#she needs to center herself every time she gets near or talks to Lana because she has a moment everytime where she is just gay af

[parjiljehavey]

this isn’t where we intended to be

A/N: Because we don’t know the details of how Boba survived the Sarlacc, I hand waved it. Am I shamelessly blending Legends into this? Yep. Don’t stop me now, I’m having a good time! 

I also forgot to mentioned that the titles are lyrics from You Must Love Me. Madonna or Lana Del Rey, both are valid and full of feels.

Tagging: @escapedthesarlacc​, @silverfish-kingdom​, @shadowfoxey​, @fresa-luna​

Rating: T for Teen

Content Warnings: Angst, Bad Spy/Military jargon and descriptions, Boba Is Pining, We got some Surprise Appearances at the end.

PREVIOUS // NEXT

ix.

The first thing the Imperials did after setting up their garrison was confiscate any weapons. They searched house by house, apartment by apartment. The only things they didn’t take were the kitchen knives. You were lucky enough that the panic room Boba built was hidden from almost every scanner imaginable, leaving the armory Boba had on this world unseized. 

Jekiah had chosen then to wail his little heart out from the bedroom, announcing his anger that his noon meal was being delayed to all who could hear. It took everything in you to not laugh when the stormtroopers and the scrawny little officer with them flinched. 

There was a diner around the corner from the apartment that you had started frequenting because you had became obsessed with their milkshakes during your pregnancy. The twi’lek that owned it was an older woman with long lekku she draped around her neck who carried herself in a way that you recognized. 

It was Sinya’s diner that the locals gathered in afterhours to discuss the Imperial occupation a month after the weapons has been taken. The blinds were shut, casting the room in near darkness except for the dim green glow of the menu signs.

Jekiah was strapped to your chest, content to sleep against your breast while voices rose when someone in the diner proposed fighting back against the Empire. A raucous arose as all attending agreed. 

Sinya spoke up, “We’ll need to run reconnaissance to get a better idea of their numbers and the heat they’re packing.”

You should have kept your mouth shut and your head down, if only for Jekiah’s sake. It’s what Boba would have wanted you to do; with few exceptions, when did you ever do what Boba wanted? 

“I can take care of that.” Heads turned and the crowd parted to stare at you, a woman with her baby. Sinya looked at you, and you looked at her. A tattooed brow was raised.

“You sure?” She gestured to Jekiah. 

You looked down at your son, rubbing your thumb over his dark downy hair. He nestled his face further against your breast, seeking out your heartbeat. 

“Yes. I am.”

x.

He had woken up with the gritty taste of sand in his mouth, his skin burning and itching, and his armor missing. Shab’la Jawas.

It was the Sand People, who had ultimately rescued him and tended to the wounds he’d gained from the Sarlacc. He wasn’t able to translate what they were saying without his buy’ce, but he was able to communicate enough with them with the sign language that any hunter worth their spit learned when they spent enough time chasing targets through the sands of Tatooine. 

He was given clothing and weapons once he was well enough to leave, and went on his way to begin the long trek back to Jabba’s palace. He had no doubt that anything that wasn’t nailed down had already been taken after news of the Hutt’s death had spread. Boba was confident that the Slave I was still where he had left it when he arrived. 

Sure enough, the Firespray-31 was still there. Usually, he’d lower the ramp through his HUD, however, lacking his armor, Boba had to use the security code. It hadn’t changed in decades; he had it memorized. Accessing the security logs, Boba cursed.

It’d been five months since he left you heavily pregnant in his safehouse. 

Fierfek.

xi.

A week after the meeting, you left Jekiah with your neighbor, two older women who had cooed over Jekiah ever since you’d come back from the medical center. Jekiah had learned how to cling to your shirt and had refused to let go, right up until a brightly colored nexu plush entered his field of vision. He’d been entranced with the neon pink toy and had let go easily after that. 

The Zabrak grinned, “One of our nephew’s old toys. He won’t miss it.”

Returning to the apartment, you opened the panic room. Weapons lined the wall, far out of reach of a child and a case held your gear. The armorweave long coat and pants you had once worn regularly were a little too tight across your belly and hips, but thankfully, you still had mobility. You could handle this small discomfort; it was nothing compared to the later stages of your pregnancy and Jekiah’s birth. 

You attached the stealth generator to your belt, making double sure it’d stay there with tape. Next went on your boots, and then your visor, followed by your gloves and gauntlets. 

The gloves had been a gift from Boba; “They’d been outlawed in the Mandalore system for centuries,” he had said, “but I figured you’d appreciate these in your arsenal.” 

Another gift had been the heavy, matte black gauntlets. The wristblade had utterly delighted you. You’d asked Boba what they were made of that made them so heavy. His answer had been beskar. It had taken you some time to learn how to fight with them on, something Boba had helped you with. You had ended up with more bruises than he had, some more pleasurable than others. 

An ache in your chest came up and a lump formed in your throat. You swallowed around it and pushed on. You had a job to do.

You ran a systems’ check twice, ensuring that your vitals read correctly and the targeting system was accurately linked to your rifle. Happy with the results, you activated the stealth generator, and made your way out of the apartment building entirely. You kept to the shadows of alleyways and near cover. 

Following a returning patrol, you infiltrated the Imperial garrison.

xii.

He’d elected to shave off the rest of his hair; most of it was already gone, the Sarlacc’s digestive acid killed the hair follicles. He inspected his wounds; no matter how primitive the Tuskens may be, they’d done a good job at patching him up. The wounds that were still healing he covered with a bacta-patch. 

It had been a difficult decision, but, Boba had chosen to pursue his missing armor. He knew you’d understand why he didn’t immediately return; it was his father’s armor. You’d be furious with him, more than likely banish him from bed, but you’d understand. 

It didn’t stop the guilt gnawing at his gut. 

It didn’t stop him from waking up expecting to feel his arm asleep from you laying on it to curl against his chest or feel your cold feet pressed against his legs. 

xiii.

Over the next two weeks, you infiltrated the garrison several more times gathering information on troop movements and supply routes. There was more than one garrison on the planet; as soon as news spread to the others, they’d be swarming like flies on a carcass. This was going to be a hard and dirty fight. 

You said as much at the next meeting in Sinya’s. 

“If we are going to do this, we're going to need more numbers than what we have.” 

A large Nikto stepped forward. “Mercenaries? Lady, we ain’t got the money for that!” 

Sinya was watching you from behind the counter. She nodded at you.

“Let me worry about the money. As soon as the mercenaries are planetside, start bringing the people from smaller towns and the farms inside.”

xiv.

Finding Sandcrawlers was easier from the air; it’d take months to traverse Tatooine on foot. He stopped in Mos Eisley, Mos Espa, and Anchorhead intermittently as he needed supplies and fuel. He picked up scrap metals to barter with the Jawas for information. This routine continued until a priority alert came across. 

Liberation from Imperial Garrison. Boba’s stomach sunk.

There was no thinking as he plotted a course back to the planet. No other thought as the Slave I gained altitude. 

Just you.

xv.

Sinya had had her pegged as a hunter as soon as she had first walked in months ago. She always looked around, noting exits and entries. Standard merc behavior, Sinya remembers doing that before she retired; Goddess, she still did it. 

The bump on her belly made Sinya decide she wasn’t a threat. The delight she took in the milkshakes was endearing. Sinya had made sure that every time she saw her on the way in, a milkshake was already being blended. Especially when she started coming in with her baby boy strapped to her chest. That baby was the grumpiest little thing Sinya had ever seen. 

It was nice, Sinya decided, once everyone had left after the woman had reported back on her findings and it was decided that they did need mercenaries, to talk shop with someone who knew their stuff. Sinya missed the merc life somedays. 

Sinya listed off every large mercenary company that she knew was still in existence. Even Black Sun. 

“No,” She shook her head. “If the Imperials offer more, they’d switch sides. Even if they didn’t, it’d be another battle to get them off. We’d be trading one for the other. That’s a risk we can’t afford. We need people who hate the Imperials just as much, if not more then we do.” 

Sinya's tattooed brows furrowed. “Who are you thinking of?”

The woman smiled.

bonus

xvi.

He heard a low whistle from somewhere in the Oyu’baat when a priority alert popped up on the bounty board. The bartender fiddled with a control panel, enlarging the alert so it overtook other listings. It got Shysa’s attention, the Mand’alor dropping his feet off his table as he stood up. Noise died down until the only sound was the boloball game.

100,000 credits for every Mandalorian that signed up for the liberation of a small world out in the Outer Rim from the Empire. A 10,000 credit bonus was being offered for every piece of artillery that was brought in. Payment would be given from stocks, proprieties, or cold hard cash, per the contractor’s preference.

Osik. That was a lot of credits for a small world to be offering. He wondered where they were getting that kind of money. And it was specifically requesting Mandalorians. 

Shysa clapped his hands together, drawing attention away from the board and to himself. He climbed up on top of his table looking out over the crowd of Mando’ade. 

“Well, vode. Who wants to go kick the Imperials shebs again?”

Cheers of Oya rang out and Mird’ika howled as he pulled on his fine, gray gloves. 

[darlingrutherford]

Once Upon a Time in Thedas Update!

Well, my brain isn’t letting me focus on much, but it did let me finish up this next chapter for my Cinderella!AU! For those who haven’t been following along but would like to, you can find chapter one on both Tumblr and Ao3

Super big thanks to those liking and sharing! Reblogs help boost visibility and are just all around awesome, so thank you if you do! <3

This chapter is pretty mild ratings wise. Enjoy! <3

Once Upon a Time in Thedas - a DA Cinderella!AU  | Chapter 3 | Alistair Theirin/Lana Surana | Overall fic rated explicit for further out chapters

     Three weeks had passed since Leliana had helped with Lana’s hurt finger. Things had been quiet for the most part, and Lana had enjoyed the calm as much as she could. As soon as the sun went down, once dinner was finished and the kitchen clean, Lana always went straight to bed. When she was younger her mother would check on her throughout the night and reprimand her if her candle burned too late, but at this stage of her life she had learned and they in turn had learned to trust her in that respect. Tonight had been the same as most nights, and though Lana's parents had long since gone to sleep, she found herself sitting on her bed, her hand cupped along the back of a candle to dim its projection as she quietly read one of the books her father had leant to her. It was old, one Lana had read until the pages had frayed at the edges over time. The book told the story of Andraste in a more fantastical manner than the Chant of Light, something meant to entertain children who needed more than cryptic prose and verses. Her mother had insisted that she had outgrown it, but it was one of the areas her father had indulged her. Lana loved the stories of Andraste, of the great battles she had fought on behalf of the Maker, the adventures she had experienced, down to the betrayal by her husband to Tevinter. It was quite morbid for a children's book perhaps, but Lana was fascinated by it.

As Lana turned the page, she jumped as she heard a light tapping on her window. She waited, then it happened again. Maker, was a bird trying to get in? Perhaps an owl? She squinted as she scooted closer to the window, confusion spreading on her face as she saw the distinct outline of Sister Leliana's face. She had almost not recognized her, void of her usual Chantry dress wear and now in a deep purple dress. Quiet as she could, Lana opened her window.

“Sister?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, terrified of her parents hearing her. Sister Leliana waved her towards her with a mischievous smile on her face. Lana opened her mouth to speak, stopping as the Sister quickly moved away from the window and into the garden. Her heart pounding, Lana looked towards her door and listened intently. She hadn't heard a sound in the house for an hour, her parents having gone to bed when she had earlier. Quiet as a mouse, Lana took a leap of faith, putting out the candle and hopping out the window. Her bare feet hit the grass outside, cool dew making her shiver in her nightgown. Sister Leliana had stopped at the edge of the yard before turning around suddenly to face Lana.

“Would you like to go to the ball?”

Lana's mouth hung open. Of all the things to come out of the Sister's mouth, that had been the least of Lana's expectations.

“What?” She asked in disbelief.

“You heard me.” Leliana was grinning wildly, her eyes practically twinkling in the dark.

“I can't - I can't possibly… I'm in a nightgown, and my parents -”

“Were fast asleep when I peeked in their window,” Sister Leliana said. “Would you go? I can make sure you get home before they notice. We can leave at the stroke of midnight. And I've found the perfect dress for you.”

“Why are you doing this for me?” Lana asked in disbelief. She could feel a well of emotions building inside of her, of fear and excitement and everything in between. She looked back at her room, as if she would have been able to hear her parents stirring in their bed.

“Because you deserve a little fun for once in your life. As your assigned Sister, I am hereby demanding it,” Sister Leliana said. “You won't make me return the dress, will you?”

Lana had given in. She knew her punishment would be great if her parents ever found out, but the chance to see Denerim, to see the palace, and the people - it was all too tempting. Sister Leliana had led her to an outstretch of forest where she had hidden a small chest of goods behind the brush. From the chest the Sister had pulled a dress, deep blue in color with similarly colored lace that overlay the breast and flowed onto the off-the-shoulder sleeves. As Lana stared at the dress Leliana had placed in her arms, she watched as a pair of golden colored slippers were placed on top. The Sister had then promptly fussed about her, ensuring she got dressed in a timely manner beneath the light of the moon.

