#this is greatest race blind casting ever done

[creatingblackcharacters]

Watching Whitney Houston's Cinderella. Truly. If your man isn't looking at your Black lady character the way this man is looking Brandy/Cinderella I don't WANT IT-

[cathedreal]

𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕓𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝔽𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕥 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙 ℂ.ℍ

ೄྀ࿐Corpse x Female Reader ೄྀ࿐Genre: Dark Academia ೄྀ࿐Warnings: Mention of: blood, knife + small wounds inflicted, alcohol, smoking/cigarettes, a toxic relationship (not with Corpse) ೄྀ࿐Word count: 3.1K+  ೄྀ࿐Summary: Willow Creek Academy is full of mysteries, or so you find out when you are unwillingly iniated into a secret society with none other than your boyfriend’s best friend, Corpse. Secrets are kept, tensions rise high, and you are in the middle of it all. Together with Corpse, you have to find a way to leave the society and make it out alive while staying under the radar when you find yourselves the primary suspects in a murder case.

Introduction and Masterlist | Playlist | Pinterest Board Request a fic/hc | Join my Discord server | Buy me a Ko-Fi

AUTUMN, SEMESTER 1

 “Where the fuck am I?” you mumble, your voice loud in the silence of the room. Warm skin brushes against your own. It makes you shiver. A blindfold is tightly wound around your eyes and your arms are restrained in front of you, trying to move doesn’t help so you stay seated on your knees. 

 The air is stifling and you wonder if it’s because of your panicked state or because of the dustiness of the room itself. It smells like spilled wine, cigarette smoke, books collecting dust on the shelves. You wonder if you’re in the academy’s library but you doubt it. The librarian would have never agreed to holding hostages in there, the books were too precious to risk ruination.

 Your boyfriend, James, had invited you to meet him under the big oak tree on the campus’ edge in the late evening. You often study there, a red pen between your teeth for taking notes, the grass pricking into your thighs familiarly. James rarely sits with you there to study; he finds the grass stains not worth the peacefulness of the rustling of the wind through the leaves, the birds happily chirping in the background to keep you company. He rather studies elsewhere and you wonder if this was the place he frequents.

 You should have realised that when James asked you to meet him there, it was suspicious behaviour. But you had trusted him wholly and now you’re here, on your knees, another person next to you in probably the same position. You wonder if James had something to do with this. You don’t have to wonder for long. The blindfold is ripped away from your eyes and you blink rapidly to get rid of the spots that float in front of them. You don’t see much but hooded figures looming over you dangerously, objects in hand that you can’t quite make out. You glance to the side then and make out curly hair, a collared shirt with a chain dangling against the brown sweater layered above. It glints in the light of the candles surrounding you. 

 “Sol Omnia Regit.”

 “What is happening?” you ask, thrashing around a little in your restraints. A hooded figure suddenly leans close and shushes you. There is a split second where you think you recognise the figure’s eyes but then the person is moving away again, leaving you with a pounding heart.

 Someone leans forward again, sticking out a hand behind themselves to signal something. An object is pressed into their hand and then held out to you. For second, you think it’s a knife or a gun, something to kill you with. There was no other explanation for why you were here but some crazy ritual that you fell victim to. But then...

 "Drink," the person tells you and a crystal glass filled with a dark liquid is pressed to your lips. Blood? you think but when it’s finally pushed past your lips and tilted so you can’t do anything but drink, it proves to be wine. The bitter taste doesn’t leave your mouth even though the glass does.

Another figure crouches down in front of you then, something long glinting in the candlelight. It takes you a few seconds to recognise the object but it’s unmistakably a knife and it’s inching closer to your bound hands. You look up to the hooded figure in panic and the familiar eyes are back, this time they’re closer than before and you can place them easily. “James?” you whisper, your voice hoarse and shaking. James would never hurt you, right? He is your boyfriend, he loves you… 

 Does he? 

 Did he ever? 

 Your mind races as your hands are tugged up so your wrists can rest in the familiar hand which you hold daily. It usually doesn’t feel quite as malicious, sometimes it does, never with other people around.

The person next to you, Corpse, you’re guessing, is holding his breath when you hold it. He can probably see the knife too, twisting expertly in James’ hand. Without deigning you with a response, James cuts into the palm of your hand and you hiss at the sting, You want to say that it is stupid to cut someone there, the palm of a hand has too many nerve endings and you could do a lot of damage but the deed has already been done. 

 Your palm is pressed against a sheet of paper with writing that you can’t quite make out and you realise that it is a contract. It’s unethical, you try to protest, you can’t make someone sign something they haven’t read, but you’re pushed back again and Corpse sucks in his breath next to you.

 "Welcome to Sol Regnum, Y/N and Corpse. You have completed your initiation."

 The lights are turned on and you squint against the sudden brightness blinding you. It takes you a few moments before you can finally look around again, the figures clad fully in black with golden threads running through the mantels they’re wearing finally take off their hoods and James is smirking down at you both.

 “My girlfriend and best friend, finally initiated,” he says, opening his arms as if he has just won the greatest victory. It feels nothing like that. 

 You exchange a look with Corpse, one filled with confusion and worry, before you let your eyes wander around the room. Heavy curtains hang in front of the tall windows, blocking out every possible source of light from the outside. Even the moon can’t shine through. The room is cast in shadows from the now dulled lighting. Your eyes are used to the light again and it is not as bright as it was when someone had snapped them on. The lights have a yellow cast over them, making everyone look just a little bit sick. There are books strewn around the room, the bookcases, which run along one big wall, are all stuffed full so the makeshift piles of books in the corners are there not for aesthetic purposes, but for necessity. Broken busts sit on the floor sadly, some missing a nose, other half of their head. You wonder if it’s a metaphor for something, if the busts represent the brokenness of the secret society you were now initiated in. 

 Everything is starting to make sense now. How James had often disappeared at night, leaving you alone in his bed, wondering if he was with another girl. How there were whispers in the hallway wherever you went as of late, something you had blamed on your own insecurities haunting you rather than real people doing so. How James had looked at you in a way that sent shivers down your spine and not in a good way. It had felt malicious, like there was something waiting for you that you didn’t know anything about. But he did, he probably planned the whole thing.

