#reader is referred to as subject cobalt

[eureka-its-zico]

A Body of Stars

Ongoing series

Synopsis: With a galaxy at war, it’s hard to distinguish the stars from the metal of UNSC ships. You were told about the war that waged between the UNSC and insurrectionists; your planet opposing them since you were born. Your enemy was meant to be the UNSC and the Spartans they created, specifically John-117 - the Master Chief. Except, all isn’t as black and white as you were raised to believe, and the galaxy holds secrets far darker than you could’ve imagined.

Pairing: John - 117 x F!Reader

Genre: enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, Halo TV series/Mass Effect mashup

Warnings: mentions of war, violence

Word count: 11.7k

A/N: Alright. As hyper fixations go, the Halo series (and let’s be real, Pablo is a menace) has my ass in a chokehold. That being said, season 2 was amazing and made me want to work on a small fic that blended the series and my love of BioWare’s Mass Effect. Mass Effect is my favorite sci-fi space game about galactic war, friendship, love, sacrifice. I could rant but I won’t. There will be mentions of certain ME things in here, like the reader having biotics, to go along with the lore of the halo series. So, without further ado: its back story time. I hope someone out there enjoys this and as always, thank you for reading 🖤 much love, Jenn

Year: 2521

•Shadow Sea cluster•

•Lera system•

Destination: Laconix

ETA: 13 hours

The Midsummer Night came out of slip space without a hitch.

Not that he’d been worried. It was one of the few things that Captain Jacob Keyes hadn’t worried about during this current mission. What, or rather who, currently worried him was standing less than ten yards from him and came in the form of his ex-wife. He risked a glance where Dr. Catherine Halsey was hunched over with her nose deep inside another holopad. 

Those holopads had been one of the many reasons why their marriage fell apart. 

There was no doubting the brilliance her work contributed to the scientific field or the war effort. All of her research was the stepping stone humanity needed in terms of augmentation and the human genome. The contributions Halsey and her Spartans made towards this never-ending battle against the covenant saved lives, but, and it was a big but, Jacob knew that Halsey’s methods were questionable, at best. Hell, he’d been a part of those questionable decisions, driving the helm, while she did what she deemed was necessary. 

Vital. 

So, Jacob Keyes knew without her ever having to say a word that something was off. The Midsummer Night and the Pegasus holding Halsey’s darling Spartain-III’s were meant to go for a routine extraction. Intel indicated one of the leaders in the insurrectionist rebel groups, Kahn Montrello, was located on a planet within the Lera system of the Shadow Sea cluster. It was a typical snatch-and-grab unless they were met with resistance. 

Halsey requesting to tag along was more than just a surprise. It was suspicious. Jacob knew Halsey didn’t do anything without purpose.

“Tell me again why you’ve insisted on inserting yourself into a routine mission dealing with insurrectionists?”

Halsey hadn’t even looked up from the damn holopad to acknowledge he’d walked over. 

“I’m just here to gather some data while the Silver Team is dispatched to help your marines on the ground.”

Jacob’s boots scuffed against the metal of the bridge as he moved closer to her. His eyes on Catherine’s back - willing her to turn, to acknowledge him - as her gaze held tightly to the readings she’d taken from a tablet from her lab. The data was transferred to the larger scale computer in the bridge’s main console. Halsey’s eyes roaming endlessly through data Jacob himself knew he’d never understand without her help. 

“Come on, Catherine. That may be the bullshit you fed Parangosky and the other admirals, but don’t feed me the same lies and expect it to go down smoothly.”

Halsey broke away for the briefest millisecond from whatever data she was reading. Her eyes skimmed over him before returning back to what was more important.

Research in the name of human exploration always was.

“It’s not bullshit. Data collected in the field is highly valuable for furthering my research; proof to Parangosky the Spartan research is worth her continued funding.”

“That’s a nice speech, Catherine, but I know that any collected data during the mission is recorded and sent back to your lab for analysis. So, when are you going to start telling me something honest?”

Honesty. 

Asking Halsey to be anything other than secretive was like asking a tiger to get rid of its stripes. Jacob knew even if she told him - really shared - it still wouldn’t be all of the actual information. Key pieces of information - the most valuable - would be forever stored within her; leverage for another day. 

Whatever it was she could see on those holopads had her sky blue eyes wide in excitement. Halsey wouldn’t be able to contain it - hide it - for much longer.  If the small rise at the corner of her mouth was any indication, all Jacob needed to do was push a little further. Find the right words to spark a rush of hypotheticals that might turn out to hold some truth. If she didn’t crack yet, it would take one more well-placed question and she would cave. 

“Jacob,” her voice was breathy, tinged with unrestrained joy. “I think I found something.”

“What are you talking about, Catherine? Found something?”

More cryptics. More hoops. 

A sigh heavy with years of fights - conflicts - departed his lips and Halsey rushed to recover some ground. Her body quickly took back the space he left to place her hand gently on his bicep. The grip was soft but demanding that he stay close; pleading with him not to pull away.

Halsey needed him. 

“A few weeks ago the UNSC sent over old documents from companies they’d disassembled. Conatix was one of them.”

It wasn’t hard to spot the confusion that deepened the lines in the crease of Jacob’s forehead and scrunched up his nose. His eyes roamed her face searching for a tell, but if Halsey had one she’d never show it. 

“Conatix was an old UNSC factory that produced our warships-“

“Yes, I know.”

“Why would you be interested in anything about warships?”

Halsey scanned the room to make sure no one was watching - no eyes lingering on the two of them - before she directed her attention back to him. The caution that darkened her eyes shifted with a spark Jacob knew all too well. 

Halsey had found something. Really found something. 

“Usually, nothing of value would be of interest in old documents and schematics for warships but, while scrolling through the files I stumbled upon an encrypted file.”

“UNSC documentation is always encrypted when it’s being shipped out to-“

“To be destroyed, yes I already know that, Jacob,” Halsey cut in. Her body directed back towards the holopad that she carefully picked up. Her fingers darted across the screen hunting for the files in question. “But this was different. It wasn’t schematics or calculations - it was redacted - sealed documents about an incident.”

No sooner had she started Halsey was finished. Her hand reached out to give him the holopad and waited patiently for him to take it. 

“Go ahead.”

Jacob looked around the ship's bridge to make sure no one was watching. He needed to be careful, not necessarily for Halsey’s sake, but for that of his crew. He should’ve known - did know - Halsey had a habit, a bad one, to go above the chain of command to get what she wanted. That leverage she saved for a rainy day coming in hot to throw around pawns and pieces as she saw fit to get her way. 

Cautiously, Jacob secured the holopad from her and started looking at the documents, or what little he could see. Almost with every swipe all he saw were broken links and documents with holes of information missing. Sentences that formed into two words with the rest gone or replaced by shapes and numbers. An elaborate break in the code. 

“I was able to decipher most of them. Get back what information they tried to hide-“

“Catherine,” he whispered her name in warning, not for himself, but for her. 

“Jacob - this wasn’t about warships or weapons or schematics. Something happened. A ship they’d used with element zero - eezo - had leaked out over a few colonies. A hole in one of the port engines that wasn’t caught in time.”

“Catherine,” Jacob pleaded again, “This isn’t news or anything that concerns you or me.”

Halsey wasn’t going to back down. He knew she wouldn’t. Not when the sheer joy of finding something undiscovered was close. The science behind furthering human evolution. The moment he realized what this was - what he held in his hands - Jacob knew his eyes were saucers. The sudden shock of realization stunning him to the spot. 

“Children, Jacob,” Halsey practically laughed. “The pregnant mothers who were infected by the particles gave birth to children with eezo ingrained into their nervous system. The abilities these files claim they saw…it’s like nothing I’ve ever read.”

In her excitement, Halsey reached out and took a hold of his arm. The startled warmth of her touch was enough to knock Jacob back out of his daze. His eyes skimming one more time over impossible things he saw in diagrams Halsey recreated. 

“Even if that was true, you don’t even know if any of them are still alive or where they are.”

With her lips curved up in victory, Halsey plucked the holopad from his hands. 

“Yes I do. We’re headed there now.”

————-

“You get caught staring up at the sky again and Caster is going to throw a fit.”

“When isn’t he throwing a fit?”

Your question wasn’t meant for an answer. The words barely made it above a whisper while you kept watch on the green hued light that streaked across the sky like a river. Calling it green felt like you were doing it a disservice. You knew it was more than that - the way it moved with purpose across the endless blue above. The different shades that reminded you of the grass on which you stood and dark as the forest that surrounded you. 

“Come on,” Thao called over his shoulder. Your name calling from his lips like it would be enough to coax you forward. “I want to get back to actually enjoy what little of my day I have left.”

“You can enjoy it now,” you reminded him. 

It took a few more seconds - another millisecond after that - for your eyes to turn back to the world around you. The snap of a branch somewhere off to your right informing you Thao had taken off without waiting for you to catch up. 

“Not when my friends are back at the colony having fun without me. And I’m out here looking for dumb ass yaks.”

A small tut of disapproval clicked at the roof of your mouth. Your stride easily brings you closer to the shorter eleven-year-old boy. It allowed you to gently ruffle his hair. Your efforts were greeted by a grunt of annoyance with his hand grabbing at your wrist to gently shove you away. 

“And just think, you would be there now, doing whatever it is you troublemakers do, if you and your friends hadn’t set a flare off inside Caster’s hut. And don’t disrespect the yaks.”

Thao’s eyes disappeared inside his head as your elbow gently nudged his shoulder. You must be making some kind of progress, because this time he made no move to push you away. 

“Old man deserved it. Always hoarding the chicken eggs.”

“He owns the chickens.”

“So?”

“So,” you drawled, “it means he owns the eggs. Owning the eggs also means he gets to distribute them however he sees fit.”

“How is that fair? You know he gave Lydia and her kids three eggs last week? Three eggs. What is a family of five supposed to do with that? It’s not right.”

You knew what Thao meant. You understood the feeling of anger that burned into sadness and ultimately to the ash of defeat. Kahn allowed those who proved useful in the fight against the UNSC to have a majority hold on most of the items in the colony. Those who allowed themselves to be shuffled around an unseeable chessboard like pawns. 

Willing to die, to give up everything, at his disposal. 

All in the name of fighting a government who grew more powerful everyday. The UNSC sharing their own videos of propaganda that showed thousands upon thousands of soldiers equally willing to die for a cause, and Spartans being the unmovable force needed to shift any battle back into the UNSC’s favor. It was this very reason Kahn looked for those desperate enough to join, to do anything he asked, to win. 

A devoted father agrees to be a walking bomb to blow up a UNSC building? His family is rewarded with food, wood, and blankets to help make it through the harsh winters. Attempting to infiltrate a building to release a virus, whether you were caught or not, Kahn took care of your family. It could be with livestock, guns for protection, or even the yaks whose pelts made the biggest profit at the markets. 

Every loss of life was just another reminder of the men and women who slowly disappeared from the colony. A senseless loss of life. You were still trying to figure out what it was for; what purpose you hadn’t been able to see, because for every life lost in the pursuit of justice against the USNC, their numbers only grew. The colony's numbers, however, weren't so lucky. 

“You could turn this war around.”

“I won’t kill for you, Kahn.”

You swiftly whipped your head to the side to rid yourself of the memory. Your eyes narrowing on the green rolling hills on the other side of the treeline. That was where you would find the yaks grazing. You gently patted Thao’ss shoulder - for whatever comfort it would give - before you moved forward to take point. 

“That’s because it isn’t fair, Thao.”

“See! Even you agree,” Thao huffed out your name. His small body broke into a jog to match your hurried step. “If anyone in the colony would be able to kick his ass, it would be you.”

Your feet were turning before you’d even realized it. Your body answered the piercing spike of adrenaline in your blood with your hands shooting out to grab his shoulders. The action made you crouch a couple inches until you were face-to-face with Thao. Your eyes scanned wildly across his features reading nothing but uncertainty. 

“Don’t ever say something like that out loud again, Thao. Do you understand me?”

“I was only saying-“

“I know what you're trying to say. The answer is no, and if Kahn or any of his dumbass lackies ever heard you even mention something like that we are both as good as dead.”

“But-“

“Tell me you understand!”

If anyone asked why you felt the sudden surge of panic ripple over your skin, you wouldn’t be able to say, or  place where it stemmed from. Technically, the both of you were out in the safety of the mountain fields and away from the prying eyes of Kahn’s dictatorship. Lost behind a sea of forest, the rolling fields of green, and poppies that puddled around you like blood. 

You’d seen what Kahn and his insurrectionists were capable of. Any whisper - false or not - and the person went missing. Kahn ruled the colony with the fear generated by the UNSC, but cultivated his own like the boogeyman. 

“Yeah I get it. Whatever.”

Thao shrugged out of your hold and turned away from you. His pre-teen feet stomped a path out of the tree line and out into the field. A sigh left you, worn and heavy, as you watched his retreat. 

I Should’ve been softer…

You let out a huff of air as a hand scrubbed over your face. It was supposed to be a simple ‘herd the yaks back to the colony’ type of day. Not grovel to one of the only people - kid or not - who wasn’t afraid of you. 

It was your turn to jog after his retreating form. Quickly, you noticed that he didn’t even look up to acknowledge your presence. He wasn’t sending jokes about being an old lady (you were twenty-four, thank you very much) whose brittle bones could snap under the strain of being a person. You would’ve taken being called an old lady than suffering through the silent treatment. 

Gently, you nudged his shoulder with your elbow. When he didn’t turn you tried again and again until, finally, you were rewarded with him turning an annoyed side-eye in your direction. You gave him your best apologetic smile and carefully looped your arm around his shoulders to bring him in close. 

“I’m sorry. Okay? I was kind of an asshole.”

“A major asshole.”

“Okay. I’ll accept that major part but only for today.”

“If there was an asshole award, you would’ve taken home the prize-“

“Okay, geez. I get it.”

You both settled into a comfortable pace with your arm still draped over his shoulders. Your mind raced back to the last time you’d been able to do this.  Thao had been younger - shorter - and with the rate he was growing, you soon might not be able to reach him. Soon, Thao might not care for your company. 

