your every sleep? You could see it so clearly, the dark blood rising to his lips, that you had to pull your head away and make sure it hadn’t happened.

“Do you want tea?” He searched your face. Even he looked tired, and guilt swept you away like a tidal wave. You tried to draw yourself into a ball, but he pulled you back against him, his arms secure, his grip tight enough to remind you that he would not let you shoulder your burdens alone.

“I keep dreaming that she kills you,” you whispered. “Or that she makes me do it.”

“She’s gone.” His touch traveled to your jaw, his fingers framed your ear so you could lay the weight of your head in his palm. “She’ll never hurt you again.”

And yet she did. Even now, even as a goat or an eaten-goat or wherever in skies she ended up, Ingrith tormented you, and that horrible, awful little part of you that begged for relief whispered how unfair it was.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

He brought your head back to his shoulder, curled his wing around you. The other lay beneath you, you realized, and you felt guilty about that too. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Your lips brushed his skin. Even before this, he slept poorly; he had always been prepared to protect you from attack, though that was the collective-you rather than the individual-you he tended now. You kissed the point of his pulse, one of your hands moving from his chest to the back of his neck.

He made a small sound of approval. You imagined his eyes were half-closed like yours. You imagined what raged inside of him was just as turbulent as your own personal storm.

You didn’t plan to do what you did, kiss a gentle path from his pulse to his lips, but you did. His mouth quirked against yours, and when you kissed him, it didn’t feel like you were kissing him anymore – not the broken, turbulent, uncertain you that he’d been holding. All of that fury and all of that pain had to become something different. They needed an outlet, and the best place for you to be was right where you were.

So you kissed him. Hard.

You clung to him, your arms around his neck, your fingers in his hair. You needed him. Your lover, your protector, your friend. You needed him buried to the hilt inside you where he was safe – you needed to be on top of him, riding him, so if an arrow came from outside, it wasn’t him that was struck.

“Mm, Cas.” He put his hands on your sides. He started to withdraw.

You tried to pull him closer, fighting to get him settled between your legs.

But he was stronger than you. He pushed you on your back and held you there while he panted, his lips flush and eyes blown and his body so very inviting even though, for some reason, he didn’t lower to meet you.

“Not like this,” he whispered, but the raggedness of his breath betrayed how badly he wanted to under any other circumstance.

“Yes, like this,” you whispered back. “Please, Borra.”

He dropped his head back, and you thought he might groan. How long had he been waiting to hear his name in your mouth like that?

You guided his hands. You wanted him to touch you, but he pulled away to sit back on his knees.

“Skies and stars, Cas.”

You were beneath him. You raised your hips, and he pinned you down suddenly like he was seizing an awaited prey. It drove your hips firmly into the down, and you tried to work them against him.

Until he started to withdraw fully. Like he would leave.

“Wait.” You grabbed for him. “Wait, no, I’ll stop—”

“I won’t take you like this,” his voice was so fierce, you hardly considered how badly he must’ve wanted you. “Crying out in your sleep--”

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t.” He grabbed your hands just as quickly as you thought he might grab his armor. But he didn’t redress. He’d settled there, with you, before you’d gone to sleep. The radiant warmth of his body against yours made you feel safe; you didn’t know if you’d be able to get back to sleep without him.

For a long, tense moment, neither of you moved.

“Lie down,” he murmured, and you obediently did.

He stared at you for a moment, the rawness of his amber eyes unspeakable. He loved you, and he wanted you, and as badly as he wanted to indulge those impulses, when he laid down, it was with his head against your chest and his horns deliberately canted away from your face.

“When you’re ready, Cas.” His cheek rested against the hollow of your collarbone, and your hand that wasn’t settled against his back began lightly, absently, stroking the base of his horns. “I’ve waited for you this long.”

“Why?” you whispered.

“Because I love you,” he said, and there was no shame in it. It was so casual, so plain, like he’d said it out loud a thousand times before. It hit you in the chest full force, and you flattened your palm just below his horns, pressing him against you.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re all I have,” you replied. You stroked back his hair, your fingers lingering at the decorative cracks in his skin. This wasn’t the intimacy you’d abruptly planned on – it was much deeper, all that much harder to deal with.

He was silent for a moment. You didn’t want to risk breaking contact to see if it was because he was thinking or because he enjoyed being touched, so you just kept touching. Your fingers wandered from his temple into his hair, gathered it back behind his leafed ear. Your thumb brushed its shell, and he made a small sound of pleasure.

“Do you like that?” you murmured. You certainly liked touching him. His warmth, his weight, settled against your chest. Even without being wrapped around you like a protective outer skeleton, he still made you feel warm and soft and loved and safe.

“I tried to kill him after they found you.”

Your fingers paused. It didn’t surprise you, not really, but…he upheld peace.

“That hobgoblin, Lickspittle.” He nearly spit his name. “He swore to me he had nothing to do with it. I didn’t believe him. He helped her. He helped her kill our family. Poached and slaughtered the moor-folk. Little beast would’ve done anything to protect himself.”

“Why didn’t you?” You’d switched your attention, holding his head to your chest while you toyed lightly with the downy feathers where his wings met his back.

They flexed gently at the joints, something yours could only do roughly now. You stroked them in earnest for it, pressed your face into his hair and breathed him in.

“Because they nearly killed you.” His voice was dark, even soft. “When I smelled your flesh and your blood, I knew how easy it would be to destroy him and every man in the king’s guard. How easy, how satisfying.”

You could imagine him doing it. Snapping Lickspittle’s neck like a dry twig. The men he’d kill despite their armor. Whole halls draped with bodies like toppled statuary.

“I could’ve avenged you without losing you. But I felt that if I did, I would.” He shifted a bit, moving closer. His head was tucked into your neck and his body sagged more comfortably against yours, less of him out of the nest than in it. You tried to ignore the way his hands felt on your sides, the light skim of his talons through your well-groomed plumage. “You were so broken, lying in that bed. It took everything in my power not to take you home.”

Home.

If you’d awoken in your bed…would it have been better, or worse? Here, you weren’t as haunted by memories, though that didn’t stop them from seizing you at every opportunity. You could imagine waking in the soft white of the healer’s nest, but in that imagined alternate world, he was with you. Just as he had been in Ulstead. Touching you more softly than you ever thought he would, helping you mend your broken wings.

“When you awoke…when you cried out, and I saw how horribly they’d violated you, having you in my arms was all that tethered me.” His hands rested on your sides. Your back. You pressed yourself closer, your shifting wings making the twigs beneath you rustle. “There isn’t a moment when I don’t hate them for what they’ve done to you.”

“I love you,” you whispered. A reminder, an expression of gratitude, a promise all rolled into one.

“And I love you. If I slaughtered every man in that palace and returned to you with their blood on my hands, would you have loved me then?”

Yes, you thought with a certainty that frightened you. Yes, you would’ve, because it wouldn’t be the first life he took. That didn’t stop him from touching you like you were sacred; from combing out your plumage and pressing feather-soft kisses to your skin.

“I could no more hold it against you than you could hold my flight against me.” We all make mistakes, is what you meant – and you didn’t think you’d ever called it that before. The decision you made to leave the nest that night was impulsive. Stupid. A mistake, just as plucking that poacher from the river had been.

“You didn’t mean to get carried off.” It wouldn’t be the same.

“And you’ve never taken a life when you weren’t absolutely certain it would save one. I trust you, Borra.” Far more than you trusted yourself, at times.

He kissed your collarbone and then your throat, one kiss at the hollow and one at either point of your pulse. You held his hair and bit back the swell of your emotions.

“If you decide to go, I’ll stand beside you.”

You were never in doubt, but you still gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “We stand together. We fight together.” You’d been treated to Ini’s rendition of the battle cry that led them into war before, and you let his certainty balm your wounds.

“And we will show them no mercy,” he agreed, giving the hollow of your throat one more kiss.

                       You saw her since she and her raven-mate last offered care, but from afar.

Maleficent was, truly, a beautiful woman. As lovely of a forest fey as all the rest of you. Lips like berries, skin like birch, eyes like springtime, hair the color of wet bark.

Shrike told you they described her differently in the human villages. Lips like fresh-spilled blood, skin like death, eyes cold and green with envy, horns like the devil itself.

It didn’t surprise you. Even before, it never would’ve, but, now, it saddened you also; Maleficent was a strange name for one of you. You were named for an herb, like so many others; your father for the wolves, for when he had been a warrior he had been just as brave and just as fierce. It was said she was named for malice and magnificence, though only the latter was fitting.

Especially when she met you at your bonfire and took you in her arms like you had known one another all your lives. She was dear to your father, and that made her dear to you as truly as you were held in the reverse.

“You look better,” Diaval spoke first. His black eyes were keen and kind, and you smiled at him in return.

“Physically, the scars will fade.” Truly, you wanted to sound more optimistic about your plight than you felt, as though Maleficent didn’t know the sadness in your voice. As though she would’ve released you easily had you not sought to meet her eyes. “I’d like a private audience with you, if that’s alright.”

Diaval bowed his head graciously and left to join your kinsmen nearer to the fire.

You struggled to find the words that, frankly, you hoped had already been spoken. Especially while doing your best to keep the appearance of lifted spirits.

“Borra told me things were…difficult.”

The extent of difficult, you would’ve liked to know, but you released your breath in a full-bodied sigh and nodded. “I have something to ask of you that I’m not sure you can do. It’s alright if you can’t; I wanted to exhaust my options.”

How anyone could think her malicious, you didn’t know. Her concern for you was as gentle as it was obvious, you who were bound to her by the blood of your long-hailed ancestors.

“Can you take this fear away?”

No, her eyes said, though, blessedly, she didn’t respond as quickly.

“If I am to go before the tribunal on behalf of our people, I cannot be grounded by it as I’ve been. These visions, whether they’re memories or dreams…they engulf me.” You meant to say that you couldn’t very well go before innumerable humans clutching Borra’s hand like you were his child. You couldn’t very well be publicly coddled by the king. “It’s as real when I remember as it was when it happened.”

She did her best to keep her expression even, though you saw the briefest flicker of a downturn in her lips. She took your hand in hers – just one, but then between both, and held you there.

“I understand,” she breathed, and you recalled, suddenly, that of course she would. Stefan’s Perceforest – she who had been wingless at the hands of someone she trusted, someone she loved. There was no use in quantifying either of your pain; though it came from different sources, it ran just as bottomless.

She understood, but her grip tightened. You squeezed her hand in return, between both of yours. Your traitor eyes welled, and you forced yourself to breathe in deeply and release it slowly. “I needed to exhaust my options.”

“How are your wings?” she asked.

You shook your head. They were manageable. The pain was gone, now, save for the phantom pains that gripped you in the midst of violent panic. They didn’t work, and you were increasingly certain that they never would again, but they were there, and they were yours, and it was not as though the rest of you wasn’t just as broken.

“Stay with us,” you offered. “Tonight. Help us prepare.”

She nodded. Of all the things you’d asked, it was the only one she could do.

Before you could withdraw, she bid you pause with a gentle tug upon your hands. She could not erase your fear, but when she raised her hand to brush her fingers along your temple, the comfort she conjured nearly brought you to tears.

You were but a little girl, curled tight in your early nest-bed. The forest was still black with pre-dawn, but your mother came from the jungles. She wove the streaks of gold in your hair and in your dark, owly feathers. She felt the call of dawn song even when she nested with you and your father, and you remembered – all too well now, all too suddenly – the sound of her voice as she sang out into the void. Into the nothingness. She welcomed morning in a world so dark that it seemed it would never come, for your forest still existed in a cave, and until the light hit the entrances just so, there was only blackness. Not even the kiss of the moon.

Your mother spoke a language she had been stolen from you before you learned. She practiced traditions that seemed to die as abruptly as she did. You knew the sound of her shifting, the donning of her dress, the sound of her breath as she inhaled the petrichor and the cold and belted out into the morning words to a song that you would never know. She called to your ancestors, she called to their sons, it seemed she woke everyone in the entire cavern with her song.

Your father rose behind her, only minutes after. Her wings were as bright as his were dark; the colors streaked through her long, black hair painted rainbows over his shoulder when he held her close. His song was not the same, but he sang to her anyway. “Love bright as the dawn is golden, love sweet as the cherry tree. Only in the ground would it be colder; morning’s brought my love to me.”

You listened to them every morning, to your own approximation of dawn-song. You heard the jungle people echo it from somewhere far away, the pleasant rise and fall of melody within the forest. You never knew if the tundra and the desert joined them, but you’d always imagined that if they didn’t, they must’ve heard.

You wondered, now, what it meant to them. If it meant anything at all.

You brought her hands over your heart. For the first time in an age, you felt like you could truly breathe. You could taste the scent of home on the air, taste the perfume of your mother’s fruit concoctions, the sour-ripe kiwi stinging the back of your tongue. You felt like they were just within reach, slow to slip back out of it. Gone, but nearby.

“Thank you.”

She touched your face, and you brought your head close to hers even if that wasn’t what she initiated. She deserved to know the ways of her own people, and you bunted your horns with hers gently.

For once, the lightness stayed.

Despite the polarity of their differences, Diaval elected to sit nearest Borra, with space between them for the both of you to interrupt. They both looked up when you approached; Diaval’s sparkling eyes landed on his mate, and yours… You watched the tension leave Borra on his breath when he saw you.

When you sat, you bunted with him too. And then kissed him, just because you could.

You almost didn’t notice his hands lift until you felt the weight against your chest and your hand lifted to brush over the etched face of a pendant all too familiar to you.

Your father’s.

Your face changed, though you weren’t stolen-breathless. You searched his face, your fingers lingering on the smooth-worn blue stone that your mother made long ago, when you were still growing inside her.

Borra breathed you in. His fingers lingered at the back of your neck only to withdraw when he stood. When he addressed the assembled others.

“Our fight is not yet over.”

They beat their chests as they had in the cavernous meeting hall. That part of you that Maleficent brought back to the surface straightened you, brought you to your full attention.

“The humans have given us peace, now we seek justice.”

The severity of every phrase was punctuated by their exclamation. You were no longer watching from the sidelines, you realized much too soon; this was your fight, your war, your turn to be the warrior.

“They say they will repay every life they’ve taken--”

Again.

“Every wound they’ve caused.”

Again. If you hadn’t loved him before, you wouldn’t have been able to deny yourself then. Borra was a warrior, he lived to defend your people and all you stood for. He fought for those who could not fight for themselves, and you felt your own dawn-song budding in your heart.

“They bring us to a battle of a different sort and encourage us to win. We still have human enemies in Ulstead and the other kingdoms, and this will never stop.”

Maleficent was restless. She didn’t know him like you did.

“Our tides have changed. We hold the upper hand. The palace is ours, the kingdom is ours, and one day we will move beyond it. One day, we will take back the jungles, the deserts, the forests, the plains--”

You saw the excitement in the eyes of your collective’s fledglings. The very thought of freedom without boundary was so foreign to them – so foreign even to you that you dared not dwell on the thought for you knew the anxiety it would cause.

“Today, we claim these kingdoms for our own. No human will subjugate us. No kingdom holds us as their slave. For every life they take, we claim a dozen more.”

“Does he know what a tribunal means?” Diaval asked Maleficent quietly.

“Today, we look their worm nobility in the eyes and demand retribution. There will be no peace without justice.”

You knew that scared them. You understood why. But it was the first time in so long that your people assembled like this; even the children beat their chests.

He turned to you, then, the movement of his wings as fluid over the red-needled earth before the bonfire as they were on the weathered stone of the meeting cove. He held out his hand to you, and the part of you that Maleficent conjured was the part of you that had begun to trust him without question.

You accepted it. You stood.

One of your elders stood, also. They came to join you as Borra gathered back your hair.

You looked to him, knowing that your eyes betrayed you.

“Cassia Born-of-Conall, the blood of the Phoenix is inside you. From one of our most decorated warriors comes she who is too strong to die.”

They rallied for you. No one opposed. You didn’t understand – that was one way to see it, surely, but you were no warrior. Certainly not one as decorated as your father, though your elder began to paint his marks upon your shoulder.

“It was you the king sought to lead us into battle, and you the council backs as its head.”

What?

They planned this, then. Every last one of them. He didn’t just call Maleficent for you as you requested, he planned to drive your fear away himself if she could not.

Your stomach sunk. Truly, you were terrified. But not once did you oppose. You reasoned with yourself that it was not something your people did; you had been chosen, and therefore it was your duty, but that was not the whole truth and, of that, you were painfully aware.

Having Borra beside you made you feel strong. With his fingers in your hair, the paint drying on your collarbone, your father’s pendant on your chest, you could almost believe that the phoenix-blood that lived inside you all was responsible for your not-dying. You could almost believe that it was a combination of strength and stubbornness – like it would’ve been for him – and not raw luck.

You could almost believe that you would walk into the tribunal in the morning and feel no fear.

They welcomed you without being prompted. The rhythmic foot-stomping, chest-beating, guttural cries drew the air into your lungs. You tipped your head back, let him release your gold-tinged braids.

And you flared your broken wings.

For the first time since you’d taken to the skies on them, you knew how beautiful they were. Even crooked, even if the left one was canted a bit, they flexed enough to hold steady, and the veins of gold and dark, blue-green hues that tinged certain feathers caught the firelight.

If only for the time being, you could entertain the thought that your iron scars were as well-earned as his regardless of whether or not any of yours truly were. You could believe that someone who spent their life avoiding conflict, avoiding casualty only to become one, could be a worthwhile warrior.

You had to – because, in the palace of Ulstead, a man in a crisp, red formal coat entered the tribunal hall.

Lord Azarias was not well known to Queen Ingrith, and he considered that his greatest shame. Had he known the queen would prove to be so vital of an ally, he might’ve done more to secure the Midlands’ annexation despite the influx of similar merchants to his field. But, that was no matter now – for all he knew, King John had all the iron in the kingdom sealed away in an oubliette.

All of the iron save for the bolt he placed in the hollow well along the seam of his allotted seat.

[datarevived]

   -- Ⅴ : ᴀ ᴍᴀɴ ɴᴀᴍᴇᴅ ᴄᴀʏᴅᴇ

” – We do not ask that all Guardians fight. That is a choice for them to make their selves, and in doing so, your decision to make, as well. We cannot ask you to risk life after life, fighting for something you do not believe in. But if I might be able to give one simple request -- think it over, Guardian. 

There is none to stop you. Nor will we see you as any less.“

. . .

" I don't want to talk about it right now. "

Like a blanket did uneasiness wrap around her being, snug and tight as words played back in rhythm to her mind. A gnawing ache, something that didn't feel the same way they were spoken, that there was something between the lines she was missing and gods for it, she didn't have the patience nor energy to try. 

Part of her wanted to dismiss it all, that it was just revival jitters - revival jitters? is that what she's calling it? already poorly accepting the idea after several days that she had indeed died, and was brought back, all in the span of a blinking light that followed her every move. That no one in their right mind would be comfortable with something so jarring, that it was natural to be afraid and paranoid of what was to come. Not everyone would jump into a war so willingly, not unless they were truly involved or hampered. Right?

Or was this just her failure attempt to turn a blind eye, a deafen ear to the remains of what had been this planet. This species, he had called it. If so much was at the brink of destruction... why bother coating it in sugar-filled lies that it was an option, that it was a choice, that there fell no consequence to those who refused or did not understand enough to lay themselves proper to the cause? 

Nothing came without bargain. Nothing came without consequence. So why?

A memorizing mess of critical thinking and auto-pilot motive, not even conscious to where her feet had led her next after leaving the Commander out in his perch. No, she just wanted to go away - to breathe fresh air, one that wasn't taint by some means of authority that wanted to treat her idle. That perhaps, indefinitely, that coming to the City would be a mistake, and that she'd feel more comfortable being back in the hole she died in. 

Hah. 

To die and stay dead, that was what their species had meant to do, and yet some foreign object decides to tell them otherwise. An entity these people seemingly knew little about, and yet trusted it so much with everything in their being. It was an absolutely terrifying thought - to put everything into the unknown. Or was it that she was just so closed out in accepting something naturally common - that all of this, was how the world worked. That it was she, who wasn't making sense and making a mess of things. 

     Clarity, where are  you?

Disgruntled features lured to the sounds of panned metal and tools, it is a subconscious effort to silence her own mind. Through several stairwells and open guard rails to the sky, lights sparking upon ships and carriers that failed to detail in her peripheral. The Awoken had come across the Hanger -- a place still untraveled as feet carry her between poles and support, looking for any reason to procrastinate her mind. A blur of people, each without distinct features as she felt her head dizzy, just continue walking forward, you're bound to get somewhere. Anywhere far from the pull of the Light, unwillingly to accept that it walked each step with her, always there -- always fleeting.

" Hey -- Hey! You!     Aye, watch it, you're gonna -- ! "

It's a slice of air that grazes her face that brings her back to the present, doe-eyed features blinking betwixt mechanical pieces that flew inches from her face. Her breath, stalled beneath her throat as a step is taken back instinctively, putting space between she and the injured ship as tools rocked back and forth, pushing out dents and rubbing out scars of war. Had she taken a step too forward, it would have been off with her head -- another mess completely, to add to the list of damages and cosmetics to whomever was waiting their repairs.

Where... was she, again?

" Whoah we geez, louise! What are ya, deaf? You nearly got yourself ping-ponged across the room! "

That voice again - attention turned in favor to its' keeper, a cloaked Exo with narrowing blue optics and face plates to match. Yet compared to Bex and few others she had run into thus far, admittedly far detailed in its' face and expression, a light orange hue igniting in the back of its' throat as it panted in sprint towards her being. 

" I'm all for you guys playin' your games and dares, but, can ya keep it outta the work space? Please? Amanda's done bickered me to death about leaving tools and Hunters around, getting in the way and all -- speaking of which, you're missing your cloak, hurt my feelings a bit but I'll forgive you just this once -- " it blinks, male tone scraping each syllable as it examined Selene head to toe, " --You, are a Hunter, right? Or did Ikora send you? Did she send you? Man, she really doesn't believe in my work ethnic, does she? I told her, I'm stayin here for at least a day - theeen maybe a little road trip, nothin too detailed, but I mean if you want work done, gotta do it yourself, you know? "

" I..- ? "

It was a desperate attempt to keep up with the man at this point, nerves suddenly overtaking the body once more as she gripped tightly at the shirts' end of stomach, unable to keep her eyes still and her breathing paced. Who was this guy? And why did he talk so... much?

" I don't... I-Ikora didn't send me, I - "

" Oh? She didn't? Good, good... wait -- but you're Awoken. Did Mara send you? Is she back? Is she here, on Earth, right now? "

" I -- who?? "

A blink -- servo optics taking a moment before squinting back at her. The Exo raises a hand before speaking again, index finger pointed in her general direction as he began to play out the riddle he'd wrap himself about.

" You're... joking? Right? ... Not, joking? Not joking. That's -- unfortunate. "

" I don't... understand what you're talking about... "

" Then we're at least on the same page, " he gives a half single nod, voice having picked up some, as if impressed. " Okay, okay. You... Ikora didn't send you. Mara didn't send you. Look too... nah, Zavala woulda sent someone bigger. Meaner, too. So that would make you... new? " an uncertainty upon last word, he tilts his head in favor of hearing her out. Like a child, waiting for approval to something truly magnificent.