 Corpse is back up on his feet before you are and he rounds up on James, pulling him into a corner of the room with a firm hand. You blindly follow, avoiding the glances that the other members of this society throw you. It feels like they’re evaluating you even past your initiation. You want to scream at them that you never asked for this, that you didn’t even want to be initiated in a society that you know nothing about. You were forced here but you doubt they would care.

 “No warning, nothing,” you hear from the corner. Corpse’s hand is still pressing into James’ shoulder, his other hand drumming restlessly on his thigh. There is a lone cigarette sticking out from Corpse’s curly hair, balancing dangerously on his ear. You step closer, take your place next to Corpse where it usually was next to James. You’re on Corpse’s side in this matter, though, and James can know that, no matter what the repercussions were.

 You shake your head at James as he laughs good-naturedly. He is the star of the university, the golden boy, the popular guy everyone wants to either have or be friends with. After a year or so of being in a relationship with him, however, you know better than to trust his charismatic laugh, the crinkle in the skin next to his eyes that solidifies his position as the good guy. There was danger in his smile, a certain sense of disingenuousness in the sound of his laughter. 

 You step closer to Corpse.

 “I agree, James. What were you thinking? You never even ask-”

 “Why would I?” James asks and steps closer to you, the shadows casting over his face are making him look like he is the villain of a big play, ready to kill the main character.

 Corpse, cast as the hero, places himself in front of you, half-shielding you with his body. Corpse’s hands are shaking next to his sides but he’s still there, back straight, shoulders down, his head raised which gives him the advantage of a few inches over James.

 “She’s right, you should have asked if we even wanted this.”

 “It’s the opportunity of a life-time! This society will ensure that you will have a good future, something to pass down to your children.”

 You let a hollow laugh escape and the both of them turn to you. “We’re rich, James. All of us are. There was no need for a fucking society, we’re ensured a good future whether we even graduate or not.”

 James shrugs and your hands clench into fists at his nonchalance. You gasp softly when you feel the wound in the palm of your hand. When you open it again, blood rolls from your fingers and drips onto the carpet, just barely missing your shoes. “I’m going back to the dorms,” you say, desperate to get away from the claustrophobic feeling this room gives you. James shakes his head, though, and you stay in place, waiting for him to come up with one good reason for you to stay.

“The party is just getting started,” he says and music begins playing. It sounds as if it is played from an old record, the scratchiness that you would appreciate in other situations doing nothing but grating your ears. James pushes past you and Corpse both and returns with three glasses of the same wine you were forced to drink just minutes ago. It’s pushed into your hands before you can protest. The other members raise their glasses, their eyes on you and Corpse who twitches uncomfortably next to you. It’s a toast but it feels more like a warning of what is to come.

 “Come on, Y/N,” James says and wraps an arm around your waist. You shy away from the touch a little but his grip is hard, his fingertips possibly pressing bruises into your skin. “Corpse?” he adds, waiting for Corpse to hesitantly fall in line next to him. You briefly wish he was on your side instead of James’ but shake it off again. There were more important things to focus on.

 James insists that they meet the others but every person you meet is not the type of person you would want to be friends with. Arrogance and coldness roll off of them in waves, sending you the clear message that you’re not wanted here. From the way Corpse barely answers the few questions they have for you both, you realise that he feels the same. 

 You met Corpse when you started dating James. He is James’ best friend after all, or was, depending on how Corpse feels about this all. He was a little shy when you met him, didn’t say a lot but when he opened up a little, he was charming, funny. Most notably, his voice is low, something that is whispered about in the hallways of Willow Creek Academy. Despite what others say about his voice, to you it’s not weird or unusual, it’s soothing, like melted chocolate. A balm for the soul.

 Minutes pass by and as the alcohol flows freely, the inhibitions of people are lowered. There is a couple making out on the couch next to you, hands roaming each other’s body in a way that seems too private to be doing in front of a room full of people but nobody even bats an eye.

 Corpse is nowhere to be found for a little while but eventually comes back to the loveseat you’re sitting on, pointedly taking James’s place next to you. “When can we leave?” he asks, sipping his wine. You wonder how many he had but you can’t fault him for drinking. You wish you could stomach it yourself.

 “I don’t know, soon, I hope,” you answer and look around. There are people dancing to imaginary music that doesn’t match the one playing, people laughing in corners, hands pulling others behind furniture so they are just barely out of sight.

 You hear Corpse curse and when your eyes meet his again, they look slightly panicked. There are manicured hands roaming down his chest for a second before Corpse is standing again, holding out his hand to you in a clear message that you happily read correctly.

 Corpse helps you up and let’s go right away, something you unconsciously mourn. You would have liked to have Corpse’s hand in your own for a little bit longer. The touch of someone semi-familiar in a room filled with strange people would keep you from freaking out as you wade through the partying people.

 Something in this all reminds you of a bacchanal; wine, freedom, ecstasy. It seems to live in the various people here, even James isn’t untouched as his tie is halfway down his chest when you find him, his body moving close with someone else. 

 You rarely get jealous but something about this leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

 “We’re going,” Corpse announces and tries to pull away when James reaches out to catch his arm, he’s too slow. James whispers something to Corpse and you watch as his expression changes. You don’t dare to ask when you are led back outside. Corpse’s expression is thunderous and it only relaxes when he pulls out his cigarette from behind his ear with shaky fingers and lits it.

 You watch as the smoke bellows and floats up to the sky in figures you try to form recognisable shapes out of. Corpse passes his cigarette to you and you happily take it, feeling the pressure of an impending migraine disappear a little.

 “That was… Something,” you say for a lack of better words. Corpse nods but doesn’t say more. He doesn’t need to. You both know that it was insane what happened, you’re both scared for what this secret society will bring in the future, you both worry about the contract you couldn’t read in the privacy of your own minds.

 Corpse passes the house which holds the male dorms and keeps walking next to you to the other end of the campus. You thank him softly, he nods in recognition. No place is safe for a woman to walk alone and with Corpse you feel strangely safe.

 The early autumn leaves crunch under your shoes when you walk, your footsteps loud in the quiet of the evening. Your pace matches Corpse’s, though you feel like he’s letting you set the pace so you can keep up with each other.