“Where did you get these?” Lana asked in awe. To any noble lord or lady, the dress would not have seemed anything special. It was simple, save for the cut of the dress and its pleats, not with any large petticoat of the sort she had seen in the drawings of children's books. Still, Lana was sure she had never worn anything so exquisite, and found herself unable to suppress the grin on her face as she twirled her hips back and forth to move the long skirt. Leliana laughed as she unbraided Lana's hair and fluffed it over to one side.

“A friend owed me a favor,” Leliana smiled knowingly. “Now, come on. We won't have much time if we take too long getting there.”

The two of them walked through the city on foot. As dark as it was, the streets were lit by lanterns that glowed onto the dirt. The closer they got to the palace, the more cobblestone was paved beneath their feet. Many shops near the marketplace were still open, “On account of the ball,” Leliana had explained. Lana became sidetracked many times by the various stores, peering in through the windows to see what goods they sold. There were shops selling dresses both plain and exquisite, shops with weapons and armory, ones with dried herbs that hung from the roofs and jars of concoctions she had never heard of. Leliana took her by the arm, delicately rerouting her down the path towards the palace.

There were so many people outside the palace, even more so inside. Lana was sure she had never seen so many people in one place before. Everyone was dressed impeccably. Women were dressed in their best gowns, covered in lace and pearls and feathers. There were a few in gold and silver masks, accompanied by men similarly outfitted. Many of the long hallways were open for the ball, but the main event was in the throne room. It had been outfitted for the ball, with great cuts of fabric draped from the ceiling in gold, white, and red to match the Fereldan banner. There was a small band of musicians at the top of the hall near the empty throne, and people dancing to the music in the center of the room. The sides of the hall had been lined with tables covered in various foods and drink, and servants walked around in matching outfits seeing to everyone's needs.

“This is… amazing.” Lana couldn't help but laugh with a smile on her face. In all her wildest dreams, she never could have imagined anything this grand.

“I want you to have fun tonight,” Leliana instructed, smiling brightly down at Lana. “Don't hold back. All right?”

“Okay,” Lana nodded, smiling ear to ear.

    “Have you met Lady Casing yet? Her father is Lord Casing, of Calenhad. She rides horses in her spare time.” Eamon was talking, but at this point in the night, after three hours of people eagerly rambling at him and pining for his attention, Alistair found it difficult to focus. “Alistair, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, I met Lady Casing,” Alistair sighed. “She spent the entire time talking about her summer estate and how she hopes she can change things up once she's Queen.”

“Well, the Queen will have a certain amount of influence on the palace, it's true.”

“She wants to ensure she only has human ladies-in-waiting so as to cut down on the stealing.”

“There is an entire room of ladies for you to choose from, your Majesty. If not Lady Casing, how about… Lady Roberts? She's an avid player of chess, the youngest of three…”

Alistair looked around the room a bit lacklusterly as Eamon continued on. Every lady who had shown up had seemed the same as the last: rich, spoiled women who talked highly of themselves and their families only to raise their brows in confusion the moment Alistair tried to bring up anything not to do with wealth, land, or politics. At one point early on in the night, his mabari, Bryn, had snuck his way into the hall in search of a good scratch and a snack, easily crossing ten or so women from Alistair's list as they reacted in disgust. He tried to remind himself that there were three nights of this, but surely any woman interested would be there all three nights? If they were all there was to be, he had doubts of finding someone he could truly connect with at all. As he continued looking around - nodding periodically whenever Eamon's tone piqued as it did when he was asking a question - his eyes drifted over towards one of the tables against the wall, and his eyes stopped as he saw her, his heart fluttering. The woman stood near the table, her focus not on the food or anyone in particular, but on the dancing crowd further away.

“And, of course, you should meet Lady Ansling…”

Alistair nodded his head as if he were listening, but truth be told he could barely hear a thing. All his focus had moved onto this woman. Her fiery red hair lay about her face in a mess, quite contrary to the fancy updos of everyone else, as her eyes skated back and forth over the crowd. She seemed to be in as much awe as he felt, the kind of warm smile plastered across her face that he could feel from afar. She was beautiful. More beautiful than any woman he had laid eyes on that night. Eamon long forgotten, he left his spot in the corner and began walking towards the woman. He walked up beside her, pausing as he tried to find his brain which had conveniently decided to leave him the moment he neared her.

“Nice… Party, isn't it?” He started. He looked down at her, wondering after a moment if she hadn't realized that he had been speaking to her. He reached out and tapped her bare shoulder lightly. He grimaced as she jumped and saw the shock on her face. “Maker, I'm sorry. It's… Loud, I didn't know if you heard me.”

“Oh! I'm so sorry!” Lana said. The initial worry had faded from her face and was quickly replaced by a smile as she craned her neck up to look at him. Maker, but he must have been a foot taller than her if not more, she guessed. He was dressed quite nicely, in a smooth, brown doublet with a trim of darker brown, and a cotton white shirt with long sleeves underneath, though even his clothes were void of the fancy frill Lana had seen on the other lords there.

“Bit of a dusty old place, isn't it?” Alistair said. “I just came for the food, myself.”

“Oh?” Lana laughed, watching him as he took a small, bite-sized treat from a plate and popped it into his mouth. “Not for the dancing? I suppose they're all wanting to dance with the King, though. Probably smart to stick with the food. You might get thrown out if you're caught with the future queen.”

“Yes, that would be unfortunate,” he chuckled. Maker, but she didn't know who he was? Alistair instantly felt himself relax, feeling more at ease with someone who would have no preconceived expectations from him. That meant she wasn't a noble, then. All the nobles seemed to already know his face, though many others had still known him from the hand drawn posters that had made it around the city announcing the ball. “Should I leave you alone, then? So the King gets his turn. I wouldn't want to get thrown out if he has his eyes on you.”

“Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem,” she said. She flushed at his words, her hand tugging at strands of her hair nervously. “A… Friend brought me here, to enjoy it. I'm just taking it all in. I don't think he would be very interested in someone like me.”

“Why do you think that?” Maker, but even her modesty warmed his heart.

“Well, I'm not a noble, for starters.” Lana paused, her voice getting fairly quiet as she continued. “I'm a mage, as well.”

“Not exactly illegal, is it? Being a mage.”

“No, but mages are dangerous… I can't imagine it would be smart, making one Queen.”

“So I could dance with you without worry of royal retribution, then?” He teased.

“You want to… Really?” She seemed shocked at his seemingly innocent proposal, her face reddening by the moment. “Even though… I just told you that I'm a…?”

“I've met dangerous people who weren't mages,” Alistair said, shrugging casually. “I have no reason to fear you, do I? Miss…?”

“Lana,” she said, and for a moment she was sure her face would melt from the heat that rushed to it.

“Lana. Maker, your name is very…” Alistair cleared his throat, feeling heat of his own rush to his cheeks. “I'm Alistair.”

“You have the same name as the King?” Lana asked, laughing lightly at the coincidence.

“We're one in the same, he and I,” He chuckled. “Now…Shall we grace their grace’s presence on the dance floor?”

He bowed rather dramatically in front of her, grinning as she laughed at his presentation. He held out his hand for her, fairly certain he would hold the pose all night if needed. Lana bit her lip, looking around to see if she could find Leliana in the crowd to give her any sort of direction. When she couldn't locate her, Lana timidly placed her hand in his. Lana felt as if her heart would burst from sudden adrenaline as Alistair whisked her off to the dance floor in no time at all. Her heart pounded as he placed a hand lightly on her waist.

“I don't know how to dance,” she admitted sheepishly.

“That makes two of us. Just follow my lead,” Alistair said, giving her a quick wink. “Well, I've had a few lessons recently, but they were rather rushed and the teacher was pretty awful… Either that or I was so bored out of my mind I've forgotten it all.”

“Bored from dancing?” Lana repeated in disbelief. She looked down at their feet as Alistair began, trying to follow his motions.

“I suppose with the right partner, it's all right,” he said. He smiled as he watched her concentrate, each step carefully taken. “Don't think about it too much. You're doing great.”

“Just… Follow you, right?”

“Right.” Alistair felt his heart flutter as her eyes met his again. They were such a deep blue, like how he imagined the ocean at its deepest point. Red spread across her cheeks again the longer he stared at her, and he couldn't help the stupid grin that plastered on his face. “Are you enjoying the ball?”

“It's unlike anything I've ever seen,” Lana said. Her eyes darted around as they danced, trying to take in everything from the new angle. More people had gathered around the dancefloor than she had remembered a moment ago, some dancing, others watching. “I've never seen so many people… I feel like they're watching us.”

“Probably because you're such a good dancer.”

“What?” Her head snapped back to look at him with a smile. She felt as if every word he directed towards her was making her flush, and she wasn't wrong. He seemed so genuinely interested in her, it was almost alarming. At the same time, it felt… Incredibly nice.

“Putting them all to shame with your perfect moves.” He grinned as she laughed. “I bet you're secretly a bard or something, come to seduce the king and set the kingdom in turmoil.”

“That's it. You've found me out,” Lana snorted.

“I knew it,” Alistair scoffed. “That's all right. I'll keep your secret, if you keep mine.”

“Oh? What's that?”

“I'm here to do the same. Don't you laugh - I'm very seductive, I'll have you know!”

“Really? When's the last time you seduced an unsuspecting target?” She teased.

“Well… If you must know… Right now.”

“Me?”

“You said you're a mage, right? I figure... I seduce you, you use your magical ways to get me to the King’s chambers…”

“You think you're seducing me with a few steps to the side and back?” Lana laughed.

“Oh, I haven't shown you all my moves just yet.” Alistair let go of her waist before lifting her hand high above her head. He moved his hand in a tight circle, spinning her until the skirt of her dress lifted from the ground around her ankles. Lana let out a loud squeal in surprise as she was spun, the hall a blur to her as her eyes tried to focus on anything, but ultimately failed. When Alistair finally stopped spinning her, she tripped over her feet as she stumbled while the floor seemingly moved beneath her. Alistair quickly caught her, and the two of them laughed loudly as she clung to his arms for balance.

“I don't think we're behaving quite properly, judging on the face of Lord Pompous in the mask over there…” Alistair murmured quietly to her with an impish grin. Lana leaned back, her hands still gripping tightly into his arms, finding the man in the intricate silver mask wearing more frills than anyone else in the hall. He was sporting a scowl discernible even with the mask, clearly unapproving of their playfulness at such a serious event. Lana tried to hold down a laugh, but one look at Alistair and she lost it, the laugh bursting from her simultaneously with his.

Time eluded the two of them. Lana and Alistair spent what felt like mere moments to them dancing. They talked the entire time, and for that time Lana was the happiest she had ever felt. Here was the first person she had spoken to outside of her parents and the Chantry in more than ten years, and he had looked on her more favorable than any of them ever had, even knowing full well that she was a mage. He was so kind, wanting to know as much about her as possible. She knew it wouldn't last long, but Lana felt herself wishing for a way to make that night last forever. After more than an hour, Alistair had looked behind her and grimaced as he saw Teagan waving him over. He paused his feet, smiling at Lana in regret.

“Give me one moment, I'll be right back,” he pleaded. He brought her hand up to his mouth and placed a warm kiss on the back of her hand. Heat spread like wildfire from her fingers to her face at the touch of his lips. She felt frozen to the spot as he left her, floating in the clouds high above the palace. Then, the sound of a great clocktower began to ring the hour, and her heart sunk. Midnight. She wondered if there was time to tell him, and then she saw Sister Leliana near the arched doorway waving for her. She had to go. She looked around the room, unable to find Alistair on account of her short stature and the crowd that had gathered where he had gone. She bit down her disappointment, reminding herself that this was all a short lived dream after all, and ran towards the door.

When Alistair had finished speaking with Teagan, he found himself distraught. He scanned the hall with no luck, no sign of the red hair that was burned into his memory. She was nowhere to be found. He left to wander the halls looking for her in case she had gone to get some air, still coming up empty and wondering what he had said wrong. Eventually Eamon had found him, insisting that he return to the ball. Alistair reluctantly followed him back, praying to the Maker that she'd return the following night.

[tauntaun-rider]

I realize that I’ve been posting rather sporadically, and I'm sorry about that. (Moment of real life honesty here: The combination of chronic pain and debilitating depression is not something that I would wish on anyone.) However, I am not here to apologize or vent, but to share something.

So, I have a folder in the Notes app on my phone where I occasionally write drabbles about my OCs that will maybe one day be turned into something. There’s one in particular about my Agent that I not only finished, but nitpicked to death. I finally decided to bite the bullet and post it to my pithy AO3 account. (Because what better time is there to face your fears than 2:00/3:00 AM?)

Here is the link: Shadows and Regrets.

Below the cut is the beginning to the first chapter. (There are three actual chapters and the fourth acts as an epilogue of sorts.)

I hope anyone that takes the time to read it enjoys!

CHAPTER ONE

This is too risky. This can only backfire. You'll end up with a blaster hole in your head. At best.