" I'm... I.. guess? " Selene speaks, brows furrowing up and down in perplexed confusion, shrugging shoulders as she did so but not a finger lifted from the fabric that kept her steady. " I just got to the Tower a few days ago, and I've... talked? to Ikora? and Zav..la? B-But I'm... I don't.. "

"  Wait, wait. Hold on, " the Exo interrupts, realigning his posture and waving his hands in front of himself. " You've already talked to Ikora AND Zavala? And you're new? And we're JUST now meeting? Am I getting this right? "

" Uh... "

" Which means, out of all the important people you've met so far - what about the bird lady? "

" Hawthorne? "

" Weapons? "

" Uh... Ban... Banshee? "

" Old man who never shuts up? "

" He.. he's near Banshee?? "

" Crucible!? "

" The ... man who... yells a lot...? "

" And we're JUST now getting to me? I'm last?! Oh, come on -- " the Exo spirals, flinging his arms in the air as if distressed. Never mind the hurt that sounded in his voice over the matter, as if things had been terribly out of order. " I'm the best one here! And they, none of them -- neither of them mentioned me? Cayde? The Hunter Vanguard? The Golden Gun? The big head honcho himself? "

" Isn't... I thought, Zavala was -- "

" Yeah, yeah, sure, " the Exo waves his hands again, quickly dismissing the clarification. " Big Blue, Command, whatever - but me? I'm the cool guy. I'm the one everyone wants to meet. I'm the voice of reason here! "

That was... saying a lot.

" Ikora mentioned there was three Vanguard... " Selene tries to speak again, this time, parting her sentences in case there was more to be said from the other. " You... You said your name is Cayde, right? So you're the third... the Hunter? "

" Awh, come on. When you say it like that, it's like I'm bottom barrel here. But yes, the names' Cayde, Cayde-6 if you wanna get technical, but not aimin any higher than that. Hunter Vanguard, at your service, " he gives a slight bow, rolling a wrist at his chest while other extends outward.  " And you would be? "

Another chilling clump of empty drops in her stomach at the question, causing only for her knuckles to white as she tugs gently at the ends of her shirt. What point to exchange names, if she was just going to turn into another blur of faces that would come one after the other...

" ...M' Selene. "

" Selene? That's a pretty name. Pretty name for a ... well, I'm sure you got a pretty face when its' not all pensive like that, " the Vanguard comments, tilting his head as he spoke. " How long you been here Selene? Gotta be a few days if Zavala's rubbin' off on ya already. He convince ya into runnin through as a Titan yet? 'Cuz I'm always open to new recruits. Trainings' easy, bounties are subpar, first capes' free and mighty delicate if I do say so myself. Not to mention, we Hunters are the better blend of talent and style when compared to the rest. -- Just, don't tell Ikora I said that. "

" I'm.. n-no. I haven't.. I don't actually.. " 

So much talking. It was impossible to catch every word, every question -- it was so loud. 

Brows pinching upon forehead at the thought, at this point her cheeks began to swell at how clamped her teeth were on the subject. Throat dry from lack of air and breath, her chest felt shallow and her stomach a black pit. Her legs felt heavier than stone, her feet glued to the ground and shoulders so far raised that she'd hardly notice the muscle ache in time.

" ...You ok, kid? "

Had she taken too long to answer?

" Hey. Let's uh... let's wait on all that. Sound good? Lets' get somewhere less crowded. "

Less crowded...? Yeah. That sounded good.

A shaken nod given in response, and she's following the Hunter elsewhere without any further exchange. Focusing on the back of his cloak as they moved, the single red streak upon a tattered brown is what allows her to collect her thoughts as they walked. Forging better words to use for when they were at given destination, that perhaps this time, she'd be able to speak proper and answer quickly instead of acting like some sort of ran over rodent. Little thought to the rips and tears of ones' attire... the fabric itself, speaking louder than any speech the other two Vanguard could have made to convince her the state of denial.

The man before her had fought. And it showed.

Several paces more before he's turning on a heel and causing her to stutter-step her brakes, the Exo looking between she and a door in the distance. As if hesitant on whether to turn back, or continue. Selene remains ever blank in her expression, unsure of how to necessarily respond upon action.

" Here, uhhh... stay right there for a minute, would ya? " Cayde motions, rounding his hands in two finger guns as he addresses his newly found company. " Gotta, lemme... I'll be right back. "

With a hop in his step, the Hunter approaches the door with a swing, the sound of shuffling belongings and metal scraping bleeding into the background of already working mechanics. There's noises that didn't seem too out the ordinary, and then there is the brief shatter of broken glass that comes from the room, followed by inaudible self-talking and sounds of what could only be described as a broom. Selene tilting her head briefly in curiosity -- whether she should check to see if the Vanguard was okay, or if he needed help... --

" Okay! "

Apparently not.

Sliding his hands together as if job well done, the Exo walks out of the room but remains close to its' door. A motion movement for the other to follow, and the Awoken is once more following without inquiring further. The room that had been disoriented, something make-shift of a small cubical office, almost, with several boxes stacked to the ceiling and a fallen over filing cabinet that seemed way out of date. Little shimmers of glass residual still on the floor, nothing that would hamper past her boots but all the same. A snug fit with the desk that had been shoved into place, but it seemed just a little bit quieter than the outside.

" Don't uh... Don't mind the mess. S'uh... storage. Not really much of an office guy. "

He speaks, but it doesn't register to her until after she's in the room and sitting upon the desk to relieve the weight of her legs. Her chest still ultimately heavy, she prioritizes the need to calm down before looking up and over at the other, still remaining against the open door way with arms crossed at his chest. His own attention darting between she and the commotion outside throughout the Hanger.

" ...Th-Thank you, by the way. "

Her voice provokes the attention of the Hunter for a moment, unresponsive aside from a gentle stare back through glowing vision that was shared among all Exo units. As if kept in thought, before giving a nod, turning his head back to the Hanger but his voice still reflecting back into the room.

" Don't worry 'bout it, " his voice carries an accent, but she can't tell in what narrative. Only that its' mildly comforting... as if talking to just another human being. No Light or titles, here. " It's a mess, but, can use this room whenever you need it. Stays unlocked, don't really use it for m'self... too many places to be to sit around. But uh... whenever you wanna talk, " he offers, again rolling one wrist out of the tuck of his chest as he motioned, " Jus' lemme know. When you're ready, that is. No rush -- can leave ya be, if it helps. "

" N-No... that's okay, " she quickly denies the idea of being alone, shaking her head at the thought. Chest ever lighter by the minute, the sounds of repairs dull out and for the first time since leaving the courtyard, she can hear herself speak. " I think I'm okay to talk now... to uh... answer questions again. "

" You sure? "

" Yeah... I'm sure. "

A temporary silence, followed by exhaled huff, Cayde pries himself off the frame of the door while unfolding arms to his sides. Walking over to where several boxes stacked, he pulls out a fold-able chair, a dented, rusted mess but still to do the job. With a heavy flick of the wrist, it folds out and stomps against the metal flooring, flakes of decay and time cracking upon the weight as he sat, legs cocked over as he sat stomach-side against the back of the chair, arms folded upon its' height. His rebellious nature already ringing like a golden light in a pit of dark, receiving a risen brow from the Awoken whom refused to discuss concern with words.

" Lets start over. Th' names Cayde. I'm the Hunter Vanguard here, not really by choice - but, y'know, previous Vanguard decided to croak and we had this dare, and, one thing led to another -- so I'm here now. Zavala's prized treasure, whether he wants to be the bigger man and admit it or not. "

The later comment resulting in a stiffed chuckle from Selene -- she processes his words easier now to detail. Mulling between the man known as Cayde and his relationship with the rest of the Vanguard, between his own words and that of context clues generated from the rest. She begins to see why Hawthorne had left his title... open.

" Selene... I uh... woke up in a sink hole... and was found by a group of others who brought me here. "

" A sink hole? Nice, nice. Well, at least the initial fall didn't bang ya up too bad. You're lookin' good! "

" Th-Thanks... I think...? " her head tilts, though lips curve upward into a half-smile, biting back another chuckle. " I don't... really know how all this works still. Aside from what a few others have told me... and what my Ghost has told me. "

" So you do have a Ghost! Where is the lil' guy? Girl? Some of them have a preference -- like mine has this preference that I stop doing certain things. That I will certainly not stop doing. "

" It's... uh... he? I don't... really know... " Selene attempts to comprehend, the habit of ones' company still something she wasn't entirely certain on whether it was consistently around or if it held other matters on its' own. " It just... shows up sometimes. "

" -- Really, all you need to do is ask, " comes the familiar tone, a flash of light illuminating the office as if on queue. The glimmering white of its' shell rattling as optic scans their surroundings. " Ah, you found someone else? "

" Aw, aren't you cute, " Cayde greets, " Got yourself a sassy one there. That'll make things fun. "

" I'm... what? " the Ghost tilted, the back of its' shell whirling in brief puzzlement.

" Nah, nothin. Don’t worry about it, " the Exo dismisses, flinging a hand. " I'm sure you guys'll get along great. Perfect match for one another. Just gotta work out the speed bumps. "

" You have one too, right? " Selene perks, attention held upon the Ghost as it hovered around her space. The question bringing to light a secondary Ghost in the room - this one carrying red and gold accents upon pallid shell. Gears rotating as it floated next to the sitting Vanguard, quietly.

" Sure do! Names' Sundance. She's a bit picky about who she talks around though. No hard feelins. "

As quickly as she had appeared, the Ghost then dismissing herself back into the pocket space. Selene's own ghost deciding to stick around for the time being, the Awokens' attention placed back upon the Hunter across from her. 

" How long have you two... been, y'know... "

The question rests upon her tongue, but is quickly deciphered by the Exo as his head tilts side to side at the thought. Searching for the proper way to say a long time, without it being vague enough... being apart of first generation Risen was... man, when was his birthday again?

" Sundance and I? We go way back. Before everything uh... well. I guess it'd be during, given that I did make it out alive... ugh. Such miserable place. But uh -- yeah! We go waaay back. Long time to tell. Ran outta birthdays once you go pass a hundred. "

" You're over a hundred years old? " Selene squints, almost as if not believing him at first.

" You think I'm old? Hah! Man... You should meet some of Saladin's friends. They're ancient. Dinosaurs, really. "

" I... I mean... I'd ask how, but... "

" Right? Amazing what kinda life goals you can finish when you don't have deadline anymore. Only con' about it is ya gotta make new goals. Me? Gave up already. Just take one day at a time. " 

" That's... crazy, " she shakes her head, processing but not open to the idea at first. A falsehood of immortality, resting upon her fingertips at the generosity of the machine that sat next to her. Foreboding, really.

" It's not all that bad. Just takes some time getting use to! Trust me, still throws me in a loop some days. Dependin' how hard I hit my head, ya know? "

" Makes sense, I guess. "

" Most of the time, " Cayde corrects, " Sometimes it makes no sense at all, and that's where I leave it to Ashir Mir. Complete nutcase, don't recommend getting caught up in his little Vex-obsession. You'll never hear the end of it. "

" I'll keep that in mind, " Selene chuckles, nodding. Though she's unfamiliar with the name just yet -- it seems there's a handful of people to better keep an eye on. " The uhm... Vanguard. How does it.. work? "

" Eh? "

" You asked me if I spoke with Zavala about being a Titan... and, Hawthorne's mentioned Warlocks, and Hunters... and how to harness Light into power, and it's just one big... mess of information to me. I don't think I understand how it works, " she admits.

" Oooh. That stuff. It's like uh... like ones' true calling. Titan's calling is... beating things up in a vicious matter, " he clamps a fist against open hand, emphasizing their might, " Warlocks are mooore... concerned? Careful people -- too careful, just, never get anything done, " another roll of wrist to continue moving in the conversation -- " But Hunters? We get things done and look good doing it. And if I know a Hunter when I see one -- you? " he then points, leaning forward against the back of the chair with a childish glint in the optics, " Ten outta ten, you'd wear a cape like a champ. "

" Is this another one of those recruitment ads? " the Ghost chimes in.

" Recruitment? What, like this is some sorta army or somethin'? " Cayde replies back, tone lingering on the offensive. " I know a Hunter when I see one. And your pick of the litter? She'd do great. Maybe even best me one day! Then she'd be the Vanguard and I get my adventures back without Zavala breathing down my back! "

" I don't... I think we're getting too far ahead -- " Selene tries to intercept, a notation of moving back a smudge against the desk as head bobs side to side as if looking for an exit strategy. The mere act provoking a chuckle out of the Exo as he waved a hand in dismiss.

" I'm joking, joking! But man -- you find anyone who wants this job, you let me know. "

" Is being part of the Vanguard really that much? " the Ghost continues, amplifying the curiosity in the room. The Exo once more mulling words over in his skull, taking the energy to keep things simple and civil.

" Nah. Great job, great people - would be even greater if I had my Light back. But I miss being out on the field - going on my own. Finding new places to hide caches... writing love letters to the next big bad who wants to try and chase this sweet piece of metal down, knowing full well it'll be a bullet between the eyes if they even got remotely close. Man -- it's like missing your teenage years all over again. "

" Ikora mentioned a lot of .. Guardians, they don't have their Light right now, ever since the war against the... what were they called... "

" Ghaul, " Cayde fills in immediately, tone suddenly shifting in a more serious note. " He and his Cabal army wrecked the place. And with it, our connection to the Traveler. He's not only taken our Light, but he's taken too many of our men. Our women. Kids. We've lost too much to that ugly rhino in the sky and I'll be damned we lose anymore before I get my hands on him. One death I wouldn't mind being my last. "

" Last? " 

" Ikora didn't fill you end on that bit? Without our Light, those little guys are just Christmas decorations, " he then points over towards the Ghost, giving a minor shrug. " Plus, those who got caught out, the Cabal made sure of getting rid of the collateral.. "

" They killed their Ghost, too, " the Ghost speaks, shook. Selene having turned her head to and fro between it and Cayde, the grimace upon Exo features sharing enough that it was the correct lead way to ones' ' collateral control '. A shiver running down her spine, throat swallowing a lump of air that wished to stay around longer than it was welcomed. 

" If you guys don't have that... your Light, it puts both of you at risk, right? So whose fighting out there right now? "

" What we got left, " Cayde answers bluntly, tone more somber than the previous. " Guardians, Humans -- if we  don't fight, no one else surely will. All we got are enemies, and with or without our Light? We ain't gonna let them take what's ours. Not if we still have a chance. "

" So even without it... " Selene speaks quietly, attention dropping temporarily.

" We are more than just our Light. Regardless of what anyone else thinks, " the Hunter states, standing up from his chair and putting it aside. " Some people might not think so... but it doesn't matter what they think. It's what we know. What I know. "

Within a moment, Selene feels herself sink again -- unable to tell whether or not this was about to turn into another reason for her to decide something impossible. That this Hunter would turn just as the other two had, telling her to consider the choice. As if options were on the table with see-through glass that shone the inevitable. A brace for further turmoil... crossed arms make for her wrist as nails dig at her skin.

" For instance, " Cayde continues, pointing a daunting finger in her direction, " I know that you'll do great, Selene. And I mean that. I'm not typically a partner type of guy... but we need all the help we can get. And you? I wouldn't mind having another Hunter at my side I can trust. 

I'm not looking to replace the men I've lost. And I've lost a lot of great Guardians. Ones I can tell you story after story after story. But I'm looking for the next future of Guardians that'll keep those stories alive. Those who can help me keep their memory alive. You get me? "

It strikes differently, an unexpected wave of relation bubbling in her stomach like an erupting volcano. Her chest, unlike the cold that caressed her body in doubt, now in a warmth of understanding -- of clarification of what has to be done. He makes it sound less of a soldier to the field, and more of a obligated duty to those who had fallen. And while it doesn't make the idea of war more welcoming, it helps her understand that the Light in her chest is something... more, than just burden. It's responsibility, whether she wanted it or not. And that there were people out there like him -- those who genuinely wanted to use it for good, and not just for the front line. To tell stories -- to survive. To build.

It's not something she immediately cooperates with, but she can't help but feel... persuaded.

" You really think I can help make a difference...? "

" I know you'll make a difference. Maybe not to me, or the Vanguard. But you'll make a difference where it's needed. Feel it in m' gut, " he taps, the sound of steel exterior thudding beneath leather armor. " So how 'bout it? Am I getting you a short cut cape or long one, what'll it be? "

Was it required, the cape?

A brief glance towards his own, she takes a moment to picture both the physique and weight of one on her shoulders. The tension easing the moment she realizes just how pensive she's been this whole time -- shoulders only now drifting downward in relax moment. Did the size matter? Color? Emblem? What was it to a Hunter, their cape...?

" I guess... surprise me? " 

Indecisive demeanor, the Exo does a single clap and following finger-gun pointed motion before walking over to one of the cardboard boxes -- digging through the contents before throwing a randomized ball of fabric her way. Having caught the Awoken off guard as she emits a surprised squeak -- clasping the ball in her hands while trying not to fall backwards against the desk. It doesn't click as to what's between her hands until after the Exo speaks again, startled daze still tracking between gift and delivery.

" Surprise! There, outta the way -- now, next step, somethin to protect yourself. I got uhh, spare knifes, a few cannons... Amanda should have that rifle I gave her, gotta go ask about that one -- Do me a favor wouldja? Check that box behind you, should have some used belts with holsters. Grab a few. "

" I -- what? -- okay? " it's not enough to ask questions back, placing the balled-up cape next to her before turning around and sliding over to said box. It seemed it was not to be taken lightly when he had mentioned this was now a storage room -- dusted gear stacked upon stacked as she tugged one belt to acquire two more. How... many belts did she need again?

" You got a preference in firepower, Selene? " he throws the question over as he walks over toward the knocked over cabinet, attempting to pry its' contents with a few tugs before brute forcing the top drawer open. A few hand cannons slipping out, one seemingly still loaded as the impact flicks the trigger, firing off a single bullet across the ground -- its sound startling both the Awoken upon table and Exo on floor, whom instinctively jumped in place to avoid any unnecessary damages to his kicks. " -- Ah, musta took the safety off that one, yikes. "

" I uh... never... shot a gun, " her voices still shaking with the panicked hic from fired bullet, the next sound to make her jump is the Exo aggressively placing down one of the retrieved weapons from drawer against the top of the desk.

" Got it! Hand cannon for beginners then we'll work ya up to whatever feels natural! -- Now, if that's all good to go - Ghost! You revive her yet since the sink hole? “

" No? " the shell tilts.

" Good! Look at you two, already doing great, " Cayde exclaimed, walking over toward the door with fingers locked together -- a motion of cracking ones knuckles, if he had them, pushing the force out from his chest then dropping his arms back to his sides, quickly to be reformed with one hand on the hip and another reaching for his own hand cannon, giving it a twirl from the holster before loading a bullet. " Best way to learn is to do, am I right? Come on, kiddo -- we're going shooting practice. "

" R-Right now??? " 

" What, you wanna think on it and turn back into a bubblin' mess? Trust me. The faster you act the less you think and the less freaked out you are. We can have another heart to heart later if you really want to but while the fires' hot lets goooooo. "

It was... chaotic, to say the least. How quickly the demeanor had changed from crisis to, well, this. But in every right mind of the statement... she couldn't help but admit he was right. If she was going to go for this, there was no need to slow down if it was going to give her reason to lock down again. And who knew with how busy a schedule the Vanguard had... did they have schedules? Cayde seemed to have a schedule. That, when would be the most opportune time to learn both the groups of survival and that of a Guardian in whole. 

He made it sound as if he was rarely ever at the Tower without reason.

Might as well take advantage where it was given... right?

" I'm.. -- okay -- I'm coming, " she stammers, fumbling over the now crowded desk with a handful of belts, cloak and gun -- the last being remotely hesitant before locking her hands around its' grip safely and following the Vanguard out. 

With as much confidence that steered from the Hunter Vanguard as he walked, few words exchanged with several others as they made their way out of the Hanger, Selene couldn't help but feel... recognized. Something that lacked upon the meeting of other two Vanguard, that maybe he was right in where this is where she belonged. Regardless of what the others thought, subtle cues of recommending she stay away from the Hunter and that he was eccentric. It might've been the best example she needed if she wanted to get through this -- taming her Light and her purpose.

Today, she was making a decision.

Today -- she would become a Hunter.

[twitevie]

You want a Revolution (Some Kind of Resolution)

Title: You want a Revolution (Some Kind of Resolution), Chapter 1. Rating: PG-13 Fandom: Sailor Moon Summary: This wasn’t how her last summer with her friends was supposed to go. Usagi had thought she was done fighting, that the peace they had worked so hard for would last just a little bit longer. But, her dreams are telling her otherwise. And the heat, this unbearable violent heat that wont seem to go away, might be the start of something....

The land under her was shaking, rocking back and forth as if on an ever-wavering sea. Her eyes searched around her, skipping from object to object unsure of her location but the familiarity of the surroundings sent a nagging feeling of irritation through her. She knew this place; she just couldn't place it. Her gaze finally landed on a single white five petal flower, ends curled in on themselves, that appeared to be too delicate to touch. For reasons unknown to her, the flower brought about a sense of peace and love, causing a warm smile to grace her lips.

"Lilies always were your favorite." The deep timbre of the voice behind her was so smooth and calming she didn't even startle at the unexpected intrusion. She could feel the soft sweep of air through the lace of her dress as the man came to stand beside her, his calloused hands gently stroking the flowers fragile petals. "Until another flower caught your attention, I'm afraid."

She wanted so badly to ask this man before her, who seemed so burdened with loss and sadness, what he meant but words failed her. It was as if even the simple task of forming them seemed to tiresome to try.

"Why do you haunt me so?" Turning, the man brought a hand up to caress her cheek but sighed when his hand met with no resistance. "Is it because I failed you?"

The question fell upon deaf ears. Her heart was racing, why had his hand gone right through her? Why was he speaking to her in such a way that it was as if she were nothing more than an echo from his own memory? She felt a painful palpitation in her chest as her heart rushed to catch up with her feelings. This was a dream! A memory? Something unknown and scary and she did not welcome the implication that she was nothing more than a memory to this man. She was real!

... wasn't she?

His hand hovered over her cheek, as if he wanted to touch her, but was afraid. "A war is coming. One that has been in the works for millennia." She watched as his eyes started to glisten with such raw emotion, she couldn't help but feel her own eyes well in sympathy. "All I ask is for your understanding. And, if it should happen, in the end, your forgiveness."

A war? War with who? Before she could even try to pose the question, something pulled at her, something bright and painful. Her breath hitched as she was wrenched away from the man.

"WAIT!" Usagi jolted awake breath coming fast and hard, heart beating a painful staccato in her chest.  

"Usagi?" The quiet voice and gentle paw on her hand had the young girl turning towards her cat.

"Dream." She responded. "Just a very vivid dream." With a heavy sigh of relief Usagi brought a cool hand to her forehead to sooth the warmth it was radiating.

Luna delicately made her way to sit on her friends’ legs, head ducking to stare into the girl’s eyes. "Are you alright?"