 The building of the women’s dorm is becoming more and more visible the further you walk down the path. It’s sitting stately behind a lush garden you often tend to in your free time, as do the other girls in the building. It brings liveliness into the place which is made solely out of brick outside of it. It’s an old building, you don’t know for sure what it was before it became a campus but you think it must have been a guest house on the castle grounds. 

 Corpse walks you to the door and takes a step back when you retrieve your key. You almost invite him up to take care of his hand. Instead you make him promise to take care of it himself.

 “What do we do about the society thing?” you ask, stalling a little. You’re scared to be left alone with your thoughts right now. Corpse seems to guess it and leans against the pillar that holds up the front of the house, making no movement to leave.

 He shrugs a little and looks off into the distance. You follow his gaze but there is nothing there. “Not much we can do. The contract, though… We need to know what was on there. Maybe we can get out of it.” “I doubt it,” you laugh humourlessly but you nod anyways. “I’d rather see it first than give up immediately. I’m just not sure how to get to it.”

 “We could ditch class,” Corpse suggests, a smirk now growing on his face. You know already that Corpse didn’t attend half of the classes that he should but you laugh a little anyways, this time it’s genuine.

 “You’re an idiot,” you mumble and Corpse’s smirk grows wider, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “A smart one, though. I don’t think any of them will skip classes, even after a party like tonight.”

 “What can I say? I’m a mastermind,” Corpse jokes and pulls out his phone, handing it to you demonstratively. You put in your number on automatic pilot. “Text me when you wake up, we’ll decide on a class together then.”

 You accidentally leave a smear of blood behind on Corpse’s phone but he either hasn’t seen it or doesn’t care enough to mention it. “I’ll text you,” you promise and open the door fully now.

 There is still laughter in the hallways, soft voices that make you relax a little. You suddenly feel bone tired now that you’re in a place that signifies comfort and rest. Corpse notices and waves you inside.

 “Goodnight, Y/N. Take care of your wound.”

 You watch Corpse walk away and become one with the darkness before you finally step inside. You sluggishly climb the stairs and make your way to your dorm room, an action that takes longer than it should have. You shrug off your coat and drop it somewhere, you’d care about the crinkles you put in it in the morning. You find your first aid kit in the bathroom and pour some alcohol on the wound. It makes tears spring in your eyes but it’s necessary so you get through it on pure willpower alone. After bandaging the wound, you shed most of your clothes and finally climb into bed. You don’t even have the energy to put out the light before you fall asleep, nightmares dragging you down with them.

𝕋𝔸𝔾𝕃𝕀𝕊𝕋  𝕆ℙ𝔼ℕ: 

@headcannonsforlife @katyasrussianaccent @boiled-onionrings @satanhauntedourcats​ @ravennightingaleandavatempus​

[grim-faux]

06_Lash of Doubt

First

Something was wrong here, that much was apparent.

 This was where it should end. Predestined or whatever it was called; they couldn’t help but struggle to flee this cruel, broken record replaying a distorted harmony of the end of the road. Never the same, but always the inescapable conclusion. And he was so tired, and he didn’t have that sort of fight in him. Everything he could’ve wanted was gone, the world was terrible. His younger-self would learn that hard lesson, as did he.

 That stubborn boy, at his wits end, fighting and running himself haggard to reach the cities center. Struggled against odds that far outclassed him, an agent against the world ��� a world that wanted him dead and forgotten.

 But he would retaliate. Oh, how he would lash out, use every ounce of his strength in one final hurrah, and revel in what he was capable of. And he – the twisted shadow of the child – was only an agent to demonstrate what could be. As before, he would fail. They will succeed and fall in the same breath. It was not his conclusion, it was the child’s comeuppance. He would be no match against that fire, a child that has studiously decided “enough is ENOUGH”.

 It was depressing and tragic, but it was the one thing – the only thing – he ever wanted when he was little. Turn on his tormentors and fight. Dear-dear, how much he missed that person he was, the youthful confidence, boundless tenacity. That used to be him. That was once him.

 But something has gone very wrong, it was apparent now. The child barely glanced up since his perilous crossing – that ordeal nearly made him choke on the air. But the boy would not react, and only seemed to cower further into himself as his shadow loomed.

 This was not correct. He puzzled, slowing his steps, almost cautious and fearful himself. Something was wrong here, this boy was about to die. He knew this. There was no other way it could end, and it must’ve been excruciating at this point, to sit and wallow here. He wouldn’t be able to spare him if he waited there and accepted this fate. And he couldn’t perish from this endless nightmare, unless the child willed it – wanted it – more than anything else in the world.

 It startled him when the boy did leap back, at long last. He straightened up, prepared for something, at this point he wasn’t certain what it would be. The boy scouted his surroundings as he back peddled, skipping dangerously close to the chasms edge. He didn’t move to impede, perplexed by this trick. The child looked this and that way, the eye holes in the paper bag always flashing back to the tall figure poised in his path. 

This was becoming frustrating; there was no place to run! Out in the open like this, how far are you going to travel before you are snared! Stop stalling!

 The Thin Man swooped his arms out, blotting out the meager range the child could work in. But the child braced himself, first checking his shoulder and the figure there, before coiling into a run – completely missing the hand sweeping low behind his back. In the blind spot of his mask.

 Once the fingers latched around his chest, he went ballistic… or as ballistic as an exhausted youngling could manage. He was not lifted off the road just yet, but thrashed desperately to haul himself away, or dislodge his body. Shockingly, he seemed to have more energy than anticipated. He clawed, wriggled, twisted, grumbled, flailed – at the fist locked tight.

 The rain hummed, intermixed with the static swirling and the breeze kicked up. The Thin Man struggled to comprehend this. Why was it… so easy? How was this allowed? No, it had to be a trick, a trap of some sort. It couldn’t be… had he? It couldn’t end like this. This was not possible.

 He moved his other hand, but withdrew the thought. The child kept glancing up at him, terrified eyes glinting within the holes of the paper bag. He… the elder, was never caught. Not like this. But he could feel that uncontested horror and helplessness, the agony of not knowing what manner of awful fate awaited.

 Was this really an opportunity to break the cycle? It couldn’t be. Simply said, it was inconceivable. This winding, knotted path was still ongoing. What has always been, shall always be. Why wasn’t this child fighting back!?