“You know, I am surprised you didn’t fracture an ankle running after me at your tender age.”

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” you grumbled in mock annoyance. 

You ended up having to shove him away just to try and hide the smile that threatened to lift the edges of your mouth. The sound of Thao’s laughter at your weak attempt at being mean - he 100% knew it took way too much to even make you raise your voice - made the crack of a smile begin to form. 

The yaks were about another ten or so feet ahead of you both. Their massive bodies moved in slow steps while they grazed along the long grass. You weren’t sure if it was their adorable long bangs that made it impossible for them to notice you right away (doubtful) or if they just didn’t consider either of you a threat (possible). Either way, they didn’t startle as the two of you closed the remaining distance. Didn’t jump up to try and kick or gore either of you with their horns when Thao produced the ropes from his satchel. 

It took a grand total of ten minutes, maybe less, to have all seven of the yaks securely held in makeshift collars from the rope. Their large bodies begrudgingly followed the two of you as you gently pulled the lead, forcing them to give up their meal of dewy grass and follow you back through the treeline. 

“You know,” Thao cautiously began, his eyes skimming between you and the trees. “This might be a lot faster if you just…ya know, float them up.”

“Float them up?”

“With your blue magic.”

This time you weren’t able to hide your smile as you shook your head. 

“It’s called biotics, Thao, not blue magic.”

“Blue magic sounds waaaay cooler than ‘biotics’. Who even came up with that lame name, anyway.” 

“You can thank the good folks at Conatix for that one.”

One of the yaks pulled back on its lead forcing you to give a slight tug back. You could understand if they were tired after eating, but you really didn’t have time in your schedule for yak naps. A huff of air came from the nostrils of the yak to drive home that it wasn't happy not having its nap. Or maybe it was the berry bush it was after, either way, napping and eating stops were prohibited. 

You weren’t aware the conversation had died until Thao’s voice interrupted the silence. 

“Is it true that you were born like that?”

His question was timid - afraid he would upset you. You were used to the questions; the stares. You remember sitting with your parents in a room, about Thao’s age, when Conatix came back around trying to clean up their mess. Said mess being spilling eezo from their ships across planets that later infected children. While some pregnant mothers had children like you, exposed to element zero in the womb creating a nervous system made of eezo, a majority were far less lucky. Children born riddled with tumors or horrific physical complications that left them in pain their entire lives. 

You were supposed to be a lucky one. 

One of the lucky ones they’d been trying to take back with them to their laboratories. A lucky one meant to be bought by a substantial fee that your parents quickly declined. It was the last choice they ever got to make for you before they mysteriously died in a tragic accident off-world. 

“Yes.”

You didn’t feel lucky and maybe it was the way the words crumbled out of your mouth. The way they sat suspended in the air in a swirl of regrets and dead wishes that Thao knew you didn’t want to talk anymore. Not about your past or anything that reminded you that what you are - who you are - has felt like one big burden. You wondered, most nights, if there was a possibility that curses could be born. 

————

The rest of the walk back was filled with an awkward silence. You weren’t sure if it was one you’d made by your lack of response, or if Thao no longer felt like talking. A part of you feared the image he’d held of you since he was young, full of mystery that made you seem cool, was slowly becoming destroyed. You knew it was a matter of time before it happened.

You were an anomaly. 

Children saw you as magical, while adults believed you could perform some kind of mind control or read their thoughts. It was the main reason Kahn wanted you to join the resistance. Who wouldn’t want someone who could read thoughts and control minds on their team? You’d know when and where attacks could happen and make them blow up their ships from the inside. Unfortunately, for Kahn, the only thoughts you could read were your own and, as of right now, they were desperately shouting at you not to lose one of the few friends you had left. 

Even if they happened to be a young boy who was notorious for being the most talkative kid in the colony. 

With a few more steps up the hill, you both came to a stop at the top of the hill. You took in the thatched roofs of the huts that lay scattered in a misshapen circle of rows. The outer ring of homes were made of clay and the only splash’s of color came from designs being painted on the sides of homes or flowers planted in the yard. 

The middle ring was meant to be for men like Kahn and his commanders; men and women of importance so that they lived closer to the final, smaller ring, of storefronts and farmers. The middle circle was left open and featured a large walkway down the center of town and out into the hills. 

Kahn specifically had the colony built this way. The walkway was the most important, because Kahn believed it was good for his people to be able to watch those that fought for their freedoms return from another victory against the UNSC. You knew it was more about parading around having people kiss his ass than for uplifting any kind of morale. 

It was the same path that Thao and you took now as you brought in the yaks from the mountains. You knew it wouldn’t be long until you got them back inside their pen and with the irritated snorts and tugs on their leashes, the yaks knew it too. The sound of multiple small feet came rushing in on Thao’s side and the faces of a few village children came into view. They made sure to stop just before they got in the way of a yak. 

“Thao, can you come play?” 

“Not yet. I have to finish this choir for Caster.”

A lot of groaning ensued and you felt your free hand reach over the back of a yak. Your fingers waving for him to give you his leashes. Thao’s brow raised in question and you only answered him by pointing at the leash and waving him again to hand it over. 

“Hurry up and give them to me before I change my mind.”

You were trying to be grumpy. The way any elder in town would complain about the youth of today being too soft and not knowing the meaning of hard work and blah blah. You were sure they were all just stuck in super grouchy mode from having to be an adult with responsibilities for too long. And because of that, you knew, instead of looking grumpy, a smile was already brightening up your face. Thao’s face lit up in response and his eyes darted - unsure - from up the path and back to you. 

“Are you sure? Caster -“

“Will never know that you didn’t help bring them all the way back. Now, like I said, hand over the lead before I suddenly have a fit of amnesia.” 

He didn’t need further prompting. Thao’s hand smashed the remaining leashes into your waiting palm and turned on his heel to run off with the other kids. A soft, “thank you,” calling out behind him. 

You didn’t waste any more  time watching their retreating backs as they tore down a small alleyway between huts. You had your own things that you still needed to finish today. As you continued on your way, you greeted people who were outside in their gardens or hanging up laundry. Some of them returned your greetings of, “Hello,” with grunts with their backs turned to you or hurried inside. Apparently, if they didn’t look you in the eye or were behind the safety of a wall it kept you from using your mind control powers. 

You were willing to bet Kahn had something to do with that latest lie about your make believe abilities. If you wouldn’t fight for him, why not cause a little mass panic in your presence. You being the monster and him, the hero, forcing you to toe the line. No ‘mind reading’ unless it was for the ‘cause’. 

As you neared the pen in front of Caster’s shop, you started to rotate the leashes tighter in your hands. You were positive if the yaks felt a slack in their leash, they would attempt a revolt. They also weren’t the biggest fan of the metal pen of broken down ships Caster created to house them; the metal of an old hatch door from a USNC frigate - rusted and covered in moss - groaned as it opened. A sound the yaks knew well and instantly sent their hooves stamping into the muddy grass. 

“Alright, ladies, I don’t want any trouble. It’s time to get your butts back in here - whoa!”You shot around with a start as one of the yaks gently bumped its nose against your back sending you forward towards the pen. “None of that,” you mumbled. Your index finger pointing at your chest then back to every single one of them. “Your home, not mine. Now go.”

With a cautious glance over your shoulder you took a step forward leading the herd inside. It wasn’t until you’d begun to remove their leashes that the familiar sound of a man clearing his throat brought your gaze up to search the fence. It didn’t take long for you to find Caster leaning against it. An arm hanging over while the other held up whatever self-righteous bullshit questioning he was about to spew. 

“Where’s Thao?”

“He helped me bring them here, Caster. I sent him on his way once we reached the pen.”

“That’s not what he was told to do and you don’t have any authority to change orders.”

Every word reached you like a slap in the face. Caster’s irritation was evident with the click of his tongue. You tried to keep your face neutral; your gaze fixed on one of the yak's as your fingers ran through the tangled fur. You gave one final pat to signal your departure before you walked back to the pen’s exit. 

“I wasn’t aware Thao had to be the specific individual to deliver a bunch of yaks inside the pen.”

“Bullshit,” Caster snarled your name. His body closing the distance between you as you stepped through the pen entrance. “You can try and play dumb with me all you want, but we both know you aren’t that damn dense. Thao can’t shut up even for a second in his sleep, and you’re trying to tell me the boy magically didn’t complain the whole time he was with you?”

Caster invaded what little space you had once you stepped fully out from behind the pen. The door hadn’t even closed yet before Caster rushed you, attempting to trap you between him and the metal. The cold gray of his eyes roamed your face waiting for you to break at his intimidation. 

One of the Shadow Sea’s three moons would have to explode first before that ever happened. 

You jammed the cool metal of the pens chains into his chest. You didn’t bother to see if he would catch it when you released it. You knew he would, and when Caster did, you made sure to take a step towards him forcing the older man two options; hold his ground or back up. You weren’t surprised when he did the latter. 

“You’re right, Caster, I’m not that damn dense. Close up your own fucking pen.”

You didn’t give him the chance to reply. The first step you took forced him to take another step back, your shoulder ramming into his as you pushed your way past him. 

Could you have gone around? 

Yes, but, no matter what, it felt a lot better being petty for a couple of seconds than pretending for a second you cared. 

It didn’t take Caster long to find his bearings. The sound of the chains rustling in his hands and a slew of curses thrown at your back were the first to greet you before he yelled after you: “Just wait until Kahn hears about this!”

“Yea, yea,” you mumbled.

You were willing to bet no matter how the exchange between Caster and you went, Kahn was always going to hear how it went. Good or bad. Caster yelled something else at your retreating back. You responded with a wave and continued back down the main path before you veered off course into a smaller path. It was one you knew well since you were a child. One you knew led to your grandparents' hut. 

Smoke rose from the clay chimney and you knew, before you entered through the doorway, you’d find your grandfather working to dry his latest clay pots by the fire. Your grandmothers weathered fingers working tirelessly with a needle and her beadwork scattered over the small table. It was only a few days before everyone with goods left to try and sell them at the Market. You moved through the small space stopping to kiss the top of your grandmother’s head before you gently took over for your grandfather. 

“And where did you run off to this morning?” 

You didn’t have to look up to feel the weight of your grandfather’s stare. His scrutinizing eyes waiting for you to give him a response knowing full well it wasn’t going to be the one he wanted.

“There is no need to worry, grandpa. I was nowhere and everywhere all at once.”

“That sentence alone turned what little hair I have left white.”

“All of your hairs’ already white.”

“Precisely my point,” he groaned. 

The soft chuckle of your grandmother cut through the tension in the small room. Your eyes now directed to the open flame and focused on turning the pot slowly with the tongs. The last thing you wanted to hear on top of giving your grandfather white hair and an early grave was ruining a pot he’d worked on most of this morning. 

“Would you two stop it? I’m sure she has a perfectly good explanation for why she was missing this morning. Don’t you dear?”

Your grandmother sent a coy look in your direction and you couldn’t wait to completely crush her dreams. While your grandfather believed in hard work, your grandmother believed in finding a good spouse who could provide for the imaginary great grandchildren she’d already named. 

Either that or joining the resistance. 

“I was out helping Thao rally up the yaks that ran away this morning.”

A sigh so heavy escaped from your grandfather’s chest that you could’ve sworn all your ancestors before you joined him. 

“And there it is.”

The soft call of your name forced your attention back to where your grandmother now sat idle. Her hands placing the beadwork and adjoining needles on the table. Her small frame turned on the bench to make sure she had your full attention. 

“I’m happy you want to help but you already know Kahn will-“

“Will throw a bitch fit. Yeah, yeah, I know.”

A smack on your arm sent you jolting back in surprise. Your eyes cautiously roaming over to your grandmother to see if she was going to hit you again. With how tightly her lips were pressed together, you had a feeling, with some of the things that came from your mouth, the possibility of her doing it again was imminent. 

“Whether you like him or not, Kahn is our leader.”

“No, he is your leader. Kahn will never be mine. A real leader doesn’t sacrifice their people to gain information or so they don’t get locked up inside a UNSC prison.”

“And do you think there is someone more fit to lead if he was gone? Who do you think would run the rebellion?”

“Plenty of more competent individuals could step forward to take his place if he wasn’t aro-“

You realized you sounded like Thao who, hours before, you’d shushed him into complacency. Your fear for his safety was paramount over how right his words might have been. And here you were doing the exact same thing inside your grandparents hut. 

“Enough!” 

Your grandfather wasn’t known for raising his voice and when he did it was usually out of desperation; a fear that surpassed anger that delved into worry from the unknown. You could see it now etched into every wrinkle that creased in the sagging skin of his sunburnt face. The way he tried to hold onto the anger before it was swept away by something he wouldn’t voice in fear of giving it a name. 

“Whether you like it or not, Kahn runs this settlement. He is the only one working here to free us from the tyrant that is the UNSC! At least he is doing something, which is more than I can say for my own granddaughter!”

“Ernest,” your grandmother’s voice cautioned. 

“So you want me to just let him use me like some kind of weapon?”

You no longer cared about holding the pinchers over the fire or the clay pot - your grandfather's life’s work - held delicately between them. As you stood up from the stool you dropped the pinchers and the sound of clay cracking tapered over your shuddering breathing for just a moment. You moved away from the fire towards a corner of the room closest to the door. The thunder in your ears drowning out the shouts of your grandmother; your eyes coming in and out of focus as you tried to ease the panic from your veins. 

It would only take a second - a fatal second of panic to fill the room with a cobalt hue of flame that would ruin everything. 

“Kahn offers you a way to use your gift, to teach you how to use it, and better help our people and you spit in his face!” He hissed. “Your parents gave their life for the cause-“

“And what has Kahn given!?” You hadn’t meant to scream. Each word laced with a grief stricken with rage that only bloomed brighter over time. “He asks families to give their husbands, wives, their children to fight his battles and what the fuck does he do for us?!”

“Why can’t you ever see that you can help save us? Kahn can help teach you how to control it.”

“Help me control it or control me?”

“You ungrateful child.”