Rae bit her lip and looked down at the letter she had been writing and rewriting on her datapad during her free time over the last few evenings. Everything she had experienced since initially joining Imperial Intelligence brought her to the same conclusion: delivering this letter had the potential to yield catastrophic results. Not just for her, but for her crew and her husband as well.

She glanced over her shoulder at the man peacefully sleeping in the bedroll on the floor of the tent they shared. Rae took in his tousled black hair and the hint of a smile on his lips and couldn’t help but smile herself.

Her husband.

Rae never even considered the possibility of finding someone to love that would love her in return. Being an agent in the shadows ensured that she would be alone. Or so she thought. Vector changed all of that.

There wasn't a single person that she trusted as she trusted him. Vector knew she was working on the letter and who would be its recipient, if all went as planned. He understood it was something she needed to do, or at least try to do, to bring herself some peace. And most importantly, he supported her decision, despite the colossal risk.

Convinced that the letter couldn't be better phrased and willing to accept its consequences, Rae saved the final draft of the letter to the datachip she'd already prepared and turned off her datapad. After sliding it into her duffel bag, she slipped on her boots and stepped out of the tent into the muggy Yavin-4 night. A breeze lifted the wavy, emerald locks that refused to fit in her bun away from her face as it meandered through the makeshift camp.

There was a clear divide between the tents: Republic on the right and Empire on the left. It seemed only fair, as the truce was temporary while the combined forces worked to bring down Revan before he revived the Sith Emperor.

Rae wandered through the camp to the back corner, away from the tension that existed even in slumber. She had come to sit by the pond almost every night since they had arrived on Yavin. Vector had accompanied her a few times, but he seemed to understand that she needed space to break free of the invisible ropes that pulled her in every direction, if only for a little while, and merely held her hand while they sat in silence.

Rae sat on a reasonably flat rock at the water's edge and pulled her knees up to her chest. She laid her forearms on top of her knees and rested her chin on top of the tower of limbs. The letter and its implications kept overpowering any other thoughts she had and thwarted her attempts at meditation.

Her frustration was interrupted by the sound of twigs snapping beneath boots as someone walked toward her cozy nook. Her head lifted off her arms with a jolt as she strained to hear any noises that would identify who it was. Out of habit, she reached down to grab the vibroknife hidden in her boot before mentally chastising herself and putting her arm back on top of her knees.

"Can't sleep either?" Theron asked as he took a seat next to her. His normal faux hawk was a bit misshapen and he still wore his clothes from the previous day.

She nodded, gazing out at the stillness of the water.

"How'd you know I was here?"

"Your hair was kind of glowing in the moonlight," he chuckled.

Rae turned her head towards him and smiled. She thought of their first meeting. Their first verbal communication occurred while she was stuck on a research center on Manaan that was on the verge of being entirely submerged. Theron had directed her via comm to the only remaining emergency pod, while going out of his way to point out that a Pub was saving her life.

After escaping unscathed, Rae and Vector, both still slightly sodden from the ordeal, walked into the hidden base that Lana had procured for their mission to find the new, unlikely allies huddled over a table covered in datapads and sheets of flimsy. Theron said he didn't need to know who she was, but insisted on introducing himself anyway. Rae, both tired of his attitude and in need of a laugh after the near-death experience, made a mildly flirty comment in an attempt to break down his brash exterior. In some strange way, that seemed to decrease some of the early tension between them.

Despite that initial experience, she had every reason not to trust him. After all, her stint as a double agent didn't exactly go smoothly. And he, who she assumed had no knowledge of her past experiences with the SIS, had no reason to trust her either.

Yet somehow, they had forged an unusual bond. Rae initially thought it was a polite courtesy, as they had the same goal of uncovering the Revanites' plot and were in the same line of work. But the more time they spent together on Rishi, the more she got to know him as a person. She was surprised to find that they actually had a lot in common. Just in the first few days alone, she discovered that they both hated undercover work on Nar Shaddaa, they both were uncomfortable with having to use seduction as a means of gathering information in the field, and that they both preferred working alone whenever possible.

They shared some embarrassing stories from being undercover, without the confidential details, of course. Rae shared the story of her first time pretending to be a pirate while on Hutta, while Theron told her about one mission in which he ended up running around an Imperial battle cruiser in his underwear. She had to cover her mouth with both hands to hold in the giggles that threatened to pour out and avoid waking Lana. Rae still distinctly remembered the way Theron's eyes had narrowed at her and how his frown conveyed an impressive amount of disapproval while she shook with barely concealed laughter. After a few moments, however, he lightened up and the frown turned into a vaguely amused, self-deprecating smirk.

She recalled another night when they stayed up late talking about the lives they led. Always working, always keeping a distance from other people, always being on high alert and looking for threats. It was nice to talk to someone who understood; no one else in her life really comprehended the toll it took on her the way he did. She learned a bit about how he ended up in the SIS, and she told a bit of her unusual spy origin story as well. Rae felt rather comfortable talking to him, even though he was supposed to be the enemy. She couldn't help not knowing how to feel about the development; he gave every indication that he was experiencing the exact same flurry of confusing emotions.

Rae turned back toward the pond, once again focused on the present.

"What's keeping you up?" she asked.

"Honestly? Pretty much everything. It's all just hitting me now." Theron paused to readjust his position on the rock. "Rishi... Teaming up with a Sith Lord and an Imperial Cipher... Being tortured by my ancestor... The awkwardness with my mother... It's a lot. And after tomorrow, it'll be over. Win or lose, it'll be over."

Rae nodded.

"I don't blame you for being overwhelmed. This strange journey, full of twists and turns, along with pirates and insane cultists, of course... It's taken us across the galaxy and formed what seemed like an impossible alliance. But here we are."

"Here we are," he echoed.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, until Theron decided to ask her the same question.

"Regrets," she said as she wrapped her arms around her knees. "Too many."

"What, you're regretting all of this now?" He gestured to the camp behind them. "Wishing you had stayed in the shadows instead of getting wrapped up in this madness?" The small smirk on his lips worked as a way to both lighten the mood and prompt her to share more. Rae was well aware of the tactic being used, but indulged him anyway.

"Actually, no. I don't regret any of this. It's led to some... personal revelations. I've made some interesting acquaintances. One might consider them friends, while the focus is on Revan." Rae glanced over at him to see him listening intently. His eyes were widened a bit in surprise, but he wasn't laughing at her or the way she openly admitted to enjoying the experience, which she found oddly relieving.

"Whatever happens," she said softly, "I'm glad I met you, Theron. And thank you for saving my life on Manaan."

He nodded, his hazel eyes focused on her.

"I'm... glad I met you, too. Can't say I was expecting to get along with you after finding out who you were, let alone stay up at night talking to you," he chuckled quietly to himself. "I guess I should also thank you for helping me get the rest of the way out of Revan's stronghold. And having my back with Lana after all that."

Rae raised an eyebrow at the last part.

"Lokin told me what you said to her while I was out," Theron explained. "How you walked that line on my behalf."

Rae knew exactly what line he was referencing: the line between Force users and Force-blind people, or more specifically, the line between Sith and everyone else beneath them. It was one that she personally never cared for very much.

Rae's gaze intensified and the corners of her lips were tugged downward. She could feel her teeth clenching out of habit.

"She had no right to put you in that position. She has no idea what it's like or what it can do to a person." Rae broke eye contact and looked at her reflection in the pond. Even in the stillness of the water, she looked broken. She bit her lip and tried to get the haunting image of Hunter's sneer out of her mind.

"No, she doesn't. But I appreciate that. She could have gone all Sithy on you, and you still took that risk."

Rae tightened her grip on her knees, her knuckles turning pale with the action.

"Sometimes, risks are necessary. Sometimes, you need to remind yourself what you're fighting for in the first place."

She could feel Theron's eyes on her and knew that he was trying to restrain himself from asking what she meant. Before he could ask, she turned toward him.

"Besides, I think it's clear that people have 'gone all Sithy' on me before," Rae added bitterly as she looked down at the scars visible on her chest in her sleeveless tunic. "Lokin thinks my so-called moral compass is going to get me killed one of these days," she laughed.

Theron's eyes followed hers to the web of violet scars and bits of puckered skin just below her collarbone. He had to have noticed it before; she made no move to cover any of it up while on Rishi. However, she had never talked about it openly until now.

Rae stood up and stretched.

"I'm going to head to bed. You should, too."

"Alright. Night, Rae."

"Goodnight, Theron."

Rae walked back to her tent, let herself back in, and pulled off her boots. She slid into the bedroll next to Vector and nestled into his side, pulling him close with one arm across his chest.

Tomorrow would be a big day, indeed.

[shippingtheswann]

FOOLS RUSH IN:

Summary: Emma Swan has been married since she was five years old. Under the old oak tree, she wed Killian Jones, her neighbor. Then, he moved away, but made one final promise, that one day he would marry her for real. See what happens when he returns to make good on his promise.

Fools Rush in Chapter Seven

Rating: M/E - Mature/Explicit

First Chapter here

A/N: Thanks to @captainswanbigbang for once again organizing an amazing event. I've been missing Captain Swan for the past year, and having this has helped so much! Thanks to Lana and Kaitlyn for their beta help. Go check out Lana's story when you get a moment as well – it's amazing! Thanks to Rachel for the art she has provided. Also, thanks to Kris for the cover art for the story and for beta help. All of you have made this story what it is! Half way through with this story - things are starting to get good between our love birds. I know you'll enjoy this chapter! Sorry for the crazy delay in posting - we are officially back in the US (Washington State) and the move has been overwhelming and crazy!

As Emma prepared herself for bed, she kept running through the last 24 hours. She had gone from being petrified to see her best friend again after so many years, to comfortable in his company again. Then, everything changed with that one little exchange about a promise he had made to her when the world seemed to go their way.

Of course, a promise that her "husband" made at the age of five wasn't going to mean the same thing to her now that she was in her late twenties, hoping to adopt a son. But the idea didn't seem to crazy to her.

She was going to let her dreams help her make a decision; but before she had the chance to fall into dreamland, she heard the ping of her phone and knew the tone that echoed through the night. She had a Facebook message. She knew she needed to answer it, because if it was Mary Margaret or Ruby messaging her and they didn't get a response, they would send in the National Guard to make sure she was OK.

It happened before actually. Once, she didn't respond back to Mary Margaret during a night out with Ruby, and Mary Margaret called the police to report her missing. She knew her friend only called out of love. But it did get annoying to answer her phone so quickly.

She rolled over and reached in the darkness for her phone, knocking it off the table.

"Shit!" she exclaimed.

That was one thing she really hated. Having to get out of bed, once she was comfortable, all because she was clumsy and can't grab her phone like a normal person.

She was about to roll her eyes at whoever was messaging her this late, until she saw the name of the sender.

It hadn't even been a few hours, yet Killian was already messaging her.

Hey love, want to hang out tomorrow?

She had to laugh out loud at the whole crazy night. She just wasn't quite sure how to process anything anymore.

Sure. I have some things to do in the morning, but i'm free around noon.

She waited as she watched the typing bubbles dance across the screen. She was about to ask him what he wanted to do when she got the ping of a delivered message.

Perfect. Meet me at the park at noon.

She had no clue what he could be planning at the park. She also knew which park he meant.

Storybrooke had a lot of parks—it was what made it one of the best places to raise kids on the Eastern Seaboard. However, there was only one park he could mean: the park near their old homes. It was still one of Emma's favorite places in the world. The park was pretty big, enough to have a nice pond in the center that she used to go fishing with her dad in. There were cute little benches that she still loved to sit at, reading a book well after the sunset, by the light of the lamps.

Ok, night.

She didn't want to end the short conversation. She wanted to tease him some, maybe throw another wrench into the mix - but she also didn't want to tempt fate anymore.

Night Swan.

The nickname had her smiling again. She loved all the little names he used to give her. No one had called her Swan in ages; not since sports. "Ms. Swan" was heard every day during school (sometimes way more than needed, making her hate the name), but "Swan" by itself had been MIA. And even though she would hear it during sporting games, hearing it with an Irish accent and with a husky tone sent chills through her body.

"Love" was something he had gotten from his mom; at least, that is what she thought. Alice always called her kids, Emma including, her little loves. The term was endearing and filled with grace when Alice would say it. When Killian called her "love," she felt the same feelings, but there was something else that his voice held. She wasn't able to put her finger on it; all she knew was that she didn't want him to ever stop calling her love.

She had spent a restless night tossing and turning in her bed. She wasn't worried about anything; she just couldn't get her mind to shut off and stop thinking about piercing blue eyes, chin stubble that was just the right length, and a laugh that she had missed so much.

She replayed their meeting multiple times, cringing at certain parts and smiling when they fell into the rhythm they once had.

When Emma woke up the next morning, as the light from outside was just starting to filter in through the drawn shades over her windows, she was surprised to find that she wasn't rethinking her decision to tell Killian she would think about their past promises.

As she thought about the night before, even right after it happened, she was sure she would feel a twinge of regret even saying it. She was almost positive she would wake up the next morning wishing she could hide under a rock and never see him again. Yet, she didn't feel any of that.

There were no walls building up again. There were no boundaries when it came to Killian. She was wide open, ready for anything with him.