Usagi let her hand fall to rest on the top of Luna's head. "Mmhmm, I'm fine Luna."

"Good!" Luna shrugged Usagi's hand off before she jumped down to the floor and stretched. "Then you best hurry or you'll be late."

Forehead scrunched in confusion, Usagi grabbed her phone from the nightstand and hit the power button, eyes widening at the time. "9:00! Rei is going to throttle me!"

Usagi threw the covers off and scrambled to her closet. "Luna how could you let me sleep so late?! You were supposed to wake me!" Hastily, she grabbed a simple sundress and a pair of sandals before sprinting towards the bathroom.

All the while, Luna just watched with a raised brow as Usagi passed back by the bedroom door this time dressed for the day. "Silly girl."

-_-_-_-_-

"-corded its 4th consecutive day of temperatures 35 C or higher on Wednesday, reaching 39.8 C. That's the highest temperature recorded anywhere in Japan this year, according to JMA, and ties for the 25th-highest daily high temperature ever recorded in Japanese history. Authorities are cautioning citizens to please stay indoors as it's likely this period of extreme heat will be with us for the rest of the we-"

Rei switched the TV off and dropped the remote onto the coffee table. "Another hot day."

Ami set her book down and nodded. "Global Warming is starting to be a worrisome thing."

"Eh, I don't think it's Global Warming." Minako stated as she inspected the small cookie in her hand. "It's probably aliens bent on global destruction."

Ami sputtered. "W-what?"

Makoto shook her head in shame. "Please don't tell me you were watching that stupid documentary again?"

"Aliens of the Ancient World is not a stupid documentary it's based in fact! They have scientists and everything!"

"I... I don't know how to respond to that." Rei muttered, head in her hands. Letting her hands fall, the raven-haired teen plopped down onto the floor. "Why were you even watching that in the first place?"

Minako shrugged. "Artemis thinks the host lady is cute."

"Oh!" Makoto started leaning forward and resting her head on her folded hands. "Does he now?"

A giggle. "But don't tell Luna, she might get jealous."

"We really should be studying. College entrance exams will be here before you know it. And, I do not want to be one of the few people who have to take a Gap Year."

Makoto grinned and flicked a cookie crumb towards the blue haired genius. "I think you'll do fine, Ami. You're the top student in the year."

"Be that as it may-"

"Sorry, I'm late!" The group of four turned to see Usagi shoving the door open with a bright smile on her face.  "I overslept again."

Rei rolled her eyes. "What else is new? We haven't started anyways, so you’re just in time."

The grin slowly fell. "You guys didn't have to wait on me, really!"

"And let you miss all the fun of..." Minako paused to glance down at the title of the book in front of her, cringing. "Civics, ugggh."

"Hey, Civics is pretty interesting."

Minako looked up, smiled at Makoto, and wagged her eyebrows suggestively. "What'll it cost for you to do my homework?"

With a wink, the brunette replied, "You couldn't afford me, girl.", before she leaned back onto her elbows with a sigh. "Besides, we're on break, we still have a while before we have to worry about homework. Come on, let's go do something fun!"

Rei shook her head. "In this heat? We'd all wind up in the hospital with heat stroke."

"Too hot to go outside and now stuck with the two people who think homework is fun. Told you, Aliens."

Usagi raised an eyebrow at Minako before turning to look towards Ami and Rei, who both appeared annoyed at the comment. "Did I miss something?"

"Nothing important." Rei stated glaring at Makoto, who was covering up her laugh with a fake cough.

"Right..." Usagi knelt between Rei and Ami. She slowly reached for the civics textbook, her eyes lingering on the bright green cover with bold red lettering. She had a love-hate relationship with schoolwork. She knew she needed to try harder. She couldn't always be lazy daydreaming Usagi, but when she thought of all the battles she and her friends had faced and all the hardships yet to come, schoolwork just seemed like such a minor thing. She had talked to Mamochan about her concerns. Explained to him that she couldn't get motivated to complete her studies. And the stupid lovable jerk had been so understanding that she had ended up far more frustrated after their conversation. She wanted someone to push her, someone to hold her accountable, someone to tell her how silly she was being. She just-.

"Usagi?"

Startled, Usagi turned to Rei's concerned gaze. "Hmm?"

"You alright?"

Usagi took a deep breath and turned to stare at the cover of the civics textbook once more. "Yeah, just... just thinking."

By the time they had finally finished gossiping and buckled down to study the afternoon bells were already ringing throughout the shrine.

"Yaaas! Break time!" Minako shouted in jubilation, dropping the textbook onto the table.

"It's only been half an hour, Minako." Ami admonished, gently slipping her glasses up onto the crown of her head. "I'm very sure-"

"Break time~!" Minako interrupted in a sing-song tone.

Makoto stood and stretched, groaning as her back popped. "I agree, I could use a break."

Ami took a breath ready to issue another protest against taking a break but stopped when she heard Usagi's stomach growl beside her. She sighed in defeat. "Alright, I suppose a break would be beneficial."

Usagi blushed and held her stomach embarrassed. "Sorry."

-_-_-_-_-

Mamoru sighed in utter exhaustion as he fell back against the cool sheets of his queen-sized bed. He was worn out and beyond ready for sleep. Sniffling, he turned on his side and hugged one of his pillows to his chest nuzzling against the cotton with a breath of contentment. The twenty-one-year-old frowned after a few minutes when he felt his back begin to throb in protest of the position.

With a frustrated grunt he turned over onto his other side and slid his arm beneath his head. A smile graced his tired features as the new position sent the minor pain fleeting. Moments ticked quietly by before his hip began to elicit the same annoying throb.

Mamoru groaned; he was no stranger to insomnia. During the last months of his high school years he knew the affliction well. Between moonlighting as a masked vigilante, rising early in the morning for school, and staying out well into the evening hours for cram-school sessions; he was used to surviving on minimal sleep and taking small naps where he could. So, he didn't understand why his body was disagreeing with his current need for sleep.

He laid there for a few more moments before he sat up and scrubbed at his gritty eyes. With a sigh of resignation, he grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand and clicked the power button, squinting against the intrusive light to see it was only 10:48pm.

Completely ridiculous.

He set the offending object to his side and stood. The bright city lights of Boston greeted him as he made his way to the apartments glass fronted balcony. He stood there momentarily, taking in the bustling late-night activity of the city below, before slipping out of the balcony doors. The updraft of wind stole his breath as the traffic below sent an aching fire through his head.

"All's well my Liege?"

Mamoru clasped his hands together as he leaned against the balcony railing. The faint glamour of a man long past settled beside him, the warm brown eyes of his old friend studying him in concern.

"Can't sleep, unfortunately."

A non-committal noise of understanding escaped the man.

"For some reason, I just can't seem to get comfortable. My body is aching more."

"The winds of change have begun to blow."

Mamoru raised an eyebrow at the cryptic idiom. "That's not ominously vague."

The man shook his head, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes showing his amusement at the comment. "All life on this planet, organic or otherwise, is shaped by the forces and presence of Earth and the Cosmos. The connection, such as it may be, is deeply inherent to one’s well-being."

"What, exactly, does that mean?"  The side eye he received from his old friend had him sighing in frustration. "Kunzite!"

"You modern humans surround yourself with buildings of stone and metal." Kunzite started, crossing his arms. "You immerse yourself in machines and technology that cause a disconnect between the natural flow of energy from the Earth to your physical vessel."

"It's the way of the world." Mamoru stated matter-of-factly, turning to lean back against the balcony railing. "Technology is the future."

"Technology is ever changing. Even in the days of old." Kunzite agreed, "But you are of this Earth, Endymion. You are not just a being upon this planet with a vague sense of connection to this world. Who you are, what shapes you, your very state of being, is of Gaia."

"Okay." The information was not necessarily new. The connection he maintained with the Golden Crystal, as infantile as it was, connected him to his old home Elysian and to his new home on Earth. But what he didn't understand was how that pertained to his current predicament. "Okay, so what does this have to do with my insomnia and body aches?"

Kunzite let his head fall back with a roll of his eyes.

"It means, Nekkid Time!"

Mamoru sputtered and turned towards the second youngest of his generals, face beet red. "W-what?"

"I believe," A voice soft as silk whispered from Mamoru's right, "what Jadeite means to say is grounding yourself in nature will help relieve your ailment and restore yourself."

"Well, if you want to define it in the less fun way, then yes." Jadeite confirmed, winking at Mamoru with a grin. "You need to realign yourself and to do so you'll need to bare yourself in nature."

"Bare myself in nature." Mamoru repeated, closing his eyes with a put-upon sigh. "Sounds wonderful."

-_-_-_-_-

"-in the end, your forgiveness," Somehow those haunting words swept through her mind once more. The man had seemed so heartbroken and wistful during her dream that it made her heart ache. She wanted to help the poor man. She wasn't sure how, but she had a sense that the man from her dreams was real. She tried hard to remember if anything had stood out, anything that would help her identify the man; but the haziness of the dream was making it difficult to remember.

"What do you think?"

Usagi blinked, a brightly colored spoon hanging from her mouth as she turned questioningly to Makoto. "Hmm?"

Makoto let out a small laugh and bumped her shoulder against Usagi's, "Noryo-Matsuri is next week, I was thinking we could all meet at Patio-dori? Make our way from there?"

"Mmm." Usagi nodded, pulling the spoon out of her mouth. "Sounds good."  

Rei, who was sitting across from Usagi and Makoto, raised an eyebrow at the gentle response. "Don't get too excited over there, Usagi."

Usagi blushed and stared down at her shaved ice. "Sorry, just... I have a lot on my mind. I didn't sleep very good last night."

"Bad dream?" Rei asked in concern.

Usagi shook her head, "Not bad, just... odd?"

Ami rose an eyebrow, "How so?"

"Odd because...it just, it felt real?" Usagi took a bite of her shaved ice and sighed. "I don't really remember much. Just that there was a man, he seemed so sad. He was begging for me to understand. He asked for my forgiveness." Usagi paused for a moment, eyes focused on the frozen treat before her. "He said there was a war coming."

"Usagi..." Makoto whispered, arms wrapping around the blonde in comfort. "I'm sure it was just a dream."

"Yeah! You probably ate something weird before bed, right?"

Usagi looked towards Minako with a smile and nodded. "Probably. Mama did make spicy taco rice for supper last night."

"See!" Minako pointed out happily. "Nothing to worry about. It was probably just your belly and brain having a disagreement."

"I guess."

Rei pursed her lips, eyes lingering on Usagi for a few beats before the noise of rowdy shrine goers had her turning towards the door. "I swear if the heat doesn't get to me the stupidity of the visitors will. Hey!" Rei shouted before whisking out of the room in a blur of black hair and indignation towards the youths roughhousing in the courtyard.

"Should we help?" Usagi asked watching the scene outside unfold with wide eyes.

Makoto laughed and proceeded to finish the last of her shaved ice. "I think Rei can handled a couple of loud-mouthed kids."

"I'm not worried about Rei," Usagi started, watching as two kids - presumably their age - ran pass the door screaming apologies to the red-faced Rei currently chasing them. "I'm more worried about the poor people she's running after with a broom..."

"Don't do the crime if you can't face the angry Hino." Minako surmised with a wink. "So, Usagi, have you heard from Mamoru?"

"Mm, he called a few days ago. Said he was settling in just fine. He's supposed to call tonight and tell me how his interview went."

"Oh? Where's he working?"

Usagi pursed her lips in thought before answering Ami. "He said he was hoping to get a position at the university hospital as a nursing aide. He thought the hands-on approach would help him when he takes his testing this year."

"That's very smart of him." Ami agreed. "It's hard to believe he'll be starting his second year of Medical School."

"I know, he's been such a nervous wreck all week. I told him that he was being silly. That he would do just fine whether he stayed here in Japan or studied in America." Usagi sighed and nestled her chin in her hands. "He over thinks things. I wish sometimes he'd turn that oversized brain of his off and learn to trust himself more."

"Men are very complicated people, Usagi." Minako pointed out.  "They don't have the intuition that us women do. They all think with their upstairs brain and not enough with their downstairs one."

"That's the truth." Makoto agreed and then paused, flabbergasted. "Wait, what!?"

"Their hearts, dummy!"

"Oh, Minako... that's not, they're just..." A sigh. "Please, don't ever change."

"Okay?" Minako replied confused.

-_-_-_-_-

Rei huffed out a breath as she watched the three teenagers scurry onto the sidewalk and rush down the street. She couldn't believe the ignorance of some people. To come into such a respected place and act so ill-mannered, it was ridiculous!

"Did you hear? They said JAXA is meeting."

At the voice, Rei turned from her position to the stare across the street. Eyes lingering on the two-gentleman standing beside a trash can outside the Argentinean Embassy. She had always loved that her home was across from the embassy. The location brought much needed foot traffic to the shrine and such interesting characters as well. But, like everything, the government building brought its own share of problems too.  Most recently in the form of a protest about human rights, that had seen the streets crowded with people and the sidewalks lined with police. That day had Rei seeking privacy in the back rooms of the shrine trying to calm herself from the raw energy running rampant.

But now, as she watched the two men in business suits quickly make their way into the building, she could sense the panic and anxiety they were projecting in waves. Squeezing the broom handle, she strained her ears to make out anymore of the conversation but could only understand every few words. Something about strange lights and communication delays but nothing more. She wasn't sure why JAXA - an Aerospace agency - would have government officials worried but it definitely piqued her interest.

With a sigh, Rei moved to head back into the shrine but a heaviness in the air stopped her. An oppressive heat that had nothing to do with the sweltering air enveloped her senses. From the peaks of the trees above a guttural croak echoed down and filled the suddenly silent grounds of the shrine.  Rei looked up in time to see Phobos and Deimos stretch their wings and rustle the drying leaves in panic.

"You feel it to, huh?" Rei crinkled her forehead in concern, watching as her feathered friends hopped from branch to branch in distress.

"Alcippe."

If it hadn't been for the wind carrying the soft whisper, Rei wasn't even sure she would have heard it. The pleasant gentleness of the voice had an almost calming effect, sending the unease from before dissipating along with the breeze.  

"I'm sorry?" Rei questioned the owner of the voice, turning around only to be greeted by the empty street behind her. She glanced left and right her eyes searching the barren sidewalks for the owner of the mysterious voice, but none appeared. The errant whisper, she decided, most likely belonged to the lasts wisps of a spirit.

It wouldn't be the first time a random spirit had passed through the shrine and it would most likely not be the last. Rei had learned early on many souls visited religious places on their journey to rest; but, fewer of them had the required spark needed to manipulate the energy around them to affect the world of the living. That had caught her attention. Whomever had decided to pass through had been very energetic. And while worrisome, didn't really bother Rei, the spirit didn't appear to be lingering and had already seemed to have moved on, hopefully to find peace. Her current concern were the two feathered noise makers, whom had landed hastily in front of her, cawing and hopping back and forth; the parody of children trying to get their mothers attention.

"Hush now, you two." Rei admonished, turning her gaze to the two birds jumping at her feet. "Whatever was here is gone. No need to be so hyperactive."

"Go on,” Rei shooed, "find some sort of shade and cool down. I don't want to have to take you two to the clinic because you overheated yourselves." Phobos and Deimos cawed in annoyance before flying away to the inner branches of the trees above.

"And don't forget to drink something!" She hollered after them.

-_-_-_-_-

Mamoru wiggled his toes in embarrassment. Cheeks cherry red and his hands, cold from the late night, strategically placed to cover every aspect of his exposed manhood. The small wooded area that Zoisite had identified as a ley-line, a place of natural energy, had thankfully - for dignities sake - been vacant.

The soft chuckle and the ghost of a hand slapping his shoulder had the poor man cringing. "What did you think 'Bare yourself in nature' would come to mean?"

"I thought it was an expression." Mamoru muttered, eyes down cast. He was trying very hard to remember that the figures who had accompanied him were nothing more than a fantastical manifestation of energy from his deceased friends; And, that he had nothing to be embarrassed of.

"If the expression comes to mean buck-ass naked as the day you were birthed, then yes. It was an 'expression'."

"Nephrite," Kunzite started, “must you always be so crass?"

"The prince is ashamed of something that once would have been considered a time of celebration and renewal. It's most maddening." Nephrite answered before turning to Mamoru, "Your parents would hold week-long celebrations. There was much merriment and feasting to be had for all in attendance. It was a way for the King and Queen to honor their subjects for their fealty. The last great spectacle before the birth of the new year. It was definitely a sight to behold."

Nephrite sighed and lowered himself to the grass beside his princes’ legs. Eyes shining in fond remembrance. "I do so miss your parents... They were stricken from this world far before their calling."

Mamoru swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat. He could barely remember his parents from this life – just faint flashes of a shadowed smile and the gentle caress of a hand on his cheek - let alone even attempt to try and recall the family from a life long since passed.  With a breath of determination, Mamoru knelt beside Nephrite with a nod. "You'll have to show me this renewal ceremony."

Nephrite nodded.

"Very few were ken to the ceremony." Zoisite explained, settling himself in front of Mamoru. "Only those of the royal family and their court bore witness to such an intimate experience."

The poor man was back to blushing again. "Intimate..."

"It's not a sex thing!" Jadeite exclaimed, "The amount of raw energy that courses through the Mother Gaia, is nothing but pure elation."

"Calm your mind, My Prince." Kunzite whispered, "You must allow yourself to think what your mind wishes. Acknowledge the thought and let it pass, do not react. Your goal here is the allow yourself to connect to the energy of the Ley Line that runs through this very place."

"But how-" Mamoru started but was interrupted with a sharp tongued 'Focus' from Zoisite.

Focus, right.

Mamoru closed his eyes and wiggled against the ground trying to find a comfortable position, a hard task when one was naked and sitting on top of dry itchy grass. He wasn't even sure what he was supposed to be focusing on. Sure, he had meditated before, but that was as simple as letting his mind wander whichever way it wanted to go. This felt more like he should have a single goal to set his sights on; as to what, he wasn't sure though. He was curious as to what time it was, he had to be up early tomorrow- today? -  to finish buying supplies from the University's bookstore. He couldn't believe he was only two weeks out from the start of the school year. He had so much to do in the coming months. He had to get a hold of the exam board to see about taking the NBME. Not to mention he would be taking step one of the USMLE. The thought of taking that particular exam alone was enough to make his stomach roil with sickness. If he didn't pass the first test for his license, he couldn't start his rotations next year. And if he didn't start his-...

"Focus!" Zoisite admonished, again. "You are not allowing your mind to quiet itself. You are intentionally over-thinking."

How did-?

His answer came from Jadeite. "Your forehead does this weird constipated thing when you think too much."

Right. Focus.

Mamoru took a deep breath, expanding his chest as far as he could, allowing the cold night air to calm his worried thoughts. Slowly, as his breath left him, he allowed the sounds of the wooded area to encompass him.  He forced himself to focus on the feeling of the late-night breeze sweeping over his goose pimpled skin. The sudden chill sending a slight shiver through him. He could hear the rocking of the tree branches above as the wind seemed to create a gentle legato with the rustling of the leaves; a rhythmic caress that blended well with the staccato of an owl hooting off in the distance.

Inhale and exhale.

Ever so slowly, Mamoru let the tension in his body release. An unknown weight seeming to disperse as his body slowly sank deeper into the ground under him. He felt odd. As if he were so light he would float away but the heaviness of the land beneath him kept him grounded.

Gradually, his breath began to even out, no longer a harsh respiration but a continuous unchanging motion.

In with a rush of chilled night air and out with a sigh of warmth. He continued this until the sounds of the woods slowly faded away to the quiet of his breath, his body leaving the sensations of the brisk night behind as he continued his journey inward. Here, thoughts which had plagued him earlier, stilled. In this place of dark quiet, Mamoru allowed himself to settle- to be at peace.

The soft lub-dub of his heartbeat welcomed him to this place of restoration. He felt cradled in a blanket of warmth; a soothing heat that reminded him of the many nights he lay entwined with Usagi on his bed. Nights where the two were so entangled together he was never sure where she began, and he ended.

"You two would have conquered the Cosmos."

Mamoru startled at the intrusion, "I'm sorry...?"

"No need to be sorry."

The darkness around Mamoru suddenly flashed a brilliant blue, a beautiful spectacle sending a cascade of light sweeping through the black and illuminating the towering figure draped in fine linens before him. Mamoru stared in awe at the figure. Taking in the sheer unadulterated beauty of the Titaness before him.  

Ringlets of pure silken earth fell gently from beneath the golden crown adorning the unknown woman's head. Eyes that seemed to be made from the very seas of the Earth bore into him. Commanding his attention with every fiber of his being. The woman's aura seeped into the surrounding air between them and in that very moment something sparked to life inside Mamoru, something he had thought was long since lost to him. Something he never thought he would be intimate to again.

"M....mother?"

The light surrounding the woman slowly gave way as she swept forward hands reaching towards him. "Endymion. My baby, I had always hoped one day that we would be reunited. And, by the Gods, here you stand before me."

-_-_-_-_-_-

“What I would not give to have my Kiseru.” Kunzite murmured with a sigh.  

Nephrite snorted, “You’re an ethereal being housed in a crystal, how would you even smoke it?”.

“I would find a way.” Kunzite retorted.

Nephrite smirked in response before slowly shifting to stare at his glove covered hands. Paying attention to the fact that even though he knew the white leather should feel buttery-smooth – given the sheep stock the garments came from – he felt nothing.  He clenched his hands as a thread of anger began to the twine through him. He was a useless shadow of a man who fought on the wrong side of a war that claimed everything he had cared for. Blinded by a prophecy of fear and malcontent - too afraid to shake the foundations of what he had come to know for fear of his Prince’s life and the Kingdoms future. He was such an incompetent guardian to allow himself to be swayed by the sweet promises of a devilled-tongued handmaiden.

“Do not dwell on the sins of the past, my friend.”

Nephrite glanced to Kunzite with a grunt, “Hard not to when everything went to hell.”

“We all believed we were doing what was needed.” Zoisite tried to console.

“Except we were at the forefront of a war that ended with the deaths of thousands.” Nephrite hissed in anger, refusing to be comforted against his wrongdoings. “Because of our idiocy the Silver Millennium fell! We were supposed to protect our Prince and the Kingdom, instead we let a vile demon slither into our minds!”

“Nephrite! Enough!” Kunzite barked quickly coming to a stand, towering over his second-in-command, who was still seated on the ground beside Mamoru. “What’s done has been done and if this is our penance for transgressions past, then we will face this with the dignity expected of our positions. Understood?”

Nephrite came to a standing as well, his brown eyes dark with anger at Kunzite’s words. “Our positions? And what would our positions be? We are nothing but shades of our former selves, doomed to council a Prince we can no longer protect!”

Zoisite raised his hands, “Nephrite. Kunzite. Please, arguing about this will not bode well for anyone.”

“Um, guys?” Jadeite tried to interrupt, blue eyes tracking something off in the distance.

“No, but it will make me feel better!” Nephrite retorted.

Jadeite slowly stood, eyes widening as lights began to cast eerie shadows across the clearing. “Guys!”

Kunzite turned towards the younger man, “What!?”

“Something’s happening.” Jadeite stated, nodding his head towards the sky.