His words hissed through the air and buried themselves in the hollow of your chest. Your feet involuntarily took a step back, ready to flee the hut, ready to find peace in the hills of the forest when the collective raised shouts of the villagers rang out from behind the walls. 

“UNSC vessels spotted!”

It was the distraction you needed to escape the hut. The shouts of worried men and women pushing you to rush outside and greedily take gulp after gulp of fresh air until the flare, the warmth, of your power began to dig back inside your skin. When you dragged your gaze away from the grass you were greeted with villagers running back and forth. The ones who sprinted down the open lane back out towards the open forest only ended up coming back moments later. 

You made your way out into the crowd, weaving in between the bodies to get to the heart of the circle their bodies created. They all stood in large huddled groups; mothers clutching their children and the able bodied men moving in front of them, in front of everyone, to try and guard them. The villagers who tried running down the main road were coming, as if herded, back to the center of the village. You didn’t understand why they were all running back to the middle. 

This was a kill zone. 

Strategically the worst place to be for any of the resistance fighters if they were going to make any attempt to fight back. It wasn't until you made it to the middle that your earlier rage turned to ice as you watched the UNSC marines, and four very big fucking Spartans, make their way up the middle. 

If Spartans were here you knew no one stood a chance. A fight would be suicide. You needed to get back to your grandparents. You needed - 

“Attention settlers of the Lera system of Laconix: I am Captain Jacob Keyes of the USNC. We have viable intel that led us to believe that you are harboring a fugitive by the name of Kahn Montrello - a known insurrectionist. We are asking for your cooperation in this matter. We can resolve this matter peacefully, with no need to resort to any unnecessary violence.”

“Screw you! You have no jurisdiction here or any outer colonies.”

Fred. That was his name. Maybe. You didn’t know - couldn’t remember. Your brain couldn’t think past your own rushing pulse or speeding thoughts. He was just pushing past the crowd with angry shouts and limbs flying while he moved towards them. You watched as he made his way towards the marines like a man on fire, and was met by a Marine who burned brighter. The butt of their gun cracking against his cheek sent him spiraling to the ground. 

You weren’t sure if you were already panicked or if the sight of blood seeping through his fingers caused it. No matter what the real reason was you knew there was no getting around whatever came next. Like a swarm of locusts, the marines fanned out and moved forward. Their bodies corralled the villagers tighter together and kept any hope of escape at bay. 

It was the perfect time for Kahn to make his appearance. His form practically glided from between a lake of terrified bodies frozen in fear, clutching one another, as he opened his arms in welcome. 

“You say you wish us no violence, only want our cooperation, and yet attack a simple working man.”

“You need to stay where you are or you will be taken down with force,” a marine answered, their gun trained on Kahn who continued to take careful steps forward. 

He responded with his hands showing he wasn’t armed. Kahn made a show to come to a stop in front of Captain Keyes. 

“Maybe that was advice you should’ve opened with, Captain Keyes.”

Kahn was treating this like a joke. He was wearing that easy smile of his displaying he didn’t have a care in the world. He was either suicidal, genocidial in willing to let them completely kill the colony or, you realized with a sickening drop in your stomach, Kahn had another plan. 

“And you are?”

“I’m Malcom. Another humble merchant who lives here.”

Liar! 

The panic that settled like lead inside your gut dropped heavier, threatening to upend whatever was left from your morning breakfast. You didn’t have to guess what his plans were, because Kahn was laying them bare for everyone to see. The only difference between you and everyone else is that whoever he chose to sacrifice for the name of his ‘revolution’ would be met with silence. 

Captain Keyes outlined Kahn’s frame with suspicion and a pebble of hope was thrown your way. Maybe he could sense the lie that costed Kahn’s words. Maybe it would be enough for him to call bullshit. 

“Okay, Malcolm. And what is it you’re wanting?”

“I want nothing, Captain. I just want to show you exactly who you are looking for.” 

Kahn never intended to point the finger at himself - why would he when there were dozens of men brainwashed to think their sacrifice mattered. You followed his finger like everyone else drawn to the imaginary string he pulled and waited to see what poor fool he chose this time. 

Except this time - no…NO! 

It was your grandfather who took a step forward out of the dozens of bodies. The wooden tip of his cane met the ground with a depth of a shovel digging a grave with each step. Your grandmother reached out her arms - called for him to come back - but he continued to make his way forward. His head held high like he was making a decision everyone should be proud of. 

“I am Kahn Montrello. The man you seek.”

Captain Keyes took one look at your grandfather and you could see the disbelief reflected in his eyes. The way they darkened further on a decision you, or anyone else, would ever be made aware of until he made it. 

“I’ve never known an insurrectionist leader to give themselves up so willingly.”

Thank god Captain Keyes was smarter than he looked. Your grandfather, however, wasn’t backing down. He squared his shoulders and planted his hands coolly over the hilt of his cane. His head held high enough for his next words to strangle him. 

“Any leader should be willing to give themselves up for the safety of their people. Is that what you can offer me, Captain Keyes? The safety of my colony if I come willingly?”

“What are you doing?”

You were sure it was the panic that surged you forward. How you found yourself taking step after step until you were out from behind every last villager and into the clearing with Kahn and your grandfather. 

“Stay back!”

“Don’t take another step forward!”

You were vaguely aware of the commands being slung your way. The arms that lifted weapons as you took scrambling steps towards your grandfather who only looked on with distaste. 

“Go back with the others. I won’t tell you again.”

It was the voice he’d used countless times since you were a child. A voice that radiated with authority that now only showcased his age. A part of you wanted to follow his orders and run to your grandmother’s side. To be a good granddaughter and comfort her the way she needed. 

But she wouldn’t need comforting if Kahn wasn’t such a fucking coward. 

“No!”

He hissed your name as he nervously looked out over the marines. At Captain Keyes.

“Be good and do as you're told.”

“I won’t let you do this!”

“And I don’t need your permission-“

“What about grandma? You’re just going to leave her like this?”

“I wasn’t aware Kahn Montrello had grandchildren?” Keyes quipped. 

You could see your grandfather open his mouth to reply and you made sure to cut him off before he could say another lie. 

“That’s because he doesn’t because Kahn -“

“Apologies, Captain Keyes,” Kahn cut in. “This girl is unwell. Ever since she lost her parents -“

“Don’t you dare speak about them.“

“-she’s been desperately trying to cling to anyone willing to call her family.”

You weren’t aware you were moving forward until you heard the shouts from the marines; the gasps of fear from your own people. You were vaguely aware of the tingle of heat that moved like a shockwave from your fingertips up your arms until it consumed you. In another time, a different life, maybe you would’ve been aware that your biotics had flared to life and enveloped you in what looked like cobalt flame. 

A fitting image for the one Kahn so lovingly painted for you. An unhinged woman filled with crazy fantasies and a desperation for family.

The only thing you could focus on was Kahn who stood before you. The coward who easily was willing to give your grandfather up to the UNSC knowing what they do to insurrectionist leaders. The unspeakable torture done to collect secrets, and their executions televised on every available feed for all to see. 

With the thought of your grandfather’s future weighing behind your eyes you lashed out. Your hand rising forward to catch Kahn midway in taking a step back. Your biotics held him suspended in the air. You were vaguely aware of what sounded like your grandfather calling your name. The wood of his cane crunching through dirt and leaves to rush to you. 

There was more shouting - orders being relayed and metal clicks of safeties being released - and you knew chaos was about to ensue. 

“Spartan’s your orders are to grab the insurrectionist known as Kahn Montrello. Marines focus on providing backup and subduing any and all threats.”

A wash of relief rippled through you. The UNSC had come to their senses. They  must have realized Kahn for the liar he was. Captain Keyes caught on that the rouse Kahn created with your grandfather was all a lie. 

Except that wasn’t what happened. 

The marines who fanned out around the clearing were now moving in towards one sole target: you. The Spartans who Keyes sent forward to capture Kahn weren’t headed in your direction, but towards your grandfather who was visibly shaking as he watched two of the UNSC’s giants - their most powerful weapons - move towards him. 

“No! You have it all wrong! He isn’t Kahn!”

You released the hold you had on Kahn. No longer was he held suspended in the air as you sent his body flying towards the marines. Your feet were digging into the soil, pitching you forward in a hard sprint, as you barreled blindly towards your grandfather. You could hear him warning you to stay back - ‘stay away’ - but you never were good with doing what you were told. 

The closest Spartan,only identified by the numbers 028 on her chest, was almost on him. They were so close it would only take a couple more inches and this Spartan would grab a hold of him and you would lose him. Forever.

You were running on pure adrenaline. Your vision honed in on nothing else but the hand of the Spartan that reached out to grab at his arm. If they got a hold of him, that was it. You called on every cell of energy in your body, your arm drawing back - nerves frying - as the eezo inside your body compacted in the space around you, changing it into a powerful ball that you launched with a scream. The Spartan barely had time to react when the cobalt sphere of element zero slammed into her suit and sent her flying back. 

“Riz!”

You had a split second to make half a shield before the second Spartan’s fist slammed against it. The impact snapped like a shockwave of its own. The force of impact sent your feet sliding back against the dirt. The sound of heavy footsteps following your rolling body forced you to spring to your knees as you called on another surge of element zero and sent it flying like a fastball. 

It slammed into the Spartan but, unlike the first one, it barely slowed them down. The impact crackled against the air and the force field around his armor allowing your biotics to push them back only a few feet. It was all the feet you needed to scramble on all fours to your grandfather, who was kneeling in a heap in the dirt. 

As soon as you slide in next to him, you put up a small force field - a bubble of blue that encapsulated you both just in time before bullets bounced against the shield. Gently, you secured an arm underneath his shoulders and tried to lift him up to you. All while your right hand stayed pressed against the barrier you’d created. Your arms shaking with the strain of holding back another round of gunfire and the slamming fists of a very big, very angry, Spartan. 

You were running out of time. The strain of keeping the barrier up, of using powers you usually never touched, left a noticeable trail of perspiration to crown your forehead. If you kept this up much longer, you knew the nosebleeds would start soon. 

“Come on grandpa. We have to get up now. We gotta get you out of here.”

“Just let them take me, deheyah*.”

A heavy wave of memory, weighted with emotions thick and stifling, threatened to knock you off balance. The last time your grandfather had ever called you that, was before your parents died. When you were allowed the luxury of childhood innocence and the imagination that the world held the beauty of magic before it was destroyed by the gravity of reality. 

“That’s not going to happen, grandpa. I won’t let it happen. I can’t lose you too.”

Your body jerked with the next slam of a fist against the barrier. The impact sent a shutter down into the marrow of your bones and snapped at your nervous system. The pain was immediate and tore a gasp from you. 

“You will never lose me. I will always be with you. Wherever you go. Whatever you choose to be.”

“No.” 

You shook your head violently forcing him to reach out to steady you. The soft leather of his hand cupped your cheek quieting your protests and forced you to keep your eyes on him. 

“I’m sorry for what I said. Earlier. I just - I just wanted what was best for you. I always have. But…only you know what is best for your life. Never stop fighting. Don’t be afraid of who you can be.”

“Why are you talking like this? This isn’t goodbye grandpa. Come on, I have to get you back to grandma. She’s going to be pissed if you just stay here.”

But it was, wasn’t it? You’d felt it when your hands touched the layers of shawls that draped over his chest. It was wetter than it should’ve been. His eyes glassy and unfocused and struggling to keep them on you while he spoke. Somehow, you’d been a few moments too late when the bullets came your way, and those few seconds allowed the hollow point of a bullet to find a hole in the center of his chest. 

Blood covered your left hand as another sharp synopsis of pain resonated through your nervous system. Spartan 028, Riz, was back up and hammering away at the sphere of the barrier you’d created. The pain should’ve been unbearable but nothing compared to the last gasp of air that shuddered from your grandfather. It couldn’t compare to the feeling of his body, lifeless, and sagging towards the earth where the weight forced you to place him. 

None of this would’ve happened if Kahn wasn’t a coward. If he didn’t use people, the very people he claimed were his. People he swore to defend and liberate - for his own gain. 

The anger swelled brighter inside like a raging flame. Every beating your nervous system took holding up the barrier became a dulled sensation as you struggled to breathe around the loss of your grandfather. 

The Spartans had stopped but didn’t move back. A woman was off to your right. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Smiling like she was friendly but the mock kindness didn’t reach her eyes. They were bright with excitement; the way hunters spotted prey. A scientist finding a new object to dissect. 

“…I’m Doctor Halsey.”

Of course she was. She wanted to dissect you. The same way the scientists from Conatix tried many years ago by trying to buy you from your parents. She was saying your name but she had no right to it. 

This Dr. Halsey. 

False smile given under false pretenses. Just like Kahn has his fancy glittering speeches that kept hopes high and results low. 

“We don’t want to harm you. If you are willing to come peacefully we promise we will leave the colony immediately. No further bloodshed needs to happen.”

The part of you that wasn’t soaked in grief agreed. It was the best call to make - the right call. It promised no more suffering would happen. It meant your grandmother would be safe. 

Your grandmother. A woman who lost her son. Her husband. Now her granddaughter. Who would watch her if you left? The thought alone sprang a sharp refusal to your tongue until you stood, your eyes cast down at the warm body of your grandfather. In that moment, whatever reasonable human being you used to be ceased to exist. The only thing left was rage. 

Dr. Halsey must have noticed. No longer was she crouched to be eye level with you. She returned to her full height. Her hands placed out in front to shield herself, as if that would be enough to stop what happened next. 

“Whatever you’re thinking - don’t.” 

Your reply came in a scream that crawled its way from the pit of despair that had lodged itself inside your heart. The loss of your parents, the death of your grandfather,  and for your grandmother who would be alone. You used that hurt, bitterness, and rage and used it to erupt your shield into a burst of biotic energy that detonated like a bomb. The sheer force alone sent the Spartans back. 

It wasn’t enough but you only needed a minute or two. Just enough time for you to send your biotics crackling along the air in a line until it grabbed a hold of Kahn and pulled him like a slingshot of force back towards you. When he was close enough, you dropped your left hand that you’d use to control the pull of his body, and cocked back your right arm, your palm open, and launched it forward. The slam of the biotics hit home at the center of his chest launching Kahn back through the scrambling crowd of people, with the sickening crack of his sternum mixing with the scream that tore from your throat.