She was shocked. Yet, she felt at peace.

It must have been from that instant connection. She never felt more at home, more right, than when she was just sitting with him, talking. And yes, that played a part in her decision to let him know she would think about their past; yet there was something else, something more selfish and wrong, that made her think she would go through with it.

Henry, and her desperate need to officially make him hers. She would move heaven and earth for him, and if marrying Killian would make that happen, she would do it, as long as she could adopt him.

But, it was just a thought—a little joke that she had played the night before. It was something said that didn't hold any weight. He was kidding around with her and she gave it right back.

The plans she had the next morning were plans she knew she could never cancel. It was her monthly brunch with the girls. It was a chance to get day drunk (Ruby's idea), eat to their heart's content (Mary Margaret's idea), and relax (Emma's idea). So, once a month, the girls drove out of town to a nearby village where there was a endless mimosa brunch buffet. Sometimes, the car would get left there and a taxi called, but the journey was well worth it.

"To new beginnings," Mary Margaret toasted as she raised a glass of fresh orange juice.

"To good friends," Emma added.

Every brunch began with a traditional toast. It was cheesy, but she loved it. Normally Mary Margaret would toast to something sappy—love, hope, the list goes on and on—while Emma tended to keep things minimal, toasting to the food most of the time. She waited for Ruby to chime in - her toast was what kept them on their toes.

"To disgustingly hot old friends who show up out of the blue," she finally said, looking Emma straight in the eyes.

"What?" Mary Margaret coughed, as she took a sip of her drink. Ruby laughed at the response; Emma was sure she wanted OJ to fly out of her nose.

"Oh, Emma didn't tell you?" Ruby whispered, always the trouble maker.

"Tell me what?" the pixie-haired woman questioned, looking at Emma with a bit of disbelief.

Normally, Emma shared everything with Mary Margaret. She rarely kept something a secret from her. It wasn't if she hadn't tried in the past—she had—but her secrets had a way of slipping out whenever her best friend was around. So for Emma to keep something like the appearance of Killian Jones a secret, it was a shock.

"Well, right after you left my room the other day, Killian messaged me," she started.

"He what?" her friend responded; excitement laced her voice and it went up an octave. Emma knew exactly what Mary Margaret was thinking. And it was actually something that Emma was thinking, too.

She could tell from the change in her voice that Mary Margaret was thinking that love would blossom in Emma's life, finally putting her on the same path most of her friends already walked. She was thinking that she could finally stop trying to set Emma up with guys who would only be halfway decent (but they were the best she could do).

Emma had been thinking it, too. In the back of her mind, she wanted that. She wanted Killian to be the answer to her problems, in more ways than one.

Yes, she needed him to help her get Henry, but at the same time, she did know that something was missing from her life. She didn't feel quite whole, even with the addition of Henry. Sure, the kid soothed her soul and made her so happy, but there was always something beneath the surface nagging at her, telling her that there was still emptiness in her soul.

"He messaged me and asked if we could go to dinner. So we had dinner last night," she explained, not wanting to look directly at Mary Margaret.

"And…" she trailed off, waiting for Emma to fill in the space.

"And what?" Emma retaliated.

"And, what happened? What did he say? What did he look like? What did you do? Was it everything you hoped for? Were you nervous? What did you wear? What did Henry think?" Mary Margaret began, with no end in sight.

"Calm down, crazy," Ruby interjected, "she will tell you if you just let her."

Mary Margaret took a deep breath and nodded, the gleam in her eyes still there, the hope still bubbling.

"At first, I was a bit nervous. I actually wasn't sure if I even wanted to go. I was a hot mess, putting it mildly, all day yesterday. I could barely focus. I was scared that all my fears about seeing him would come true. Nothing between us has ever worked out the way we wanted in the past, so why should it start now?" she explained, beginning to tell the tale.

As she told Mary Margaret and Ruby everything about the night before, she was surprised at how the story unfolded. There weren't many secrets between the girls, but sometimes, it took a lot for Emma to really talk to them the way she was right now. It wasn't that Emma didn't trust them—she trusted them with her life, but she wasn't really a sharer. At least not in the way that Mary Margaret or Ruby shared about their lives.

Emma wove her tale, going over her nerves before the date. She spent at least twenty minutes talking as they sipped their mimosas and feasted on third and fourth plates from the buffet. She had known that she was nervous for the entire night, but she hadn't realized the extent.

"Oh, Emma, you should have told me; I would have helped you get ready," Mary Margaret said.

"I highly doubt that," Ruby interjected.

While the girls loved each other, they liked to give each other a hard time.

"You would have just fussed over her like it was her first date. I don't think that would have made her feel better," she added, and she was right.

At times, Mary Margaret acted more like her mother than her best friend, doting on Emma in a way that was sometimes overbearing. She knew if she had told Mary Margaret about her upcoming meeting with Killian, she would have insisted on being with Emma right up to Killian sitting down at the table, a gigantic smile plastered across her face, ever the proud mom. That was why she kept it to herself; she didn't need someone else's dreams of what the night might be affecting her.

She didn't tell Ruby simply because she was the complete opposite of Mary Margaret. She would have tried to get Emma drunk before the whole thing, tried to get her to dress way more sexy, and sure, Emma's mind would have been occupied so much that thoughts of her nerves over meeting Killian wouldn't have popped up, but she didn't need them all gone.

"So, what was he like?" Mary Margaret said, pulling Emma from her thoughts.

"It was strange, actually. You know, I've been keeping tabs on him all along, but seeing him in person was still a shock. He looked the same yet different. It was like time hadn't passed at all, yet moved too quickly. For a while, I wasn't quite sure what to make of the whole thing," she confessed.

"She is skipping the best part," Ruby said, sipping on a fresh drink.

"What's that?" Mary Margaret questioned.

"He's sex on a stick," she snorted.

Emma shook her head at Ruby's assessment of Killian. She knew she would have to cut Ruby off soon, but at least her comment lightened the mood a bit. The way she said her description of him even had Mary Margaret laughing.

"Ruby!" Emma finally scolded.

"What?" Ruby said, looking around like she had done nothing wrong. "Well fine, you describe him then."

"Again, it wasn't like a big surprise or anything. I've seen his pictures on Facebook. But, I will say, they don't do him justice," she blushed.

"You like him," Ruby giggled, making Emma reach over to take the mimosa from her hands, cutting her off sooner rather than later.

"I do not," she lied.

Well, it was a white lie. She wasn't sure what she really felt about him. It had been so many years, and she didn't trust the old feelings that were rising to the surface. She didn't trust the skip her heart did when she even thought about Killian. She didn't trust the dirty thoughts she had about his scruff and how it would feel against her skin. She didn't trust the way he was able to just waltz back into her life like nothing had ever happened.

She didn't trust herself.

"Come on, Emma, don't think about it," Mary Margaret interjected.

Looking into the woman's face, Emma knew that Mary Margaret could tell what she was thinking. She could see Emma second guessing everything; it was a fault she had dealt with since they became roommates. Emma would never admit it, not aloud, but she was still scared that one day, someone wouldn't want her because of a mistake she made.

A drunken night in college had Emma confessing to Mary Margaret that she was still worried about it because she wasn't good enough for her biological parents. Sure, she had ones now that loved her, and she had friends that would stand by her side forever; but there was still a nagging fear that she didn't deserve it and one day, it would all disappear.

Emma kept Mary Margaret's gaze.

"Alright, moving on," Mary Margaret gave up.

There was no way Emma was going to admit anything.

"What did you all talk about? Was it hard listening to him with that sexy accent?" Ruby giggled, still buzzed.

"We talked about everything, really. I told him about life after he left; he was so sweet too - asking questions and really showing an interest in what I had accomplished. It was almost too sweet; he was more supportive than my mom and dad were at times. We talked about his mom a bit," she recalled, a sadness coming to her voice, "I wish I had been there for him, fought harder for our friendship then. He was so young to lose a parent, let alone both, that it broke my heart all over again. We talked about his career. It was really nice actually."

She smiled at the recollection.

"Sounds like y'all got nicely acquainted," Mary Margaret said.

"We did; I even told him about Henry," Emma confessed.

Ruby's mouthed gaped open, while Mary Margaret looked at Emma with surprise.

They knew how important and special that was. It took Emma months for her to finally confess to her two best friends that she was fostering and adopting Henry. She didn't want to jinx anything when she first applied to foster Henry, so she didn't tell anyone at first. So, for her to tell someone about him right off the bat was huge.

"Oh my God. Emma, that's huge! What did he say?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Well, at first he was surprised, then he got a bit upset I think," she said.

"Why?" Ruby wondered.

"He was jealous actually," she began, smiling at the thought, "he was jealous that he thought Henry was my biological kid and I had found someone."

"He likes you," Ruby sang, again.

"Oh Emma, that's so sweet," Mary margaret exclaimed.

"It was, and he was really supportive when I explained the whole situation." She couldn't help but beam.

"There's something else, too, isn't there?" Mary margaret questioned.

How she could tell that Emma left out a very important part of the evening, she didn't know, but Emma was a bit tentative to tell the girls about their promise. She was already judging it and worried about what it all may mean, so she didn't want the added pressure or thoughts in her head.

"Nope, that's about it," Emma lied again. "It was a great night."

"That's wonderful, Emma," Mary margaret said reaching over to grab Emma's hands.

"So when are you seeing him again?" Ruby asked.

"This afternoon actually. He messaged me last night and asked if we could hang out today. Henry's at Avery's all weekend, so I thought why the hell not?"

"You don't waste any time do you?" Ruby jested.

"I guess I just want to see if something is there, you know? For all these years I've had fantasies about him—not in that way, Red," she immediately intervened before Ruby had a chance to make one of her normal comments, throwing her childhood nickname in to make sure Ruby knew she was just playing. "I've always wondered if there was really something between us or if it was just something I imagined. Were we really great friends, did we really have a connection, or was it simply because we didn't have a choice?"

"Well, I for one, am happy for you. I just know everything will work out!" Mary Margaret added, raising her glass one more time. "To new beginnings."

Emma lifted an eyebrow. It was the second time that day that Mary Margaret had said those words, and a sparkle in the young woman's eye told her that it meant something more.

"Ok, why do you keep saying that?" She questioned.

"Well, you aren't the only one starting something new," she said, her eyes wondering down.

It dawned on Emma that Mary Margaret was about to announce something huge - and she should have noticed earlier. Her best friend had been absent from school earlier in the week, for a doctors appointment, which wasn't like her. She had been a bit nauseous earlier in the month when Emma made them dinner - but she just thought her cooking was bad. Now, Mary Margaret wasn't drinking her normal cup of tea or sipping on mimosas.

"Ladies, you're gonna be aunts!" Mary Margaret beamed, before Emma and Ruby shouted with glee and enveloped her in a hug.

She had driven like a bat out of hell trying to make it back to the park before noon. She thankfully had stopped drinking early enough, and had only had the one glass of mimosa. She was more buzzed from Mary Margaret's news. She was so excited for her friend. They had been trying for a couple of months to get pregnant and Mary Margaret was starting to get down about the whole thing. Emma was already planning the baby shower in her mind as she raced through town.

The park near her old childhood home hadn't changed much. The benches had been updated and the street lights that lined the jogging trail had been upgraded. The little pond was still filled with fish once a year and the same gardening club used the beds located at the west entrance. It was just like Killian: some things had changed, but many stayed the same.

She was giddy with excitement as she got out of her car, which she parked next to their old homes, and walked to the open space. She wasn't sure what to expect but she knew where she would meet him. Again, that went unsaid between them, but just like how she knew he meant this park, she knew he would meet her near their favorite spot. There was a weeping willow near the pond. She and Killian used to hide under the long branches, not wanting to leave the park when their mothers told them it was time to go home for lunch. It was always at least 10 degrees cooler under the layer of leaves, and Emma took to sitting there quite a lot when she just needed to escape the trials of being a teenager.

The best part about that tree though wasn't something she shared with Killian, but something she shared with Ruby. The willow tree reminded her of Grandmother Willow from Pocahontas – and she and Ruby would try to sing all the songs from the movie the summer it came out. They would run around singing Colors of the Wind as if they were actually in the movie.

That tree was special to her. She was so thankful after every major storm the area saw, when she would walk to the park to find that willow tree still standing.

A giant smile crossed Emma's face when she saw Killian standing at the base of the leaves, where they brushed the grass that had been freshly cut, if Emma's nose wasn't lying to her. He wasn't dressed up, which made Emma sigh in relief. Brunch with the girls was a casual affair, and she was worried that the crop top halter she had chosen with her high waisted flare jeans that she loved would be too casual. She was pretty sure that he knew she would be more comfortable in her traditional attire though. She thought back to the days when their mothers made them dress up for holidays at the church, school functions, or any type of party. She pitched a fit whenever her mother tried to get her to wear a dress. She thought the dresses were pretty, but weren't very conducive for playing a game of tag with Killian.

He looked almost too good for words. She thought he looked good last night, decked out in all black, but as he stood there underneath the sun, she realized just how enticing he looked. He was still pale, but there was a tint to his skin on his arms that showed a history of being outside for long periods of time in his uniform. She thought to herself how much she wanted to see him in it. The saying was true, at least for her: she loved a man in uniform.