 Then it dawned on him, the epitome of why this Mono could not challenge him.

 He was frightened and hurt, as he always was when racing to the Signal Tower with reckless abandon. But the resolute was gone. Drained completely. If possible, in the face of this cruel world where everything was an enemy to one so defenseless, the child couldn’t bring himself to fight his greatest antagonist. This facet made possible, only on account that the same fiend that robbed his friend away… had also saved him. And that made the current child, as helpless and ill-equipped against his future shadow. They couldn’t do this. It was wasn’t… in their nature. It was a stalemate.

 Of all the absurdity! The irony! He didn’t need to hound these children to the ends of the world, intent on their destruction and his vengeance. He only needed to save them. Once! To break the cycle. The one thing, the only thing, he could never fathom – the prospect of which never presented itself in his presence. Broke the entire thing.

 The boy had exhausted himself to the point of utter collapse. He lay folded over the fingers, head tilted enough to keep one eyehole of the paper mask fixated on the towering nightmare holding him captive. One arm looped over the index finger, flexed and unclenched as if still struggling for escape, but void wholly of the essential reserves that would ignite such a feat.

 The Thin Man suspected, if he released the child now he might still have the spark in him to flee. As initially planned. He set Mono down and stood back.

 The boy crumpled to the rocky pavement, spent to his last frayed thread. Maybe he thought he was destroyed. The Thin Man waited, regarding the catatonic child, and what should be done about this. This was something dangerous to tamper with, knowing how these events should unfold, but unfamiliar with… how to manage now.

 Leaving him was the option. The more viable option, if he were honest, since he was certain no harm could come to Mono even in this desolate place they had moved to convene on. But it was not what he anticipated, and he shouldn’t be here right now. Or, he didn’t want to see this happen, and he was unsettled. There was something more as well, but he stashed the thought aside for the time.

 He knelt and reached for the little body. Mono winced. He was saying something, but it didn’t sound…. sorted. The words he used had no substance. He should know that speek.

 …………………………………TuNe The TRanSMiSsion………………………………..

 That would destroy the child. Break the cycle. Unless… he did it to himself. He hadn’t tried since he was very little, this was the child’s task now. Nonetheless, he raised a hand to his hat. A little nudge, gently. Pick through a shared frequency….

 The distortion was miniscule, however, the child still jolted and tried to resurrect some remaining strength that was nonexistent. Cautiously, the Thin Man focused. This proximity should have done the other in. It must not have been pleasant, the child shuddered and reached a hand to his mask….

 the voice was frail and difficult to collect. But there it was. A voice.

 Don’t. Don’t….

 The Thin Man stalled. He hadn’t heard that voice in years. “Did hurt you?” The child turned his head an inch, the bag soaked through clung to his head.

 Her.

 The Thin Man lowered his hand and rubbed the spot where she bit him. That was not as unexpected, though it did surprise him. “No.” Once more he tried, “Did I hurt you?” The paper bag sagged slightly, as the child withdrew his gaze. “Answer me.”

 No response.

 With a sigh of static, the Thin Man reached out and set his hands around the child, this time cupping him carefully. It didn’t stop the twitching, but the movement was restrained by lack of energy and focus. Mono did manage to crane his head back enough to gawk, but it was apparent his mind was going quiet and dark, to a place that would buffer him from certain agony.

 The Thin Man observed his surroundings, deducing on the better direction. He wasn’t interested in traversing the transmission or returning to the tower at all. That in itself might kill the boy in his current state, being he was not fitted to deal with the properties of that place. Still, he needed to get him out of the downpour.

 He cast his view upward, to the ghastly beacon signal of the tallest building of Pale City. Waiting and Observing, always watching. It was a wonderful reprieve to have left, but this freedom was fleeting as it always was.

Next

[girlofmanyfandoms]

Kiss It Better

A/n: It’s like two or three days late (under the prompt of cuddles), but it has a decent word count so I’m not too upset with myself! It kinda accidentally turned into a hurt/comfort thing but that helped with ✨plot✨ So it’s okay! Also @titzweek here ya go-

Word count: 3000

Trigger warnings: mention of mild aggression (throwing plates), blood mention (nothing too graphic)

Warnings: it’s not the greatest and also i edited it at like 1 or 2am in the dark so like, maybe errors? Idk

Writing taglist: @everyonehasthoughts @imaramennoodle @bookwyrminspiration  @percabetn @an-absolute-travesty  @linhamon-roll  @a-lonely-tatertot @loverofallthingssmart @vibing-in-the-void @clearlykeefitz @callas-starkflower-stew @enbies-and-felonies

The morning mist held strong, reinforcing gravity and making it even more difficult for Tam to drag himself out of his makeshift bed by the lake. Leaning over the fogged up waters, he wrung out his bangs, combing them back into place with his hands. The water here could hardly be trusted.

“Well,” he grunted as he stood up, patting an old dying tree with a gloved hand. “It was nice seeing you, Wildwood. You take it easy, alright?”

The trees groaned in response, both from age and from the weight of all that it had undergone and seen from the hazy backgrounds of the world. Maybe that was why he cared for Wildwood. It was like him. From the shadows. Ignored until needed. Cast aside when they differ from the norm. To him, he and Wildwood were one and the same. Or at least, they used to be. In the past months, Tam had found what Wildwood could only hope to receive: love.

And as the colors of the sunrise faded into blue, Tam was comforted by that one constant he had in his life. His perfect golden boy there to bring light into his world.

————

As soon as Tam walked into the Vackers’ territory, he was yanked to the side, knocking the breath from his chest. He prepared for a fight, but upon seeing a stylized sparkling fabric blinking in and out of sight, he relaxed just a bit.

“What the hell, B? I thought you were trying to attack me.”

“Quiet,” Biana scolded, finally coming into view. Her annoyed expression quickly changed to fear and dread as a shattering sound echoes across the stone walls of the extensive landscape. Biana shut her eyes and winced noticeably. “He’s been at that ever since Dad stormed off.”

“Rough day?”

“I guess you could say that.” Biana bit her lip. “Mom went after Dad after he yelled at us.”

“But the two of you are okay, right?”