It was all the time you had before the Spartan marked with 117 came into view. His armored fist closes in like a warthog at full speed against your cheek, sending your body spiraling into the dirt. You could feel the earth shift with tremors as he moved to follow you. You could taste the blood from the hit and wondered if your jaw was broken. If you just lost a whole row of teeth. 

“John, Incapacitate her only! I need her to be brought back with us. Alive.”

For a glorious moment, your blurred vision swirled only with the uninterrupted view of the sky before the cameo green of Master Chief, savior of the galaxy - or John - 117 -  helmet came into view. A joke was brewing on the back of your tongue, covered in humor and blood before his fist came crashing down your line of sight, and the world became blissfully quiet.

_________

You found that the darkness wasn’t as quiet as you’d hoped.

The impact from the punch the Maater Chief, or John - 117 as that woman called him,  had launched you into what felt like a nightmare. Held hostage by a paralysis of your own mind. Unable to change the forms of what you saw. The images were vivid. The sounds carried a weight that sat heavy like lead in your skull. It made you miss the pain of being conscious. 

You weren’t sure if the screams that bounced around inside your head were real or if they were just a part of the nightmare. Over and over your broken mind played out the moment a Marine’s bullet found a hole inside  your grandfather's gut. 

No matter how fast you ran, if you launched yourself in front of him, you were never fast enough. Each step you took sunk deeper into the earth as if your legs were trying to race through quicksand. Your own biotics mysteriously grew quiet - refusing to work for the first time in your life. 

No matter what the outcome never changed. Your grandfather was gone, and there was no time travel to head back and change that startling fact. 

A sickening lurch, one you knew meant a ship was coming out of slipspace, sent the contents of that morning’s breakfast swirling in your stomach. You barely had time to register that it was real, the nausea, and that you were really about to throw up. You’d barely rolled to your side before said breakfast displayed itself onto a very shiny metal floor. 

As soon as you finished, you rolled back onto your back. Your eyes fluttered open to take in the fluorescent lights, the cool slated metal ceiling that matched the walls and floor. It was definitely a cell, and you most definitely found out much too late that your wrists were tied behind your back. 

When you were sure you weren’t going to upend anymore of your breakfast, you slowly began to maneuver to sit on the only bench they’d laid you on. The pain in the sockets of your shoulders informing you that you’d been like this for quite a while. 

You were still trying to gather your bearings when the sliding doors to your right opened. A woman with blonde hair stood at the forefront with a Spartan, the dusk green armor of John - 117, standing protectively behind her. When she moved, he moved. You couldn’t help but consider her a puppeteer and the Spartan the puppet. He didn’t move unless she did and you doubted he would be doing any of the talking. 

She entered the room with a cautionary smile and clinical eyes assessing you before she even entered. It was easy to tell she was a scientist and, more than likely, a very experienced one in whatever it was she specialized in. 

“Hello, Subject Cobalt,” she said brightly. Her smile never faltered once. “I’m glad to see that you are alright. My name is Doctor Halsey. I’ve come to do an assessment on you and make sure you didn’t sustain any life-threatening or mind altering issues after what happened back on Laconix.”

Subject Cobalt? 

Was that supposed to be you?

You eyed her warily as she took her first step inside the cell. The heavy footsteps of Mjolnir armor followed closely behind. If she suspected you were jumpy - a rabbit in headlights, as the old ones used to say - Halsey never showed it. 

A few more steps and she was beside the bench. Another breath and she was sitting beside you. The smile on her face beaming and hollowing out her eyes with rapture at what she must have considered a new species. You made a fine new specimen for any scientist, you would imagine. A nervous system full of eezo that lit your body up like an Earthen Christmas tree and the power to wield it like a weapon.

Doctor Halsey was practically giddy beside you. 

“I’m going to do a few simple tests to verify cognitive function isn’t impaired. To do so, I’m going to need your assistance. Do you think you could do that for me?”

Your eyes scanned over her as you considered your options. It turned out to be a very short list that was available to you. The only option being to go along with what she asked. 

“Okay.”

That one word was all the go ahead Halsey needed to cause her megawatt smile to go up a notch. She must have thought you would be resistant to following orders and she wasn’t wrong but, from where you were sitting, this seemed like the lesser of two evils. 

“Splendid. First, I’m going to run this pen horizontally and vertically. I need you to focus on the tip of the pen, and follow it as closely as you can.”

“Okay.”

Doctor Halsey lifted the pen up to eye level, a few inches away from your face, and waited for your eyes to train on the silver point. You hadn’t expected an examination as soon as you woke up. You weren’t sure if you should’ve felt happy or worried about it. If you were one misstep away from becoming a lab rat. 

You’d been so deep in thought - your mind considering all the outcomes and possibilities of this interaction ending well - that you completely missed her first question. 

“I’m sorry. Can you repeat the question?”

Another smile. Another deflection. It was enough, however, for you to notice the tightness in the fine lines of her face. It was so small you could’ve missed it. 

“Of course. During your biotic episode on Laconix, I noticed your nose started bleeding. Does it do that every time you use your biotics?”

“No.”

The tightness again. This time it was the edges of her smile - suspended in that mock sweetness - that reminded you of your mother. Waiting for you to give more detail without prodding and realizing, rapidly, you feared incriminating yourself. The pen dropped into her lap. Her eyes roaming over your face for a sign - a tell - that she could exploit. 

“You aren’t in any kind of trouble. I’m merely trying to help you -“

“Is that what you’re trying here, Dr. Halsey? To be my friend? To tell me I’m not in any danger when you took me off my planet against my will?” You inquired. Her mouth was still suspended open, forming around a word cut short by your desire to not hear anymore bullshit. “It feels like there is more going on than what you’re sharing.”

She schooled her face - even her eyes - to remain emotionless. A perfect blank slate to display only what she wanted without giving away what she didn’t. 

“Alright. I watched you. At first, you seemed in control, but after the third or fourth time your biotics displayed themselves, and you overextended their use, you suffered an epistaxis - the nosebleed. Further scans done here in the ship’s medical bay presented signs of swelling and hematoma on the brain. A few hours before you woke up, I had them run another analysis and both are gone. Which leaves me to believe it only occurs upon exhaustion.”

She watched you as she spoke. Her gaze searching, prodding, for signs of whatever reaction she expected but wasn’t getting. You would’ve loved to offer up whatever it was she wanted, if only you knew which specific one she was hunting for. 

“Tell me. Do you get migraines?”

“What is this?”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s a lie,” you shot back. 

The tone in your voice matched the anxiety rising in your chest. It caused your words to be rougher than intended, alerting the Spartan in the corner who took a step towards you. Only the rising hand of calm - control - from Dr. Halsey kept him from taking another step. 

“I think you understand more than you’re willing to tell me or, at least, not wanting to show your whole hand, anyway. You’re a scientist, right? Probably super smart. Smart enough you probably come from some UNSC lab  from Reach or Illium?”

“Reach.”

The carefully constructed smile was back on her lips, but this time you could see a spark of something brighten up the soft blue of her eyes. You were doing something she didn’t expect, but her scientific mind found it fascinating. No doubt logging it away to draw it open later somewhere quiet to dissect. 

Your lips pouted around her admission. Reach. One of the top three planets, if not the first, for all private and commercial research filled with legal litigation and NDA’s to protect organizations and UNSC labs from the courts of public opinions. It was how Conatix got away with doing what they did to you and the other kids scattered across the galaxy. Only taking notice when it seemed like something that could benefit them. You weren’t stupid. Halsey had taken one look at what you could do - what you did - and only two things came to mind: control or destroy. 

You hadn’t figured out exactly which one you were to Dr. Halsey yet. 

“Are you going to kill me?”

Halsey didn’t necessarily give you a reason to think it was an outlandish guess. Everything - everyone - was expendable when it came to science and the betterment of humanity. Or whatever the UNSC’s science team's new slogan was.

“Why would we kill you?”

You tried to shrug off the growing anxiety that sat coiling inside your gut.

“To experiment on me. Take me apart and see what’s buried underneath, so to speak. Isn’t that what you people do.”

“You don’t realize what you are, do you? The advancement of human genetics - biology - that is flowing through you.”

“What’s flowing through me is eezo and it cost hundreds of children their lives.”

“Yes, but for one out of a hundred children there is something remarkable. You. The one out of a thousand. A stepping stone towards humans having a place amongst the vast and ever growing populace of space. I don’t want to kill you, Cobalt. I want to integrate you into my program.”

“What program?”

You wondered if madness was contagious. If you asked anyone else, they might have dismissed your words as too harsh. No doubt calling Halsey’s display of excitement for simply that, but you could see her eyes. Underneath all that perfectly concealed pleasant exterior was an intelligence that was willing to break the norms - rules - to get to whatever she needed. 

“I run the Spartan program. Granted, you are well past the parameters to become a Spartan, no, I…I want to make a subunit. I think Cobalt, we can help each other, and not only help each other, but possibly end this war.”

UNSC propaganda. 

That’s what the war was. Everyone in the outer colonies knew it was just a fancy attempt to stop the growing surge of colonists from joining the insurrectionists. Halsey sensed your doubt before you disregarded her words with a shake of your head. 

“No. The covenant is just a UNSC nightmare story to try and get the outer colonies to toe the line. To allow themselves to be governed under your jurisdiction.”

“I can promise you. It’s not.”

“Of course you would say that! You’re a USNC scientist for Christ’s sake!”

“John.”

Somehow, you’d forgotten that big hunk of tin was in the room. Halsey kept you focused on her - solely on her - that when the Spartan took a step forward, the reflection of the room mirrored in his visor, you almost jumped out of your skin. 

In his hand was a holopad that he deposited into her waiting palm. Halsey didn’t waste time logging in. Her fingers tapped wildly across the screen with a speed that left you dizzy. When she found whatever it was she’d been looking for she extended the holopad out for you to take. 

“This was transmitted to us only a few hours ago.”

Warily, you watched her. Your mind debating if you should take the holopad or tell her to fuck off. It was more made up videos or fancy speeches, you were sure of it. The grim lines of her face, however, left you wondering just how certain you were. It was her turn to place the holopad in your hands. Your gaze on her a few more seconds before it dropped down to the video that played on the screen.

Bright beams. It’s what you noticed first. Beams that erupted from the sky with such brilliant clarity you knew it could only be one form: plasma. You couldn’t understand - comprehend - what you were seeing. 

Plasma on that scale was impossible. It should’ve been and yet, you watched as it sliced through the planet's barrier, through molecules, and simple things like trees and mountains. Everything it touched turned red hot like lava from volcanoes you’d heard stories about that were on the original human planet of earth. While the plasma beam continued its destructive course, the magma it left behind flowed behind. 

You didn’t understand until you did. 

You knew that mountain. You’d glanced at it many times on walks to neighboring villages for trade. Attempted to climb it a thousand times as a child. 

“What is this?”

Your disbelief was met with something you couldn’t place from her. Halsey didn’t offer up sympathy. She offered up an understanding of watching everything you love disappear in a wave of destruction. But how could she understand the hollowness, the sinking feeling of dread that gripped your heart and threatened to make it stop?

“It’s Laconix. Shortly after we left the Covenant arrived. They glassed the planet.”

“Glassed? I - I don’t. I don’t understand.”

You were going to hyperventilate if you weren’t careful. 

“It’s gone, Cobalt.” That’s not my name. “The Covenant doesn’t take prisoners. They destroy everything. Kill everything. Your planet is gone.” 

Gone. 

Gone. 

Your home. What was left of your family - your people - your community. Gone. In less than 7.8 seconds of holopad footage. 

“But you can avenge them. You can fight for them and to protect every other planet still left out there in the galaxy and I can help you do it.”

Deep down a part of you knew this had been her tactic all along. If reason didn’t make someone join your cause, then using their emotions against them would. You should’ve seen it coming. Took the time to ask more questions but the growing hole in your soul moved on from shock and grief was rocketing towards unbridled rage at lightning speed. 

When you glanced back up at her, Halsey knew she had you before you even spoke. 

“What do you need me to do?”

As always, thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

[neelgamesartanddesign]

Practice 1: Weekly Practice

Red vs Blue

Blog 1

Red versus Blue: Preparing a Little Work of Art 

Welcome, exhausted voyager, to Red versus Blue, an energetic reality where the creative mind blends more grounded than any coffee! Today, I welcome you to step inside my most memorable creation for this wonderful task - a smaller-than-normal bistro overflowing with beguile and a sprinkle of lively competition. In this way, pull up a pixelated stool and let me let you know the story of creating an espresso sanctuary where red and blue beans impact.

Reference Meeting: Each barista-commendable brew begins with quality beans, and my imaginative motivation was the same. I scoured the web, my advanced spoon filtering through cafe scapes of every kind. My mental latte art gained flavour from references to Parisian bistros with charming awnings, rustic Italian haunts with warm lighting, and sleek modern shops with pops of colour.

Work process Hurricane: With my visual range prepared, I graphed my creative course. The ZBrush-Substance Painter-Incredible Motor 5 triplet turned into my confided-in devices, prepared to change pixels into an unmistakable bistro experience. Be that as it may, Red versus Blue requested a wind - a perky dance of light and variety. I imagined delicate morning beams gushing through dusty windows, projecting warm tints on natural espresso sacks. Conversely, lively blues would look from racks embellished with a la mode mugs, making a perky pressure between the two essential tones.

Sculpting in the Sun: ZBrush turned into my virtual mud studio, where I shaped the bistro's structure. Walls rose, tables grew, and seats came to fruition under my advanced fingertips. However, it wasn't just about shapes; I also used light as a sculpting tool. I cut windowsills to get the morning sun, calculated overhangs to create dappled shaded areas, and made unobtrusive flaws that murmured endless espresso-energized stories.