Zoisite glanced from Kunzite and Nephrite to the sky above. “Holy Mother.” He whispered stepping back in shock.

High above them, in a sky that was quiet with the novelty of peace just moments before, was chaos. Fire rained from the heavens leaving a shimmer of ashen dust behind as the flames travelled quickly through the night. Lighting flashed in the distance, tendrils of brilliant white spidering out across the cloud cluttered night sky, heralding the oncoming crack of thunder. The echoing boom ricocheted off the surrounding woods, startling the four men.

“What the heck is happening?” Jadeite questioned.

“A meteor shower?” Nephrite answered, unsure.

“Not a meteor shower, something else.” Kunzite supplied, eyes widening in horror as one of the fireballs seemed to collide with an unknown object high in the sky creating an explosion that resounded through the small clearing. “It feels hostile.”

“Hostile…?” Zoisite murmured in concern, “An attack? But, surely Serenity and her court would-.”

“Guys!” Jadeite interrupted in panic, “Incoming!”

Kunzite growled eyes tracking the same threat Jadeite saw. “Formation!”

Instinct took over as the four generals surrounded Mamoru, each reaching for the hilt of their sword about their waist. Kunzite watched as the swirling flames came ever closer to their position, the charred and still burning remains of the collision trailing behind. A gross reminder of the destruction that was raining down on, not just them, but the city of Boston.

A ghastly orange glow crept over the small clearing, casting distorted shadows across them. The trees above began to smolder from the encroaching heat; their overturned leaves, already dry from the harsh summer heat, quickly kindled to life. Flames, as brilliant and seemingly hot as the sun itself, quickly lapped against branches and trunk alike, hungry to feed the ravenous blaze. Plumes of thick grey smoke curled high into the air fading to a harsh black, a warning for those in the distance of the danger below.

Kunzite tightened his grip on his sword, unsure exactly what their defense would be against a firestorm and a massive forest fire. He looked back towards the still form of Mamoru, the poor mans skin already a bright cherry red and glistening from the intensity around them, and grit his teeth. What had Nephrite called them earlier – shades? How was a shade supposed to protect the most important person in their life from such destruction? In short, they couldn’t. He was useless! He was a leader, Advisor to the Crown Prince of Earth and Protecter to the Bearer of the Golden Crystal and yet powerless to do anything but bear witness to the inevitable. Kunzite blinked hard against the sudden reality that struck him.  After everything, this couldn’t be how it ended… it just couldn’t…  

“Kunzite?” Nephrite questioned, trying to gauge the older man’s thoughts.

“Hold position.” Kunzite replied, steadfast. Regardless of the hopelessness of the situation, it was his- their- bound duty to protect Mamoru.

An orange haze had settled over them, a choking smog that had Kunzite worrying at his bottom lip. Another quick glance at Mamoru also had him deeply concerned; the Prince’s breathing had started to sound strained, the heat and smoke most likely irritating the man’s airway. He hadn’t wanted to wake Mamoru, the trauma of being ripped from the ley lines energy would be stressful and cause a disconnect within the younger man. But Kunzite didn’t have a choice, they had to awaken him.

“Zoisite!”

At the call, the youngest of the group turned towards Kunzite.

The elder jerked his head towards Mamoru. “We need to wake him up.”

Zoisite nodded hastily, kneeling quickly in front of his Prince. “I am sorry for this, but confused and alive is better than the alternative.” With a shaky nod to himself, Zoisite placed his hands on either side of Mamoru’s head and closed his eyes. He had no idea if trying to connect to Mamoru would even work; but, by the Gods he would try.

Zoisite concentrated on trying to follow the bond he shared with his Prince but every time he thought he had found the thread that tied them together it slipped just that much farther from him.  He crinkled his forehead in frustration. Magic was his specialty; energy manipulation was basic schooling. He had learned how to guide people into and out of restoring trances before he ever learned to ride his first horse. But this game of cat and mouse seemed like someone was deliberately trying to keep him from waking Mamoru.

Once again, he came upon that thread of warmth that always seemed to make the world that much brighter, the air that much clearer, but it slowly fell from his grasp. Zoisite could feel his Princes energy slowly slip from him. A dark seemed to settle over his senses, a deafening quiet that, had he been alive, would have had his ears burning from the silence. With a flex of his fingers, Zoisite prepared to follow the faint signature into the black but was pushed back into awareness by a sudden onslaught of raw energy. A soundless scream escaped him as he shoved against the force and pushed himself up; he tried to break the connection, but it was as if something had latched onto him, sending waves of nausea through him.

“Something’s wrong…”

“Of course, somethings wrong, the skies are trying to kill us!” Jadeite replied harshly, turning towards Zoisite in annoyance.

Zoisite blinked owlishly at his friend, suddenly feeling weak. “The energy… something’s happening…” With one last slow blink,  Zoisite fell forward into a faint.

Jadeite rushed to help, “Zoisite!”

Nephrite turned at the panicked shout, watching as Jadeite knelt beside their fallen friend. He stood captivated as a brilliant golden light seemed to explode from Zoisite, cascading waves of pure energy, beating in tandem with a seemingly phantom heartbeat, enveloped Jadeite blocking the younger man from view.  

“What in the Heavens?” Nephrite questioned starting towards the two when the light seemed to sense his movements and reached out and swallowed him as well.

Kunzite blinked against the harsh display of energy, he unsheathed his sword, and steadied his hand. He’d be damned if he went down without at least a swing from his blade. With a scream of frustration Kunzite raised his sword as the blinding light engulfed him.

[kenneth-omega]

The Mistakes of Grief (part 3) Theseus Scamander x Reader

(Sorry for the unusually long A/N!)

A/N: Here is the third instalment of this on-going series! Don’t worry, this story is nowhere near done, with part 4 currently in the works! I couldn’t restrict this to only a three-part story and expect it to not feel rushed or crammed. So, I hope you enjoy this section and don’t get too tired of the few little POV jumps I have, I promise part 4 won’t have as many as these, I just find it makes the story work better and gives more depth for all the characters places in the plot. Also, I’m unsure whether the breakers I’ve put in before a POV hop will show up on mobile, so I apologise if it doesn’t work! x

If you’d like to be tagged in upcoming parts then just send me a message, or comment on any of the three instalments, that way I’ll definitely see it! x

Requests are open for any of the Fantastic Beasts characters!

Disclaimer: This only loosely follows the plot of FB:CoG so please don’t come after me because of inaccuracies. This is my own AU version.

Word count: 3894

Synopsis: You’ve allowed yourself to be roped into Grindelwald’s inner circle, fighting for your own cause whilst trying to also cope with the recent, muggle-related death of your brother. With Theseus and the others in London and you in Austria, Vinda Rosier’s plot to eliminate the people who stop you from wholly joining their cause is being put into place. Starting with a special announcement from Grindelwald and an open invitation.

Warnings: NONE, just some cute Newtina mentions

Part 1       Part 2       Part 4

Theseus couldn’t sleep.

For the sixth night in a row, everyone had fallen asleep before him and left him with his thoughts.

They were now staying at Newt’s house, with the group of remaining fighters having decided that they could no longer keep crowding up Nicholas Flamel’s house, despite his avid protests that he really didn’t mind.

Yusuf Kama, a wizard who Newt and Tina had encountered in Paris, had decided to stay a while longer with Flamel along with a young woman by the name of Nagini. She had revealed that she was a Maledictus and had nowhere to stay after fleeing the circus she’d been forced to perform in. She had been heartbroken after the rally, revealing that she’d been with Credence the past few months and had helped him through every problem he’d had, every ache and pain and the longing he’d had to find his lost family.

Newt of course, had shown an intense fascination in her ability to change into a gigantic snake, despite the sadness of her curse, and had asked if he could speak to her more about it at a later date, to which she had agreed.

The four people that had chosen to leave were himself, Newt, Porpentina Goldstein, or Tina as Newt referred to her as. The American Auror, and the Muggle Jacob Kowalski who Newt had managed to get caught up in his antics on his trip to America. Theseus had bitten his tongue about the numerous laws being broken about a Muggle having knowledge of their world, knowing that it would only fall on deaf ears.

Besides, Jacob himself wasn’t a bad man, Theseus had to admit, seeming genuinely interested and excited to learn anything wizard-related. Theseus had found himself on the receiving end of Jacob’s questions quite frequently the past few days.

Sitting up slowly from the sofa which Newt had offered him as a bed, Theseus ran his fingers through his curls which flopped down in front of his eyes. After the fight, Theseus had struggled to keep himself clean and well-groomed, all his usual quirks relating to his appearance had slowly deteriorated over the course of the week. He’d had to use a few spells recently to try keep himself looking presentable.

His usually pristine appearance was now dishevelled and crumpled.

Right now he was wearing a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons undone. The absence of a tie and having untucked his shirt from his black slacks made him look like a dishevelled misfit student who refused to adhere to the dress code.

Much like Newt at school, he thought. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the number of letters sent from home, berating Newt for his detentions regarding his inability, or stubbornness, to dress himself to the code.

Theseus looked over at Jacob, who was currently sleep in an armchair, his head lolling back against the seat as he snored, a deep rumble that unfortunately didn’t help with Theseus’ current sleeping problem.

Tina was staying in Newt’s room, after initially refusing to take up that much space. This had resulted in quite possibly the politest argument Theseus had witnessed and the two of them butting heads for a good five minutes over whether she would sleep in there or not. Eventually Theseus had grown tired and made the decision for them.

His little brother was in the most obvious of places. Tending to his numerous beasts in his basement before eventually going to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

Picking up his pocket watch that lay on a small table beside the sofa, Theseus studied the watch face that informed him it was 4:32am. Newt would also be fast asleep by now.

Lying back down, Theseus stretched his arms experimentally, feeling how the ache in his shoulder protested at the movement. It still wasn’t truly healed; his shoulder having suffered from an injury from the albeit brief fight between you and him.

Ignoring the dull ache, Theseus hooked his hands behind his head and gazed up at the off-white ceiling for what felt like the hundredth time that night. The apartment was beyond warm and had there not been a woman staying in the house, Theseus wouldn’t have bothered wearing his shirt, but he found it extremely ungentlemanly to just parade around half dressed.

Giving into his exhaustion, Theseus settled finally, allowing his mind to wander back to the night when things went horribly wrong. When both he and Newt lost one of their closest friends. When a dozen Aurors died at Grindelwald’s hands and Theseus had watched helplessly as you slipped through his fingers.

Never again, he vowed. Never again would he let you go.

When the time came to rally up against Grindelwald once more, he was bringing you home.

“Queenie!” You exclaimed, upon entering the large gathering hall, glad to have found a friendly and familiar face. The exuberant blonde waved at you, standing up on the balls of her feet to find you over the heads of the dozens of people stood around, all talking amongst each other in hushed tones.

Merely a week after the rally, Grindelwald had called for his followers to come together and congregate at the castle.

He had an announcement.

Whatever it was, it was going to be big. Something considerably colossal in comparison to his stunt in Paris, and that idea terrified you greatly.

Upon your arrival, Queenie latched onto your arm with barely contained anticipation, looking towards the raised platform at the front of the room. You hazarded a guess that it was something originally used for entertainers who would come to perform for the residents of the castle.

Grindelwald hadn’t been seen much around the castle since the day you happened upon the man named Credence in that library. After you had left Queenie that morning, there had been a loud explosion and a minor panic amongst the occupants of the castle. Apparently it was just a rock slide, and surely enough when you looked out the window a large chunk of the mountain had disappeared, the rubble and dust settling into the valley below. But that didn’t explain the fact that you saw Rosier casting a fixing charm on one of the windows in the library.

The sound of cheers pulled you from your thoughts and you looked up to see the man who was feared by all but adored by many.

Neither you or Queenie cheered, instead waiting patiently for him to speak. You two were more than just his fanatics, more than this rabble of purebloods who thought themselves different and of some higher authority.

The man stood proudly in front of his audience, giving the slightest of bows as though he was preparing to deliver his own performance. He had the ambience of a bizarre conductor of sorts, about to lead you, his orchestra, into its next piece. His eyes scanned the crowd and found you, a smile on his face that oozed of something not wholly sincere. You couldn’t help but feel as though this speech wasn’t for anyone else in the room but you.

A direct message to you.

“Welcome, my children.” He began, sweeping an arm out across the room in a smooth, controlled motion, a greeting for all those before him.

Every single movement of his was calculated, planned and executed on key. He didn’t speak on improvisation, he didn’t act on instinct. He was tactical and shrewd.

“I’ve waited for this day for many years, when I could address a room full of the trustworthy and the loyal. To preach about why we are doing this. WhyIdo this.” He smiled, part of him relishing in all the eyes that were watching him, following his every move and drinking in every word.

“So…what do you believe I do this for?” Grindelwald paused, waiting for anyone to speak up who wished to do so. Nothing. Completely captivated.

It was almost too easy to manipulate their little, malleable minds, he thought to himself.

“Love.” A woman announced.

His eyes fell on Queenie, the origin of the voice that piped up and boldly was the first to do so. Everyone spun around to look at her, at the woman who had dared be the one to answer Grindelwald.

He nodded thoughtfully, remembering her sacrifice in Paris.

“Power!” A man shouted, which earnt some hollers of agreement. It took a few seconds for the noise to die down.

“Good suggestions, my passionate successors. However, not quite correct.”

Grindelwald walked across the platform towards the right edge, extending his hand to someone who had been hiding in the crowd up until now. Onto the stage stepped Credence, seemingly more confident than he had been a few days ago. He held his head high, his back no longer hunched in timidity. Queenie gasped. The crowd became rife with mutters. They were no strangers to the rumours.

When the two men had returned to Grindelwald’s original point, the ever-ominous man held the young boy’s hand aloft, fingers intertwined as if in a sense of solidarity.

“Equality.” He declared.

The room was deathly silent.

“Love and power are all aspects that I believe are needed to make the world equal,” He continued, “Muggles who seek to hate and destroy one another, they have to be eradicated.”

The threatening word hung in the air like poison.

Grindelwald continued his tirade. “For they do not know how to balance power with love. They greedily take one and spread that around as their slogan, something they believe justifies for their actions.” Grindelwald shook his head, seemingly disgusted at the thought.

You had to admit, everything he spoke of echoed with truth. You didn’t want Muggles gone, in fact you never saw them as anything less. But the ones who had taken what was not theirs to take? You couldn’t be so forgiving with them.

“Those wizards? The cowards, who hide behind their protective charms and push out anyone who speaks different?” Grindelwald released Credence’s hand, stepping to the front of the platform, the tips of his boots just hanging over the edge.

“Those who want to see us cowering in the shadows for centuries to come? We eradicate them too.”

Grindelwald turned to Credence, beckoning him forward before pulling him into an embrace. Credence lifted an arm and gently held him back, his face displaying that of someone impassioned by this small act of affection.

“You are equal, my boy.” Grindelwald whispered, still loud enough for the room to hear in the hushed room.

Grindelwald gestured for him to return to his original spot, his role in this sermon now fulfilled. Then he turned back to the crowd, arms raised up as though he were issuing a blessing on the room.

“We are going to demonstrate why we as wizards, as people, shall not be shunned into the dark. We will show the world…what we are!”

The cheers that began to rise slowly became deafening, as more and more the crowd became riled, their hatred, their adrenaline and bloodlust all tangible. You stood there, holding Queenie’s hand in the middle of the storm that was Grindelwald’s army.

Queenie was horrified, her gift allowing the voices of the minds around her to scream and fill her head with their personal turmoil. She couldn’t switch it off or block them out no matter what she did. You could only squeeze her hand in consolation adrift the raging waves of loathing.

“In three days’ time, I expect to see every single one of your faces.” Grindelwald’s accusing finger swept the room, lingering on you for a fraction of a second much to your discomfort. “Dress accordingly, my dears. For it is to be the funeral of discrimination!”

With those final words, he exited, the chorus of cheers and applause ringing in his ears.

He left, knowing that his work was done.

It was the eve of the demonstration and everything was in place.

Vinda Rosier stood back and admired her work from beneath her black cloche hat. The little trim of lace that came down across her eyes she had thought was a nice, if not slightly satiric, touch to her all black ensemble.

It was fitting for the occasion however.

After all, she thought, this was an execution.

With a small chuckle, she stalked out of the theatre and Disapparated. She only had one more job to fulfil for the night to be a success.

Theseus could hardly believe his ears when Newt announced that they had received a letter.

Not even ten seconds ago, there had been the sound of the letterbox rattling, an unusual noise for your average wizard, let alone his extreme introvert of a brother. So when Newt had summoned it from the living room where they were all occupying, the four people sat around were on tenterhooks.

“To the four occupiers currently inhabiting Mr Scamander’s residency,

Please note that you are cordially invited to the showing of Grindelwald’s Hinrichtung.

A once in a lifetime display and an opportunity not to be missed.

Simply tear up this letter and you will be transported to the host venue.

Dress code is compulsory.

Yours sincerely,

Vinda Rosier”

Newt read the small, daintily written letter out loud to the room, before passing it around for each person to read personally.

After Theseus had finished reading it, being the last to receive the letter from Jacob, Tina spoke up.

“It’s a trap.” She stated, no room for debate.

Theseus growled with frustration, standing up from his seat and stalking round the room, the letter still clutched firmly in his grasp.

Newt hummed in agreement with the woman sat next to him, picking at a new loose thread on his trousers, obviously something that had been done whilst he had been downstairs tending to his creatures.

Jacob spoke up, not wanting to dismiss the letter instantaneously. “Now hold on a second, Queenie could be there, at that hinrick…whatever.”

Tina sighed, knowing full well that her younger sister would definitely be there, but also being able to see that it was exactly for that reason they wouldn’t be going.

“That’s why we’re invited. Because the alluring possibility of our friends and partners being there is what they are counting on.” Tina argued, hoping to make it painfully clear that none of them would be attending.

Newt once again was in agreement, much to Theseus’ exasperation. Having had enough, he decided to speak up.

“Newt, you don’t get it, you have everyone you need right here.”

Que the incontrollable blushing from both Tina and Newt as they shifted awkwardly in their seats.

Theseus gestured to Jacob and himself, “Who have we got? Queenie left, Leta is-”

Newt stood up and was across the room in a flash, stood in front of his brother with such a fierce look of hurt and grief in his eyes that Theseus faltered in his rant.

“You and I both know that what happened that night was difficult to deal with, Theseus.” Newt not failing in noticing the guilt and hurt flash across his older brother’s face. “But don’t use her death as a reason for getting yourself killed. Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain, please.” He begged.

Theseus couldn’t stop the tear that fell down his face, the torment of such a loss still fresh in his heart. Without warning, Newt once again reached out and pulled him in for a hug. Theseus knew it was difficult and overwhelming for his little brother to be so forwardly affectionate, even towards family, and so he had quickly learnt to cherish the small moments like this.

“She’s out there, Newt. I have the opportunity to find her again. Don’t you remember the conversations we had as kids? How I used to get so delighted over something as little as her smile?”

Newt pulled away, a hint of a smile on his face as he recalled his older brother’s hopeless infatuation. He’d even spoke to Leta about it, the two of them having to listen to his paranoid rambling about unreciprocated feelings countless times growing up.

“I know this must be hard for you.” Newt didn’t fail to notice the way Theseus swiped the singular tear away quickly.

Theseus nodded, looking down at the scrunched-up letter in his hand, knowing that you were just a quick trip away made it so difficult for him to not just tear up the letter and be gone in a flash before they could stop him. But that was selfish of him to think of, and so he kept it firmly in his grasp.

Tina was the one to interrupt, still hoping to offer some reasonable advice.

“This doesn’t change the fact that it’s still incredibly risky, we can’t go and possibly risk our lives or theirs.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone weighed up the possible ramifications in their heads, until Newt spoke up.

“Tina, you stay here with Jacob, Theseus and I will go get the girls.” Newt suggested.

Tina and Jacob stood up in a flash, their expressions both mirroring the same expression.

Not a chance, Scamander.

Despite how humorous the moment was, Theseus knew it wasn’t the time to joke and instead shook his head firmly, siding with the other two’s obvious objections. He wasn’t willing to put his baby brother in harm’s way. He wouldn’t lose anyone else this week.

“You’re needed here, to look after your creatures and protect Tina and Jacob.” Theseus stated bluntly.

Newt began to argue, “Bunty can lo-“

“No!” Theseus snapped, silencing the younger man instantly. “Newt, if you’ve ever respected me as a someone who works in the Ministry, or listened to me as your brother, you have stay here.”

Theseus gently but firmly held his brother by his shoulders, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Promise me you’ll stay, or in the name of Merlin, not even Dumbledore will be able to stop me from reprimanding your stubborn ass.”

Jacob couldn’t supress the loud laugh that erupted at Theseus’ final remark. Even Tina hid her mouth with her hand so that Newt wouldn’t see the small smile that she was wearing. Newt’s face went a deep red as he flushed with embarrassment and horror at Theseus’ light threat.

A bit of light relief in such dark times was something that they were all grateful for.

Newt begrudgingly made his promise, allowing Theseus to finally let go of him and begin running around, grabbing his wand and anything else he thought he needed. He noticed your wand sat on the table, having retrieved it from his coat pocket after the fight, and picked it up to take with him.

“Multicorfors.” He muttered, pointing his wand at himself.

His crumpled shirt changed to a tight-fitting, jet-black dress shirt, with a light grey tie sliding around his neck and fashioning a traditional Windsor knot. His trousers pressed themselves to be clean and crisp once more, and with a final flick of his wand, his unruly waves styled themselves into his usual slicked back do.

Jacob gave him the thumbs up, an idiotically cheesy grin that Theseus couldn’t help but find contagious, making him involuntarily mirror the amusing Muggle.

“Why the all black ensemble?” Tina questioned, her expression perplexed.

Theseus couldn’t stop himself from laughing, albeit sounding slightly harsher than normal, as this really was no laughing matter.

“Hinrichtung is German for execution.”

“I don’t like this Queenie, I haven’t even got a wand to protect myself.” You hissed, stood by the steps of the stage with the ever-beautiful blonde, facing out towards the room. She too was dressed in black as was requested, but with a dark pink accents on her dress and the fascinator that dipped to cover her right eye. She held her wand between her fingers and was unconsciously twirling it, her nerves betraying her cool expression.

You couldn’t help but fiddle with the hem of your outfit as you watched more wizards file into the room.

Your clothes had been presented to you by Rosier earlier this evening, in a posh, designer box with paper wrapped around them for protection. It was an unusual ensemble, despite its obvious elegance.

Long and flowing black trousers that skimmed the floor, a black cotton shirt with a scooped neck and last of all a cloak.

Made of the softest velvet and lined with silk inside, it was rather heavy on your shoulders and felt like more of a restraint than a fashion piece. It had a hood, but you had opted to keep it down.

The theatre you were stood in was breath-taking, the ceiling having been hand-painted with a mural on the domed roof, angels and deities carved into the walls and supports around the room. There was gilding everywhere, on the railings of the higher tiers, around the stage and even on the seats. It truly was a thing of beauty.