“I’m alright. It’s Fitz I’m worried about,” she admitted. “I’ve been too scared to go up to him because of… well, you know.” Biana’s thumb traced over her scars absentmindedly.

Tam squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “Hey, you did what you could. It’s not your job to stop him from doing something irrational, and you’re not expected to do something that’ll trigger you. I’ll go after him.”

“Tam, it’s fine, I’ll do it-”

“I’ll go after him, you get some rest.”

“Only if you promise to be careful,” she warned. “Use your cloak as a shield, so that you don’t get caught in the crossfire of his throws. And put your gloves back on!”

Tam slipped off his gloves and tossed them behind his back without a second thought. He dropped his cloak in a similar fashion, only going back to fold it neatly and add it to the pile. “I’ll be fine.”

“Tam, you know how he gets when he’s upset. The rage, it blinds him, it blurs anything and everything around him to the point where the only he knows is that fire of hate. He’s not going to register that it’s you approaching him.”

“I’m his boyfriend,” Tam pointed out in an exasperated manner. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“Isn’t that a shame.”

Biana huffed, rubbing the crease between her brows. “You’re just as stubborn as he is.”

“Don’t they say that birds of a feather flock together?” Tam asked, walking backwards and opening his arms in a gesture that said That’s just how it is.

“Yeah, until the cat comes,” she shot back.

“Then let’s hope that cat doesn’t arrive.”

“You two idiots deserve each other!” she cried in one last attempt to get him to turn back.

“Thank you!” he called back, already headed towards the horizon.

Biana sank to the floor, scowling as she dragged Tam’s belongings closer to her for protection. “Dense fool,” she muttered. But Tam was already out of sight.

--------

Tam approached the area in a calm stroll, but as he drew nearer, the cold dread that Biana had described filled him and dragged him back, just like the familiar, addictive pull of the shadows. They gathered at his feet, shadowflux begging to be called on, but Tam was far too busy trying to calculate a way to coax his boyfriend into putting the crystal dishes down.

He was like a rampant bull, hurling plate after plate at the wall. His hands had small cuts, but overall he seemed to be unscathed despite the several hours this had clearly been going on. Tam avoided clumps of shattered pieces so as not to startle him. While his movements proved to make him a berserker, it was also an art. One slight decibel off might send him on the attacking side.

“Fitz!” Tam shouted. He didn’t even glance his way. “FITZ!” Still no response. He just kept on launching silverware as far as he could. Tam sighed. He didn’t want it to come down to this, but if Biana had waited hours just for him to show up and put an end to this, he was not going to let her down. He seized the tendrils of shadows that had been itching to be used and directed all of his focus towards the cup about to be thrown with the hope that if he used his ability instead of telekinesis, he would recognize his beloved.

Shiiiing!

Fitz immediately put his hands over his mouth in shock and guilt, rushing over to check the damage.

Tam cupped his hand, blood gushing from the wound like a river. “Guess you ran out of throwing stars, huh?” he joked halfheartedly, wincing as he applied pressure to the cut.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so dumb.” Fitz ripped off a sleeve from his shirt to wrap around the slice in his partner’s hand. He cupped Tam’s cheek, the boy gladly moving towards the physical affection. “I’m so sorry, Tammy.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t mean to do it,” he replied nonchalantly. Upon seeing the great panic spreading through Fitz’s person, he took a more gentle approach. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ve had a bad day and you just made a mistake, and I forgive you.”

“I hurt you.” Fitz’s voice cracked, and it became evident that Tam’s words had gone over his head. Fitz scooped Tam up in his arms and raced into the house.

“Relax, golden boy.” Tam rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the attentiveness he was being given. “It’s just a little cut, it’ll heal.”

Fitz scrambled through the drawers until he found the bandages, a Bottle of Youth, and the antibiotic ointment. From there, his panic switched to precision, first rinsing the wound, then applying the ointment, then wrapping the gauze bandage. It was a completely different side of him, one that would sacrifice the world for the ones that he loved. And despite Tam’s rough exterior, he couldn’t help but lean his head on his other hand in admiration.

Once he had finished, Fitz sat on the bar stool next to Tam’s and combed through his rosy pink locks in distress. Tam nudged his shoulder with his nose several times, earning him a side hug and a kiss to the cheek, but no words other than the repeated apologies and self-deprecating phrases.

“Babe,” Tam said helplessly. “Let’s go upstairs at least, so we can talk about this privately.”

Fitz nodded, letting him lead the way. He was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he didn’t notice when Tam had tucked him into bed and wrapped an arm around him, burying his face in his neck.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Fitz mumbled again. Tears welled up in his eyes, and Tam used his abled hand to wipe them.

“I told you it’s forgiven,” Tam gently reminded him. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not the Vackers,” he countered, sniffling. “We always have to keep up our reputation, keep on smiling and charming everyone just to go to the store. I can’t go anywhere without people expecting me to be the perfect golden boy.”

“No one is perfect. We’re all flawed and traumatized and hurt, and we make stupid decisions because of them. You’re a kid, Fitz, it’s not your job to hold your family together.”

“I guess. But Biana…” he sighed, pulling Tam closer as he facepalmed in guilt. “I shouldn’t have done that with her here. And how am I supposed to clean up the yard before Mom gets back?”

“Don’t worry about that, the gnomes are already on it,” he coaxed. “And Biana understands. You can talk to her later. For now, the golden boy needs to rest.”

“I can’t,” Fitz protested, trying to get up. Tam flipped himself over him, ending up besides Fitzroy once more. “Tam, I have to take care of you, and help the gnomes, and apologize to Biana, and-”

“And all of that can wait until tomorrow,” Tam finished for him. “Except me, of course.”

Fitz laughed, a real, rich laugh, and he could tell that it was the first time he had done that in a while. “I’m guessing you want me to stay here all day, all night?”

“Well, I do need medical and physical attention you know.”

He kissed Tam’s nose, making him blush furiously. “Well then, I guess I’ve got to cancel my plans. But seriously, is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“You could kiss it better,” Tam suggested cheekily.

Fitz said no more, gingerly taking his wrapped hand and peppering kisses around where he knew the injury to be. He trailed them up his arms and neck until he finally met his lips.