While he wore black last night; the blue that he was wearing today made him pop. His over shirt was made of a light denim and was unbuttoned. The dark blue shirt underneath was the perfect choice. His all blue attire didn't clash, but accented his build and it was as if she could see the bright blues of his eyes from far away when she looked at that shirt.

"Hello, love," he said as she drew near, stepping over the blanket that she hadn't noticed before.

He brought himself closer to her quickly, reaching out to pull her into a hug.

She went without protest, pulling herself closer to him. She felt the same spark that she had the night before, so at least she knew it wasn't a fluke she was feeling like this. His mere presence put her on high alert, but in a good way. She noticed everything about him when he was around, while the background faded.

She had decided on the way over that she was going to go for it. No longer would she let fear control her life. Whatever she and Killian became or didn't become wasn't going to scare her, because one second with Killian was better than no seconds with him at all. Plus, she had decided after brunch, even with all of Ruby's teasing and Mary Margaret's hoping that maybe marrying Killian was one of her most brilliant ideas. She just had to make sure he thought so, too, and understood she was serious.

There was nothing in particular that changed her mind. One moment, she was getting into her car; the next, she had decided to just let go of all the feelings that were inside and just listen to her gut. Maybe it was seeing how happy Mary Margaret was, maybe it was the constant beat of old feelings that invaded her mind. Either way, while Emma knew she might deal with some conflicting emotions over the whole thing, she also knew her desire to really see what could happen with Killian was stronger.

"Hello," she finally breathed when she pulled back from the hug, even though she would have been content staying there all afternoon.

"So, what do you have planned for us today?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Well, I thought that maybe we could eat a quick lunch, then head down to the pier for some fun and games," he said with mischief in his eyes.

"Sounds good," she replied.

"I know you just came from brunch, so I just picked up something quick and light," he explained, pointing down to the picnic basket that was sitting on the edge of the blanket. There was something in his tone that made Emma think he was worried about what he had prepared.

"Thanks, I actually am hungry. You'd be surprised at how quickly that brunch wears off," she explained.

Every time the girls went to brunch, Emma could be found snacking a couple of hours later. It was a good brunch, but it didn't fill her up. It didn't matter to her though, she really went to brunch for the camaraderie,, not the food. The mimosas were a plus though.

"I made some comfort food; I hope you like," he smiled as he took out all the fixings from the basket.

Emma took a seat, facing the pond, with him sitting to her right. Her sunglasses hid her eyes, but she was almost positive he could see her sneaking glances his direction. She couldn't help it. Staring at him was almost second nature to her.

She giggled when she saw the spread he had laid out in front of her. There were PB&J sandwiches, with the crust cut off, ants on a log, potato chips in the right flavor, and Emma's all-time favorite snack drink from when she was a kid. He had made a lunch they had shared many a time. It was like he was trying to get them to relive the past, and at least this part of their shared past didn't hurt to think about.

Alice used to make this exact lunch for them every weekend they spent at that park. Killian hated the crust on the bread his mom used, so she always cut them off, sometimes making shapes for them. She could remember Killian's delighted squeal when he found a dinosaur shaped sandwich one afternoon when they had sat under the same tree after a long morning of ruling the jungle gym nearby.

"Tell me more about Henry," he asked as they were about halfway through the lunch.

Emma's eyes looked up from her second sandwich to see if he truly was interested in her son, or if he just wanted to seem interested. While she had never really experienced this, the talking about her son to a date, she knew it would eventually be brought up. She had seen the TV shows and movies. She knew that sometimes men would fake interest just to get into her pants. She highly doubted that Killian had ulterior motives in asking about Henry, but she had to make sure.

As her emerald eyes met his, she instantly knew that her feelings were right: Killian was truly interested in Henry. His eyes held excitement and wonder, waiting to hear everything Emma had to say about him.

"What do you want to know?" she inquired.

"Everything, of course," he smiled at her, a dashing smile that made her melt.

"Well, I already told you how we met and everything," she began. "That morning when I walked into the home, I never expected everything that had happened to actually happen. I was surprised at how supportive everyone was. Here I was, a brand new adult, just figuring out my life, and all of a sudden I had a foster kid who I wanted to adopt. Nobody looked at me funny, no one batted an eye. Mom and Dad were so happy."

"But you said you haven't adopted him yet?"

"No, I'm in the process. The adoption agency I'm using has a lot of hoops I have to jump through," her demeanor changed with the words. Before she was carefree, enjoying sitting under the afternoon sun and relaxing with Killian, but now it seemed as if the sun had set and dark clouds rolled in.

"Hey," he said, reaching over to clasp her hand in his, "I'm sure it will all work out. I'm sure Henry will be your son soon. If there is anything I can do to help, just let me know. I know I was gone for awhile, but I'm back now love, and I'm not going anywhere."

"Thanks," she said, her smile returning. Her mind was racing around what he just said - that he would do anything to help her.

She didn't let go of his hand though. Sparks continued to shoot up her arm, attacking her systems and making her heart race. She couldn't deny the attraction between them, and the jolt of energy she got from just his hand entwined with hers made her crave his touch even more. She moved herself closer to him, disregarding her lunch still half-eaten.

Her hand curled his into her lap, their legs now pressed together as they sat shoulder to shoulder. She was tempted to push it further, but he stiffened a bit as she moved, so she didn't want to tempt fate.

It was as if he was holding his breath.

She knew he felt that same attraction she felt. She knew he knew that the feelings they once shared for each other were still there. Except those feeling had substantially grown. Just as they themselves matured, their feelings had as well.

Not only was the physical attraction there, but Emma felt a pull towards him for who he was. The confidence that he exuded, the way he looked at her, the way she felt calm around him; well, it was more attractive to her than his looks - which was saying something.

"You know, I was thinking," she began, rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand, looking up into the ocean that was his eyes.

"Oh really, and what were you thinking?" He asked, a bit tentatively.

"Well, I was thinking about what I said last night," she smiled, casting a flirtatious look his way.

She was laying on the charm thick. She was flirting with him way more than she probably needed to; but what she was about to say to him made her nervous, and the behavior was well hidden behind the smile and touches she was giving him.

"And what is it that you are thinking?" His eyes took in her as he whispered the words, leaning closer to her.

"I was thinking that I meant what I said - that maybe we should," she said.

He was shocked, Emma could see the change in his eyes.

"What are you saying, Emma?" he finally responded after a beat - using her real name for the first time in a long time. Emma had loved all the nicknames he had for her, but hearing her name come from his lips, laced in that seductive accent and deep voice did things to her.

"I'm saying, let's do it; let's get married."

[queermediastudies]

Lesbian Death in TV

Present within past and present TV show culture is a TV  trope known as, Bury Your Gays (BYG). Bury your Gays have become ubiquitous within queer representation in modern TV. This trope is sometimes subtle and sometimes not. At its core when a character is killed off explicitly for being queer it aligns with the trope BYG. This also makes it hard to determine when a queer death happens on film if it falls in line with BYG. If a character is explicitly not killed for being queer but killed in a space for another reason it may only be for drama. This trope exists within the entire spectrum of LGBTQ+ persons and affects everyone. Focusing on how this trope applies to lesbians on TV can show us how the trope negatively impacts the community.

This trope also exists within other forms of media such as movies, books, and magazines. According to TV Tropes (2018), Bury your Gays, is commonly defined where queer characters can’t have happy endings. This trope is lifted and later immortalized in common TV shows from Matthews and Moody (2007) where a publisher is given advice and states, “ this book cannot have a happy ending otherwise the post office may seize it as obscene”. This is problematic because directors are getting away with showing LGBTQ representation only to kill off their character in the most tangent way as possible. People are demanding queer characters to be shown on TV because the LGBTQ community is growing and wants representation in the media. They are having their words twisted by having their character killed off either after only a few scenes of the spotlight or after the queer character has been featured prominently for several seasons. This trope needs to end because it is only angering people and showing that directors are not invested in their audience, but rather stuck in their old ways.

The theme of our pictures is focused on queer death in the television show The 100,  American Horror Story, and Orange Is The New Black. We picked these three popular TV shows because they involve the death of a queer character which is not advancing the plot in a positive way and is simply killed off for their sexuality or because they challenge the heteronormative society we live in. The 100  has a lesbian character whose love interest dies off almost immediately after finally being able to show their love for each other. This caused an outrage by the audience who were furious with how she was killed. American Horror Story (AHS), is a show that includes many queer characters and continues to show many LGBTQ people in every season they release. Season two is the Asylum, in which the storyline follows a lesbian journalist who’s girlfriend is targeted and killed because she is a lesbian in the 1960s, when being homosexual was illegal. While, the directors do not use homosexuality as a way to gain ranking, the season itself shows that queer deaths are out of spite or homophobic reasonings. Orange is The New Black follows many lesbian characters, but we are specifically looking at Poussey Washington character. Poussey’s character is built throughout the show and has been been on since season 1. They develop her story and display the kind of positive character she is and how she has an impact on the other characters and then at the end of season 4 the show’s writers killed her off. This was a controversial decision. Fans were not happy which lead the media to cover it. This behavior reinforces this type of trope.

The 100 is an American post-apocalyptic science fiction drama television series that follows a group of post-apocalyptic survivors, chiefly a group of adolescents, including Clarke Griffin and Lexa Sky.

Clarke and Lexa are both leaders and strong queer characters. Lexa's queer reception was very positive among fans and many viewed her as a complex and compelling character. Lexa and Clarke begin a relationship and soon have sex. Lexa is killed immediately after having sex with Clarke.

We can see this trope personify as the introduction of the queer character, the sexual sin and the immediate death of the queer. The scene really lives up to the name of punishing queers for their acts of sin. Clarke being bi-sexual damages the sexual identification of Clarke, if she chooses to identify fully as a lesbian she will be punished.

Doty states that, “Beyond queer readings of specific films and directors, it would also be important to consider how the central conventions of horror and melodrama actually encourage queer positioning as they exploit the spectacle of heterosexual romance, straight domesticity, and traditional gender roles gone awry. In a sense, then, everyone's pleasure in these genres is "perverse," is queer, as much of it takes place within the space of the contra-heterosexual and the contra-straight,” (Doty, 1993). This can be tied back to American Horror Story Asylum due to the shows use of perverse scenes and horror to capture the audience’s attention. The show aims for all viewers no matter the category they fit into, creating a very welcoming and opened-minded point of view throughout the series. Asylum follows a Lana and how her sexuality creates this second life for her. She is unable to freely be herself, along with her lover Wendy. Lana’s love becomes a target once a homophobic male discovers their secret. Wendy is blackmailed and killed because of her homosexuality. The show may not present bias or hatred towards homosexuality, but the season aims to do exactly that. They want viewers to see the horror that homosexuals went through and how the discrimination still thrives today in our heteronormative society.

This is Lana Winters, a journalist in 1964 America. Lana lives in a small town and is exploring for a new story that is going to make her big. She ventures to a nearby mental asylum that is rumored to do illegal and dangerous treatments to the patients living there. Lana goes there in hopes of leaving with a hit story, but rather finds herself waking up to a living hell.

This is Lana and her girlfriend, Wendy Peyser, a school teacher who she is madly in love with. They live in a time where their love was considered illegal and taboo, so they must keep everything a secret. Wendy is blackmailed to signing a waiver letting the asylum keep Lana as a mentally ill patient, in hopes that they will not uncover their secret and forbidden affair.

Sadly for Wendy, she meets her doom when a killer called Bloody Face is on the loose and looking for young women to kill. This all happened after Lana is held prisoner at Briarcliff and speaks to Thredson, the real Bloody Face killer. He learns of Lana and Wendy’s relationship, causing anger and disgust to surface. He kills Wendy and after she is dead he rapes her in order to satisfy his need to rid the world of homosexuals. This can be tied back to the trope Bury Your Gays because it seeks to rid the media industry of homosexual relationships and instances that pose a threat to the dominant heteronormative society we live in .

Poussey Washington is a beloved character on the show Orange Is The New Black. She has been on the show since Season 1 and continued to be until her death in Season 4. She is a strong woman that everyone loves in the prison that is featured on the show. She has her own alcohol business in prison and is a friend to almost everyone that is a part of her life.

This is her partner Brook Soso. Poussey Washington’s girlfriend. In the earlier seasons they start off into a rocky relationship and it isn’t until Brook has a near overdose that Poussey saves her life and they discover their similarities, interests, and love for those things and one another. On occasions, they have sex and are intimate with one another.

During season 4 of the show, the inmates stage a peaceful riot in the cafeteria. One of the other characters (Taystee, Poussey good friend) ends up freaking out about doing something bad and the inmates restrain her causing Poussey to try and stand up for Taystee. In the scuffle, this prison guard holds Poussey down unaware of him suffocating her.

The end result is devastating for both Brook, the inmates that knew her and even the prison guards.