You had arrived merely ten minutes ago, but already the spacious theatre was almost bursting at the seams with onlookers and fanatics, purebloods alike all under one roof and dressed in varying states of fashion and wealth, but all were clothed in primarily black.

Turning your head, you spotted the familiar faces of Carrow and Abernathy, the latter being up on stage observing out from where he was hiding in the wings, whilst the former stood at the opposite end of the room to you and Queenie, guarding the other set of stairs.

No sign of Rosier or Grindelwald.

Credence was not in attendance tonight, Queenie had told you, for what reason you didn’t know. But it had put you at unease.

As the doors at the back of the main room shut with a loud bang, the lights were cut, a few of the audience members’ cries of shock echoing out as the chatter died down instantaneously.

You could hear the sound of boots clicking against varnished wood resonating behind your head, and you knew someone was walking onstage under cover of the darkness.

Then, there was light.

A bright, white orb that flew outwards from the stage, levitating high above the crowds with a brilliant shine that illuminated the room, casting numerous eerie shadows amongst them.

You gasped, your amazement of the iridescent glow catching you by surprise. You were not the only one to gasp however, as hundreds of wizards looked on at the scene before them. Turning yourself to look upon the stage, your heart stopped in horror, it’s rhythm faltering inside you as every sliver of air was sucked out of you instantly.

There stood Grindelwald, in all his unorthodox glory, his wand raised as he had been the one to conjure the light that now illuminated him and the guest he had dramatically revealed onstage.

Their arms were bound behind their back and ankles restrained by rope. The chair they were strapped to didn’t budge no matter how much they fought against it, obviously enchanted with a fixing charm to keep it securely on its legs.

But it wasn’t the pinioned limbs, or the sheer look of terror in their eyes that caught your attention, it was the fact that you knew him.

You knew that face…

And it filled you with fear.

Tag List:

@igotmadskills @velairena @nightskywriter @sleep-i-ness @dreacantsleep @brittanymcsharry @iamtheonewhocares @mystrade-shipper

[familyiswhoyouchoose]

Lights, Camera, Act Right (CH 1)

Most men in Hanzo's line of work lived glamorously if not gaudy lives adorned with drugs, jewels, cars, and their personal preference of company to keep the lonely nights at bay. While it was undeniable that they might've had a passion for their art - he couldn't find it in himself to respect someone who blatantly threw their wealth around as if it contributed even an inch to their acting ability. Which led him to the predicament that he was in now. Staring into the eyes of a harpy who'd yelled herself hoarse and red-faced after he made it explicitly clear that no matter how much of a tantrum she threw or how many zeros she put in her offer, he would not be her eye candy to the premiere that evening. It wasn't her fault really, she was a lovely woman before all of the screaming and ranting, and Hanzo figured any man would've been happy to be on her arm. However, he wasn't just any man and he certainly wasn't interested in someone who wanted to pay for his company. The very thought sent shivers down his spine. After all, he made enough money from the use of his likeness and the movies that he'd starred in along with the TV show cameos and other media outlets. And with the way the paparazzi were flashing their cameras, he could only assume that this would be another "cash cow" so to speak but also a headache for another time. His phone vibrated in his pocket, dragging his attention away from the fuming woman whose agent had scurried over to try and help her save face by calming her down. The man's pleas fell on deaf ears as Hanzo took the call, plugging one of his ears with a knuckle to better hear the person on the other line. "Hoho, you are in trouble, anija!" Genji said in a sing-song voice, the smug satisfaction practically dripping from his words. "The news spread that quickly?" Hanzo asked, turning on his heel and ignoring the irate cry of 'Get back here!' as he left the lobby area of the hotel, making a beeline for the elevator. "Yup," Genji replied, popping the 'p' in the way that Hanzo knew the situation was steadily going from bad to worse. "Says that you told her off and she was going to give you a piece of her mind." Hanzo sighed, thankful that he was alone in the elevator. The commotion from outside paired with security hindered most of the traffic flow into the building allowing him to slip away unnoticed for the time being. With his own security guarding the entrance, a lack of people flooding the halls and the elevators, Genji’s voice was all he had to listen to.

Though that meant his plans for going out to get food were shot even if he was wearing a disguise. "She offered to give me a small fortune, Genji." "Oooh, wrong move," Genji tutted. "You know you're priceless, anija." Hanzo rolled his eyes. While his fame and wealth had brought him a considerable amount of prestige, little brothers would always be little brothers. The elevator’s chime alerted him to reaching the uppermost level and he stepped off with a cursory glance down either side of the hall. Fishing his key card from his pocket, he headed to his room, listening to Genji chatter on about his day and the progress he’d made with editing and posting up his videos.

“Comments on YouTube are the funniest thing in the world, brother, I’m telling you,” Genji cackled, the clacking of keys carrying over the phone’s receiver.

Hanzo unlocked his room door and slipped inside, pulling off his shoes while balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear. “When they aren’t fighting against each other for ‘first’ or insulting one another’s mother?”

Stumbling forward after getting them off, he set them neatly by the door and made way for his bed, undoing his top knot as he went.

“Well, at least it’s a lot easier to get comments on YouTube than it is on fanfiction,” Genji answered, Hanzo’s sharp gasp eliciting raucous laughter, loud enough that he had to move the phone away from his ear.

If looks could kill, his phone would’ve been dead ten times over as he glared at the receiver as if it offended his entire family just by existing to relay such a horrendous message. “You swore to never mention that again,” he hissed, sitting down and slowly bringing it back to his ear. “Youswore Genji.”

“Yeah, well, all is fair in love and validation,” Genji said, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

Hanzo huffed and laid back on the duvet with a heavy thump, bouncing slightly as the mattress shifted beneath his weight. One hand combing through his hair while the other settled the phone between his shoulder and head again, he set to taking off his watch and wrist bracelet, pausing when he caught sight of the time. Genji’s laughter and chatter faded away as Hanzo sat up abruptly, knocking the phone across the bed. His head on a swivel towards the digital clock on his bedside table, 5:45 PM flashing at him in bright white letters.

Keeping his gaze on the clock, he slowly lifted up the phone to his ear and caught the tailwind of another of Genji’s stories about opening fan letters. There wasn’t any sound beyond his little brother’s ranting — as if he was home alone. Hanzo’s eyes narrowed.

“Genji,” Hanzo interrupted, voice eerily calm and quiet. “What time is it for you?”

“Uh.. about two forty-five, wh—” Genji paused mid sentence and Hanzo felt the other shoe drop when a muffled noise and sharp cry of ‘fuck’ came through on the other side.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hanzo groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling another raging headache coming on. “Genji, tell me you remembered to pick up the boys from school,” he pleaded, hoping that his little brother was just in his work room rather than home alone at 2:45 in the afternoon… on a school day.

“What was that…?” Genji asked, muffled crackling noises coming through and Hanzo held the phone a little ways from his ear, glaring at it with disdain. “Sorry Hanzo, I wasn’t.. Oh no, the connection is breaking… I…”

There was absolutely no way the connection could be breaking. Genji prided himself on his data and uploading speed, if even one of his videos or calls lagged, he would throw a fit. And Hanzo would never hear the end of it. Eyebrow twitching, Hanzo breathed in deeply and counted backwards from ten before exhaling.

“Genji, I swear to you,” he began, praying to the heavens for patience.

“Relax, brother,” Genji chided, although he sounded slightly out of breath, from running to the car if Hanzo’s guess was right. “I’m only… fifteen minutes late.”

Hanzo pursed his lips, sucking his teeth as a thought came to mind. “Do you remember that ‘Worlds Best Uncle’ mug I got for you?”

“Use it everyday,” Genji chirped.

Hanzo smiled thinly, whispering ominously. “I’m breaking it into pieces.”

“No, brother please, anything but the mug!”

“Then your face,” Hanzo said dryly, scowling at the wall. “I’m breaking your face.”

Genji sighed. “Well, the mug was nice while it lasted.”

It was moments like this that Hanzo wished he’d gotten the dog that he asked for instead of the screaming pink-faced raisin that was Genji Shimada. Alas, thirty-five years later, he was still stuck with him for better or worse. Right now though, it was worse.

“ Genji .”

“My face is what makes me money, brother!” Genji shouted, the sound of a car door unlocking making Hanzo roll his eyes. “And you know what they say about your money maker.”

“If you don’t pick up your nephews in the next ten minutes, your older brother will smash it?”

A beat of silence passed between them, only the sounds of Genji clicking his seatbelt to Hanzo’s relief filling the void before his brother spoke again with a deadpan tone. “....That was terribly literal.”

“The clock is ticking, Genji,” Hano replied, making a ‘tick tock’ noise, biting back laughter at Genji’s exaggerated groan.

“Okay, okay. I’ll call you back when I get them, Dadzo .”

Seizing up at the nickname, Hanzo shouted indiginantly,  “Gen—” before three soft beeps punctuated the end of the call leaving him alone in his hotel room staring at the obnoxious display picture of his brother when he’d dyed his hair an eye-gouging shade of green. Sliding through his apps, Hanzo opened up one of his photo albums and shuffled backwards onto the bed until his back pressed against the headboard, thumbing through the photos until he found one of two boys smiling at the camera and waving.

The caption beneath it reading ‘Shingen and Hayao stole your phone - Genji’. Hanzo snorted, shaking his head as he switched from the photo album to his voice mails, scrolling through to one of the most recent saved ones. Pressing it, he waited for it to start playing, smiling as two young voices laughing and yelling filled the background with Genji’s trying to talk over them.

“Hanzo! Answer your phone! Ugh, hey guys, could you come here real fast?”

Dogs barking and loud footsteps followed, the noise muffled on the other end, Genji’s voice further away and hard to make out.

“On the count of three… real loud… home early…”

Hanzo knew what was coming and held his phone further from his ear when two loud voices yelled, “Dad, we miss you!”, at the same time. It nearly blew his eardrum the first time he listened in — afraid that something might’ve happened. Only to find that it was one of his brother’s pranks but also a heartfelt message. Genji’s laughter coming through as he said, “Come home soon, brother! And call me back, you do know how a phone works right?”

Hanzo rolled his eyes heavenward but his smile fell. The room seemed… so much bigger in the absence of voices or other persons. It was strange.

“Maybe I have been away from home too long,” he muttered, rewinding the message and laying his phone beside him, letting it play out again.

His eyes fluttered shut and he breathed in deeply. Perhaps if he just imagined it, it would feel like he was at home.

[beefybuffybucky]

The Moth and the Flame (Pt. 1)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!HoH!enhanced!Reader - Avengers x female!HoH!enhanced!Reader

Summary: Reader is a new member of the Avengers team, and encounters quite a few challenges being the only HoH (hard of hearing) member of the team, but Bucky tries to help. Yet, they’re both unaware of the challenges to come.

Warnings: none !! ((but there will be tons of angst later on))

Word Count: 1.5K

A/N: y’all get two fics this week !! i’ve never written for a HoH/d/Deaf character before so if any of y’all have any tips, please feel free to message me or comment! i would really appreciate feedback on this one (“: i would’ve put the signing parts in italics, but a lot of the dialogue is with signing, so it’s written in regular dialogue formatting !! if y’all want, you can submit requests and i can incorporate them into this series !!

The first thing you notice about the compound is the large, gorgeously crystal-clear windows that form most of the walls of the main building. A warm summer breeze brushes gently over your skin and dances through your hair as you follow Tony Stark and another woman, and interpreter, up the sparkling stairs to the main entrance of the intimidatingly fancy building.

“We’re going to meet the rest of the team first, and then we’ll show you where your room is,” the interpreter turns to you and signs calmly with a small smile tugging at her lips before Tony opens the door.

You nod back with a polite smile in return, but on the inside, your thoughts were racing a million miles a minute as you worry about what the others will think of you.

What if I’m not enough? What if they think I can’t handle my own in a fight? Or if I can’t cover them in a battle? What if -

You trail behind Tony and the interpreter and blink, shaking away your frantic thoughts. You’re led down a seemingly endless hallway until you take a turn down another hallway and can see people standing around in a room at the end of it. You immediately recognize all of their faces, and can recall their names.

A ringing overpowers the limited hearing ability you have, and you tap your fingers against the side of your thigh nervously as you step into the room, all eyes on you as you see Tony’s mouth movie out of the corner of your eye. The interpreter takes a few steps in front of you and turns her back to the group of people to face you.

“Y/N, these are the rest of the team members,” she signs. “The rest of the team, this is Y/N. Give her a warm welcome.”

You force a tight smile to the group and wave.

“Hey. My name is Y/N,” you take time to sign out your name while keeping your mouth shut tight. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

The interpreter then turns to the group and talks to them, then turns back to you. Tony pats the back of your shoulder, jerking you forward a little, and meets your gaze through his sunglasses.

“Go ahead, go mingle,” he grins confidently as you try to read his lips. You nod and return a small smile.

You walk up to a few people, and are immediately pulled into a hug by Wanda Maximoff. Her hair smells like apples and brushes softly over your cheek.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you,” she tells you as she pulls back, releasing you from her welcoming embrace. The next person to greet you is Steve Rogers, and he hands you a glass of water, which you take eagerly with a shaky hand. You take a sip and then set it on the white countertop next to you.

“You’re all so beautiful,” you sign enthusiastically, your nerves calming a little.

“Thank you,” Natasha laughs brightly as she signs.

“Do you know sign?” Excitement bubbles in your chest as you sign back to her.

“Not too much,” she pouts expressively as her hands move quickly. “Only a little bit.”

You nod and flash her a smile before greeting the rest of the room. The last person you meet is Bucky Barnes, the infamous Winter Soldier. When Natasha had released all of the HYDRA files a few years back, you combed every single one, searching for information on the elusive spy, becoming completely entranced by the horrors he was put through. You wished more than anything to take his pain away, and to just understand him.

He strides up to you with a handsome grin plastered on his face and extends a hand towards you - his metal one.

You shake it, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. His hand lingers in yours longer than it should have, and he quickly licks his lips before stuffing his hands back into his pocket, his calm exterior now being invaded by his nerves.

“I think they’re going for dinner,” the interpreter cuts in. “Do you want to join them? Or, do you want to go to your room and settle in?”

“I would rather settle in,” you sign back, nervously shrugging. “Can you tell them it was nice meeting them and I’ll see them in the morning?”

The interpreter nods and turns to the group as you turn around and find a new man holding your bags. He smiles at you and turns down a hallway, and you follow.

Your room was at the end of the hall. A dark, wooden door opened to a gray, naturally-lit room with the farthest wall being - of course - made of crystal-clear glass panes. The space was comfortable, not too large, but not too small, and a queen sized bed already made in black sheets and a blanket rested near the wall to your right, nearly cutting the room in half. The man set your bags next to you, nodded with a polite grin, and took his leave to let you settle into your new home.

You sigh and grab your two bags, tossing them onto the bed. As you start to rustle through them, sorting clothes and folding as you go, you sense a creeping presence behind you, and quickly whip around, only to spot Bucky standing in the doorway, holding a box in his hands.

“Sorry,” you read his lips as you work to register his words. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” you exaggerate the amount of relief through a drop in your shoulders as you sign.

“I, um...,” he shifts his weight nervously from leg to leg before finally deciding to step into the room. “I bought this for you.”

“For me?” You gesture in gentle disbelief, your brows knitting together in confusion.

Bucky silently hands over the box, his hands brushing against yours as he does.

“I thought you’d want something to decorate with,” he sheepishly smirks, watching you closely.

You take off the top and slowly pull away the white, sparkling tissue paper to reveal a gorgeous drawing of a moth formed by geometric patterns and highlighting with rich, gold ink, all contained in a simple, black frame.

“It’s beautiful,” you gape at the artwork in front of you as you sign with your free hand. “Thank you.”

“Steve helped me find it,” he confesses, a slight blush dusting his cheeks. He clears his throat and drops his gaze to the ground, looking at his feet. “So, why don’t you, uh,” Bucky hesitantly looks up at you, a glint of something guarded shining in his eyes. “What don’t you speak?”

A warm blush rises in your cheeks as you try to think of how to explain it to him.

It’s more comfortable for me not to, you confess to his mind.

“You...You can speak in...in my head?” He stares at you, a slightly-frightened look shrouding his stoney complexion.

Yes, you whisper back in response. It’s my gift.

“How much can you hear?” Bucky’s eyes glint with interest and sincerity as he watches your face shift. “Can you read lips? Why don’t you just use your ability to communicate all the time?”

You giggle at his questions and bite your cheek as you try to think of the best way to answer them.

It’s easier for me to read lips in quieter places, like here, because I can still make out some words and tones, you explain telepathically. But, in busier places, I have to sign all the time, and have to ask the other person to write out what they’re trying to tell me, too. It’s also harder for me to hear when I get really anxious or nervous. But I don’t always use my ability because it takes up a lot of energy, a lot more than lip-reading does.

“That sounds really draining,” Bucky chuckles gently as he tries to recover from his awkwardness.

A big grin spreads across your face and you glance up to meet his gaze again. You reply with a playful shrug.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Bucky asks with a quirk of his brow.

“Yeah,” you sign. “Tomorrow.”

He turns and leaves with a smile that’s so deliciously comforting you nearly melt into the carpet beneath your feet, the work of art in your hands nearly radiating with warmth.

Maybe this could be a good thing, you think, smiling quietly as your eyes breeze over the picture once more before you hang it on the wall above your night table, next to your bed.

Who knew a moth could be so beautiful, you sigh contentedly, then return back to organizing your things into piles, thoughts of Bucky drifting in and out of your mind up until you fall asleep.

Tags: @lovelyttom @caplansteverogers @prettyboydiggory @c-ly-g @dottirose @winters-beauty @lokigodofsasss @wildefire ​

[terranoctis]

epic iv

Here follows spoilers, lingering in the dark with another list of stories I’ve consumed.

1. The Song Of Achilles by Madeleine Miller

I’ve heard a spectrum of comments about this story for years, most things good. I studied Latin for three years in high school, so I’ve translated more parts of the Iliad than I wanted to as a teenager. But now that years have passed, I have a fondness for classical texts like the Iliad that I couldn’t have had then when it was my homework. Though I’ve forgotten much of my Latin nowadays, I do remember the story of Aeneas somewhat--and by connection, fragments of Achilles’ story. The ending of this story did not come as a surprise to me, because it’s a story most will know if they have some familiarity with classical Latin literature. Even so, the novel is still a great read when one knows the ending. If anything, there’s a kind of beauty in knowing the end and taking in the views along the way.

Though there are prophecies in the original texts, like one that I believe where it was foretold Achilles would die at Troy, this story specifically uses the prophecies to foreshadow the kind of ending we already know will come. From Patroclus being promised to fight for Helen to Achilles being the fated warrior and dying after Hector...We’re privy to these storms coming down the road, but we’re also living in this moment of Patroclus seeing the most humane sides of Achilles. Achilles, by all means, is a flawed human, but that’s what makes this story so much more compelling. His pride is what sets most of the ending arc in motion, as it is his grief that brings the story to its penultimate end. It’s a Greek tragedy, and a story of love between two men who are seen as anything as but in many interpretations of their relationship.

And really, what’s the most refreshing is that it’s written from Patroclus’ perspective. He is a character who doesn’t have a voice as much in these stories, as a man at Achilles’ side. It’s also, if one might add, a good friends to lovers story (*winks terribly*). It is though, a stronger focus on the relationship between the two than anything else. Though Miller still does a good job at illustrating the world around the pair, the story is hyper-focused on the two. 

I personally don’t think I enjoyed the story as much as it was lauded (I’ve been seeing rave reviews for years), but I very much still understand why it was lauded and liked the novel. I would like to read Miller’s other story Circe now because I think her way of writing would make the story of a witch that much more compelling. I think I may have to also re-read the Iliad, only if because I’m curious to see how it would make think about this story if I remembered more of the classical text. Even though I have some criticisms, it boils down to the fact that I enjoyed this novel. You cannot deny the beauty of the writing.

2. A Deadly Education by Naomi Novik

It’s hard to put my feelings on this novel into sensible terms. I was trying to make sense of whether I actually liked the book or not, and it came down to the fact that I did even though it felt like the book was trying very hard to be something more substantive than it was. That isn’t to say it’s not a good book, or that it is a great book. It is a fun read, for what it is. I believe it is a fun book, much more so than Novik’s other books I’ve read that kind of follow a relatively more serious plot in worlds she seems to have stronger footing in. It’s clear to me and one that should be noted in case there are comparisons--this novel seems markedly intended to be marketed towards a younger age group than Uprooted and Spinning Silver. This world also takes place on Earth, unlike previous novels, so there are significantly more modern references and writing that evokes our modern world. In turn, I think it opens up to more criticisms because it will be comparable to our society, which in turns up some issues I’ll mention further in this post. If anything, I feel slightly terrible that there will be comparisons made regardless of the author’s intent to Harry Potter for any who have read that series. J.K. Rowling doesn’t have the sole authorship of magical schools in fiction, but the comparison is there because it’s the most prominent ones in most readers’ minds.

Before I proceed further, there have been controversies over Novik’s writing of race in this novel. I did not take issue personally, as an Asian American, with depictions of Asians in this novel. That being said, I am not of the specific descent with which it could be taken as offensive, and so in reading the text, my personal stake in the depiction would have lessened any perceived offense in it. Take my opinion with a grain of salt, and please understand that I do empathize with those who are offended. I understand why people may take issues with Yi Liu as a name, and I particularly understand why descriptions of hair associated with race (i.e., locs, El’s hair as someone of Indian descent) being written in terms of being “dirty,” may particularly be offensive. Though the latter was related to how the scholomance, or the school, has maleficara that will attack any students and hair was a bad idea in the school in general because it’s an easy way for them to get attacked--I can understand why even that connotation (that I don’t think Novik ever intended) could be extremely problematic. It’s not okay the loc description was connotated that way, if you reread that section, and it’s something I hope she learns in future books. That being said, I do think much of the criticism is unfair. Novik is not tone-deaf as I’ve read in other writers. She is working to describe a more diverse world even if it’s not the strongest way to do so. I think it should be noted the bullies in her story are establishment, rich kids. The loc description is the worst of her offenses, but it’s something a writer is learning and reprimanded for (not hated on, as I’ve been seeing in some reviews). Novik works to write a diverse world, which is something markedly more than what many white writers in magical schools have done--and that effort is something that should be commended.  I mentioned earlier Rowling. Simply compare the student body of Novik’s world to Rowling’s Hogwarts to see what I mean about diversity. I sincerely hope she takes the constructive criticisms of this novel to improve in the next one, because I sincerely think she can be better and will be. 

The story definitely focuses on the grim side of magic, with larger-than-life stakes when it comes to survival and becoming accomplished students. Even the most minute details like eating lunch are filled with danger, to which all these students have acclimated to. Nonetheless, as a story led with teenage protagonists, there’s very much a sense of cliques and popularity that correlate directly to their survival and futures.

It’s interesting that El’s foil is everyone’s favorite hero and her new best himbo friend, Orion Lake. (It also made me giggle, because one of my characters is named Orion, and he’s the complete opposite of the Orion in this book) Orion is immediately likable to everyone, but he’s being used while El is disliked and refuses to be used by anyone. They’ve both never been quite treated as a normal person or friend by anyone, so their unlikely friendship is the core of this story. Quite frankly, the story shines the most when these two are working together to do whatever they need to. A review I read remarked upon their relationship as the amazing friendship of a himbo and his intelligent best friend, and it made me laugh because it’s so true and it’s fun to read. 