Finishing Stories: With the bistro's establishment laid, Substance Painter turned into my variety chemist. Here, I prepared surfaces that recounted stories. Endured wood murmured of innumerable supporters, chipped mugs alluded to vivacious discussions, and blurred banners of extraordinary beans guaranteed undertakings in each taste. But the theme of "Red vs. Blue" never left my mind—cobalt splatters on the shelves, crimson beans spilling from open sacks, and the playful hues of neon signs illuminating the walls.

Unbelievable Revealing: At long last, the bistro ventured into the spotlight of Unbelievable Motor 5. Lighting, my stage chief, arranged the scene. Warm morning daylight gushed through windows, moving on worn sections of flooring. Every nook and cranny was played hide-and-seek by shadows, adding mystery and depth. What's more, the masterpiece? Inconspicuous sprinkles of red and blue neon, as perky brushstrokes, rejuvenated the subject, changing the bistro into a lively material of espresso-filled competition.

From Pixels to Benefactors: Red versus Blue's most memorable creation may be smaller than expected, yet the illustrations learned are goliath. I've improved my computerized chiselling abilities, excelled at narrating through surfaces, and found the enchantment of light in rejuvenating a scene. Furthermore, in particular, I've embraced the perky delight of Red versus Blue, an existence where even the littlest bistro can overflow with unending imaginative potential outcomes.

So, dear reader, the next time you have a latte, keep in mind that even the simplest of moments can be masterpieces that are just waiting to be created. Take motivation from your general surroundings, snatch your computerized instruments, and blend your imaginative mixture. What's more, who knows, you may very well end up with a little work of art of your own!

This blog gives a strong groundwork to your narration. Go ahead and add explicit insights regarding your number one reference, the difficulties you confronted with light and variety, and the one-of-a-kind components you added to your little bistro. Feel free to the blog with your voice and innovative experiences to make it really your own.

[haikyuu-scenarios-box]

Haikyuu Horrors — Week 2🔪

Demon — DemonKing!Oikawa Tooru x FallenAngel!Reader

Previous Week: Wendigo — Kuroo Tetsurou x GenderNeutral!Reader 

TW: fire, mentions of torture, religious references, blasphemy i mean seriously demon!oikawa is in love with u ofc it’s gonna be blasphemous

Word count: 2,370

UNDER THE CUT

__________

One of the many debates in Heaven was why the number of demon contracts skyrocketed as centuries passed. As [y/n] poured the hot tea from the pot into their cup, they recalled their answer - mortals were simply hollow without greed. Koushi’s healing wasn’t enough, Azumane’s protection wasn’t enough, Kiyoko’s beauty wasn’t enough and Daichi’s wisdom wasn’t enough.

But the demons... their services fully relieved whatever emotional or superficial famine mortals were undergoing. They went beyond what a mortal desired and for that, they gained their soul in exchange for temporary pleasures. [Y/n] figured that Tooru - the king that oversaw the sixth circle of Hell - was relishing in the torture he subjected those that were damned to reside in his realm for entirety. 

The tea coated [y/n]’s mildly inflamed throat with a comforting warmth. When they caught a glimpse of the woods from the front window, a bitterness akin to a melting pill on their tongue bloomed within their chest. Keiji just dropped them in the middle of nowhere and by sheer chance, [y/n] eventually found a one-room cabin that’d been abandoned for years. It had barely been a month and [y/n] was already inflated with frustration. How the fuck did mortals live like this? They felt like a goddamn farmer every time they watered the empty vegetable patch and collected leaves from a nearby tea shrub.

Their jumbled thoughts ceased once their ears began picked up on distant sprinting. [Y/n] would be lying if they said that their paranoia didn’t exponentially increase the moment they fell. After all, most of their powers had been taken, besides a small bit of their healing ability and heightened senses. No strength. No agility. No exorcism. Nothing.

At first, [y/n] dismissed the sounds as paranoia - a camper or hiker, perhaps? Despite their attempt at composing a logical justification, a bout of nausea grew within their gut and the muscles along their jaw ached with tension. The sweat that slowly sweeped from [y/n]’s pores pricked their skin as they hurriedly reached for the door, locking the four locks along it.

It couldn’t have been a human. Those sprinting footsteps were far too fast. 

It couldn’t have been an angel. They were forbidden from contacting all of them, including fallen ones.

It could only belong to a demon that donned a human body.

[Y/n]’s hands shivered with a numbing, glacial dampness. They no longer possessed defensive abilities, nor were there any weapons in the cabin that would be effective against a demon. As the sprinting got louder within their ears, a dry knot formed itself within their throat and the intensity of [y/n]’s heartbeat weighed their head down, almost sending them to the floor. They were simply frozen. There was nothing that could be done.

A great force shattered the wooden door into splinters and boards. The locks might as well had been a layer of chiffon. 

‘W-what...’ they backed away slowly, the sharpness of a spike buried within their sternum. He appeared human, but [y/n] could very clearly see his real form. ‘How... Azumane s-sealed you away, I-I don’t...’

‘I didn’t think that this form would leave you speechless,’ Tooru said with pride, flashing a charming smile, ‘I wanted to wear something nice for you.’

‘Wear something?’ [y/n] repeated with disgust, ‘You’ve possessed an innocent man!’ they yelled, riddled with spite, ‘Who is he? A father? A son? A—’

‘I’m offended that you’d accuse me of such a thing,’ Tooru feigned hurt as he approached them, ‘I made all of this’⁠—he gestured in a downwards motion to his body as he grinned—‘on my own. It took a decent amount of energy to make a form this appealing. You could at least appreciate it.’ 

‘Well that energy has gone to waste because I can already see how hideous you look underneath it,’ [y/n] scowled, ‘get out or I’ll send you back to where you belong,’ they bluffed, stretching out their right hand towards him. They wished that the archangels could hear them curse for taking away the only ability that would’ve kept them safe. 

The smirk that Tooru’s lips curled into denoted scepticism and cockiness. The last time a substantial number angels fell was eras ago when they fought alongside the Devil (which, as most knew, ended with a victory for Archangel Azumane when he managed to seal him away within the deepest layer of Hell). Despite that, Tooru didn’t forget that those angels that fell to Earth had almost entirely lost their powers.

‘Come closer and do so then,’ he beckoned, ‘or are you scared that I’ll be the one who sends you to where you should’ve fell?’

[Y/n] opened their mouth to respond, but Tooru’s strides towards them caused that sentence ceased before it even began. In the three centuries they’d been imprisoned in Tartarus, they’d almost forgotten how ugly and twisted a demon’s real form was, even more so when it was the king of a circle. It was such a sharp contrast to the human face that Tooru currently hid behind; a smokey, pitch-black void that dripped with a various shades of a deep crimson. The blurry features of a substantial number of agonised human faces littered his form, their hands either pounding or scratching. He had the skull of a horse for what would be a face and his limbs were thrice as long as that of a normal human; the decaying shreds of muscle sizzling around the cobalt traces of fire lining them. 

At the same time, though, [y/n] couldn’t deny that Tooru’s mortal form was captivating. It was mesmerising enough to render them blind to what lied beneath it. 

‘As if dumping you in the middle of rural Japan like a bag of trash wasn’t bad enough, your powers were taken away as well,’ Tooru stared right into them, ‘a bit excessive for throwing a tantrum about serving ungrateful humans, don’t you think?’ 

Long ago, prior to when [y/n] began to develop an intense loathing towards the archangels, they would’ve sent the bastard right back to Hell so that he’d go back to trapping every damned human within a flaming tomb, or whatever other punishment that the sadist came up with throughout his reign. 

Certain affirmations simply could not be forced, and this was one of them. In a way, [y/n] was starved - they always sought more control, more freedom and much more power. Tooru stole the words right out of their larynx. If Father had truly loved them equally, he would have granted every angel unimaginable power. Equality and bias were opposites and restricting such power to the Archangels was on the far end of that spectrum. The fact that all [y/n] could do was do mortals’ bidding filled them with resentment, so much to the point where they were surprised that none of the other angels sensed it. 

‘I can still feel it so clearly,’ Tooru inhaled deeply with a pleased smile, ‘that pure hatred in you,’ he said, ‘I remember it all the way back from when you fought alongside Azumane when he was trying to seal me away. You were the only being that abandoned the battle,’ his features softened, ‘and for that, you were damned.’ 

[Y/n]’s eyes and nostrils grew warm, lower lip quivering. ‘How did you break the seal?’ they muttered after a short silence, changing the topic and neglecting his earlier statement. 

‘I’m glad you asked!’ Tooru clasped his hands together, ‘All it takes is fire created by an archangel.’ 

‘W-when I fell...’ [y/n]’s heart pounded within their cranium upon realisation, ‘... the embers from Keiji’s fire...’ 

‘Correct,’ he beamed, ‘That reminds me, I should probably thank Makki and Mattsun for taking their hellhounds on regular walks. Those hounds smelled messenger boy’s fire from towns away.’ 

They merely stood there, watching Tooru walk around the cabin curiously. The entire encounter caused an harsh headache to throb along their temples. [Y/n] could sense their eyeballs slowly rolling to the back of their skull and they wanted nothing more than to lay down. 

‘This place is depressing. And I’m saying that as someone who lives in Hell,’ he remarked, his back facing them as he glanced at the patches of dust on the kitchen counter. 

‘Did you come here take me to your realm or to judge my decor?’ [y/n] sarcastically asked, overwhelmed with emotions they couldn’t even describe (divine beings were crafted to be pragmatic, not emotional). ‘If you’re planning on torturing me for intel on the archangels, let me just tell you in advance that they’re still sitting up there doing nothing.’ 

‘Torture?’ Tooru chuckled. When he turned around, [y/n] watched ebony slowly pool into his eyes, starting from his waterline and eventually blending into his pupils. The smirk he wore only amplified his unsettling aura. ‘If that was my plan, I would’ve just asked the kings of the eight circle to take care of you. Tetsurou, Bokuto and Kei would have got you talking in no time.’

The mention of those names drove a shudder to travel through every bone in [y/n]’s body. A sudden heat enveloped them, leading sweat to become a disgusting adhesive between their clothes and skin. The wooden walls snapped and crackled, whereas their lungs felt as though they were on the verge of collapsing into themselves. When their vision grew distorted with heat stronger than that of Tartarus’, [y/n] realised that it was far too late to keep stalling.

‘What I want is to propose an offer.’

With a single blink, cobalt flames erupted from the floor in the form of a dome around them. The intense heat against their skin was excruciating enough to make [y/n] howl and whimper, a first degree burn already flourishing onto their skin. The smoke compressed and stung every one of their internal organs; despite that, they refused to sink to their knees. 

‘God’s love isn’t unconditional, [y/n],’ Tooru began, walking through the wall of fire without a flinch, ‘he made me too, yet he doesn’t love me. And he certainly doesn’t love you either. Not anymore.’ 

Several wooden planks clattered to the dusty floorboard from the ceiling, a thick blackened sheen enveloping them almost immediately. [Y/n] could barely breathe, their gasps and wheezes sharp enough to bear a similarity to skewers impaling them. Yet, terror was no longer within them; merely because they were in the presence of someone who understood. As Tooru cupped [y/n]’s face and stroked their cheekbones with his thumb, the flames began to slowly dwindle into ash.

‘But me? I love you.’

‘What?’ [y/n] questioned, confused beyond measure. Demons were incapable of love - this was either lust or pure manipulation. 

‘I love you,’ Tooru repeated, an unnerving Cheshire grin drawn along his lips. ‘Without you, your rebelliousness, your disobedience, your hatred, I never would have been able to return here,’ he slightly tightened his grip on their face, ensuring that their gaze remained fixated on him, ‘Fallen angels gain great power when they’ve suffered in Hell long enough. Much greater than your father could ever give you. Return with me and suffer, and then... it’ll be yours.’ 

His fingers ran through [y/n]’s hair, brushing away stray strands off their forehead. The gesture was so tender, so human; a complete contradiction to his nature and position. They weren’t sure that angels themselves were capable of carrying out an act that delicate. 

‘I want more than that,’ [y/n] scowled, placing their hands flat against his chest. ‘I want the archangels to suffer. I want every human in Hell. I want the entire fucking earth,’ they curled their fingers into Tooru’s shirt, aggressively pulling him towards them to press their lips against his. They were infuriated by their own thoughts and transfixed by the demon in front of them; it was as though [y/n] believed acting on their blind instincts would somehow enrage the archangels. Their lids slowly sunk closed as he placed one hand at the back of their neck and the other on their lower back, tugging them even closer to his body.

‘There’s only one way to gain that kind of power,’ Tooru smirked as he pulled away, raising their head by the chin with his knuckle to stare right into their irises.

‘I know,’ [y/n] solemnly said, gently stroking his cheeks, ‘Take us home.’

__________

It would have been logical for one to assume that Hell would be even more unbearable for a being that resided in Heaven for centuries, but [y/n] was an anomaly. They stood in front of the full-length mirror, admiring their formal attire and mortal form. A while ago, Tooru had refurbished the castle entirely while [y/n] underwent the transformation. Although it’d been eras since an angel was turned into a demon, he recalled how lengthy and agonising the process was and of course, he wanted his darling to return to a home they’d adore prior to even entering.

‘Your highness,’ a voice rang from behind them, ‘we await your arrival.’ 

It wasn’t just Tooru and [y/n] that donned their mortal form today. They’d made everyone in the realm do so as well. Demons accepted their appearance, yes, but no one could deny that they were repulsive (after all, [y/n] themselves couldn’t persuade their mind to view their new self as acceptable). Neither of them wanted to stare down at their subjects in their monstrous forms from the castle’s balcony. 

When [y/n] headed towards the balcony, their groom finally came within their sight. ‘My love,’ they cooed, prompting Tooru to turn around. Hajime, his personal advisor, was already delivering a speech about the significance of the day; though [y/n] wasn’t listening, really. 

Tooru took their hands within his, kissing their knuckles with a genuine grin. 

‘The overseer of the City of Dis’—Hajime began his introduction—‘the punisher of heresy, the ruler of the sixth circle of Hell, King Tooru!’ 

Excited yells, hollers and claps erupted as Tooru left their side to appear on the balcony. He stood proudly with a captivating smile, giving a wave to the demons he ruled over. Almost everyone in the realm attended - a “short vacation”, they all called it.