In addition this was a emotionally, charged episode. I was able to watch this episode specifically and even I myself got choked up. With the context, character build up and narrative of Poussey character all of these combined made this hard and difficult because not only is it a character from the TV show, but this ties into the trope that is at hand. We have a strong female dominant women who also happens to have a gender preference. She was not killed off because of her choices in women, however it follows the genre of killing off LGBTQ characters on TV. As we have talked about in class and done so in our readings we can see these negative stereotypes in TV, film and entertainment.  

In the article from the Washington Post titled “Let's talk about that Heartbreaking death on Orange is The New Black” they quote “Vox estimates that about 10 percent of the character deaths occurring in the 2015-2016 season were women who identified as LGBTQ” (Butler). I love this article because it does, in fact, go further into detail about this stigma and trope about killing these characters with this type of orientation off. Poussey was not just a black, lesbian character on the show. She was much more than that.

In the article we read by Livia “TV Is Getting More Progressive, But It's Still Failing Queer People Of Color” she is also found talking about identifying with characters of and gender similarities and how these TV show’s keep missing the point. In her article, she quotes “Perhaps this is why, when I learned that Sense8 had been canceled earlier this summer, I was shocked by how hard the news hit me. As I came to realize, the Netflix original, which centered on queer characters of color meant so much to so many people, due to how it featured all-too-rare nuanced, queer narratives. In Sense8, viewers engaged with the pervasiveness of machismo and cultural conservatism in Latin America while watching a romantic relationship unfold between two Mexican men” (Livia). I incorporated this quote because regardless of man or women they still are missing the mark with the same sex. TV shows as well as movies, miss this mark and don’t represent properly. In this case for Orange is The New Black they build this character have you fall in love with who she is as a person, then watch her go through a relationship to be killed off later on in the show. These are negative tropes and stereotypes that need to be broken.

In conclusion as you can see based on Bury your Gays there is a negative trope present within the media specifically TV show’s that portray LGBTQ characters being killed and murdered and causing negative connotations. Also based on our readings, evidence, and pictures there is also notion that media has a even more difficult time portraying strong female leads that dominant the screen regardless of their gender. Using The 100’s, American Horror Story and Orange Is The New Black here is the evidence present. We have been able to present these characters, their story arcs and their unfortunate demises.

  Work Cited

Doty, A. (1993). Making things perfectly queer: Interpreting mass culture. Minneapolis:            University of Minnesota Press.

Framke, C. (2016, March 25). Queer women have been killed on television for decades. Now The 100's fans are fighting back. Retrieved October 3, 2018, from       https://www.vox.com/2016/3/25/11302564/lesbian-deaths-television-trope

V. (2016, July 13). Why so many queer female characters die on TV. Retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rl22caUj-oo&t=95s

Bury Your Gays. (n.d.). Retrieved October 18, 2018, from https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BuryYourGays

Matthews, N., & Moody, N. (2007). Judging a book by its cover: Fans, publishers, designers, and the marketing of fiction. London: Routledge.

Let's talk about that heartbreaking death on 'Orange Is the New Black'. (2016, June 23). Retrieved from https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/arts-and-entertainment/wp/2016/06/23/lets-talk-about-that-heartbreaking-death-on-orange-is-the-new-black/?utm_term=.524ddee3298b

Leiva, L. (2018, June 15). TV Is Getting More Progressive, But It's Failing Queer POCs. Retrieved from https://www.bustle.com/p/tv-is-getting-more-progressive-but-its-still-failing-queer-people-of-color-64520

#queermedia #photoessay #queerdeath

[queen-scribbles]

Lay Your Head on Me

For @storyknitter, multiple prompts from this list, 44. “You look like hell” 66. “Please don’t go” and 73. “I missed you.” for my healer daughter and her idiot spy boyfriend, aka the Spy Nerds  :D Title from this song

Jaaide slumped down in her chair, staring at the blank screen of the datapad in her hands. The cursor blinked intermittently, urging her to write something.

‘Work on your report,’ Lana had said. ‘It will be some measure of distraction, at least.’

Normally she would have been right. Normally Jaaide would have hastened to lose herself in the emotional distance and rigid facts of simply recording what happened. But she couldn’t this time.

Nathema had cut too deep.

Imperial Intelligence trained her well. She was very good at writing concise, comprehensive  reports that contained the facts and just the facts, never her emotions or opinions. But this time the facts and her emotions were inextricably tangled together. I trusted him and I was right and I got him back only to almost lose him again to a damned zealot. I still might.

The sheer terror that admission dredged up sent her hurtling back to Nathema. To the clearing outside the temple, barely winning the battle to keep terror from turning to hysterics as she cradled Theron’s head in her lap and her normally dexterous fingers fumbled pulling medical supplies from her belt.

“No, no, no, please.” She pressed one hand to the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse, found it weak and thready, and cupped her hand against his jaw. “No, Theron, please. Please don’t go. I just got you back, you kriffing idiot, you can’t leave me now!” She glanced up at Lana, hands shaking as she prepped the kolto injector. “Where’s the damn shuttle?!”

“It’s coming, Commander,” Lana assured her, crouching to aid her healing efforts with the Force. “But there is a great deal more vegetation here then previously. It might take a couple minutes to navigate.”

“I don’t know if he has a couple minutes,” Jaaide shot back. She yanked aside the collar of Theron’s jacket and pressed the injector to his shoulder.

“He will, because we’ll give it to him,” Lana said firmly. She glanced at her wrist comm. “The shuttle’s almost here. Just another minute, Commander, and time to board, then we can get him in the kolto tank.”

And he’ll be fine. She didn’t say the words, but Jaaide stubbornly needed to believe them. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t. Not now. Not ever, really, but immediately after being vindicated for her trust following Umbara and Copero seemed especially cruel.

That ‘just another minute’ stretched for an eternity, and her hands didn’t stop shaking the whole way back to Odessen.

If we was honest, there was still a bit of a tremor, even now. It was why she held the datapad in a death grip despite lacking both motivation and intent to actually record anything. It was something to steady her hands and provide a distraction so she didn’t stare at the medbay bed as if she could make Theron wake up through willpower alone. If that worked, they wouldn’t be on the second day of her sitting at his bedside waiting for some sign of recovery. Not counting the three days in the kolto tank.

Jaaide sighed and scrubbed her eyes, red from tears and lack of sleep both. She really should at least try to work on the report. For Lana.

She blinked a couple more times and stared at the screen, lips pursed. Vinn Atrius tried to murder the love of my life and I killed him.

So. Maybe she was still too emotional to write the report. She tossed aside the datapad and stretched, feeling the familiar tug of scar tissue from her own close call with a lightsaber. Was it this bad for you after Asylum? she wondered, one hand rubbing the spot as she settled back into the chair and glanced over at Theron.

Just in time to catch his eyelids fluttering ever so slightly. Jaaide tensed, practically holding her breath in anticipation, but there was no follow up even though she watched for several breathless heartbeats. She wilted back into her chair and rubbed her eyes again. She retrieved her datapad, pulling up the file where she’d archived copies of every message Theron had sent her. Even the one that hurt. Probably wasn’t going to help to read them, but she had most committed to memory, anyway, so it wasn’t like it could hurt-

“You look like hell.” The words were so quiet and hoarse it took a second to register as his voice. 

Jaaide dropped the datapad, dimly heard it clatter against the floor, as she spun back toward the bed. Theron was was watching her, eyes only half open but concern still writ large across his face.

“You’re one to talk,” she managed around the crashing surge of relief filling her chest. “Stars, Theron, I-” The words tangled around the lump in her throat and died away as she pushed out of her chair and moved to sit on the bed.  “Welcome back.  Never scare me like that again.”

A weak smile curled  the corners of his mouth . “Thanks, boss. And I’ll try.”

“Theron.” Jaaide reached for his hand and held it in both of hers. “Never. Scare me. Like that. Again.”

His brow furrowed in concern, the smile fading. “Never if I can help it,” he promised. “Really shook you up, huh?”

“You almost died in my arms,” she said, thumb running over his knuckles. “I had just gotten you back after months of everyone but me believing you were a blasted traitor, and the universe tried to take you away again! Hell yes, it shook me up.” She bent and kissed the center of his palm. “But that’s about three different conversations to have later. When you’ve had a chance to heal. For now...” She sniffled and flicked away gathering tears. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Theron’s smile was stronger this time. “Glad to be back.” He shifted his hand in hers to link their fingers. “I missed you. A lot.”

Jaaide nodded, returning the smile with a watery one of her own as she squeezed his hand. “I missed you, too. A lot. But having been where you are for very similar reasons, I think I should let you rest.”

He didn’t let go when she started to move away. “Jaaide. Stay. I.... It’ll be easier to rest if you’re here.”

Tired as she was, this smile bloomed full. “Of course.” He still didn’t let go when she tried to move to the chair. “Theron, darling, I love you, but you do realize how sore my back is going to be if I sit on your bed for hours, right?”

“Never said you had to sit,” Theron pointed out, that mischievous gleam she’d missed too damn much back in his eyes.

She hesitated. “Won’t that hurt you?”

“Maybe.” He tugged her hand. “Maybe I don’t care.”

“Well, in that case...” Jaaide grinned and very slowly, very gingerly curled up next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. “Wouldn’t it be nice if just once we could get some time together without it requiring a threat to the galaxy and/or at least one near death experience?”

She heard Theron chuckle, felt him wrap an arm around her, but missed whatever he said in reply, her battle with exhaustion already lost. He was alive, would be alright. That was enough for her.

<><><><><><><>

“Commander, did you-” Lana cut herself off when she leaned into the medbay and caught sight of Jaaide dead to the world curled up next to--partially on top of--a very much awake, very much amused Theron Shan. “Oh.” She turned her attention to Theron, examining him with a critical eye. “You’re looking better.”

He nodded and glanced at Jaaide, then back at Lana. “My arm’s asleep,” he hissed in an undertone, fighting a losing battle with an idiotic grin.

Lana couldn’t help but chuckle. “If that’s the worst you have to complain about, you should count yourself lucky.”

“I do, believe me,” Theron said, eyes back on Jaaide. “And who said anything about complaining? I’d bet every credit in the Alliance she needs it.”

Lana nodded. “She does. More than you know.” She very deliberately shelved all the potential comments she wanted to make. About this being his fault, if he’d just trusted them, how he’d all but broken the Commander’s heart and been the main reason behind many sleepless nights no matter how much Jaaide denied it. She may have had doubts before, worried about his intentions, but not now. Not with that look in his eyes as he watched Jaaide sleep.

As if sensing the direction  of her thoughts, Theron looked up. “Thank you. For having her back.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said bluntly. That dig she was willing to make.

“No, I know,” he sighed. “And you probably want to give me a couple of earfuls that I richly deserve, but-”

“Those can wait until later,” Lana cut him off. “For now I’ll let you two rest.”

Theron nodded, looking tired and relieved in equal measure. “’Preciate it.”

Lana dipped her head in return and went on her way, leaving the two of them where they belonged.

Together.

[fenharelxenansal]

ooc;;

so i went back into my discord history to dig up some meta i wrote a while back about briala. alice, nixe, mo, merc, and cay have all already read this, but i feel like a lot of it is really important to my characterization and i want it on my blog. maybe someday i’ll format it to read in a less disjointed, chat-style way, but for now -- have 1600+ words about briala’s backstory, i guess?

cw: lots of emotional abuse and gaslighting, lots of character death

im having a mood abt the tactics celene might have used to keep briala on her side when they were fighting and aaugh

bc i think a lot about the scene at the beginning of TME where bria is getting sexually harassed by a palace guard and the fact that nobody in that scene, briala included, acts like its anything particularly abnormal. that worries me

i mean. celene killed her damn parents. i dont think encouraging a guard to harass briala from time to time to make herself look like a saint in comparison is beyond her

and i have this mental image of briala being hurt in some way, nothing serious, a bruise here or there from someone other than celene, deliberately caused to send her running back to the empress who will make it all better

to give briala someone to hate instead of celene

to give celene the opportunity to 'make it up' to her

because i dont believe for a second that celene, grand player of the Game that she is, wouldn't stoop that low

she would do anything in her power to keep briala

because she is too dangerous, she knows too much

my headcanon is that when celene tried to send her away to live with the Dalish, it wasn't for her own protection

it was to keep her from ever realizing the truth of what happened the night her parents died, because it could destabilize celene's grip on power

and when Briala came back, well, she had to come up with another plan. and she cared for Briala enough that she didn't want to just kill her. so she made her into an intensely loyal asset

so i think any time Briala started to turn on her, started to want to leave her service even a little, she would do something to make herself look like the good guy again

the thing i always think about

Briala was supposed to be killed that night along with her parents

it wasn't 'all the servants except briala' it was 'all the servants'. the fact that she survived was pure luck, and the fact that celene didn't just have her killed after that point was because. well. Celene was a 16 year old lesbian about to ascend the throne of one of the most powerful countries in Thedas. One might imagine her a bit lonely.

im pretty sure she knew sending briala away was sending her to likely bandits or death by starvation

but she didn't have to feel so personally responsible for that

its easy to kill a palace full of servants whose names you dont know

theyre just numbers on a piece of parchment saying how many bodies you have to clean up

briala made herself real to celene and that makes her harder to kill

because she could have just killed her right then herself

but celene never had the stomach for killing people herself. she just gives the orders.

and so when faced with that situation, with her personal handmaiden traumatized, crying, covered in her parents' blood saying 'they're all dead', the smart thing to do would have been to kill her. but celene didn't do that. she just sent her away to near-certain death instead.