El’s nature as someone shunned makes her want to shun everyone else and build alliances. It’s nice, for one, that she builds an alliance of other anti-establishment people at the costing of shunning establishment people, depending on how you look at it. It assumes though that all establishment people are bad, and maybe it’s my hesitance on that which makes me hesitant on liking El. Nonetheless, that’s kind of the joy of a flawed character. She’s allowed to make mistakes and reassess them as her experiences go on. We see that in her gradual interactions with Clara, and that’s a credit to the writing, no matter how minimal those interactions are so far. 

Overall, I do think the book is a fun read. The execution of the writing, in El’s attitude at times to the glaring problems of depiction mentioned earlier, are the flaws in this story. Nonetheless, the dialogue and the interactions between these kids still make it a fun ride. It’s not exactly my favorite book on magic, but an enjoyable one nonetheless. 

3. The Space Between Worlds by Micaiah Johnson

Where do I even start with this one? I think I was drawn from the very first chapter. It’s a refreshing and beautifully-woven take on the multi-verse, in ways that I think I would love to see a film or TV adaptation on this. A multi-verse is a subject matter that interests me, but it’s also the way this novel was written that truly sells it for me. This might be one of my favorite novels I’ve read in awhile. It’s not a perfect novel (what novel is?), but I thoroughly enjoyed it. 

The story is not only a depiction of multi-verses, but also a discussion on how the conditions of your environment can dictate much of who you become. It opens in an interesting way, showing that the only people who can become traversers, or travelers through multi-verses, are those who are dead in that world. That is why Cara is a traverser, because she’s dead on almost every world they’ve discovered. She only survived by a different choice or a different means of life on this one, when the conditions of how she was raised with a poor mother, generally killed her on most worlds. The multi-verse in this story is not only just for the exploration side of things, but also a commentary on classism and social constructs. It’s what makes this story stand out. All good science fiction novels for me are a commentary on something very human, and in this case, it’s the result of how little choices or even little factors can factor in someone surviving or not. Cara’s a survivor, and there are twists that are introduced throughout the story that continually took me off-guard, when generally, I can sort of guess some twists for most stories I read nowadays. It’s a testament to how well-written the story is from Cara’s POV.

At first, I felt the last third of the novel was not as strong as the first two-thirds, but the more I think about it from a thematic standpoint, the more I do like it and the ending, at least in terms of Cara and Dell. I’m not certain I enjoy the ambiguity of what happens with Adam Brosch, our main antagonist, and his brother. That being said, I sort of understand where the author wanted to go with this. We only have one world to live with sometimes, so might as well live the best one with the brother we do have and the world we can control. At least, that’s one take on it. One doesn’t forget the atrocities of such men’s crimes, however.

The longing between Cara and Dell is quite beautiful as well. I do feel the writer put them in at times with a romantic connection that was a glowing bright light at all times, which I have my issues with, but some loves can be like that and I respect that. It doesn’t always read the best though, but for the purposes of this novel, I think it suffices and weaves in beautifully when tied to traversers. There’s a kind of haunting way in which Cara understands that on every world, she’s afraid of her abusive ex and his brother (who turns out to be her boss in this main world). There’s an even more beautiful meaning in Cara thinking that in every world, she's drawn to Dell. It takes on a different mean when you think about who you are in multiple, divergent universes and think that perhaps there is one constant factor to it with someone you love. I think it’s telling that the author ended on that note, about a couple who probably wouldn’t have worked out on any other universe because the space between them was so vast. But that it existed in just one world, with them, meant more than anything and that it was precious. In the end, the story closes to multiple worlds and talks lovingly about the possibility and hope in this one. It closes with Cara’s vision of herself with Dell, despite everything that has happened and may happen to her--and that this one out of all the infinite worlds means significantly more to her. 

I also wanted to note that the author’s dedication at the end of the novel, right after the words that Cara narrates in her vision of her future with Dell, is touching. I don’t mean to read into the author’s intent, but I can’t help but feel in a good way that the story sort of takes on another meaning with that dedication. I admire that kind of affection, that I can only imagine to an extent she wrote for someone else she left unnamed. I guess, after all, I do want love stories in my fantasy and science fiction novels. I’m not surprised exactly.

When it comes down to it, I’m also a ruthless romantic at times. This is the kind of story that makes me want to write more and more. 

[saintkeith]

okay what about some pining!klance and everyone (including each other) knows how they feel but they just don't know what to do

your birthday is tomorrow (or in a few hours) so I thought I would go ahead and write this one for you. I’ve never written anything klance so this was super fun to work with !! Happy Birthday !!!

Hunk knew Lance would never admit it, but the playboy was head over heels for Keith. At first Lance would make subtle comments like, “If Keith were here” and “I miss making fun of Keith” which he would also never admit to the fact that it was playful teasing. Hunk knew when his friend genuinely hated someone, and when he was just being playful.

“You fit that ‘boys will be boys’ stereotype.” He said through a mouthful of cookies he’d just baked.

Lance arched a pointed eyebrow. “What do you mean? Isn’t that phrase kinda toxic?”

“Well yeah, obviously. What I mean is like you’re mean to Keith even though you like him. Kinda what boys in elementary school do to girls they actually like.”

Pidge snickered in agreeance. “You do act like a grade schooler.”

Lance nearly choked on the milk he was drinking, while the other two paladins laughed at him mockingly before Lance jabbed a finger into Pidge’s chest. “Okay, well first off, I’m not a grade schooler, if anything you’re a grade schooler, being the youngest palad-”

“I’m smarter than you-”

“And secondly, Keith is NOT a girl so obviously-”

“You’re gay. I get it dude.” Hunk stated, a happy smile on his face.

Lance only stared at him wide eyed, mouth dropped before his jaw clicked shut. “Hunk, you know I am not gay-”

“Yeah, you’re probably bi if anything, but you literally haven’t gone a day without mentioning Keith since he left to join the blades. Don’t mean to call you out, but that’s his shirt isn’t it?” Hunk pointed at the My Chemical Romance shirt. Only one person here listens to that.

“I’ve always listened to MCR…”

“Since when?” Hunk raised a confident brow this time, and Pidge was quick to put Lance on the spot.

“Since Keith left.” With that, Lance stormed out the kitchen, while his two friends giggled quietly.

“Why is it always so cold in this castle?” Lance whined as he walked into the breakroom, seeing that Shiro was napping somewhat on the couch while Pidge and Matt were discussing something probably nerdy.

Shiro peeked one eye open at Lance, before closing his eyes and resting his head against the back of the couch. “I don’t know. Is Keith’s jacket not keeping you warm?”

Lance flushed, before he scowled at the older male. “Excuse you, this is my hoodie!”

Shiro didn’t bother to open his eyes and look at him, but his tone of voice was amused. “So you both bought the same red and white jacket? Cute.”

Matt perked up. “Damn Shiro, you have eyes everywhere huh?”

“I actually have eyes built in my arm-”

“Ahem!” Lance interrupted, both hands on his hips. “I’ll have you know that when your beloved Keith dropped out of the Garrison, they ended up giving me the stuff he never received before he left.”

Shiro openly glared at Lance, which made him flatter. “It’s fine Lance, we’re just teasing you. We all know you miss you beloved Keith. It’s fine.”

Pidge actually took a moment to stop whatever she was typing up to stare back and forth between the two paladins, before Lance finally let up with a defeated sigh. “I, uh… I gotta put on my facemask. It’s that time again.” With that he left again.

No one said anything else to Lance about him pining over Keith. They’d shoot each other knowing glances when Lance would walk in wearing something that obviously was not his (you usually wouldn’t catch him dead in a Metallica shirt and skinny jeans) or try not to giggle when he even slightly mentioned anything about Keith or the blades.

Lance was slightly aware of his behavior. When he was cold at night (whenever night was in space) he’d sneak into Keith’s room to steal a few pillows, a blanket one night, and eventually had his whole wardrobe in his closet. Any missions they’d engage, Lance felt a bit more at ease with Shiro being the leader again, but it was hard to accept when he was just starting to get used to Keith leading the team. It was also weird to form sword, since that was Keith’s job.

Some days he’d go to the hanger and fly the red lion, wondering how in the world Keith got used to such fast and quick responding controls. He found himself thinking more into a flight or fight instinct, and nine times out of ten, he’d end up fighting, just how he suspected Keith would.

“I miss my bond with the blue lion, but I also miss Keith too.”

“Finally!” Hunk exhaled. “You admitted it!”

Lance grunted as he watched the game they were playing end. He put it on pause to sit back and lean up against the bed.

“Yeah, I guess. I wish we were more important to him than the blades were.”

Hunk took a moment to study his friend, before saying anything. “Lance… I don’t think it has anything to do with who is more important. I think it’s that Keith found a place to belong with the blades, that he just didn’t find here with us. Shiro and… well the rest of us, hoisted a lot of stress on his shoulders making him the leader and all.”

“That’s true I suppose. I just wish we had done more to get rid of his insecurities. It bothers me that he thinks so low of himself.”

Lance sighed as Hunk rubbed his back. “I’m sure you’ll convince him otherwise when he gets back.”

“What? How?” Lance perked up at that, excited at the thought of Lance returning, even for a little bit.

“Dude… have you seen your own room?” He gestured to the room, that was covered with Keith’s clothes in piles, and extra blankets and pillows that obviously didn’t belong to him. Lance could only shove him playfully while they laughed.

“Shiro.”

The leader took a second to turn around, so engrossed in the map and where they were stationing rebel fighters that he almost missed hearing his name. When he turned, his eyes widen with surprise before his face lit up in a smile.

“Keith! You’re back!”

They both hugged for a moment before Shiro let him go, hands placed on his shoulders.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, his tone laced with worry as he looked Keith up and down.

“Yeah. The blades decided to send me back here for a couple of days so I can keep up with you guys. Kolivan said I need time to kinda regroup. The work we’ve been doing, its… well you know.” Keith smiled and looked down for a second. While he definitely was pleased working with the blades, their brutal ways of believing the mission was more important than any individual did grate on his emotions a bit. It’s not that he didn’t agree with them, but every mission was life threatening.

“I understand. Maybe you should go rest up a bit, the others are having some down time. We can all meet up at dinner later.”

“Uh, about that…” Keith shuffled a bit. “If the other guys really didn’t want me apart of the team, you could have told me so Shiro. I honestly would have been more than fine just leaving, since I was never really a good tea-”

“Keith. What are you talking?” Shiro crossed his arms, wondering what could have spurred this on.

“Well, my stuff. You guys got rid of all my stuff in my bedroom. I already checked.”

Shiro could only blink for a second before laughing out loud. Keith jumped in shock for a moment, staring dumbly at the older man he considered to be his brother. Shiro was better at expressing his thoughts and feelings on things than Keith was, but like Keith, he didn’t have these kinds of out burst (Keith had angry ones, other than that, he was reserved).

“Oh Keith…” He sighed. “It’s not like that. Go check Lances room.”

Keith felt a vein pop in his forehead. “I swear if this is another cruel prank from him I’ll-”

“Just. Go. Check.”

Out of all the clothes Keith owned, Lance had to admit that his Garrison hoodie and sweatpants were the most comfortable. When the door slid open, revealing a red faced paladin in his tight black marmora suit (which Lance found admittedly hot), Lance went through a whole range of emotions. He went from anger, to embarrassment, to extremely happy to flustered in like two seconds that he choked on his on spit when he tried to say “uh”.

“Why do you have your hair up in a bandan- Why are you wearing my clothes?!”

Lance took a moment to recollect himself. “It’s not like you needed them after you left!”

“So you just take people’s things when they leave for a little b-”

“Don’t say it’s been a little bit! You’ve been away for several weeks now! Besides I’m the red paladin now-”

“Yeah, yeah I get it! You never wanted me to be the head anyways!”

Keith grumbled as he started to pick up his clothes. “That’s not true…”

“Of course it is. Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying! Sure it might have been hard accepting that Shiro was gone and we had to rearrange lions but I never wanted you to leave me or the rest of the team!” Keith snapped his head at Lance, and his gaze softened a bit at how serious the tanned boy looked. He knew Lance could be serious at times, but it was far in between. Normally his flirty attitude put the rest of the team at ease, so this meant he probably felt deeply about this.

Keith sighed as he stood straight up with an armful of his own clothes. “I didn’t mean to upset you or anyone else by leaving the team and joining the blades. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Lance only frowned at that before coming closer to Keith and knocked the clothes back on the floor. “Leave your clothes here. There’s too much to carry back.”

“Okay where am I sleeping?”

“In here.”

“Excuse me?”

Lance pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Are you deaf and dumb? You’re staying here. I can make a makeshift bed with all the extra pillows and covers. There’s no point in taking all your stuff to your room when you’ll most likely leave again.”

Keith only blinked before he grinned at Lance. “What? Because you’ll only go back to get my stuff?”

Lance turned beat red at that, but he wasn’t sure if it was because Keith was lowkey flirting with him or if it was because Keith had a beautiful smile.

“Just shut up! To answer your question early, the bandana is to pull my hair away from my face. I’m about to put on a face mask. Wanna join?”

“Sure.”

Lance barely hid his delight at the answer. “Okay then get out of that ugly suit,” he lied through his teeth, “and wearing something more comfortable.”

“Hmm, okay.” Keith took a moment to watch Lance head into the bathroom to mix his concoction before he started to unbuckle his armor. “Hey Lance! Can you help me for a second?!”

Lance almost dropped the glass bowl he was mixing in before he shakily set it down. ‘Okay Lance, chill. He’s got nothing that you haven’t seen before!’ Taking a deep breath he slowly stepped out the bathroom to see Keith in nothing but the body suit.

‘Damn he looks good in black!’

“I just need you to unzip the back for me.”

“Y-Yeah. Sure thing.”

Carefully, he brushed away Keith’s hair (his hair felt like silk) and slowly pulled down the zipper, the noise it was making seemed like the loudest thing in the room and rang in his ears.

“The hell?” He cleared his throat, keeping his blue eyes going from broad shoulders to the narrow waist and small of Keiths back. “How the hell do you not get your mullet caught in the zipper of this thing?”

Keith scoffed at that. “For that, I’m gonna wear something of yours.”

“Fine by me.” Lance blurted out before mentally screaming at himself. Quickly, he turned on his heel to finish mixing the face mask.

Keith only stared at him before sliding the suit off, and grabbing some shorts and a tank top. So Lance like. He walked into the bathroom, watching Keith had some rosewater and witch hazel to the muddy concoction in the bowl. Lance took a moment to glance at him.

“Aren’t you cold wearing that?”

“No? It’s not nearly as cold in this castle as you say it is.”

“Well… it doesn’t get cold in Cuba.” There was almost a sad look in his blue eyes, and Keith felt bad that he brought it up.

“Hey, I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine!” Lance chirped, trying to push away the thoughts of his family and home out of his head. “We need to pull your hair back from your face.”

Keith arched a thick eyebrow as he watched Lance go rummaging through a cabinet. “I look ugly without my mullet.”

“You’re ugly with it. Here.” Lance held up a hair band and a hair tie. “Turn around so I can brush your hair.”

Keith narrowed his eyes at him, before turning around. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Lance slowly started from the bottom, brushing his hair and smoothing it out with his hands. He couldn’t tell what Keith’s expression was, but by the soft sighs, he seemed to be enjoying it. It looked like at one point Keith’s hair was just normally short and he didn’t bother to get a trim, so it turned into a mullet at the base of his neck.

‘Does he wash his hair with coconut oil or something?’ Lance wondered, but decided not to ask. He brushed his grown out side bangs, and pulled it back into a tight and small pony tail at the top of his head. Afterwards he stretched the hair band over his head.

“Turn around.”

Keith turned towards him, and Lance pulled the hair band up over his face and made it pull back the rest of the lose bangs the pony tail couldn’t hold back completely. Lance stared at his face for a second, never having seen his whole face like this before. Keith happened to have high cheekbones, and pretty square jaw, while his forehead evened out the rest of his face. Not too big, not too small, and while he had thick eyebrows, for someone who probably didn’t tweeze them, they had a perfect and natural arch to them.

“You are a horrible liar.” Lance said, not holding back this time, and was delighted to see Keith blush and look away.

“Is the face mask ready yet?”

“Yes. You’ve probably never detoxed your face before, so I’m putting yours on first.” Lance dipped the brush into the mix, before brushing it over Keith’s face.

“Oh my god! It’s cold!”

“I thought you didn’t get cold! Now stay still!”

They both bickered back and forth while Lance painted Keith’s face with the green mix, Keith watching through the mirror and making snarky comments about Lance’s lack of painting.

“Yeah well, we’ll see you do better.”

“I will!” Keith snatched the bowl after Lance finished and dipped the brush into paint Lance’s face next. With a shaky hand, he decided to start with Lance’s forehead, figuring it would be the easiest.

“Wow you already got it in my eye brows!”

Keith rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you have any to begin with. Compared to me anyways.”

“Excuse me? Are you blind too? I’ll have you know these eyebrows are the fullest you’ll ever see. They have never been touched by a razor.”

“Suuuure.” Keith laughed at him. “Stop scowling. You’re gonna mess me up.”

Lance sighed irritably and watched Keith paint on him through the mirror, but every now and then he would look at Keith and note how adorable he looked when concentrating. Keith would look back at him, and for the first time noticed the deep blues in Lances eyes. ‘He really was meant to be the blue paladin huh?’ Embarrassingly, they both would look away.

Once finished, Keith set the bowl in the sink and turned on the hot water so it’d melt off the bowl.

“So uh… how long will you be here for?”

“Several days.”

Keith looked at Lance, trying to figure out what was making him look so serious.

“Hey can I ask you something?” Keith broke the awkward silence, watching how Lance stiffened.

“Y-Yeah?”

“… Are you doing that thing elementary boys do to girls they happen to li-?”

Keith stopped as he watched Lance groan and bang the back of his head against the wall. “Not this again…”

The shorter male blinked for a moment, before feeling a knot well up in his throat. “What- Actually nevermind. That was a dumb question and that’s a stupid analogy.” Quickly, he went to leave the bathroom, but Lance quickly got his arm and gently pulled him back.

“Keith, it is like that. Kinda?”

“Kinda?”

Lance pulled down the collar of his- Keith’s hoodie and was actually thankful the mask was hiding his surely red cheeks. “Kinda, because that is a really stupid stereotype. I don’t want to be mean to you anymore, I never meant any harm in making fun of you, but… I don’t want to pick at you to a point where you feel you have to leave the team.”

Keith’s jaw dropped. “Lance, it’s not like that-”

“Yes it is like that! Even if you didn’t take it that way, it didn’t help you feel any better about belonging here. I’m almost positive Shiro hates me for it.” Lance hugged himself, shivering at the cold and rubbing his shoulders.

Wordlessly, Keith grabbed Lances hand and sat him down on the bed, crisscrossing his legs and sitting across from him. “Lance, listen… I can’t explain why I joined the blades. Part of it is because I wanted Shiro to reconnect with the black lion and the other part… I’ve had the knife on me for as long as I can remember and joining the blades… I feel I’m one step closer to finding out who I really am. It has nothing to do with you picking on me, okay? I’ll always be apart of Voltron, even if I am not physically here with all of you. Besides, I already know you like me.”

Lance perked up at that, eyebrows raising. “Really?”

“Yes. We would not make a good team if you absolutely hated me.”

‘Idiot, not that kind of like.’ Lance felt his world damper a bit, all hopes lost.

“I didn’t mean that kinda like. Like… I like like you.”

It was Keith’s turn to be surprised. “Really? I thought you were straight?”

Lance wrinkled his nose at that. “What gave you that impression?”

“For starters, every planet we’ve gone to you find some girl to hit on.”

“Hmm.” Lance scratched the back of his head. “Good point. I guess I’m bi then, but I’m like ninety nine percent sure you’re as straight as the stick up your ass.”

“Believe in the one percent. I’m gay as fuck.”

“What? Seriously?” Lance choked, almost wondering if Keith was messing with him.

“Yes, seriously! Why would I lie about that?”

“Wow, I like Galra Keith.”

“Man! Shut up!” Lance laughed at him wholeheartedly, and Keith could only Lance back, feeling it was music to his ears.

“Okay, well…” Lance began, quieting down a little. “Do you wanna kiss?”

Keith smirked at him. “Damn you move fast. You haven’t even taken me out on a date yet!”

Lance pouted, his bottom lip sticking out. “Are you rejecting me?”

“Well if we kiss, you’ll mess up our face masks.”

Lance feigned heartbreak, throwing his hand over his chest. “You are rejecting me! To think I’ve never been turned down before!”

“Oh? And Allura hasn’t rejected you a million times before?”

The former blue paladin scowled at that. “She’s probably asexual.”

“Or a lesbian. Better yet, just not interested in you.” Keith teased, watching how Lance was starting to throw a fit.

“Oh shut up! Why do you care if she’s not interested in me?”

Keith crawled closer to keith, placing his hands and Lances thighs and leaning into Lance, his face inches away from the other. “Because I’m interested in you.” Slowly, with closed eyes, he moved in to gently kiss Lance. It was nothing but them pressing their lips up against one another, but the action was intimate and Lance closed his blue orbs to hold the moment. After a moment of pressing up against one another, Keith pulled back before it could get to heated. He wasn’t ready for that, and he didn’t want to mess up their face masks.

Lance’s eyes fluttered open and they looked into each other’s eyes before Lance spoke softly. “Several days… that’s not enough time for us to figure out where we’re going with this.”

Keith sighed, head bowed. “I know, but at least I have one extra thing to come back to. In the meantime, you can keep my clothes.” He glanced at the clock, and got off the bed. It was around the time Coran would serve dinner.

“Of course…” Lance sighed, dewy eyed as he Keith held his hand and let him out the bedroom door.

[mysteryunfold]

Goodbye My Lover! Interested to see what you have in store :D

Thank you for the request.  I am sorry it took so long to get this up.  I started on one story concept, and then halfway through it, I realized that it was not working.  I then decided to go straight to the scene of the breakup, instead of telling it in flashback, and it worked out better.