‘And the angel that abandoned the battle against the sixth circle now roams it, not as a fallen angel, but as one of us!’ Hajime announced with a loud, confident voice That was [y/n]’s cue to appear.

‘King Tooru’s [bride/groom], [y/n]!’ 

The buoyant cheers grew once more as [y/n] stopped beside Tooru; yet the attendees might as well have remained completely silent, for all their focus was on him. He wrapped his arms around [y/n]’s waist as they cupped the sides of his face, tenderly placing his lips against theirs and relishing in their warmth and softness. They both currently appeared so humane; however, they knew that they shared an intense ugliness within them. 

‘We will soon dominate the Earth and the Heavens, darling,’ Tooru whispered. 

They wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[timelesshonesttrailer]

The bane of many writers is that once you have birthed a story, taken the time to write, erase, rewrite, edit, scream at, and finally accept the words that you have written… you have to name it. 

Like people, or businesses, the name is everything. It’s one of the first things people see. It’s what they will use to communicate the story to others. So picking a good title is vital, which makes it all the more daunting. But like most things in life, once you break it down and examine its parts, see how it works, it becomes a lot less scary and a lot more manageable.

This is how I got pretty good at making titles, not only for my own works, but for others. And I want to share with you what I learned, and hopefully make the task of titling your stories a lot less terrifying.

To create a good title, you have to focus on two things: Structure and Meaning.

Structure

Quick, think of all your favorite books, shows, and movies. Now think of popular franchises that are household names. What do they have in common, title wise? They are short and to the point.

On average, these titles are one to two words long. This does not include articles or connecting words like “the,” “of,” “or,” etc, because they pretty much disappear.

The titles also average few syllables, about two or three. You don’t really want to go above four. English is a very lazy language and we like to keep things short. This is why a lot of titles get shortened anyway.

Examples of Titles (remember, articles/connectors don’t count):

Friends – One word, one syllable.

Cheers – One word, one syllable.

Lost – One word, one syllable.

Dune – One word, one syllable.

Timeless – One word, two syllables.

ER – One word, two syllables.

Twilight – One word, two syllables. Can refer to the entire series.

The Mummy (1999) – One word, three syllables.

The Simpsons – One word, three syllables.

Parasite – One word, three syllables.

Titanic – One word, three syllables.

Hamilton – One word, three syllables.

The X-Files – One word, three syllables. Though it’s debatable if X-Files is one word or two.

CSI – One word (standing in for three), three syllables (standing in for seven).

Star Wars – Two words, two syllables.

Good Omens – Two words, three syllables.

Game of Thrones – Two words, three syllables. Often verbally shortened to Thrones.

Lord of the Rings – Two words, four syllables.

I can keep going, but you see the trend.

But what about titles like the Harry Potter books? The answer is in the question. Each book/movie title starts with Harry Potter and then has a modifier. Harry Potter itself is only two words and four syllables. Then if someone talks about a specific novel, they typically would not say the whole title, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, they would simply say Azkaban. The same is done in other series. Percy Jackson for example.

There are, of course, exceptions.

Elementary is a one word, but five syllables. It’s also a very common phrase in both the genre and in everyday life. Use of common phrases is a way to get around the above formula because we’re already used to saying them, thinking them, etc. One Day at a Time is another good example. Three words, five syllables, but doesn’t feel any longer than Lord of the Rings. 

But the longer the title, the more likely it will somehow get shortened. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep was changed to three syllable Blade Runner. My favorite book, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, has a very long title. Technically it’s three words when you remove articles/connectors, but the syllable count is a whopping ten. It gets away with it because for one, it’s a rift on an already common phrase, and two, fans can call it Hitchhiker’s Guide which is only four syllables. 

Now, once you know the structure of a title, you can work on choosing one.

Meaning

The title of your story has to give the reader an idea about what they’re getting into. It does this by focusing on one of the following:

A literal Person/Place/Thing –  Percy Jackson, Cheers, The X-Files

The Subject Matter – Friends, Law & Order, The Sixth Sense, CSI

The Genre – Twilight, Star Wars, Friday the 13th, Altered Carbon

The Overall Metaphor/Concept – Game of Thrones, Parasite, Pride and Prejudice

Many of these cross over. The Sixth Sense and CSI could also be considered a literal thing as well as a genre marker. If your title fulfills more than one slot, that is neat, but not a necessity. You might feel like you have to come up with some complex title, but sometimes it’s really just as simple as it’s a show about friends and their relationships with each other.

Take the title Catch-22. The term Catch-22 is a major metaphor and concept that is universally known today. But when Joseph Heller wrote Catch-22, no one called that concept a Catch-22. The title was simply naming the military rule (a thing), which created the situation and therefore drove the narrative. People later co-opted the title to quickly express the concept that the book so masterfully discusses.

Whatever you chose, the title should match the feel of the story you’re trying to tell. It’s part of your promise to the reader, and must make sense by the time they get to the end of the story.  

But how to pick a title when you have persons, places, things, subject matter, genre, and metaphors in your story? You simply work backwards. Ask yourself what your story is really about.

What is the driving force of the narrative?

What do you want your readers to get out of the story?

Is it a story about a person?

Or about the people of a specific group?

Is the story a one-shot or the beginning of a trilogy/series?

Is there a specific name or line of text that sums up your story neatly?

Somewhere in the answers to those questions is your title.

Now, I can make guesses on how some of the above mentioned titles came to be. Cheers takes place in the bar of the same name, and it’s about the patrons of said bar, so it’s the story about a place named Cheers. But I can’t speak for the creators and what thought processes they might have went through in order to choose their titles. So, instead, I am going to give you some of the titles I have come up with and explain how I got there.

Copper and Gold Two words, four syllables. Genre: Urban Fantasy This is the first book of a series based around a singular character, Minni Masterson, whose motif is copper, which plays a large role in the story. Since it’s a series, I need a title that could be formulaic across each one. In the first novel, the “guest character” is a gold dragon (Aiden Drake). So when I say Copper and Gold, I’m really saying Minni and Drake. And in the second book, when I say Copper and Cobalt, I am saying Minni and the Kobolds. Copper and Mercury is Minni and the Werewolves. Etc.

Emperor’s Shadow Two words, five syllables. Genre: Star Wars fan fiction/Mystery/Character Study The story is about Mara Jade who was an Emperor’s Hand. It’s about her coming to terms with the shadow that looms over her from her past and what Palpatine did to her. Instead of going with something much bulkier like In the Shadow of the Empire, I merged her past (Emperor’s Hand) with her current conflict.

The Serpent and the Liar Two words, seven syllables. (This format of “The X and the X” is one that is an exception to the rule, so long as the syllables belonging to X remain low) Genre: Marvel!Loki fan fiction/Pre-Movies Canon Compliant The story is about Loki and the events leading up to the first Thor movie. It also brings in Sigyn to explore that ship, along with some Norse myths, and to explain why she isn’t in the movie. Loki, of course, is known for his serpent motif and as the god of lies. I play on this, giving Sigyn a serpent motif, something to match her with Loki. But on several occasions, I raise the question of who is actually the serpent, and who is the liar? Because the best way to lie, is to tell the truth. So, like Copper and Gold, I’m really just calling the story Loki and Sigyn, I mean, Sigyn and Loki?

Amehrana One word, four syllables. Genre: Timeless Food Truck AU/Garcy Slow Burn The story is about Flynn and Lucy, and the rest of the team, in an AU setting. I named Flynn’s food truck Amehrana because it’s a mix of the word American and Hrana, which is Croatian for food. So the title is both a thing (the food truck) but also another word for Flynn and Lucy because he’s Croat and she’s American. But unlike Copper and Gold and The Serpent and the Liar, there is the added symbolism here of Flynn and Lucy coming together.

Frankenstein’s Monster Two words, five syllables Genre: Timeless Mission Fic for Proposed Season 3 (non-movie compliant) The mission is Mary Shelley, but that doesn’t mean there *has* to be a Frankenstein reference. But you have Flynn who thinks he’s a monster, one created by Rittenhouse. I also go deeper and hint at Lucy herself being a Frankenstein Monster, i.e. created by Rittenhouse for a purpose she doesn’t want any part of. Once again, my title is basically just another name for my main characters.

I want to interject for a moment and point out that we all have our preferences in our writing styles, and titles are no different. If you realized you tend to do most of your titles a specific way, then own it. It’s part of what makes you unique as an artist. And if you occasionally decide you want to go a completely opposite direction for one story, then go for it.

Case in point.

No Accounting for Heroes Three words, seven syllables Genre: Canon Compliant account of the Fall of SHIELD and its aftermath This fic really takes a hard look at what happens to those living in a world with superheroes. The main character, an accountant named Rani, is giving an account of events. My cowriter suggested putting “accounting” in the title which made me think of the common phrase, “no accounting for taste,” which is a concept about how different people like/need different things, and applied it to the story. No Accounting for Heroes means that we all need a hero, but maybe not the heroes we think we do, and we can all be heroes in some way, to someone in need. But also, there is that underlying current that heroes are not held accountable for the destruction that follows in their wake. 

Never be afraid to ask for help with titles. And don’t be afraid to reject titles if they don’t fit. And definitely don’t be afraid to take the suggestion, turn it over, season it, put it in a waffle iron, and see if what comes out is edible.

I have helped others name their stories, and here are three examples:

Remember, Remember Two words, six syllables. Genre: Timeless Garcy Canon Divergent/Angst/Mission Fic The story is about Lucy trying to save Flynn after he goes back to 2012. Emma saves him instead. Eventually Lucy runs into him and she discovers he doesn’t remember her and only knows what Emma has told him. At the end of the story, they have a final confrontation during the Gunpowder Plot. When the author asked my thoughts on a title, well, the Gunpowder Plot has the very famous saying “Remember, Remember, the 5th of November” and the whole story is Lucy trying to get Flynn to remember…

Disavowed One word, three syllables. Genre: Timeless Luciana Canon Divergent/Angst In this Twitter story, Flynn is blocked from returning to the US from Canada because they still think he’s a terrorist. Basically, his own country, whom he helped save, rejected him. When asked for a title, I focused on the idea that this story is about Flynn being rejected/denied entry/etc. I basically flipped through synonyms for rejected until I came across disavowed which is a term often used in spy craft. It’s a heavy word which paired well with the angst of the story.

Only Our Stories Three words, five syllables. Genre: Timeless Movie Canon Compliant-adjacent/Angst/Mission Fic The phrase “only our stories” is said in the fic itself. Future-Lucy writes it down towards the beginning, once she’s returned from dropping off the journal post-Chinatown. All that she has left of Flynn is only their stories, which she writes in the journal. She is eventually able to change things to get Flynn back, but he doesn’t remember her. There is still a connection though… their stories.

Never be afraid to take a line from your story to use as your title, so long as you follow the structure guidelines from the first section. 

At the end of the day, coming up with titles is just as much a skill as any other part of writing. We suck at first, then we figure out what's good, what's bad, and look at the world around us to figure out how to make it better. And don’t be afraid to edit it as much as you edit your novel. Until you publish, no title is set in stone, so it doesn’t have be right the first time.

And now here is where I close out this reference guide by saying something inspirational. Instead, I’m going to name this piece. While I wrote it, the temp file name was “Creating a Title” which is technically accurate but has no umph or style. This guide is meant to be helpful so the title should inspire confidence that I know what I’m talking about. But I don’t want it to sound too clinical either. 

A synonym for “name” is designation which I like but too many syllables because I’ll have to add to it. Synonym’s for “title” don’t give me much either. Instead, I should focus on the concept of the guide rather than its direct contents. Using something like “What’s in a Name?” would be too cliché. “I Suck at Titles” is funny, at first, with it being the exact opposite, but my genre is more educational than satire.

Wait, if I’m not going to reveal the title until the end, as a way to show you the thought process in creating a title, then to the reader, the title both does and doesn’t exist at the same time. It’s what you might call a…

Schrodinger’s Title: A Guide to Naming

[whirlybirbs]

"let me buy you a drink" w/ punchy + drunk!poe

» BAR BRAWL!

summary: things were good, then an old friend of poe joins the resistance. sura likes jessika, poe likes you, you think poe like sura... it’s a mess. and then, enter gret franz. cue the bar brawl.pairing: poe dameron x cadet!reader, punchyrating: t for some drinking references, bar fights over a girla/n:  a drabble based off poe + punchy from pre-flight check! this operates along their story-line, after the mission and pre-getting-together! this got long so.... here we are.

The base’s cantina is where, at any give point on a Friday night, you can find nearly all of the Resistance's Starfighter Corp. Dagger, Stiletto, Cobalt and especially Black Squadron all operated under the age-old guise of: work hard, party harder.

Karé and Jessika insist you deserve a round or two on them after the bantha-shit you’d been dragged through all week; you’d been off your game ever since returning back from the Voss mission. Blame a certain Black Leader for that. You feel like you can’t go anywhere without --

“Look who it is!”

You try to avoid Poe’s gaze as you rendezvous with the other half of Black Squadron.

Snap Wexley greets Karé is a smile and a kiss. That riles a chorus of chirps and jeers from the squadron. You greet Oddy, L’ulo and Snap with quick knuckle bumps and high-fives (each personalized, of course), before offering Poe a curt nod from around Jessika. 

He swigs his beer. 

Awkward.

"Who are we toasting tonight?” Oddy chirps, eyes bright as he moves to toss a credit towards the bartender. 

Jessika’s hand come down on your shoulders and she shakes you in good fun. “We’re getting Punchy messed up tonight.”

“No, c’mon --” you mumble, raising your hands, “I’ve had a shit week enough --”

“No,” it’s Karé this time, “No backing out, you agreed to get wild with us -- girls night, remember?”

“Speaking of...” Snap leans, elbowing Poe in the ribs, “Look who just got here.”

You watch the exchange, eyes narrowing as you spot Poe’s brows dart upwards. The back door of the cantina swings open and through the dimly lit, crowded room, you see her.

Suralinda Javos is new. 