“I am really sorry, babe. That got all out of control. My father, he… he’s done some messed up things to this family, and as the proclaimed ‘Gifted Child,’ I felt responsible for stepping in. And like everything else, I ruined it.”

“You don’t realize that the good you do purposely outweighs the slip-ups you make along the way.”

“This was more than a slip-up, Tam. I became a monster, something I’ve never seen before. I was a violent beast that lost control, all because my Dad yelled at me for being a ‘disgrace to the Vackers’ for being gay. And because of that stupidity, I hurt you, and scared Biana outside of that.”

Tam’s eyes widened with shock. “Wait, you got angry because you were protecting me?”

“Well, yeah, of course. My father can drag me down all he wants, but he’s not touching the people that I love.”

“Love?”

“I-I’m sorry, I should’ve known you weren’t ready-”

“I love you too.”

“I- Wait, really?”

“Duh,” Tam chuckled, before his expression grew shadowed and weary. “Besides… we all have a dark side. I know I’d do anything for the people I care about.”

“What does yours look like?” Fitz asked. “Your dark side, I mean.”

He smiled bitterly, shadows of his past trauma flashes before his eyes in a relentless, rough grip. “You don’t want to know that part of me.”

“Babe, I want to know every side of you.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Of course,” Fitz grinned eagerly. “I want to know everything you’re willing to share.”

“Then cuddle with me. Get to know another part of me.”

Fitzroy rested his chin on Tam’s chest and brushed his bangs away from his eyes, just as his own were dancing with glee. “Gladly.”

—————

Tam woke up to a loud series of sharp knocks on the bedroom door.

“Your breakfast is gonna get cold,” a feminine voice told him.

He inhaled sharply and ruffled his hair, using his tunic to rub his eyes, all in an attempt to focus on the figure leaning against the doorframe.

“C’mon, it’s past noon.”

Tam bolted upright, rushing to the bedside to pull his boots on. It could’ve been Fitz calling to him, but his mind was cloudy, warping any and all audio that reached his ears.

“I knew that would get you up,” the voice snickered. “Fitz told me to get you up in time for breakfast in bed.”

Tam chanced a glance up to see if his vision had finally cleared. Yup, definitely not Fitz. “Oh hey, B. I take it you and your brother talked?”

She nodded, arms still crossed tightly around her lilac fleece-like pullover for warmth. “Came running to me and went on his whole apology speech once you passed out. It was dorky, but it was also very… him. If that makes any sense.”

“It does.” He took a moment to inspect the tray and found a neatly folded piece of paper. A note from him. He read through it as Biana kept talking.

Good morning dearest, I just wanted to leave you this note to remind you that I love you and to apologize once again.

“When I saw him rush outside a few minutes after Mom left with an armful of tupperware, I was confused, but when he started throwing them in the yard, I was terrified for him. He’s lost control, but never like that. I felt powerless.”

“You did what you could, no one can ask you for more,” he mumbled.

“I stood to the side and waited for his boyfriend to come and stop him, and he wound up getting hurt. Real brave on my end.”

“It’s not being brave you should be aiming for, it’s doing what you need to do in order to protect the people you live for.”

I’m sorry. I know you’ll probably tell me not to apologize, but I really needed to get that out there in ink. Thank you for being there for Biana, I don’t know how I would live with myself if I had traumatized her or made her feel unsafe around me, but we talked for a bit and she helped me find better coping mechanisms, so all is forgiven. Well, as long as I give her my desserts for this month.

“I don’t think I did that yesterday. I chose the coward’s path.”

“You took the wise path, and you protected number one,” Tam corrected. “You know your brother better than anyone, and you knew the right choice was to let him blow off some steam until someone who wasn’t present when everything went down could talk him out of it. That was brave, and I think it’s quite admirable, too.”

“I guess you’re right.” She sighed, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail to give her hands something to do. “Still, I’m sorry about your hand.”

Tam waved it off. “I’ve gotten enough Vacker apologies over that. There’s no need.”

“If you say so.”

You were completely understanding last night, even while I was breaking down. You guided me through everything, and you were there for me, even when I couldn’t be there for myself. Thank you for being there. For letting me shadow you until I could be whole and healed again.

“You’re good for him,” Biana blurted out abruptly.

Tam furrowed his brows, sure he heard that wrong. “I’m what?”

“I said that you’re good for him. Fitz. I meant what I said when I told you that you two idiots deserve each other.”

“Thank you,” he breathed in shock.

“Remember the idiot part and don’t let it get to your head.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You are my healing darkness. No, not light. Darkness. Because I never understood why darkness was so demonized. Shadows are what keep you cool on a hot summer’s evening, what provides cover from the rain, and what puts you to sleep at night. The color black is as natural as the air flowing into our lungs, the blood circulating through our bodies, and the dirt under our feet. So when I think of darkness, I don’t think of fear; I think of hope. I think of you.

“You better not hurt him.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m serious, Tam. I know it sounds hypocritical considering what happened to you yesterday, but I’m just as protective of Fitz as you are of Linh. Understood?”

“Yes, Ms. Vacker.”

Biana relaxed a bit at the confirmation. “You promise to look after him?”

“I promise,” he agreed.

Y’know, when you called me golden boy, it got me thinking. Gold is the weakest metal, and for a while I thought the nickname fit me perfectly. A boy who was seen as the perfect, charming, valuable golden boy who could break in the blink of an eye. But the more I was with you, the more I thought about it. If shadows were misunderstood, maybe gold was too. And here’s the thing: gold doesn’t rust. You can break it and bend it and try all you want to ruin its life, but no matter what, you can’t make it rust. And second to you, that is the strongest thing I can imagine. So for you, I’ll stay strong. I won’t give up. I won’t rust.

“One last thing before I leave you alone.”

“Go right ahead.” Tam let himself free fall onto the mountain of pillows behind him, note still in hand.

“Don’t take advantage of him. He may be a pain in my neck, but he’s valuable,” Biana mentioned, clearly having so much more to say. “You’re… incredibly lucky to have him.”

So let’s work jointly on this. On healing. I’ll be your gold, strong when you’re weak. And you’ll be my darkness, always there for me. But we have to do this together. I’m willing to take a leap of faith if you are. All of my trust lies in you, and I hope you’ll pay me the same honor. So what do you say? Circle yes or no and meet me by Moonglade with your response. Last I remember, I still have to kiss it better.