Briala is incredibly dangerous to Celene

especially post-TME, post realization of exactly how Celene orchestrated her rise to power

she is the only one who knows that Celene's claim on the throne is truly illegitimate, no matter how much Gaspard tries to argue it

not only did she have her own palace servants murdered

she had the emperor assassinated

which i think everyone misses?

she had him assassinated and then staged the murder of her palace servants to paint herself as an innocent victim who just happened to not be there that night

thats why all the palace servants were killed

so that suspicion would not fall on her for Florian's murder

the point was to make it look like the same assassins who went after her uncle were also going after her

when in reality she was the one calling the shots all along

i did briefly toy with writing a verse where Briala never met Felassan, where she made it to the Dalish safe at 14 years old and tried to become one of them

but the fact is that the moment he sent her back to Celene was a defining moment for her, something that fundamentally changed her, and she wouldn't have been anywhere near the same person without that

it told her, right there and right then, subtextually and insidiously, that the cause was the most important thing, more than her safety - because she knew it was dangerous being anywhere near the Empress-to-be, she wasn't stupid. she didn't even really know what the cause was at that point; he never told her what he got out of their meetings. so the cause to her became helping elves. and then that really quickly became warped to helping celene because she convinced her that it was the best way to serve the cause.

"what would have been different if she'd decided what she wanted to fight for on her own?"

she would have been a lot less.....not less dedicated, but less 'dedicated to the detriment of her own wellbeing'

if she had decided herself not to go to the Dalish, to stay by Celene's side to enact change, rather than just following the orders of other people, her story would be very different

concept: briala actually processing her trauma??? what???

bc you know the moment she got back to the palace with Celene after meeting Fel for the first time she threw herself headfirst into the Game

she focused all of her energy on intelligence-gathering and supporting Celene in her bid to become Empress

She never gave herself a single moment to grieve

and it isn't an uncommon story in Thedas, an elf watching someone or multiple someones they love cut down by humans

imagine if u will: briala, trying to have a funeral, not just for her parents, but for all of them

thats the thing i really feel the need to

idk

it wasn't just her parents

briala grew up in the palace. her parents were both palace servants.

she knew every single one of those servants. they were her friends and her family. and at the end of it she was left standing covered in blood in front of celene. celene was all she had left.

she didn't have any friends at the beginning of TME. she was friendly with the cook, but that was it.

celene took a generally happy, driven, and incredibly smart 14-year old elven girl and took away everyone she had ever known except herself. she made herself briala's world.

that's the real reason i hate that you can reunite them. its not that i don't believe they could be reunited - its that they can. because briala doesn't have anyone else. she has celene and felassan. that's it.

when you only have one person, its easy to make excuses for them and justify the things theyve done. its easy to believe them when they apologize and promise to do better.

thats why i want briala to have friends and lovers and people

i want to have a verse where she has grown so far beyond that point that she would laugh if Celene asked her to return to the palace

i want her to stop loving Celene but she isn't there yet

in my current writing, at least

she is still vulnerable to her in every verse where Celene is still alive

i just imagine her like

talking quietly about her childhood best friend among the servants

we don't get to see much of Briala's childhood

we get the moment of her mother telling her she mustn't try to hide her ears and that she must be proud of being an elf. that's really it.

but we do know that there were other children of servants who were considered for Celene's handmaiden aside Briala

i like to think she was friends with these other children. that she wasn't always lonely from the start

but of course that leads down the road of those friends being slaughtered as well so its a tradeoff

and then there's the question of whether when Celene kissed her when she was sending her away, if that was her first kiss, if she ever even had the chance to love someone else

i think a lot about how Briala spent 20 years learning how to love exactly 1 person the way she wanted to be loved

just imagining her trying to have a romantic relationship with someone else with that framework still in place is painful. it wouldn't work no matter how much she wanted it to because she'd be treating them like celene. she has no other model for how a relationship can work

she bypasses that somewhat with Lana, but its still there, thinking that the best thing to do is the thing that Keeps Lana Safe

she wouldn't recognize abuse if she got into another bad relationship

and she doesn't know how a relationship works where she isn't centering the other person's needs over her own

she gave up everything she ever wanted or aspired to for Celene

one time i got a prompt from a lyric starter list i made

'you can still be what you want to'

and briala just. broke for a moment.

'no. i can't. i never could - none of us ever could. thats why we fight.'

she doesn't have interests or hobbies or friends or a life

celene was her life and now she's filled that void with her cause

[childrenofhypnos]

Chapter 7: Investigations

It took six hours for the students of Fenhallow to discover the source of the screaming that night, and after that, the screams came again at least once a day with students venturing into woods beyond the sports fields to see the Fox.

Emery no longer jumped when she heard it. The next Wednesday, Joel, sitting opposite her in the window seat of the student council room, startled so badly he almost fell through the window. Lewis actually did fall out of his chair. Kris squeaked. Jacqueline slammed a hand down on the polished surface of the table, rattling her neat array of color-coded pens.

“Hypnos’s sweet left buttcheek, Emery, did you have to bring that thing back here?”

“It was a present for you, Jackie.”

In honesty, it was a pain in Emery’s ass. Half the students thought the Fox was the new best thing on campus, and gave Emery a big smile and thumbs up whenever they saw her. The other half—like Jacqueline—thought it was a destruction of campus atmosphere and a distraction from their studies, and got royally pissed off whenever the happy half of the student body praised her for it.

As far as she could tell, Wes only got the same treatment when he stood near her; when they were together seemed to be the only time anyone remembered that they were partners, and that Emery was no longer going out on missions alone. (“Once!” she snapped. “I went out alone once!”)

The worst part about the Fox, really, was having to remember how badly she’d failed every time she heard it scream.

Since then, their nightly missions had toned down a notch or six. Wes had a bullet list of locations around the Sleeping City exhibiting irregular Dream activity. It had been longer than Emery had feared. Painstakingly, they went through each location, speaking to anyone living nearby who would talk to them. Emery had known it would be a disaster before they began. Most people didn’t know anything. Some pretended they did. Others hurried Emery and Wes away, afraid what the neighbors would think of dreamhunters on the front step. Some didn’t know anything, but held them up with questions like, “I have this dream about my teeth falling out every night—does that mean a pair of dentures is going to manifest and come after me?” to which Emery replied, “No, it means you should see a shrink.”

She didn’t hate talking to people. She just hated talking to people who didn’t know anything.

Wes, on the other hand, had the patience of a saint. He continued talking long after useful information ceased, listened to stories that had nothing to do with nightmares, even helped one woman with a walker bring in her groceries. After a week of watching him, Emery could pinpoint the exact spot in each conversation where she would begin ripping her hair out.

“I don’t know how you do that,” she said after one foray into the suburbs on the west side of the city. “We have a mission. Shouldn’t we be trying to keep on track instead of rescuing kittens from trees?”

“Most of them don’t know what information they’re supposed to give us. I thought maybe, if they’re just telling us stories about their day-to-day life, they might reveal something we can use.”

“And that could take the next thirty years.”

“I never said it was going to be fast.”

School during the day was a reprieve from the new mundanity of the mission, and the hours between classes were a reprieve from the new insufferability of Emery’s classmates. She ate meals with Edgar and sometimes Joel, when their schedules matched up. Joel was always welcome because he didn't talk about class or student council or anything dreamhunter-related; he was perfectly okay listening to Edgar ramble about Westerns and late-night television, and when Edgar had to leave for class, Joel walked across campus with Emery. Sometimes to her next class or back to Kirkland. Sometimes in circles around the grounds until they found a good spot to make out.

She spent her free time in her dorm, in the student council room, or in one of the private study rooms in the library, looking for records of Sandman-related missions of the full-time dreamhunters. She hadn't yet been able to find anything in the records system, though she knew they were there. They'd probably been restricted to the highest access only, and Grandpa Al had finally changed his system password, so she couldn't sneak in under his account anymore. She hadn't even been able to figure out the names of the dreamhunters assigned to the Sandman mission. They would have leads. Anything they already knew would cut this remedial mission in half.

Without anything else to go on, she banked on Wes's idea of the Sandman using sleeping sand. When dreamhunters received nicknames, they weren't usually the most inventive--Marcia was known among the faculty and staff just as “the Amazon”—so it wasn't much of a stretch. Because of the ban on learning about sleeping sand, the library was devoid of information on it, so instead Emery prowled around the campus sleep research center, where they made the sleeping sand used by the clinic.

Lana Lupova, the head of the research center, was the one who found Emery skulking in an empty lab on the third floor, hunting for research notes in the computers there.

"Ah, Miss Ashworth. Can I help you with something?" Lana roved between the lab tables, her ring of keys jangling softly on the right arm of her motorized chair. Emery froze with her fingers over the keyboard, having just input yet another wrong password. Apparently, the research center had changed theirs, as well. Emery turned, lifting herself to sit on the table beside the computer in what she hoped looked like a nonchalant motion.

"Dr. Lupova, just who I was looking for!"

Lana made a noise of faint surprise, smiling, resting her chin on her fist. Emery cleared her throat. Facing off against people like Wes and Marcia, who got flustered or angry at the drop of a hat, was simple. They were always the first to make mistakes. But the few times Emery had ever tried to get information out of Lana, she'd received that cool stare and easy smile, and she'd felt so horrendously stupid and outclassed she'd left without a fight. Lana didn't have to speak; her expression said I am smarter than you, and I know it.

No backing down this time, though. "I've been really curious lately," Emery said, swinging her feet. "What can you tell me about sleeping sand?"

"Now Emery, you know I'm not allowed to do that." Lana came around the side of the desk. The labs were always kept a little cold, and today Lana's heavy shawl was an offensive shade of orange. "Although now you've got me curious about why you're curious. What's this for? An essay? Recreational drug use? Or maybe this remedial mission you've been sent on?"

“Remedial is a bit strong a word--"

"They won't teach it, so you're not writing an essay. And if you're getting into recreational drug use, Emery Ashworth, I'm going to have to have a word with your grandfather, and I don't think you want that. So, then, you're here because of the Sandman."

Emery paused, trying to find any hidden traps. "Yes. I--we--have a theory that he's called the Sandman because he uses sleeping sand."

"They didn't tell you much about him, did they?"

"No."

Lana sighed and adjusted the chopsticks in her neat blond bun. "I tell you this because I want you to be safe. Yes, he is most likely using sleeping sand to do...whatever it is he's doing." Her eyes flicked to the ceiling and back, as if the Sandman was an annoying student rather than a dangerous rogue dreamhunter that had several other dreamhunter teams out searching the city every night. "I'm sure your grandfather already told you this, but if you find him, you do not go near him, you understand? Sleeping sand, even in its smallest doses, is a dangerous substance. He knows how to use it, but there's no telling what type he'll be using, or how he'll react when another dreamhunter shows up to capture him."

"There are different types?"

"Emery."

"Got it, don't go near him."

"I don't like how you just said that."

"You're not that old--did you know him?"

"I know a lot of people," Lana said. "Now get out of here before I tell the dean you're sneaking around my labs. Otherwise I'll get you in here once a week for sleep studies."

"You wouldn't."

Lana smiled, showing her teeth. "Wouldn't what? Screw up your sleep cycle? Keep snooping around in here and find out."

Emery did not find out. She escaped the research center and headed for the Crossing, going over what she’d found. No hard records, but she did know now that there were different types of sleeping sand, and that even Lana was handing out warnings about the Sandman.

Lana had a reputation as the scariest person on campus. Marcia was intense, but there were rumors that Lana had found a way to capture and torture dreams in the labs. If she was warning Emery and Wes, then even she was worried about the Sandman. It wasn’t just Grandpa Al’s overprotectiveness, or Marcia trying to frighten them.

The sooner they found the Sandman, the sooner they could figure out who he was.

~

Only out of an extreme sense of guilt did she tell Wes what she'd found. It wasn't much, anyway, and it wasn't as if they were racing to solve the mystery of the Sandman's location. She knew if she didn't tell him, he'd find out from someone else that she'd been snooping around campus during the day, and then he'd just have that to use against her, too. If Grandpa Al knew, he'd deny her request for a new partner six ways from Sunday.

Wes didn't seem surprised to hear about it. She found him sitting on the edge of the soccer field before dinner, sweaty, waiting for a turn to get back into the game. The Wilmark Fox screamed in the woods beyond the field right before a group of students burst from the trees full-sprint, howling with laughter.

"We should try the north side," Emery said, after the screaming had stopped. "Up around the warehouses. If he needs a workshop to hide in, those would work the best. I know it's cliched and whatever, but it's probably cliched for a reason. He's not going to hide out in the suburbs."

"Okay." Wes turned back to the game.

"Okay?" She threw up her hands. "How about: 'Thanks, Emery, you didn't have to tell me anything, but I'm glad you did'? Or 'I'm super happy I have you on my side, you have all the good ideas'?"