From what you were able to gather from Snap and L’ulo, she’s retired New Republic Navy -- she worked as a journalist for a bit and after a visit gone awry, Poe recruited her for the Resistance. There’s, apparently, a mixed history there. And that is cause enough for you to dislike her. 

God, you wish you could wipe that look off’s Poe face. She’s not even that great. Okay, fine, she’s beautiful. And tall. And lean and dangerous and cunning and...

You feel like a T-40 X-Wing, and she’s latest model when she walks in the room.

Not to mention the clash of personalities. 

She was promoted to Crimson Squadron’s flight commander in the matter of a week, no doubt for word down the chain.

You are, by no means, by the book -- but the Squamatan is chaos in the sky. You nearly throttled your helmet through your windshield after drills one day when you watched Poe leap from his cockpit, cheering and commending her and loving how reckless she was. 

So, yeah, there’s maybe a little jealousy there. Reckless was your thing. And when you were reckless, Poe just... got all huffy and did his usual ‘kid’ routine. 

“I could go for that round about now,” you deadpan, ignoring the way every pilot in the bar seems to gravitate to the teal-skinned Squamatan, “Anyone else?”

A gruff grunt. It’s Jessika. “Yep.”

“Count me in.”

Karé and Jessika had, really, been your saving grace post-Voss; they were kind enough to listen to you rant and rave -- and eventually help you navigate yourself to the point of, yeah, you didn’t hate Poe. The self-exploration stopped there, though. Whatever this was happened to be a bit more complicated than not-hate. You couldn’t say you you were excited to admit that you didn’t hate Poe at all, quite the opposite, because having feelings for your flight-Commander is so not good.

So, you shut up and pull your big-girl flight suit up, because you were content on just being good with Poe. 

No arguments, no side-hand comments, no butting-of-heads. You’d even smiled at him after drills; it was like the sweetest sucker punch in the world.

Until this week.

It was too good. And then Suralinda traipsed into it all.

Long story short, Jessika and Karé can’t stand her either. Which, honestly, is so not your vibe. You were very anti pitting-girls-against-girls because of shared interest in a man, but you’ve always been bullheaded and Jessika and Karé are good friends. 

And, right now, beside the very gorgeous Suralinda, you’re thankful for good friends. 

“Hey, you.”

You scoff at Poe’s greeting for the Crimson Leader. Suralinda offers a big smile, hand moving for his arm. “Hey!”

Jessika and Karé shoulder you, muscling you down the line and far from the interaction happening -- all before leaning over the bar and gesturing for a round of shots. And that is pretty much how the night goes. Little by little, the Squadron joins you and the girls.

Poe and Suralinda continue their cosmic level flirting, and you settle on joking with the rest of Black Squadron. 

You’re trying to stack shot glasses when a hand on your shoulder interrupts. 

You turn, buzz spinning the room in the best way. 

And there’s Gret Franz, Dagger Squadron’s offensive left-wing -- tall, dark, handsome. His smile is lopsided and dangerous and you’re hooked; everyone knows Gret is a flirt, but suddenly you’re in the spotlight and you can’t get enough of it.

And Poe? Poe’s all set, thanks. 

“What’s up with that?” Suralinda asks, brows quirked as she juts her chin to motion in your direction.

Poe’s entire face falls.

He hates how sweet your smile is then. It reminds him of the one you’d spared him on the space depot, all toothy and bright. Dimples dig into your cheeks and Poe watches as Gret Franz makes you laugh. Actually laugh. And makes half his squadron laugh, too. 

“You like her,” Sura chirps, “Don’t you?”

Poe’s known Suralinda since his first year in the academy -- and though L’ulo and Oddy like to tease, their friendship is only platonic; any romance was blasted out the airlock Poe’s second year when Suralinda shut him down hard and fast. 

Poe, it’s not you, really, she’d said one night, seriously, I don’t swing that way. 

Suralinda’s just trying to get an in to make moves on Jessika. All those risky flight maneuvers, all the lunches in the mess at Black Squadron’s table... and still, Jessika Pava is a little too busy being a good friend to even notice the advances. 

Nothing ever works smoothly with Resistance Starfighters and romance. It’s just not how the gears roll. 

“No,” he says it too fast. Sura rolls her eyes, “She’s... we’re just squad-mates.”

“Is that why you don’t like her?”

Yeah, duh, fraternization isn’t just a Navy rule. Poe says nothing, only moves from his post at the bar to shoulder his way down the line. 

Something spikes a hot anger in his gut when Gret’s hands move to your lower back, leaning over you to press his chest to your back. The proximity stirs a jealousy in him that he tries to push away, but... he’s tipsy. And ---

And Gret is a trash flight-leader.

Imagine your surprise when you’re suddenly not only the subject of Gret’s attention, but Poe’s -- the curly haired commander arrives at your other side, nudging you and offering a slow smile. Gret notes the man by your side and sudden center of your attention. 

Poe and Gret’s gazes connect.

At once, both of them blurt out:

“Let me buy you a drink.”

You have to do a double take. The Squadron behind you falls into a heavy silence at the sudden rivalry being created -- you turn to look at them both, shifting from foot to foot then, eyes darting between the flight-leaders. You blink, mouth falling open as you try to find the right words to say. 

The shots have your thoughts working slow, sticky like honey.

“Really --”

“No,” Poe laughs, “I insist, man --”

“I thought you were busy --” Gret chirps, “With Sura.”

“Sura and I --” Poe says with a tight smile, blinking up at the taller pilot, “... are just friends. So, why don’t you run along back to Dagger Squadron’s little corner and let me buy my Lieutenant a drink?”

The bar now, has their attention trained on the growing tension between the two men, voices stifled and eyes drawn. The bar seems to back up two paces, making room with the egos clashing. 

“Oh,” it’s a sharp laugh, “Big talk coming from you.”

“From me? Yeah?”

“Last I checked,” Gret jabs, “You got laid out by your Lieutenant. Twice.”

Poe’s jaw clenches. You can see the anger there. He wets his lips, swallowing before turning his head to shoot Snap a look; for a second, you think maybe Poe’s going to back off. And then, brown eyes land on you.

“She’s got a mean hook.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Poe pokes the bear. 

“Too bad she’s not into academy drop-outs, Gret.”

Then, you watch Gret, aforementioned New Republic Navy Academy dropout, land a hit on Poe. You’re, honestly, blown by it -- mostly because starting fights was more your thing than it was Poe’s thing. Secondly, because the whole bar proceeds to erupt into a brawl, seemingly over the rivalry created in an instant over buying you a drink. Fittingly enough, though, when your brain and body decide to get it together through the haze of enough alcohol to knock a Tauntaun out, you’re the one that ends the fight.

“Enough!”

The shriek stills the bar as you pull Poe and Gret from each other. Black Squadron, in various ends of the cantina, cease their punching. The whole corp follows suite. 

You swallow, hair wild as you try and catch your breath. Standing and squaring your shoulders, you speak slowly.

Your speech is slurred, face hot. You jam your finger into Poe’s chest, ignoring the split lip. You lean, staggering a bit.

“I... will buy myself a drink.”

And like that, it’s settled.

You buy yourself a drink. And Poe goes home with his ego (and his jaw) bruised.

[panharmopticon]

Before I can address this reverential view of “hyperobjects” themselves, let’s start small, with ordinary objects. [...] What are computers made of? Olcott’s answer is wide ranging, descending into the wiring of these popular devices, sketching their materials and hinting at their designers. While this investigation is lucid, Olcott ends by throwing up his hands: we can’t fully know such a familiar object as the computer. [...] Olcott refers to the laptop consisting of “some metals,” before taking a deep dive into its circuitry. The most notorious of these “some metals” is cobalt, required for lithium batteries, which is primarily mined by workforces in Africa that frequently include child workers. [...] In 2019, Apple landed in court over the iPhone’s inclusion of these components, alongside Google, Tesla, Dell, and Microsoft, in a case put together by various international human rights NGOs. [...]

Apple computers and any other kind ultimately have more in common than apart: they are all part of the commodity form. Through commodities we can link everyday items with the grander forces that Morton classes as hyperobjects. These devices [...] have a second super-sensual register, as we situate their role in the domination of our planet by commodity production. While Olcott skillfully teases out Morton’s framing of the super-sensual as an infinite regress of more objects throwing more objects back at the perceiver, my view of the way commodities necessarily extend beyond our senses is quite different. Our world is dominated by Capital in ways that ar erevealed by a “second pass” of scrutiny of the objects it tirelessly churns out. [...]

Morton treats the vast power of hyperobjects as a sort of cosmic horror; they are vast entities towering over us, which do not care for our lives. The impersonal qualities of our domination by capital are very familiar to us reds, but our account of how this unfolds is quite different. While the brutality of the capitalist state’s efforts to preserve norms of property ownership are unmistakable (consider the brutality with which police forces around the world treat the homeless or traveling communities), these effort are only one part of how exploited workforces are sustained. Capital has established itself through the social domination of the workforces that make it up. This social domination includes but can’t be reduced to outright propaganda, the institutional formation of subjectivity, and the other “technologies of the self” that have recently preoccupied social theory. [...] The horror of capitalism is not its incomprehensible or overbearing scale (even though it has come to dominate the entire surface of the planet). It’s that even after a moment of having the “scales fall from our eyes,” we see before us not a series of illusions, but a secular sacrificial ceremony--that continues whether we believe in it or not.

Note: I have replaced the original hyperlink re: Apple with the lawsuit itself, which was linked earlier in the piece in a section not present in this excerpt.

[96thdayofrage]

What is Fascism in Our Times? A Global South Perspective

In this final essay of a seven-part series, Yash Tandon depicts fascism as a systemic phenomenon arising from the incompatibility of democracy and capitalism. For capitalism to persist, as is the case now, democracy is dispensed with. Hegemonic imperialist powers embody fascism in their relations with the rest of the world. Leaders of African neo-colonies administer the fascist system on behalf of the global corporate and financial fascism.

This article previously appeared in Pambazuka News.

“Fascism is a systemic, structural phenomenon, not personal. Individuals in state power who ‘administer’ the system are often stigmatized as ‘fascist.’ The person becomes the most visible carrier of the fascist project.”

There is much talk these days, especially in the Western media, about “fascism.” The word is thrown around with total abandon to describe any political figure with whom one is in disagreement. Sometimes, “fascism” is twinned with “populism” so that those that are described as “fascists” -- for example Trump in America and Le Pen in France -- are also called “populists.”

The West is caught up in a historical trap from which its people (including the intelligentsia) are unable to escape.[1] History has entrapped them. The result is that they have no longer much to offer in order for us to understand what fascism really means today.

Those who do not recognize the turning points of history cannot even raise the right questions, let alone provide answers to some of the glaring challenges we now face.

Classical fascism

In his essay, “The Essence of Fascism” (1935), Karl Polanyi wrote: “Victorious Fascism is not only the downfall of the Socialist Movement; it is the end of Christianity in all but its most debased forms. The common attack of German Fascism on both the organizations of the working-class movement and the Churches is not a mere coincidence. It is a symbolic expression of that hidden philosophical essence of Fascism which makes it the common enemy of Socialism and Christianity alike.” [2]

In another essay Polanyi wrote: “Fascism is born from the incompatibility between democracy and capitalism in a fully developed industrial society. Either capitalism or democracy must therefore disappear. Fascism constitutes the solution to this deadlock by allowing capitalism to persist.”[3]

Polanyi was right about the incompatibility between capitalism and democracy. Eighty years later, on July 22, 2015, the British Foreign Secretary, Philip Hammond, told members of British Parliament that democracy was "cumbersome" for the pursuit of foreign military objectives. He said democracy puts Western governments at a disadvantage in confronting Russia and other threats: “We as a nation and as part of an alliance in NATO must think about how we deal with the challenge of our relatively cumbersome decision-making processes.”[4]

Fascism of the hegemonic/imperialist powers

In his The Return of Fascism in Contemporary Capitalism, Samir Amin explains how the hegemonic capitalist/imperialist powers embodied fascism in their relations with the rest of the world, and how its roots go back to Nazism: [5]

“Nazism is the model of this type of fascism. Germany became a major industrial power beginning in the 1870s and a competitor of the hegemonic powers of the era (Great Britain and, secondarily, France) and of the country that aspired to become hegemonic (the United States). … Japanese fascism belongs to the same category. Since 1895, modern capitalist Japan aspired to impose its domination over all of East Asia…. Nazi Germany made an alliance with imperial/fascist Japan.”

I’ll quote Samir Amin at some length for the readers to understand the origins and essence of contemporary fascism that is obfuscated by loose use of the term “fascism” by the political elite and popular media in the West to which I referred earlier. Says Amin:

“The right in European parliaments between the two world wars was always complaisant about fascism and even about the more repugnant Nazism. Churchill himself, regardless of his extreme "Britishness," never hid his sympathy for Mussolini. … With all the cynicism characteristic of the U.S. establishment, Truman openly avowed what others thought quietly: allow the war to wear out its protagonists -- Germany, Soviet Russia, and the defeated Europeans -- and intervene as late as possible to reap the benefits…. No hesitation was shown in the rehabilitation of Salazar and Franco in 1945.Furthermore, connivance with European fascism was a constant in the policy of the Catholic Church. It would not strain credibility to describe Pius XII as a collaborator with Mussolini and Hitler. … Hitler's anti-Semitism itself aroused opprobrium only much later, when it reached the ultimate stage of its murderous insanity.”

Amin, then, explains how and why the socialist and social-democratic parties of Western and Central Europe enabled fascism to return in full force today:

“In West Germany, in the name of "reconciliation," the local government and its patrons (the United States, and secondarily Great Britain and France) left in place nearly all those who had committed war crimes and crimes against humanity…. [It was] the support of the socialist and social-democratic parties of Western and Central Europe for the anti-communist campaigns undertaken by the conservative right [that] shares responsibility for the later return of fascism.”

Corporate fascism

Political philosopher, Sheldon Wolin, described the emerging form of government of the United States as “illiberal democracy.” He used the term "inverted totalitarianism" to describe the system of democracy in the US. He goes on to show that the “liberal church,” like the rest of the “liberal establishment,” looked the other way while the poor and working people, especially those of color, were ruthlessly disempowered and impoverished.