With love,

Fitzroy

Tam picked up the pen tied to the tray and circled yes without hesitation. “I must be the luckiest man in the world.”

[hellyeahheroes]

Playing Doreen Green in Dungeons & Dragons 5E

New year, some bad things out of my system, time to try coming back to regural activities before this year crushes me again. And I know a perfect way. Let’s make a build for d&d, since I haven’t done one of those in a while, using a Marvel character that bings cheers, joy and friendship whenever she goes.

Steve Ditko had an... interesting idea what Squirrel Girl should look like. Funny how people who say modern take on the character disrespects vision of artists who drew her traditionally attractive never seem to think these guys themselves disrespected Ditko’s vision, isn’t it?

Goals: As always I’m lifting the template for this from Tulok the Barbrarian, so let us start with what we actually want from this character. First of all, we need to be able to beat the ever living crap out of everyone. Second, we need to show our foes mercy and hopefully get them to change their ways. Finally, we need an army of squirrels.

Ability Scores: Usually I go with Standard Points Array - 15, 14, 13, 12, 10, 8 - because it is the simplest way. But this built will starve for Ability Score Improvements so I decided to, just like a guy from whom I’m ripping this whole idea from, cave in and use point buy. This will be simple take, however - we will replace standard array’s 14 and 10 with extra 15 and 8 

Strength: 8- not something we need to be honest. Doreen is good at everything but in D&D we need to prioritize the most important things.

Dexterity: 15 - Doreen is quick and swift as some sort of squirrel....girl...

Constitution: 12 - if someone does manage to hit her she can actually take that hit and keep going.

intelligence: 8 - wish it was higher but again, we cannot have everything. Yet.

Wisdom: 15 - Squirrels love you, you have senses of a squirrel, you survived Savage Land like a champ.

Charisma: 13 - your have a thing of talking your enemies out of villainy, as long as no one runs in to kick them in the head while you’re at it, which is rude.

Now for D&D’s equivalent of species, Race. It is unclear if Doreen is a mutant or not but I feel like trying to stray away from Variant Human a bit if we can. There is not enough animal-like things about Doreen to make her a Tabaxi, so we’ll go with Swiftstride Shifter from Eberron. You gain +2 Dexterity and +1 Charisma, Darkvision allowing you to see for 60 feet in dim light as in bright light and in darkness as in dim light, but without being able to discern colors, proficiency in Perception and Acrobatics skills, extra 5 feet of movement, Common, Quori and third language of your choice (pick something campaign relevant) and an abilitty to shift into more bestial form as a bonus action, granting you temporary hit points equal your level + your Constitution modifier, another extra 5 feet of movement and an abilitty to move 10 feet away without provoking opprtunitty attacks as a reaction whenever an enemy ends their movement next to you.

Backgorund: Build a custom one for skills in Animal Handling and Persuasion, none they offer speaks to me.

Class levels: We will start as a Monk, gaining proficiency in Strength and Dexterity saving throws, simple weapons, shortswords, a set of artisan tools of your choice and two skills - Athletics and Stealth would be my pick.

1st Level Monks gain Unarmored Defense and Martial Arts, which all work as long as you’re not wearing armor or carrying a shield. As we see from the picture above, it would be hard to call a jacket and shorts an armor. You can add your Wisdom (WIS) modifier to your Armor Class alongside yoru Dexterity (DEX) modifier, you can substitute your DEX in place of Strength for attack and damage rolls of your unarmed attacks and you roll a d4 for the damage and you can spend your bonus action to make an additional unarmed attack. You can also use simple weapons that aren’t two handed or heavy and still get these bonuses

2nd Level Monks gain Ki Points, whose number is equal to your Monk level and replenishes on short or long rest. You can spend 1 ki point to make two unarmed attacks as a bonus action or take Dodge or Disengage actions as a bonus action. You also get unarmored Movement, meaning that when not wearing armor your speed busts up to additional +10 feet.

There is an option for Monk to also gain an additional abbility allowing you to between each long rest choose one martial weapon that isn’t heavy or special and you’re profficient with to treat as a monk weapon. This isn’t something Squirrel Girl would use, I’m only bringing it up because it was added in a book Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything. Tasha, also known as Iggwilv, is considered one of greatest villains in d&d. So it’s a good think Doreen has this whole thing about befriending and trying to reform villains because from next level on we’re gonna be best friends with Tasha and her cauldron. Consider Tasha your Kraven.

3rd Level: We will switch to a Ranger, getting proficiency in Knowledge Nature and we will grab variant Ranger features from that Cauldron. Deft Explorer makes you Canny, doubling proficiency bonus you add to one of your skills, I’d go with Persuasion so that you can convince people like Kraven to switch sides.

You also get Favored Foe - it lets you mark an enemy you hit with an attack for 1 minute or until you break a concentration check (as with spells, it is a Constitution Saving throw you make while taking damage, you need to beat either 10 or a number equal half of damage dealt to you, whichever is higher, or you lose focus). During this itme whenever you hit the target for the first time in a turn you deal an extra 1d4 of damage. You can mark a foe total number of times equal your prficiency modifier betwen each long rest.

4th Level: 2nd Level Ranger can choose a Fighting Style. Let us reach to that Cauldron and grab Unarmed Fighting, which lets your fists deal 1d6 + your Strength modifier damage, 1d8 if you use two hands and 1d4 a turn to a creature you’re grappling.

You may wonder why we picked it if we already have Martial Arts? Well, let us talk about Rules as Intended (RAI) vs Rules as Written (RAW) - the idea that the way rules in a game are written may not necessairly reflect what the author wanted and reason behind many, many, many rules debates in history of RPGs. As Intended you should use your Martial Arts dice with your Martial Arts attacks but as written there is nothing saying you have to. Talk with your DM  how they feel about it and if  they side with RAW, you can now deal damage like 11th level Monk - 1d8+your DEX modifier. If not, grab Blind-Fighting, which makes your senses so good you can effectively “see” creatures within 10 feets of you even if you’re blinded or in darkness and even notice invisible creatures who aren’t succesfully rolling stealth to hide. Only total cover (like, a wall) stops this, giving you some sweet Squirrel Senses.