Dedicated to the amazing @serebronaga

Song: Goodbye My Lover performed by James Blunt

Song fic requests still open

Lucio x fan apprentice

Pre-plague / Pre-memory loss / hint of merc!Lucio

Comments and critique are welcomed and appreciated :)

Green eyes.Green eyes filled with a practical concern.Placing the dishes away, Channah glanced at her husband.  He sat on the ground at their small kitchen table.  Rotating a fork in his hands, a melancholy expression exasperated his handsome features.When she closed the cabinet, she walked over to the man and squatted next to him.  Lucio did not shift his gaze from the fork, but out of the corner of his eye he watched his wife’s posture.She shifted and twitched, unsure what she needed to do.  After an uncomfortable silence, she placed a shaking hand onto his shoulder.  "You’re welcome to come out with me.  I’m heading to Master Shamira’s shop to help with readings.  Would you like to come along?“Lucio scowled and tensed underneath her touch.  The tender expression of Channah wavered into fear.  Holding back frustrated tears, she moved her hand to his back.  "You know, I really appreciated it when you came out to visit me at the shop last week.”  She said, fighting a quiver in her voice.  "It almost made it seem…“ Her cadence stumbled as she searched for words.The fork clattered to table. Lucio’s sneer deepened  "Like old times?”  His right hand crossed his torso and rubbed the place where his left arm used to be. Channah’s green eyes widened as she leaned back, away from his mocking tone.  In the corner, she heard a small dog yelp as Mercedes stirred from a nightmare, nestled against Melchior.  She collected herself, and with a soft voice, she coaxed.  "Lucio, dear Lucio, look at me.“Brushing his cheek with her fingertips, she guided him to face her.  Lucio’s breath caught as he saw his wife.  Her silver hair was bunched in a low bun, and two silver braids twisted beside her cheeks.  A fringe of bangs hung at her brow line.  As she smiled, the scar underneath her eye crinkled in folds of skin.  Above her smiling lines laid her green eyes.Green eyes.Green eyes filled with practical concern.Lucio remembers those green eyes, burnt into his memory.

She leaned closer to him.  "I just remember how surprised and happy I was to see you.” Her breath moved against the pale skin of his neck.  "I remember the way that sun was setting all around you.  The way your hair shone, and your eyes, your eyes….“  She trailed of as she kissed his neck.  Lucio smiled, letting out a moan.  "Keep going.” He said.  "You know I like that kind of talk.“Channah paused and smiled into his neck.  "Anything that pleases your vanity, you enjoy. But…”  She pressed her nose against his cheek.  His blonde stubble felt rough against her skin.  "I want you to know though, I am not longing for the past.“  She crossed both hands on top of his shoulder.  "I’m happy in the present.  I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m excited for it because it involves you.”She looked into his eyes, grey eyes, so light they were almost white.  As she smiled up at him, he turned away.  "I’m not coming into town today.“"Well, everyone enjoyed seeing you last week.” She said in a teasing tone.  "I thought that seeing them might put you in a better mood.“As Lucio’s body stiffened, Channah’s hands fell away.  After a tense pause, she bolted up and headed toward the door.  Mercedes and Melchior perked up as they heard her determined footsteps.  When she threw her cloak on, the two pups bounced around her feet.  She bent down and rubbed their heads, finding some comfort in their softness.  "You guys be good.” She said.  "I’ll be back soon.“She looked up from the dogs’ pleading eyes to the form of her husband.  He sat slouched in the chair, not his usual proud posture.  In his only hand he again turned the fork.  He said no words nor did he acknowledge his wife’s presence. In response to his silence, Channah slammed the door.  The dogs whimpered at her absence; her husband did not glance up from his fork.   Two hours after his wife left, Lucio stepped out of into the sun with supplies for a two week trip on his back.  He called out for Mercedes and Melchior, and two white balls of fur came bounding out, yipping at their owner.  They fell on the ground as they tugged at each other’s ears.  Lucio pushed the door closed.  Its weight crashed into the door frame.  After he shut the door, his hand lingered on the heavy wood.  He studied the wood carving that spanned the top half of the oak door.  His hand traced first over the details of his carved likeness and then the likeness of his wife."I know when these were freshly carved, when the wood shaving still laid on the ground, we made promises.”  His only hand lingered on her face as if to caress her.  “But what did you expect?  A place like this cannot hold me for long.”  Pressing his face against the etched wood, he sighed.  "I’m sorry, Channah.  I have to go.“  Backing away from the door, he called for his dogs and headed toward the stables.  As he mounted a camel, a fleeting thought pressed him.  "Maybe a note, an explanation, would help ease her pain when she finds you missing.”  Lucio’s sorrowful expression turned into a sneer.  Pressing his his legs into the camel, he started north.  The sun deepened the shadows on his face, highlighting his serious reflection.“What would I tell her?” His thoughts shot back.  "I have nothing to offer her or the town?  What use is a mercenary when he is missing his arm?  Now that my father and mother are gone, Vesuvia holds a future for me now?“ He straightened his back as he swayed with the camel’s gait.  Mercedes and Melchior squirmed in a sack behind him, whimpering.  "I know.” He soothed them.  "I will miss her too, but I promise that you will love palace and Vesuvia.“  He squinted at the desert that laid before him.  "And I will convince Vesuvia to love me as well.  I will be important again.”Green eyes.Green eyes filled with practical concern.Lucio remembers those green eyes, burnt into his memory.In solemn moments, they haunt him.Not that Lucio thinks about her eyes at every experience.  The fanfare of his arrival and his existence fills his senses and keeps his mind occupied, the prodigal son coming home to extend his father’s legacy.  He surrounds himself with entertainment, romance, festivals and violence.In rare occurrences in which he finds himself alone he drinks and seeks out company.  Sitting in his bedroom, he pours himself another glass of wine.  As he stares at the glass, he feels a pull to ring for his wife, a new wife, tall, beautiful, with more status.Pushing the thoughts away, he tips his glass back, and the wine slips down his throat.  The alcohol burns his nose as he gasps.  “Nadia has been acting up lately.”  He murmurs, pouring another glass.  "I cannot risk losing face before the servants again.  Damn proud woman.“  The sudden loudness of his voice woke Mercedes and Melchior who slept by his door.  On cue, they lift their heads, and seeing their master’s tense form, they trot over to his feet.As they start to settle down, the shattering glass startles the dogs.  Red liquid pools around glass shards.  Mercedes glances up her master and growls; the hair on Melchior’s neck stands up.At the sound of her growling, Lucio’s face turns into a sneer that rivals Mercedes’s snarl.  He stands and leans over her.  "Hey.” He yells.  "No.  Get!“  He raises a hand over his head, and the two dogs whimper.  They saunter away.Lucio turns from his dogs’ retreating forms toward the fire.  In its flames, he sees her green eyes.  "Channah?”He stands in silence watching the flames flicker.  His imagination starts to form how the moods of her green eyes.  They shine with delight as he told her a story while they sat at a campfire.  They spark with curiosity and passion in candle light as she explained the philosophy of magic, and they ebb into tiredness as the night draws closer to morning.Green eyes.Green eyes filled with practical concern.Lucio remembers those green eyes, burnt into his memory.In solemn moments, they haunt him.He can recall their every expression, feeling and rumination, except for one instance.  What thought filled those eyes when she realized he had left? Was it the fierce burn of her anger or the shining swirl of her sadness? Did relief brighten her eyes?Lucio stumbles to his desk and pulls out a paper.  Grabbing a pen, he dips it in ink.  And on the coarse paper he writes this note.“Channah, my leaving was never about my love or lack of it.  Now that my arm is missing, your people do not require my services.  You tell me they love me, but I hear the whispers that you turn a deaf ear to.  My status in the town is decreasing.  Let us be honest, you had to have known, when you fell in love with me, when you married me, that a community like yours could not welcome me forever.  I like to live on the edge.  I am too forward thinking, too larger-than-life.  Just know…”A round droplet of ink dotted the paper as Lucio took a break to collect his breath.“Just know that my leaving for Vesuvia had nothing to do with you and everything to do with Vesuvia.  I never told you this, but I am not common born.  Though perhaps you did know that since you used to tease me that I was not a common type of man.  Anyways, I have inherited my title as ‘Count Lucio.’  The city certainly lavishes everything on me.  I lack and want for nothing.  At the same time…”Lucio’s hand begins to shake, causing his lines to quiver.“At the same time, I cannot forget you.  You are on my mind in my dark hours.  I do regret leaving you, but I had two choices: your town, lifestyle and you or Vesuvia, my inheritance and what I was born to do. I choose the latter.  In my ideal world, you would be here with me. I would have Vesuvia and you.  But, your heart was attached to your Goddess, your people and your customs.  I am sorry.  I hope someday you will forgive me and look fondly on our time together.  Regards, Lucio.”When he finishes, the pen falls to the table.  Stretching out his cramped hand, he reads what he wrote.  As he reads, his brow furrows, until his grits his teeth and stands up.Loud footsteps scuffing against the floor, he moves to the fire place.  "I didn’t have a reason to write it back then.“  He stretches the paper above the fire.  "I certainly do not have a reason now.”  The fire feels hot on his hand, but Lucio never lets go.  His expression softens as he brings the paper close to him again.He looks over his writing one more time, and with a heavy sigh, folds it. White fur brushes against his legs.  As he notices his dogs’ presence, Lucio melts to the floor.  He tucks the paper into his breast pocket.  As he watches the firelight dance inside of Mercedes’ and Melchior’s eyes, he reaches out and touches them, finding comfort in their softness.  The warmth of the fire and his dogs surround him.  “Yes, sometimes.”  He says in a quiet voice. Mercedes and Melchior move their ears to hear him.  "Sometimes, only sometimes, I miss her too.“

[bethestaryouareradio]

Apologies on Freedom Day

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MIRACLE MOMENT®

“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality.” Martin Luther King Jr.

MESSAGE FROM CYNTHIA BRIAN, Founder/Executive Director

Juneteenth, also known as Freedom Day, marks the end of slavery in the South on June 19, 1865. As PBS proclaims, “in this sixth month of the non-stop stunner that is 2020, the country finds itself in a period of education and reckoning of the racism embedded in its birth.”

I write this message to apologize for using the “color blind” analogy in our previous newsletter. After sending out the newsletter to share solidarity, a few of our dedicated BTSYA volunteers politely emailed to inform me that the use of the words “color blind” is offensive in todays vernacular. (You may read excerpts below) I thank these brave individuals for their courage to stand up, express themselves, and educate all of us,

specifically me. One of my mottos has always been “Failure is fertilizer. Throw your mistakes on the compost pile and grow a new garden.” I made a mistake and from that I learned so much. I am sorry.

We are living in unprecedented times and the world is in chaos with Covid-19 and the largest wave of civil unrest since the 1960s, spurred by outrage over police brutality and racism. Here at Be the Star You Are!® we are INCLUSIVE. We don’t tolerate bigotry, racism, or any other negative attitude towards any race, religion, gender, culture, or viewpoint. We stand together as a colorful united family of brothers and sisters from many different countries and backgrounds. Take a peek at our website, https://www.BetheStarYouAre.org or our teen radio show at http://www.expressyourselfteenradio.com and you’ll see that our volunteers represent the nations of the world. We are very proud to stand for freedom and equality for all.

My acting union, SAG-AFTRA released the following statement from President Gabrielle Carteris and National Executive Director David P. White on the murder of George Floyd. It states more eloquently what we at Be the Star You Are!® believe so I share this with you.

“The murder of George Floyd is deeply emblematic of a corrosive inequality and injustice at the heart of America. As protests spread across the country it is not enough to condemn injustice. It’s not enough to demand change. We must recognize that racism lives in our culture and only we can change that. We must speak up in the face of injustice and fight back against the indignities our fellow citizens face every day. We must be defenders and allies. We must be better than this.The ugly truth is that Mr. Floyd's killing was one among many murders of black people over many years. Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, Philando Castile, Michael Brown, Jr., Marsha P. Johnson, Emmett Till, and the list goes painfully on and on stretching back for centuries. It must end. Black lives do matter.”

Again, I apologize if the newsletter offended, Please forgive me. It was never my intention to be offensive in any way.

There is no room for bigotry, brutality, or racism in our world. We are all on a learning curve and open to all feedback. Although we are all sailing together in this time of pandemic, I recognize that we are not in the same boat.

This is a time to be kind. To help one another. To be inclusive. We will not tolerate injustice. When we embrace diversity we increase peacefulness. Let’s remember that love always wins when kindness prevails. Smiles will keep us happy.

Juneteenth is not currently recognized as a Federal holiday but by celebrating it, we take one step forward towards reconciliation and the fight for freedom for all.

We want to hear from you. How do you demonstrate that Black Lives Matter? We’re interested in your thoughts and actions. Send your comments (less than 50 words) to our Kindness Coordinator, Karen Kitchel at karenkitchel@comcast.net by June 30. We will include a variety of responses (first name only) in our July newsletter.

I know I'm going to make many more mistakes. We all will. But let's learn and grow from them. We are COLOR BRAVE!

Be strong, be brave, be safe.

And don’t forget to also celebrate Father’s Day on June 21. A salute to all the great dads of every color and creed.

In solidarity,

Cynthia Brian Founder/Executive Director Be the Star You Are!® PO Box 376 Moraga, California 94556 Cynthia@BetheStarYouAre.org https://www.BetheStarYouAre.org http://www.BTSYA.org

DONATE: https://www.paypal.com/fundraiser/charity/1504

EXCERPTS FROM TWO POWERFUL EMAILS WITH RESOURCE LINKS

"I'm emailing you now about the newsletter I recently received that was titled Become Color Blind. I understand the need to be in unity in this fight against institutional racism and police brutality, so I do appreciate your response on this. But I feel that asking everyone to "become color blind" is counterproductive and incredibly tone deaf in light of recent events.

Saying you are color blind says that you ignore the fact that oppression/racism exists for people of color like me. As recent events have shown, we are all not treated equally, unfortunately. I in no way mean to attack you, but this was something I found to be offensive. Put short, I feel there are better ways voicing your support.

Here is a video that might help explain some of what I said better. https://www.ted.com/talks/mellody_hobson_color_blind_or_color_brave Sincerely, Anika "

"I admire all of the work you do in order to enrich the lives of young people. I received your email earlier this week regarding the Black Lives Matter movement and in it you stated that your organization is ‘Color Blind’, I know this statement is not meant to have malice or be hurtful. So I felt obligated to explain why this popular statement is damaging and can make people of color feel uncomfortable.

I am Latina and for me this statement, while well intentioned, can feel as if my unique experiences with being Mexican are overlooked. We can no longer be colorblind, we must recognize people’s experiences and understand that someone who is Black has had a different experience than someone who is Asian. To say that your organization is ‘Color Blind’ diminishes the experiences of POC. While we all bleed the same blood we are all experiencing a different reality, while some of us may never struggle because of the color of our skin others will have to live in fear because of theirs. And these differences need to be acknowledged. What you must strive for instead is to not be color blind, but to be actively Anti-Racist. Being anti-racist means that you are actively acknowledging other experiences while educating yourself on how to be a better ally. We must realize and digest how Black people in our country carry the weight of hundreds of years of systematic oppression and learn how to fight for a system that values Black lives. Color blind and anti-racist are not interchangeable and while one diminishes the existence of oppression and experience the other acknowledges oppression and actively tries to counteract it.

I wanted to contact you to explain this because I know that your email had the best intentions and did not mean to diminish any experiences. I am very happy to see your organization be so accepting and so against discrimination. I wanted to mention that I mean no disrespect in sending this email to you and solely wanted to let you know how this term has changed and evolved. I understand that the words I use today when it comes to fighting against discrimination will be replaced in the future with other terms better suited for the fight against racism. I am very happy that I worked with a group that has taken a firm stance on this issue and I wish you all the best.

If my definition was not very clear here are some resources that may explain it better than I could:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2018/10/05/white-parents-teach-their-children-be- colorblind-heres-why-thats-bad-everyone/

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/culturally-speaking/201112/colorblind-ideology- is-form-racism

Thank you for reading this and hearing my perspective in this issue. Best, Olivia"

FREE WOMEN'S SUMMIT

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Summit begins on June 20th, 2020 with a special guest featured each day .Be the heroine of your own epic life. Watch and learn from a league of leaders and trailblazers to help you to lead a life you love. Your dreams can be your reality!

Cynthia Brian is the featured guest on June 25th. FREE registration.

http://www.janeapplegath.com. WRITER WEDNESDAYS and SUPER SMART SUNDAYS

As part of our Be the Star You Are! Disaster Relief Outreach program (https://www.bethestaryouare.org/copy-of- operation-hurricane-disaste), Be the Star You Are!® has collaborated with the Authors Guild to showcase the new books launched by many authors from around the country in a variety of genres. We will also be showcasing artists, actors, and musicians, all of whom had had their gigs canceled and are out of work. We believe in supporting creativity and believe that books, art, music, and film provide escape and

joy, especially during tough times. For the next few months, make sure you are tuned in to both StarStyle®-Be the Star You Are!® on Wednesdays at 4pm PT for “Writers Wednesdays” LIVE http://www.voiceamerica.com/show/2206/be-the-star-you-are as well as our teen program, Express Yourself!TM airing on Sundays at 3pm PT for “Super Smart Sundays”, https://www.voiceamerica.com/show/2014/express-yourself

Both programs broadcast on the Voice America Network, Empowerment Channel and will be archived on that site as well as iTunes, Stitcher, etc. It’s a giant artistic festival!

CHECK OUT BOOK REVIEWS

Our Star Teen Book Review Team is busy reading and writing reviews for you to enjoy this summer. Reviews are honest and the personal experience of each writer. Check them out at our website, http://www.btsya.com/book_reviews.html, and at our partner, The Reading Tub, https://thereadingtub.org/books/be-the-star- you-are/. Many thanks to our Book Review Coordinator, Stephanie Cogeos, for keeping us on track. If you are interested in joining our team, you can find the info at http://www.btsya.com/book_reviews.html,.

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Celebrate Freedom Day! 

“The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.” Mahatma Gandhi

Be the Star You Are!®

PO Box 376 Moraga, California 94556 Cynthia@BetheStarYouAre.org https://www.BetheStarYouAre.org

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO EVERY AMAZING DADDY!

[beautifulramblingbrains]

Deception - Chapter 4

Fandom: Divergent. Pairing: Eric/OC Rating: M

With a Father in power and a past based on rumors, a story of deception entails.

Find the third chapter here.

A/N: Sorry this took awhile. As always, reblogs and comments are truly appreciated, thank you!

Tags:  @murmelinchen  @beltz2016  @tak3th3sh0t  @singingpeople@frecklefaceb  @equalstrashflavoredtrash  @pathybo  @tobiasbebrave @xxrubyredrosexx @maan2442 @ariwolff14 @kenzieam @lauraaan182 @red-diary

After jogging with Laura for a good half an hour, Kate had slowed to a pace where she could catch up on the latest gossip, but only having to find herself lingering back to Erudite earlier that day and hearing nothing her friend was actually telling her.

Dauntless is directly ahead of them as they slip through the patrol units crossing their paths, along with groups of civilians every so often until they reach the main steps. Laura’s linked arm through hers pulls Kate forward. Whether it be from their run or the fact her thoughts were lost and a strain Kate couldn’t get rid of, she feels exhausted, her feet almost stumbling to keep up.

“There’s a group of us going and you should totally come too.” Laura stops her before they move up the steps, “Like, really. And some lame excuse why you can’t won’t be accepted.”

“I’ll think about it.” Kate pleads internally that Laura will drop this subject quickly, she was zero percent interested. “Maybe I’ll skip this one and go to the next after I’m a little more settled. The last thing I’d want is to turn up to work looking like Harvey most days.”

“Oh, that doofus…” Laura rolls her eyes. “And didn’t I just say, lame excuses won’t be-” A heavy hand lands on Laura’s shoulder, and slowly she turns, her words lost as she cranes her neck up to Eric standing behind her. “Oh.”

“Kate, what a coincidence.” He sets his hands behind his back, letting a foul-play smile linger for the sake of Laura.

“Hi...” Kate frowns at him. “Eric…” They had plenty of time together in the day so she fears whatever is the reason for him to go to such lengths to find her out of hours had to be bad.

“I’m Laura,” her friend blurts out, beaming a grin that had plenty of young Dauntless men usually swooning for. However, Eric barely bats an eye, his sights firmly set on Kate.

“Yeah…” he drifts off from Laura’s unnecessary introduction. “Can I speak with you for a minute, Kate?”

Kate crosses her arms, shrugging slightly. “I was just heading home.”

“It won’t take long.”

“I’m Laura from the last-”

Eric’s eyes snap to Laura, uninterested at the most. “Yes, I know who you are. Give us a minute.” He seems to purse his lips, fighting his own inner words. “...Please.”

Laura’s bubble seems to burst as she blinks multiple times. “Oh, yes, sure. I’ll text you later.” She waves, turning back on the last step of the entrance for one last look before scooting quickly inside.

As Eric checks she’s gone, Kate slips her fingers through her ponytail, checking for flyaways, and then wipes the corners of her mouth before he turns back around, smiling innocently when he does. “Is there a problem?”

“No.” A group of people jog past and he traces them until they are out of earshot. “Messaging felt impersonal and from experience I knew where you’d be-”

“So, you’re following me now?” she asks suggestively. “I thought you’d have better things to do.”

Eric’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, his mouth twitching upward. “Better things to do?”

“You know, being a Leader, your own physical fitness, appetite...demands. It makes for a very busy man, usually.”

“What can I say? I’m good at timekeeping.” His teeth show with his smile and Kate can’t help but coyly grin back.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You do that…” Eric breathes in deeply, his posture loosening. “...Your dad might be held up tonight and Lorraine’s not fixing dinner.”

“Oh, right.” Kate bites her lip, trying to look at anything other than him as a flush begins creeping up her back before the thought hits her. “Are you here because my dad ordered you?” She meets his eyes now, the familiar gray she’d gotten used to falling into, so much so, that they never took her by surprise anymore. It was something much more fulfilling; something comfortable, something far greater, something easier that didn’t make her pause for a moment but for a lengthy time, and quite happily.

“To make sure you ate something?” He gives her an incredulous look that wrinkles his brow. “No. I’m pretty certain you’re not that incapable.”

Kate steps closer to his unmoving form, shifting from one hip to the other nervously. “So, are you asking me to have dinner with you?”

“As in a quick sandwich from the canteen before I walk you home, I suppose,” he shrugs. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Ah, there might be a problem, I’m kind of busy…”

“No, you’re not.” He shakes his head, chuckling at the flirty way she twists on her heel.

“I haven’t got my points card.”

“I’m sure I can buy you a sandwich.”

“So, you are asking me to have dinner with you?”

“You’re not going to stop until I say yes...” Kate grins as she steps past him, bumping his shoulder to coax him to follow her. “That’s manipulation.”

“I must be learning?”

She’s up two steps when he decides to follow her, biting his cheek as his eyes slip to her ass. Those small, black shorts should be illegal.

“...It’s not that I don’t like tomato. I like it cooked in stuff but raw it’s just too bitter and overpowering.” Kate takes another bite of her sandwich, chewing quickly. “Did we really need these fries, though?” Her voice almost echoes in the dimly lit and mostly vacant canteen. They sit opposite each other on the end of one of the long generic tables 

Eric’s devoured his within a few minutes, swallowing his last piece and watching the loathingly-slow way she maps out her next bite. “You could’ve told the kitchen staff that before they made it.”

“It said chicken and salad, I thought it meant just lettuce.” Finally looking up to him, he still seems tense, shoulders broad as he sits leaning on his arms. Kate stops eating, smiling as the thought hits her. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Do you have to kill me with a plate afterward?”

Kate snorts. “Depends on whether you can keep this embarrassing secret of mine.”

“Depends on how funny it is.”

Kate throws a piece of leftover lettuce at him. “I’m being serious here!”

“I’m ninety-five percent serious most days.”