The term "inverted totalitarianism" was picked up by, among others, Chris Hedges and Joe Sacco. In Days of Destruction, Days of Revolt they describe how corporations have corrupted and subverted democracy, and how people are manipulated into surrendering their liberties and their participation in government through commodification of natural and human resources in a deeply ingrained consumerist culture.

Roger Moody in his Rocks and Hard Places: The Globalisation of Mining argues that both communities and fragile ecosystems are unable to cope with bigger and bigger mining ventures. As grades of ore decline, and community opposition mounts, mega-mining corporations are taking over more and more Greenfield sites in the global South.[6]

We know it from our own experience in Africa how global corporations have been exploiting African nations for their minerals -- oil, iron ore, aluminium, diamond, uranium, gold, zinc, copper and cobalt -- to mention only the obvious ones.

“Euro-American Imperial Militarism serves corporate interests through waging wars and encouraging the manufacturing of armaments that eradicate human beings for profit.”

The Southern and Eastern African Trade Information and Negotiations Institute (SEATINI) -- which I founded in 1997 -- has been having running battles in the World Trade Organization (WTO) and with the European Union (EU) encouraging African governments to resist the pressures from the Western corporations to open up their countries to exploitation. We have had some successes, but the corporations, backed by their states and institutions of global economic governance, are simply too powerful. To describe them as “fascist” would be quite appropriate.

These fascist methods that can only be described as acts of “war” are used not just against the nations of the South, but also against the peoples of First Nations. Take the case of the hotly contested Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL) in the United States. The DAPL is a 1,172-mile-long underground oil pipeline under construction by a number of corporations -- including Dakota Access, a part subsidiary of Energy Transfer Partners. The pipeline is guarded by the G4S (a leading global integrated security company) that uses psychological warfare tactics -- fascist methods -- to guard the pipeline against the people.[7] The Standing Rock and Cheyenne River Sioux tribes (among others) have opposed the DAPL arguing that the pipeline threatens their "way of life, their water, people, and land.[8]

In my earlier blogs, I have described how Euro-American Imperial Militarism serves corporate interests through waging wars and encouraging the manufacturing of armaments that eradicate human beings for profit. Global corporations like Cargill and Union Carbide and especially manufacturers of weapons of war; the revolving doors between them and state bureaucracies in the imperial states; the strategic hold these states have over institutions of global governance such as the IMF, the World Banks and the WTO; and the looting of the scientific knowledge of the communities in the South which have developed this knowledge over thousands of years -- all these constitute theft and corruption at the highest levels.

Financial Fascism

The whole system of corporate fascism is supported by a complex web of banking and financial institutions. I have written on this subject, so I will not go into this again. But take the case of Mark Johnson, HSBC's global head of foreign exchange trading, who was charged with fraud in the US for his alleged role in using inside information to profit from a major currency deal. Strange though it may sound, but I must say this in his defense that he is not personally accountable for the fraud, the whole banking system is a fraud that enjoys impunity. Indeed, the global financial superstructure fits well with Sheldon Wolin’s concept of "inverted totalitarianism".

Some conclusions

1.Fascism is a systemic, structural phenomenon, not personal. Individuals in state power who “administer” the system are often stigmatized as “fascist.” The person becomes the most visible carrier of the fascist project.

2.It follows that those in state power in the African neo-colonies administer the fascist system on behalf of corporate and financial fascism. Of course, some are more ruthless than others. They are dictators or militarists, and the continent is full of them. Others, like Nyerere, are democratic and anti-imperialist, but the corporate power is too strong for them to turn around a deeply embedded fascistic coloniality of the state and the economy.

3.The Euro-American Imperial Militarism serves corporate interests through waging wars against not only the people of the Global South but also their own people, especially the workers, the people of First Nations, and the people of color.

4.This series of blogs began on November 15, 2016 with my reflections on the US elections. Part 1 was on “Trump and Trumpism” where I argued that Trump is an anti-Establishment capitalist. From an African perspective, we can work with him if he defies the WTO; rejects mega-regional Trade and Investment treaties like the TPP and the TTIP; scrapes AGOA; and talks with Russia, China and Iran for peaceful resolution of conflicts.

5.In Part 6 -- “The Politics of Resistance and Solidarity” -- I argued that the Western world is in turmoil. We do not know how this will evolve. But if it breaks down the European Union, dismantles NATO, weakens the Empire's financial control over the global South, and opens a space for a new moral and political order to emerge, then it is an opportunity we must seize.

6.This said, I must warn that the newest phase of Imperial Fascism is all the more dangerous, and aggressive, because the Western Empire is facing its crisis point, its denouement.

7.Every crisis, however, is also an opportunity. That is so provided we understand the underlying forces. Let me therefore repeat what I wrote in Part 6:

“Trump himself may be a passing phenomenon. But he is today's reality. He will be the President of the wealthiest and militarily the most powerful country in the world with a finger on the nuclear trigger. He can decide the fate of millions inside and outside his country. So let us take stock where we from the South fit into this emerging reality against the background of a collapsing Empire and an emergent new world with all its perils and promises. The past is not dead ground, and to traverse it is not a sterile exercise. The challenges lie here and now.”

Yash Tandon is a Ugandan policymaker, political activist, professor, author and public intellectual. His latest book, Trade Is War, was published in June 2015.

@Yash Tandon

ENDNOTES

[1] Except for some enlightened individuals amongst them - historians like Karl Polanyi, philosophers like Jürgen Habermas, journalists like Chris Hedges, and solidarity organisations like the Geneva based CETIM - to mention those that come to my mind immediately.

[2] You can get access to this essay in: kpolanyi.scoolaid.net:8080/xmlui/bitstream/.../Con_13_Fol_06%20REVISED.pdf

[3] See: https://www.researchgate.net/.../305418782_Sustaining_Democracy_

[4] https://www.rt.com/uk/310448-cumbersome-democracy-russia-isis/ … Queen Elizabeth's uncle, who became King Edward VIII, travelled to Nazi Germany in 1937 following his abdication. He was not only filmed giving Nazi salutes to Hitler, he also plotted with the Third Reich to form a Nazi-collaborationist regime in England.

[5] Samir Amin, “The Return of Fascism in Contemporary Capitalism”, Monthly Review, September 2014. https://archive.monthlyreview.org/index.php/mr/article/view/MR-066-04-20...

[6] Roger Moody, (2007). Rocks and Hard Places: The Globalisation of Mining, Zed Press.

[7] The same security firm is also deployed to guard oil and gas industry assets in war-torn Iraq.

[8] See: Gaudiano, Nicole: "Bernie Sanders, Native Americans say oil pipeline will poison drinking water". USA Today, September, 13, 2016

[midlifechic]

Ok, so in the second of my new season direction posts, I want to talk about colour trends Autumn – Winter 18. There’s a temptation at this time of year to leave bright colours behind with summer and slide into a wardrobe of neutrals – blacks, greys and navys. I think it’s partly because we often subconsciously associate September with the start of school term and so there’s that whole uniform reference in our minds but also because it’s just easier to fade to grey. As soon as you start having to factor multiple pieces worn in various layers into an outfit, neutrals are just simpler. The problem for midlifers is that unless you have a strong natural skintone, as your own colouring starts to fade (in terms of complexion and hair), neutrals can just look and feel drab.

To back-check this theory I spent some time analysing both my own and other over-40 Instagram accounts. It’s noticeable that the posts featuring outfits in bold colours that suit the wearer get far more likes and engagement than neutrals, even if the neutral outfits work well. Colour just gives you a boost.

Now of course there’s a whole industry dedicated to colour analysis and I’m not an expert although I know some of you are. However over the years I’ve learned what suits me largely by making mistakes along the way. Long term readers will remember that when I was invited to ‘have my colours done,’ the autumnal palette that I was given just didn’t work for me, even though I agreed with it as we were going through the process. It was only when my sister went to see a different consultant and was defined as a ‘Blue Spring’ that I had a eureka moment.

If you feel unsure about your own best colours, there are a number of ways that you can uncover them

See a colour consultant

Think about the colours that you know you look good in and then go to the colour charts on the Kettlewell Colours website to find your grouping (go to the shop by colour section)

Have a look at Imogen Lamport’s blog which is completely dedicated not only to understanding your colour palette, but also to defining things like the level of contrast that will suit you. It explains why the classic colour consultant solution of two strong colours and a scarf in a third really doesn’t work for everyone.

Autumn 2018 colour trends

The reason that I want to help you to define your own best colours is that there are some incredibly strong and powerful shades around this autumn. Some, such as the many shades of brown, will be completely new to some people because they haven’t been around for such a long time. If you don’t know what you’re looking for, you’re going to feel lost when you start shopping in this season’s sartorial paintbox.

Why is bright colour such a dominant trend at the moment? As so often with fashion it’s partly socio-political. Whenever there’s a lot of bad news and uncertainty, humans find a way to cheer themselves up and colour is a solace. Years of boom tend to be filled with cool, soft colours and years of bust turn warm and vibrant.

I’m being strict with myself this year because as soon as I see the first autumn leaves, I usually head for every shade of burgundy and although I love it, it really doesn’t suit me. Luckily there’s less of it around to tempt me this year. In fact Grazia has declared that AW18 is simply down to a choice between purple and brown:

… but when you look through the reality of the new collections on the high street, there are a lot of other strong colours coming through too. These are the most dominant that I’m seeing:

Postbox red

Cadbury’s purple

Cobalt blue

Saffron yellow

Paprika

Leaf green

Worked with a selection of these neutrals:

Chocolate

Tan

Warm grey

Warm white

Blush pink

Black

Of course it’s all well and good knowing what the colour trends are but then you need to work out how you’re going to wear them. There are three key ways.

1. Colour blocking

The really eye-catching outfits are the ones that contrast the strong palette to dramatic effect.

Left: funnel neck jumper; blouse; trousers; boots (coming soon)

Centre: Jumper; culottes; boots (coming soon); bag

Right: Jumper; trousers; boots (coming soon);

Left: coat; top; culottes (coming soon); boots (coming soon); bag

Centre: coat; top; culottes; boots (coming soon);

Left: coat; top; culottes; boots (coming soon); bag

2. Tonal

If that feels like too much, the other option is to go tonal. This year neutrals have moved on. Step away from black and grey and pull together the toffee colours that are out there. Add chocolate or grey to give them more depth but unless you have a strong skin-tone, avoid too much black.

While we’re on the subject of black, I’ve told you before about the uber-stylish, Sorbonne-educated style director that I worked with at Selfridges. I once asked her what she saw as the biggest mistake that British women in particular made when it came to style. She surprised me with her answer by saying “wearing colours with black. Black is best kept as part of a monochrome scheme – with grey, ivory or you can stretch it to tan. Of course it doesn’t apply to every British woman but the classic English rose doesn’t have the depth in her colouring that is required to carry off the contrast of schemes such as red and black or bright blue and black. She needs to pair a bright colour with another bright or something softer such as camel, grey, navy or brown.”

Left: coat; jumper (coming soon); skirt

Right: coat; jacket; top; gloves; bag

Jumper (coming soon); satin wrap skirt; sock boots

3. Neutral with a contrast

The final option is to go this way and contrast one of the brights with a warm neutral

Jumper; skirt; coat; maxi scarf; boots

Outfit details

Dress; Bag; Boots

Jumper; Tweed skirt; Boots; Bag

Scarf; checked coat; jumper; wide cropped jeans (coming soon); shoes; bag

Coat; jacket (coming soon); jumper; shirt; trousers; shoes

You can always take baby steps…

I have two posts coming up where I’m setting myself the challenge of putting this winter’s brights together to see how easy it is. In the meantime, your homework is to try to identify a new colour to try this season because it will really update your wardrobe. Even if you decide to take baby steps and begin with an accessory – yellow boots or a scarlet bag – you can’t go wrong with a scarlet bag and… I have some beautiful new bags coming to the Midlifechic Boutique at the end of September.

Outfit details

A big thank you to Dove

Before I go I just want to say a big thank you to Dove for supporting these trend posts. They approached me in the summer to work with them on the launch of Dove Invisible Care, the new deodorant that has been specifically developed for people who love bright clothes. It leaves no white marks on over 100 colours. I discussed this colour trend post with them and they felt it was the perfect fit.

Although it may appear to be a simple post to write, it actually takes ages because rather than just searching online for whatever Pantone have declared to be the colour of the season, I analyse all of the pictures that I take at press days to find the commonalities. This way I can tell you what you’re really going to find on the high street. However it requires a lot of time and our very efficient accounts chap is keeping a beady eye on the hours I take away from my day job and reporting them back to me. So, Dove’s support on this has enabled me to justify it to him!

A deodorant created specifically for people who love wearing colour

Invisible Care is new, I’ve been testing it for the last few weeks and it’s true – even when you roll on the tightest, brightest top there are none of those white stripes down your side. Other great things are that it doesn’t contain any alcohol thus helping your underarm skin to recover from any irritation caused by shaving and it lasts for 48 hours so you’ll even be fragrant when you wake up in the morning.

I’ve always used Dove deodorant and the middle son borrowed it one morning when we were in transit this summer. He said it smelt like safety and rather lyrically explained that it was the fragrance of being picked up and held when he was little. So if he ever makes it as a famous actor and is interviewed by The Times, when he’s asked what reminds him of his mother it won’t be Chanel No 5 – it’ll be Dove!

So, I hope you’ll join me in boosting your autumn wardrobe with some colour. If ever there was a year to do it, it’s this one. I’ll be back on Friday with my first colour filled session where I’ll be playing around with the blues, oranges and yellows that are to be found in the new collection from John Lewis & Partners.

Disclosure: ‘Colour trends Autumn – Winter 18’ was underpinned by Dove Invisible Care whose support enabled me to spend time defining the colours of the season away from the beady eyes of my accountant!

  Colour trends Autumn – Winter 18 and how to work them Ok, so in the second of my new season direction posts, I want to talk about colour trends Autumn - Winter 18.