Wes rolled his shoulder beneath his hand and glanced up at her. "Go away. Please."

The dismissal stung. She hadn’t thought it would, and that made it sting more.

“Whatever. I have homework to do.”

Emery turned to go, and found Ridley Jager stalking toward her from the softball field. Wes’s sister had his same coloring, the same wavy hair, but her eyes were light brown, not black. She was a year younger than them and about as big around as Emery’s pinkie finger; if not for that, seeing her move forward with so much furious intent on her face might have been terrifying.

Ridley stopped two feet away, face red, puffed up and ready to release some sort of reprimand. Emery cocked an eyebrow. She wondered if there was some block in Ridley’s sparkly fairytale nice girl brain that kept harsh words from coming out her mouth.

“What?”

Ridley pressed her lips together.

“Did you have anything to say, or were you just going to glare at me?”

Ridley’s nostrils flared. Her weapons, two identical, wicked hammers that reminded Emery of ice picks, swung as earrings from her ears.

Wes clambered to his feet behind Emery. “Rid, it’s fine, we were talking about the mission. Go back to your game.”

Ridley looked at him, then back at Emery. Finally, she said, “You’re a—a mean person.”

Now both of Emery’s eyebrows rose. “Mean? Well how dare I be—”

“You’re a mean person,” Ridley repeated, gaining confidence, “and you don’t deserve my brother as a partner. He’s so much better than you’ll ever be, and he doesn’t have to walk all over the people beneath him to make himself look good. Maybe he doesn’t have your grades, or parents who beat their Insanity Prime—”

“Ridley.” Wes grabbed her arm. Some of the other students posted on the sidelines of the soccer field were watching them now. “That’s enough. Come on.”

“But she’s…”

“No.”

Ridley relented, and Wes dragged her back to the main campus. Emery, aware of all the eyes on her, refused to also be moved away from the field, and planted herself in the bleachers, pretending to check her phone. When she was sure Wes and Ridley were gone and no one was looking at her anymore, she slid from her seat and fiddled with her Peacemakers on their charm bracelet around her wrist. She had planned to head back to Kirkland, but screaming had started in the woods again, and suddenly hunting a fox sounded like much more fun than dreamforming homework.

(Next time on The Children of Hypnos —> What Has Two Thumbs And A Whole Lot Of Sleeping Sand?)

[cwts-1p2-blog]

     The world today is inevitably out of our control. Many circumstances are not in our hands, and this includes the lives of our fellow Filipinos in different parts of the country. There are at least 17 ethnolinguistic lumad groups displaced and evicted from their own land. Hundreds and thousands of innocent indigenous people have to endure intolerable violence and harassments, and unfortunately, many of them were not able to. The guardians of the earth, lumads, are shoot down by the military, which is ironic because we thought to be secured in the presence of these soldiers. Mindanao is known to be rich with a lot of natural resources, resulting to abusive use of power of the upper class in hierarchical organization. Inhabitants do not benefit from any of these riches, instead, they suffer in the hands of those who misuse their power. In addition, lumads also have to live through the deprivation of numerous basic social services such as health care and education. In one hand, church and other institutions help establish schools and indigenous education; however, it still threatens the children of being attacked by military power groups. This is not even a recent issue, but it took a long period of time before it became something worse that needs to be taken seriously. The mainstream media and the government probably did not take a look into much detail, seemingly waiting for it to just fade away soon. It leaves the people the question, is this the change that is said to come once the president gets hold of his position? Is this what each and every one of us expected to surprise us? I don’t think so. There are still a lot to focus on, one step at a time.

         We all felt a sense of nervousness nearing the camp where the different tribes of Lumads had come to settle for their rallies. The different propaganda posters and signs made us uneasy for we were not that familiar with their plight, and this activity would require us to ask them about their plight, in order to inform more of our fellow Filipino youth. And in the midst of asking them questions, we might suddenly trigger and anger them, and it would end our meeting with them.

         Once we were on site, together and sufficiently debriefed for the activity ahead by our leader, we headed into the camp where we were asked to sign in. Due to the friendly faces that greeted us, our uneasiness died, which was quickly replaced by curiosity because of the overload of commotion around us.

      Our guide from the organization Anakbayan, named Ann who gave us a brief history of the organization that made this camp and rally possible, as well as a brief recap on the clash between the Lumads and President Rodrigo Duterte. She emphasized on how the Lumads were being taken advantage of; on how the goverment was telling them that they would help them and build them schools for children to learn in, but it all turned out to be lies so that big mining companies can take advantage of the richness of the Lumads’ land. And when teachers took matters into their own hands to build schools for the children, the government shut them down because they thought that those teachers were creating a child-sex trafficking ring and taking advantage of the children. There was even an instance where a tribal chief was forced to sign a paper to his tribe’s land, but unfortunately could not read the agreement, nor was given any help to translate or read the document. He had essentially signed his land, his ancestral land, to a mining company who promised to take care of his land, but lied, thus displacing all the residents. The land that they were supposed to protect because they have been doing that for centuries, has been taken over by mining companies. There were similar cases like this that happened over the tribes across the region, but one particular case turned bloody. The goverenment’s paramilitar group essentially invaded over the Lumads’ land, killed one tribal chief named Reynato Anglao over the said mining dispute. When later questioned about this killing, they claimed that it was a tribal war killing, which of course was not true. And in another paramilitar killing a 16-year old student named Obilio Bilbao was killed while doing his job in the field, doing nothing wrong. The Lumads faced national oppression, so much so that even the military cannot help their own citizens and even puts them to blame, or killing them because they do not want to comply to their orders. We all felt her sense of determination to help aid the Lumads in their plight. Just by hearing about their plight, it made us wonder why this wasn’t presented in news. And if it was, why had the coverage been so brief, without giving light to the ones who were killed unjustifiably. Ann had said that if we work to preserve our culture, fix our politics, and, most importantly, voice our concerns, then we will be able to help the Lumads in their plight.

         After Ann’s debrief we were escorted to an open area with a tarpaulin that said: “US Global War on Islamophobia”. There was an introduction by Prof. Macrina A. Morados, the dean for the Institute of Islamic Studies, who first greeted everyone who had come, both the Lumads and the various groups visiting from outside of UP. She explained that Muslims  obey or “tumatalima sila”. Fellow Muslims obey the word of Allah and that they only want peace, or in their language “salama” or “kapayapaan”. She explained that the purpose of this talk was to shed some light on the discrimination against Muslims, and put an end to such discrimination.

         The first speaker was Dr. Sugulan who, first advised us, to those listening, to never use the term “moro-moro” to describe the Lumads or the Muslim community, because that term is derogatory.   And second, explained the history of the Muslim people in the Philippines. How the Lawags did not surrender to the colonialism of the Spanish and continued to fight them, and how even the Vatican approved of these crusades against them. He explained that the lands that were sieged, and held fiestas all had the Spanish included into them, and were even revered in those festivals. The Spanish were held with such high regard, while the Muslims were held below the level of scum. There even was a statue depicting these travesties wherein the Spanish were colored in white stone stabbing Muslims who were colored in black stone. So very early on, the discrimination was evident, even going as far as making a movie, called Sakay which blatantly depicts cruel acts against obviously Muslim characters. Then came the war wherein the prominent general, General Percing organized peace talks to help satiate the community. But those peace talks were hoaxes because they did nothing but intensify the discrimination. The Americans did more campaigns against them during the Philippine Insurrection, until the Moro wars in 1913, where the peace treaty was signed and the violence ceased. It wasn’t the Iraq-Afghan war, did the counter insurgency for the Moro Muslims arise again, this time bringing American forces, such as the CIA, Blocksites, and the local military force. This is where the issue of America and their blatant Islamophobia arose to take up every ounce of their media coverage, most especially with their new president, Donald J. Trump. Sugulan ends his talk by saying that the US has turned Islam and Muslims into a cultural weapon and it will “poison the minds of the US people” or in his words, “Lasunin ang pag-iisip ng US”. This poison will desecrate our lands until there is nothing left. But we can stop the poison from spreading by being informed on how events happened and having the right source to get information by.

         We were all amazed to learn this information, because this isn’t what we were taught in school. Previously, it was just knowing what tribes resided in the Mindanao region and their main export to and from the Luzon and Visayas. This information is readily available in history books in the library, however it occurred to us that it should be presented in historical learning for our younger generation so that they are well informed of our own Filipino Muslim community, and that they won’t be misinformed and start to hate on the Muslims.

         The next speaker was a woman who evacuated from the Marawi siege, named Ida Ibrahim. She recounted her harrowing tale of escaping the bombing, and the tragic tale of not being able to bury her aunt because of the siege and the airstrikes, simple because the military thought that she was a conspirator bringing outside goods into the fight to the leader of the Abu Sayaf: Ispinol Hapilon. She, along with 400,000 other people from Marawi, went to evacuation centers. She went first to the one in Ramail, Lanao del Sur. She and her family were treated to a Psycho-social inervention and were able to rest. Unfortunately, Lana del Sur was quite close to Marawi, so out of fear they moved to Iligan city, where no one knew how to speak in Bisaya, so they felt excluded from the community in, not only being from the city wherein airstrikes and sieges were happening, but from the language barrier as well. She came to Manila to protest and to voice her concerns, but it became rather difficult because the LGU banned her from doing so, and stated that protests about this issue is not allowed. She ends her sharing by stating that Ramadan was supposed to be a happy time for her and her family, instead the evacuations and the government made it hard for her and her family. She states that she did not even have a safe place to pray in, because the mosques were being bombed and sieged by the military. She mentions that the Muslims who had evacuated Baguio are now being sent away “for security purposes” and asks that we do something about it, because unlike her, we have a voice in the matter because the government is bound to listen to people who aren’t in a discriminated minority like herself.

        We all felt sad about her plight, but at the same time, relieved in a way that we have heard a first account experience about the tragedies happening in Marawi, that the media is unfortunately glossing over. Just like with the Lumads, they did not really disclose much information about the evacuations of the Marawi citizens, supposedly for security purposes. But the lack of media attention in the matters of the evacuees make us overlook their plight against discrimination, and instead tells us to focus on the curses of our president against such vile terrorists, and the continuation of the gunfights and airstrikes that rattle the city to its core. It makes us sad to think that we care more about killing than the people who were involved in it.

         We were pulled out of the talk early to visit one of the Lumad sectors that reside in the UP camp. Kuya John Kasalo was kind enough to tell us about the Lumads of Caraga. They had been at the UP campgrounds for 2 weeks. He told us that the fight originally started in Mindanao. But it wasn’t sure where exactly it started. The descendants of Lapu-Lapu or Lapu-Lapu himself took his tribe to the mountains to live peacefully. And as he was taught by the people who came before them, Kuya John said that people respect the land because it is the land of their ancestors and their ancestors ancestors. It is their job to protect the land from evil forces, as well as their rich, natural resources. They were given teachers to teach the children about agriculture and livestock care, as well as reading and writting. But because of Gloria Macapagal Arroyo’s initiation of the Republic Act 1995, there was a clearing operation in the area where Kuya John’s tribe resided, so they were forced to uproot themselves. The government found out that there were teachers who were building schools for the children in the community, and the residents were terrified that they would be bombed, as declared by Duterte in his latest speech. The government theorized that if the Lumads start to learn, then they will be disrespected against the Filipino people or in Kuya John’s words: “Pag nag-aral sila, pagbibintangan sila”. There was one incident wherein a teacher was killed by the paramilitar: a teacher named Henry Alameda. Kuya John recounts the faithful day: the paramilitar came into the school and took everyone outside to the basketball court next to a road, and separated the children from the teachers, they took Alameda and two other teachers, took them to the second floor of the school building and shot them point blank, and left their bodies in the classroom for the residents, teachers and students to see, to set as an example. “Patayin ang lider at guro para mahinto”, are the words Kuya John describes the mindset of the government. The killings were blamed upon the Manobo tribe, along with three other tribes and ruled as another tribe war, but Kuya John and the rest of the members of the tribe and the other teachers know this not to be true. Kuya John describes this travesty as: “Tunay na demokrasyon”, and that there should be a law abolishing such behavior. But so far, nothing has happened for them, which is why they came to Manila to rally. The people from Alcadev.inc are working with Kuya John, the members of the Caraga community, and the other tribes that have gathered in the UP campground to help voice their opinions, catalogue their experiences, and make sure their stories are heard.

      We bid our farewells after stopping by the museum to see the Lumad culture. The whole experience opened our eyes, from the discrimination to the blatant and, frankly, unfair justice to the Lumads. Our hearts reached out to them, but we cannot fathom about how mistreated they must feel, because we have never been mistreated by the government in such a way that the government don’t bother to listen to our opinions. We want to bring justice and light to the events and experiences that have happened to our fellow Filipinos. We can’t even begin to reason why the government acts this way towards our own people; because they wanted to keep their traditions and cultures, and because they were different, the government shoved them. We think we should take into heart the words said by our guide, Ann, that we should keep our culture and language close to our hearts, and preserve them for future generations, so that discrimination like this will never happen in the future.