“I’m just going to come out and say it anyway and if you laugh it is definitely death by dishes.” Eric gestures for her to continue. “This is the first time a guy has treated me to… dinner.” She smiles, “Even if it’s just a sandwich.”

“Honored. But I hate to break it to you, your dating life, or lack thereof, is hardly a secret.”

Kate groans, whispering to herself, “Why do I suck at secrets?” And Eric tries to suppress a laugh at her genuine concern.

“Since we are having an honest moment, it’s not the only reason why I came to find you.” Kate lifts her head, her frown of self-disgust warping to suspicion. He leans further across the table, keeping his voice low, “I’m not going to tell you, though.”

“But-”

“No,” he exhales and leans back with a smug smile. “It’s a secret. Once told it’s not a secret anymore, and you suck at secrets anyway.”

Her mouth drops open and she picks up the left and cooling fries on the table, launching one at him. “Now you are potentially being a jackass. And that… there…” she looks him up and down, stumbling over her words while trying to remain annoyed at his pleased face. “...is the opposite of honesty.”

“Compared to others, I’m honest with you… Most of the time.” She rolls her eyes at him. “You want honesty?”

There’s something sharp about his tone but she glides over it. “It’s a huge thing for me. Try me.”

“This is honestly nowhere near considered ‘dinner with a guy’.” He breaks into a condescending laugh. “It’s just a sandwich with your superior.” Kate shakes her head at his audacity, suddenly feeling mocked in his shift in attitude and scoots her chair out to leave, but he’s too quick. Throwing his leg out underneath the table, he drags the chair back by the toe of his boot until she freezes, her palms flat on the surface of the table. “And as your superior, I can tell you, after this course, you will be an officer, and I’ll still be a Leader, fulfilling our duties.”

“Okay, Eric.” Though she felt she had suddenly turned white. “I-I don’t understand where you are going with-”

He scrunches his face up and exclaims angrily, “God, why are you so thick sometimes? In fact, you seem blind or deaf to whatever I try to say or do, palming off with ‘It’s fine,’ ‘It’s okay,’ when it’s not.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me what you want.” She opens her mouth but nothing comes out, blinking around the room for a form of relief as he doesn’t once look away. “What you honestly want,” he interrupts her as she flails on the spot.

Kate’s heart in thrumming in her chest, the blood pulsing in her ears. For the first time, someone had offered her an option; to truly choose something she wanted personally, not to make do, and it was overwhelming. She knew the hidden meaning behind his words. It was obvious now that their conversation earlier had been following him all day, and Eric did what he does best, he waited until his duties were over and got straight to the point. She wonders if Mick being busy wasn’t entirely a coincidence.

But it leaves her mulling over something far more significant, that she had once or twice created in her mind, and that on its own left a bitter taste in her mouth. Could she watch Eric eventually be with someone else for the rest of her time at Dauntless? Could she intentionally go against her father’s wishes?

And as per usual, she is never good with moments like this that she has to inwardly swallow down the sudden urge to cry.

“Kate?” Eric prompts her, studying her closely for however long she had sat motionless.

On a slow exhale, she moves a clammy and unsteady hand across the surface of the table and touches Eric’s fingertips. He instantly reciprocates, his larger fingers moving across hers, pulling her into the warmth of his palm and for a second her eyes close.

Suddenly she pulls away, wiping her cheek as she stands and walks with caught breath as quickly as she possibly could; her mind completely torn in two. She’s barely made it through the canteen doors, hearing him call her name, and when she doesn’t respond, he pulls her back by her wrist. It’s a poor attempt at anything she’s learned but easily twists from his grasp, hitting outwards as he grabs her upper arms. “Stop this! Stop!” She’s merely thrashing, pushing at his chest, her words hissed.

“If you wanted me to stop, you could stop me.”

“You’re a Leader. You’re supposed to like other girls, bothered girls, available girls!” she stresses.

Eric steadies her head with a hand engulfing the side of her neck, careless by her clammy skin or loose hairs pulled free from her ponytail, and locks her eyes with his. “You are available, as far as I know.”

“This-this is trouble.”

“It’s too late.”

“My dad…” Her lips tremble and he strokes her lower with his thumb.

“I’m going to tell him.” He pushes his body more against hers and she has to step back until they stand in the darkest part of the long cavernous hallway. “I’ll tell him.” His breath fans her face, and she wished he would kiss her now - a fleeting thought, closing her eyes as if to subconsciously urge him.

“Oh. My. God!” An all too familiar voice on the verge of laughing suddenly prises the two apart

“Rose!” Kate pushes Eric further away and he turns haughtily, wiping a hand across his chin in annoyance before facing Kate’s half-sister. A second later Regina shows up with another girl behind Rose. And all three of the girls seem to know instantly what was happening, snickering between themselves.

“I caught them kissing!” Rose’s voice booms, it seems, through the entire vicinity. 

“That's a lie!” Kate tries desperately to recover the situation but Rose merely flicks her hair.

“Whatever, but if you think for a second I’m not going to tell dad - oh, you can forget it!” She begins giggling like a shorn duck. “This is just too good. Mom is going to love this. And you two are going to be in so much trouble.”

“Kate, leave it. We’ll find Mick now.” Eric pulls on her shoulder. But Kate can’t, watching Rose fish out her phone from her purse and put it to her ear. From, what felt like, a long state of limbo, things had jacked up way too fast for her to comprehend.

“Dad, I just bumped into Kate and Eric-” With those words, Kate sobs into her hand, shrugging Eric off, and shamefully heading back to the apartment.

Though Kate wouldn’t stop and managed to get inside her home, shutting the door on him, Eric waits outside as the minutes turn into twenty. He chews his lip, arms crossed, at the very least his jaw ticks in irritation. After a moment he tries knocking again, leaning into his arms stretched up on the doorway. He pauses, his eyes traveling to the side as he straightens. 

“Well, well, well…” Mick takes purposefully casual steps down the quiet hall, coming to a slow stop with his palms showing. “The shit has hit the fan.”

“Rose is exaggerating. What she saw was-”

“You kissing Kate, apparently.”

“We weren’t. We were talking.” Eric can’t help the spite in his voice, his teeth locked as he takes a step closer towards Mick.

Mick sighs, pouting his bottom lip. “I don’t care what you were doing because whatever it was, was against everything we have ever been through. I warned you-”

Eric takes the little distance left between them, squaring up, their eyes level. “Do you know what, I am fucking sick and tired of your bullshit. I’m trying to decide at what point loyalty is perverted into stupidity.”

“Funnily enough, I was just thinking the same thing.” Mick’s eyes darken. “You have two seconds to walk away and we can forget about all this rumor mishap.”

“Who is Kate to Jeanine?” Eric’s sudden question plunders Mick’s anger, his face hinting to one of surprise, his shoulders somewhat shrinking back as his confidence drains right in front of him. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask her myself.”

“I told you not to take her there,” Mick hisses through his teeth, trying to keep his voice from traveling. “I told you right at the beginning!”

“You once told me that assurances are the only thing we can rely on. Your example was people and bargaining, throwing rewards to save face. Mine comes from knowledge, what is truthful, something that doesn’t stand on a pillar of shit waiting for the legs to be swiped out from underneath it.”

Mick scoffs, his eyes rolling closed for a brief moment. “You really are a knock off the old block.”

Eric stares at him resolutely with the same frown now beginning to set permanently whenever around this dated old man. “No. I’m not.”  He shifts from one leg to the other. “And your deception proves it... Who. Is. She?” Eric finally demands.

“She’s her aunt. She ain’t her mom if that’s what you’re thinking. She’s a deadbeat aunt that’s had me hoping for a successful assassination attempt for as long as I can remember.” He laughs to himself. “I think I may even have a calendar somewhere marking off the days.”

“Why doesn’t Kate know she’s her aunt?”

“It’s better this way, believe me.” When Mick scratches his beard, the sound makes Eric almost recoil. “Kate’s mom and Jeanine were monstrous opposites. And that is why she can’t know. She idolizes a woman who has been dead and buried for a fucking long time. To the point, I believe, she would trace exactly in her mother’s footsteps if I didn’t keep her on the straight and narrow...” Mick realizes he is saying too much, catching himself with a sharp intake of breath, a dazed look forming on his face the longer Eric stares at him. “...This is far beyond your comprehension.”

“I understand just fine. You’re fucking insane...” Eric barks a laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose before lifting his head back up to Mick’s airy expression. “You had me fooled. At one point I saw a leader worthy of heading Dauntless. Now all I see is an obsessed old man, fighting to stay lost in his past while using Kate to do so.”

“We’ll see who has the last laugh. After all,” Mick shrugs, “she’s a daddy’s girl.”

“Has me almost wondering whether you get off on that, Mick.”

“Well, I certainly know you do.” Eric steps forward, bracing his arm, but Mick throws his hands out to the side, chuckling lowly. “Go ahead. Look, I’ll even make it easy for you, I’ll close my eyes…” Mick then puts his hands behind his back. “No hands… Give it your best shot, son. You were taught by the best and I expect nothing less.”

Mick waits on the spot, his head almost tilted up to mock Eric further. Eric sniffs to himself, wiping his face quickly, and Mick opens an eye to peek at him. “Ah, I knew you’d be a sissy.”

Eric tilts his neck slowly to one side on a long inhale of breath, then launches himself forward, fisting the front of Mick’s jacket as he slams him up against the nearest wall. He pushes his fists deep into the old man’s chest, crushing him further, trying to keep at least one line of reasonable thought in his mind why he shouldn’t fracture each individual and brittle rib of Mick.

The vein is back on the side of his head, his breath no more than a drawn snarl.

“Pussy.”

Bringing his knee up swiftly, Eric aims for the fleshy part of Mick’s stomach, hearing the grunt on impact.

“Ah!” Mick spittles the hall, cradling himself as he stumbles. “There is that delightful…” he hocks and spits, leaning up against the wall. “...Dauntless side I have so greatly missed.” He scoffs, groaning as he straightens, “Erudite must’ve practically thrown you out!”

“Go and play happy families while you can, Mick, before everything turns to shit around you.” It takes every fiber of Eric’s being to turn and walk away, but he stops short, his breath still staggered in his blinding anger; the effort to keep his feet from finding their way back to snap Mick’s irritable face from his aged body. “And if it isn’t obvious, Kate and I-”

“You’d have to kill me first,” he spits out as a threat, though he’s still struggling from Eric’s attack. And he meant it.

For what reason, Eric couldn’t quite decipher, although he had multiple suggestive ideas in his head about Kate’s mother and what possibilities Mick could assume as dangerous if Kate was on Eric’s side. Perhaps it was the untimely threat to Mick’s position. Eric knew he’d leveled easily with Mick through training, and even as a leader now, he was pushed by the others onto areas Mick usually oversaw. With Kate by his side, with her measured mind and practicality, unafraid to put her hand into work where others probably wouldn’t, they could end up being the preferred power couple.

Suddenly he liked the idea far more than before when now doused in measurable spite.

“That can be arranged.” Lifting his cheeks and performing a mocking head bow, he leaves. If Mick wanted to be petty, he had no problems in rallying. After all, Mick said he had been taught by the best.

Mick finds that Kate had locked herself in her room. Well, not so much locked as he had banished the girls from having locks on their bedroom doors years ago. But on the act of decency, and a far better solution, he thought, he wasn’t going to pull the mad father act and push his way into her room 

Instead, he takes a step back, inches from the white wood she is hiding behind, and thinks, hard.

Every few minutes he hears the betraying sniffs from her side. There was only ever a few incidents when Mick had ever seen his poetically different daughter cry, and that is how he knew he was in the advantage already.

But weirdly, in this moment, he suddenly peters out on long distant memories of her mother. There was no denying that Kate was the spitting image of her; the dark brown wispy hair just below her shoulder, the dark green eyes, the shape of her brow, down to the slight descent of her nose. Though, Kate’s eyes were unknowing, not at all defying, unlike her mother’s. And at least, for that, he is grateful.

Mick sucks on his bottom lip, sighing to himself before bringing himself closer to the gap in the door. “I know my girl is in there.”

“Please, just go away.” Her voice breaks, and he hears something being moved from inside.

“I’m not angry.” His voice is soft and guiding, though his expression is pained when he says it. “It’s just me and you right now.” When she doesn’t reply he breathes in deeply. “At least let me do the fatherly act if anything at all. I’m coming in now.” Slowly he tilts the door handle, opening the door to her sitting braced on the bed, her eyes still puffy and she can’t seem to look up at him.

“Rose is lying.”

“Yes, yes.” He slips down next to her, the bed dipping, and puts a hand on her shoulder. “I know. Eric told me everything.”

“He did?” She looks up, incredibly relieved, or maybe it was hopeful.

“He did. We had a little chat. We worked some stuff out. I learned some new things.” He talks flippantly, as if he hadn’t been out in the hall moments earlier insulting Eric’s entire being; letting Eric’s slight of tongue finish with an obliged arrangement of his death. “This is my fault. I take full responsibility for this mess. I put you two together and invited him into my home, of course a sense of attachment was going to happen.”

“Sense of… attachment?” Kate’s fine eyebrows dip, a bewildered look rising on her face.

“Yeah, I mean, I know he had been looking out for you for a while, on my orders. I got the gist that he’s just being overprotective.” He shrugs nonchalantly, peeking at her out of the corner of his eye as she drops her head to her lap, twisting her fingers together. “That’s just part of the job.”

“You’re saying he is only doing it because he has to? That I’ve had special treatment?”

“I wouldn’t say special treatment. But he has been monitoring you, so to speak.” It’s like the nail in the coffin and he could almost smile if it wasn’t such a critical situation.

“But he said-”

Mick stops her by turning towards her, stroking her arm as any loving parent would. “Darling, he’s a man under my orders, who needs guidance. He was outside just now and we had this conversation. He knows it’s a mistake.” She’s still lost in thought, and he had seconds to stop her troubled mind. Mick flinches, hissing as he turns his body straight again. It instantly has her change from confused to concerned.

“Dad?”

“I let him give me one in the gut for our problems; to let him cool his anger a little. He’s always had a knack for violent episodes when he doesn’t get his way. Let’s remember, we are talking about a boy in leadership here, not some wall-mount you pass by outside in the courtyard. After all, I’m grooming him as much as I can to replace me as soon as I retire.” He stands up and stretches with a hand on his hip, favoring his stomach as obviously as he could. “He’s a smart boy. I’m not begrudging him. I love him like he is my own. But I love you more, and you are convenient for him.” Kate’s lips are parted, struggling with such brutal honesty. “He will try to push further, use anything to his advantage, even you, in order to get to this position much faster.”

“Eric wouldn’t… He said-”

“Funny you pass in the same week he comes to terms with his long-lost feelings for you, isn’t it?” Mick leans over her and plants a kiss on the top of her head. “Just think about it.”

He offers her a grieving smile as he leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him, and all Kate could do was stare at the place where he last stood.

She wonders whether Eric would be that type of guy. That maybe she had misread him from the moment she had met him. That he obviously had helped her through to the position she was in today, only to get his own advantage out of it.

Her stomach twists sickeningly, a white cold flush spreading through her limbs as her hands tremble. The realization hits her more than anything, that he, Eric Coulter, was totally capable, and it’s not like she made it hard for him. She’d stupidly lingered on every small look or attentive behavior and tricked herself into believing that someone like him would be interested in her for anything other than advancement. He’d even spelled it out to her right at the beginning but all she had concentrated on was the fact he’d called her pretty. She was stupid. A stupid little girl.

The trinket next to her bed she was fiddling with moments before her father came into the room sits positioned on top of the crumpled photo of her mother. She gazes down at it with a hardened stare, the tears welling in her eyes, just as she snaps.

She slaps the painted green, no bigger than her palm, music box across the room. It just misses her full-length mirror and hits the wall, cracking the forever broken lid open.

She regrets it immediately once the reality seeps in, and a small chime from a note inside has her dashing across the room. Cursing, she grabs the music box, suddenly reluctant as an oily liquid seeps from the barest of cracks. She pushes up the lid further, as the softest and simplest song begins to play...

The room is dark. The bed is huge compared to the small girl as she cowers against the wall, just below the window, wedging herself as far back as possible, but just enough to see the passing of feet from the brightly lit doorway.

She watches, sometimes having to peer under the bed to get the full view, as hardened heels pace just outside.

She is cold and hugs her knees tightly, trying to stop herself from whimpering. It doesn’t help at all that her favorite dress is tattered and torn. Her shoes, dolly shoes usually bright red, also had blemishes and she eyes them sadly; they are the ones she loved to run in, the ones that made her run faster.

From outside the room, something slams and she is torn from her musings. A woman’s voice carries over. “She’s been in there all evening. She won’t come out. I even offered her candy.” The woman sounds tired and her words are too quick to be kind. And she didn’t offer her candy, the woman had put her up at the table after pulling her by the arm, dropping sugary treats in front of her without a word. That’s when she had run in her fast red shoes and dove by the side of the bed in a room she didn’t know, trying to hide under it whenever the woman tried to grab a hold of her again. “She’s feral, and she is already causing problems.”

“Try and be a little more sympathetic, eh? She just saw her mom-”

“Whatever! We have twin babies next door and I don’t want this waking them up!”

Babies? The little girl likes babies. She remembers a young woman letting her help dress one back at home. She couldn’t remember the baby’s name, ever, so she gave it a name herself - Dandelion.

She pulls herself into a tighter ball when a large shadow blocks all the light. They are whispering far too quietly for her to understand. In fact, she doesn’t even care, she just wants to go home.

The large shadow treads lightly into the room, suddenly appearing at the foot of the bed. “Hey, there,” he whispers. He has a funny beard, half disappearing by the light. “Katie-Lynn, you wanna come out now?”

Slowly, the little girl shakes her head, still tucked up in her ball of protection.

“I thought not. Everything’s a little strange, huh, doll?” He smiles now and it’s a nice smile that she suddenly relaxes just ever so slightly to, dropping her legs to pick up her head, looking at him through her lashes. She sniffs, feeling the urge to cry, but she is too terrified to. “Mommy’s had to go away for a while.”

“Mommy?”

His eyes brighten at her voice, “Yes, so you’re going to stay here with us.”

“Mommy said, that I… I shouldn’t speak to strangers.”

“Oh, Katie-Lynn, we’re not strangers, we’re family. Me and your mommy are very good friends.” He smiles again. “I got you a little something.”

“My mommy’s friend?” Her tinged brown hair bobs in tangled curls as she gets to her knees.

“You wanna see?” Katie-Lynn also likes presents, so slowly she nods, standing up as he plonks himself on the end of the bed. She grips her dress as she warily steps closer, trying to see what he’s hiding. “Here, come look.” She accepts him picking her up and putting her on his knee. He holds her like she has seen the other Daddy’s do, but she is still trying to peer to the hand hiding her present.

He hands her a small box. It’s green. She preferred red, but it doesn’t matter. Eagerly, she takes it from him, turning it over and over, even shaking it, and eventually opens the lid to a song playing.

“Katie-Lynn,” he murmurs behind her.

“Yes?” She turns around, blinking up at him as he smoothes her hair away from his beard. “What is your name?”

“It’s Mick. But you can call me daddy if you like?”

“Daddy?” Her brows furrow and she looks down at the box again to play with it, humming along. “I don’t have a daddy.”

“You do now.” She ponders his words for a moment. She’d never had one before but he seemed nice enough. “What do you think? You think you could call me daddy?”

She shrugs. “Okay.”

“Can I call you Kate? I like that much better.”

She doesn’t understand why he wants to call her Kate but bringing the trinket high above her head and swooping it down with the music, she nods absentmindedly.

His hold tightens around her and he chuckles, murmuring, “My sweet little Kate.”

[rockofaces]

Churches and False Allyship

I was just reflecting on my experiences with churches that claim to have a “social justice”-ey mission and noticed a disturbing trend. I don’t know how widespread this problem is, but I think it’s definitely worth discussing.

A couple caveats before I begin: 1) As a white queer person, I realize I am approaching this topic from a very privileged position and will never fully be able to understand the damage caused by racism in churches. In particular, I am trying very hard not to imply that racism and homophobia/transphobia are the same or manifest themselves in exactly the same ways. If I am being completely tone-deaf, please let me know. 2) This is based on my experience attending mainly white-majority churches in America. None of my comments here are intended to apply to churches led by and for marginalized groups (i.e. the Black church) or to churches outside America. Nor am I trying to imply every faith community exhibits these dynamics — only that enough do to merit concern.

In my life, I have been part of three religious groups that explicitly claim to be welcoming to a particular marginalized group. Two are Reconciling in Christ (queer-affirming) Lutheran churches — both the church where I was raised and the church I currently attend. I also joined the campus group I was part of for my freshman year because the pastor couched his rhetoric in the language of racial justice.

And this all sounds good on paper. I want a church that is queer-affirming. And I also want a church that challenges me to fight for racial justice and the destruction of white supremacy. The problem is that all three of these churches use their language of “justice” in one area (queerness or racial justice) to paper over other forms of oppression. And, just as importantly, their support for “justice” is at best half-assed — it does absolutely nothing to undermine actual oppressive systems in the institution. (Not to mention that a church that claims to support queer people but does nothing to support people of color doesn’t support queer people — at best, it supports queer white people!)

If you’ve been reading my blog for more than a few months, you probably know way more than anyone wants to know about the youth group I (accidentally) joined upon coming to college. Basically, the (straight cis white male) pastor gets gullible “progressive” college students in the door by talking about racial justice. He then goes on to exhibit very racist behaviors (including racist jokes in private) and never actually asks students of color how he can make the group more inclusive for them. He brags about the racial diversity of his group compared to others on campus, but if you spend any time with him in person, he clearly cares about this only to stoke his white ego.

He also preaches incredibly homophobic, transphobic, and misogynistic theology — going so far as to excuse marital rape and advocate the stalking of queer people. But if anyone tries to question him on it, he maintains that he can’t be hateful because of his work toward “racial justice.” His emphasis on “racial justice” is ultimately vacuous — it doesn’t undermine any power structures or make life any better for marginalized people. It just allows him to feel better about his hatred.

The two Lutheran churches don’t (as far as I can tell) preach overtly oppressive theology, but they do have major racism, sexism, and ageism problems. (In fact, I recently noticed that both churches are entirely white, with the exception of a smattering of queer people — who have few other options — and the spouses and children of long-time white members.) And in my church back home, I have tried to bring up these problems, only to be told that because the church is committed to Reconciling in Christ, it can’t be unwelcoming.

Here again, being “welcoming” toward one marginalized group — in this case, (white) queer and trans people — is only being used to paper over oppressive behaviors. And also, here again, the churches fail at actually making lives better for queer people — they don’t challenge straight members to dismantle homophobia in their lives or bother to ask queer people what we actually think.

While these faith groups (the college group and the 2 Lutheran churches) on the surface are very different, they ultimately end up falling into the same trap — claiming to be fighting for one marginalized group while ultimately just using their supposed “inclusivity” to further oppressive behaviors toward other marginalized groups (and doing nothing tangible to support the group in question).

For those of us in supposedly “progressive” Christian communities (including the tumblr queer Christian community), we need to ask ourselves — are our communities truly working for justice? Or are we just using the language of inclusivity and social justice to make ourselves feel better about the harm we are perpetuating?