Remember when Doreen beat Wolverine? I do.

2nd Level Rangers also get to learn spells. You know two spells of 1st level and have two spell slots you can spend every long rest to cast them.

Longstrider for 1 hour adds 10 feet to your speed. For those keeping track at home that’s now 50 feet while shifting.

Hunter’s Mark requires a concentration but let’s you as a bonus action mark a target and deal it extra 1d6 damage on every hit you deal it and have an advantage on Perception and Survival checks to find it for the next hour or until you break concentration. It it drops to 0 hit points on your next turn you can move it to another target as a bonus action. It’s Favored Foe but better. Mostly because Favored Foe originally was just Hunter’s Mark but many players felt it was too powerful and asked Wizards of the Coast to nerf it in official surveys. To the utter bafflement of everyone who discuss this game online. If I felt more political I’d make a joke this is the first case ever of silent majority being a thing but after last 4 years I cannot force myself to make it funny.

5th level: 3rd Level Monks can Deflect Missiles, letting you use your reaction to catch a ranged attack that would hit you, reducing its damage by 1d10+your Monk Level+your DEX Modifier. If you reduce damage to zero you can spend a Ki Point to send it back at the attacker, making ranged attack treating missile as a thrown monk weapon you’re proficient with.

You also get too chose Monastic Tradition and Way of Mercy from Tasha’s Cauldron will let you both show mercy to your enemies and kick some more ass. You gain Proficiency in Medicine and Insight, letting you read on villains what problems may haunt them and how to help. You also get Hands of Healing, which let you for one Ki Point as an action heal a creature an amount of hit points you roll on your Martial Arts die. You can also not spend a Ki point and replace one of your Flurry of Blows attacks with this. Doreen is kind enough to help patching up beaten enemies. Also, Hit Points aren’t meat points, they can reflect someone’s will to fight. So I don’t see why you shouldn’t use it to cheer your allies up if their spirits are down - Doreen is cheerful and friendly, she is a delight to have on a team and is sure to keep the morale up. Flavor it as a good pat on the back from your Squirrel-loving pal.

Also, you get Hands of Harm. Letting you once per turn and for one Ki Point deal extra necrotic damage on a single attack, its number equal your Martial Arts Die+ Your Wisdom Modifier.

6th Level: 4th level Monks get an Ability Score Improvement, add +1 to your Dexterity and Wisdom, and Slow Fall, letting you reduce amount of damage you take from a fall by five times your Monk level. You can refluff this as gliding down on your flying squirrel gear.

Wish it could help me find better version of this appriopriate picture.

7th Level: 5th Level Monk gets an Extra Attack, letting you attack twice as a part of your action. You also get Stunning Strike, letting you spend a ki point to make the target suceed a Constitution saving throw or be stunned until end of your next turn. And your Martial Die bumps up to 1d6 - we do not use it for Unarmed attack but we do use it for other stuff, so keep a track on it.

8th Level; 6th Level Monks’ strikes become magical for the purpose of overcoming damage resistance and immunities.  Also, your Unarmored Movement bumps up by another 5 fee, it’s not total of 55 feet of movement.

Way of Mercy gets Physician’s Touch, which also let’s you remove a single  blinded, deafened, paralyzed, poisoned, or stunned condition from a creature you use Healing Hands on or apply poisoned condition to target of your Hands of Harm. No idea how that works. I mean maybe Doreen punches someone so hard they get nausea? And knows first aid?

9th Level; 7th Level Monks get Evasion, meaning that when you make a Dexterity Saving Throw to avoid damage, if the effect says you take half damage when you suceed, you instead take none. You also get Stillness of mind, letting you end one effect causing you to be charmed or frightened on yourself. Makes sense, Doreen clearly is not afraid of anything or anyone.

10th Level: 3rd Level Rangers gain an additional Spell Slot, an additional Spell and one extra Spell from Primal Awarenes class feature - that last one you can cast once per long rest without spending a spell slot. 

You also get to pick Ranger Conclave. Swarmkeeper can summon a swarm of squirrels to aid you in combat. Whenever you hit an enemy with an attack you can dicide to make Squirrels bit them for an extra 1d6 piercing damage, force that enemy to make a Strength saving throw or be pushed away from you by 15 feet or have yourself moved up to 5 feet in any direction except up or down. You also get Mage Hand cantrip, except made of squirrels and an extra Spell you know. So for full list of spells you get:

Jump Triples your jump distance, it lasts for 1 minute with no concentration.

Speak with Animals let’s you talk to animals for 10 minutes, also no concentration required.

Faerie Fire let’s you set up lights on a 20-foot cube, making lal creatures in it roll Dexterity saving throws or be outlined, nuliffiling invisibility and giving everyone attacking them an advantage. Sadly, it requires concentration.

Mage hand can let you make a hand out of Squirrels that can carry objects no heavier than 10 pounds and do viarious tasks except for attacking or activating magical items. But this is effectively you sending a pack of Squirrels on an important quest.

11th Level: 8th Level Monks get an Ability Score Improvement, cap your Dexterity.

12th Level: 9th level Monks can now move on vertical surfaces and walk on water like Jesus as long as they don’t end their turn there. Which is good since canonically Doreen is a poor swimmer.

13th Level: 10th Level Monks gain Purity of Body, making Doreen so powerful she can punch poison and disease away from her body. I’m sure she’s still social distancing AND SO SHOULD YOU!

14th Level: 11th Level Monks' Martial Dice bumps to d8 and Way of Mercy let’s you now replace all of your Flurry of Blows attacks with healing and neither that nor touch of harm cost you ki points anymore. You can still only do the latter once each turn.

15th Level: I was sitting on 4th level of Ranger for so long, we’re taking it now for an Ability Score Improvenet....or rather a Feat. Magic Initiate let’s us learn two cantrips and a 1st level spell from the Wizard Spell list we can cas once per long rest.

Prestidigitation let’s you do small things more for mood than anything else, you can fluff it as squirrels helping you.

Message let’s you send someone a message only they can hear and let’s them reply. It’s your phone, basically.

Find Familiar allows us to conjure a squirrel that we can talk to telepatically or see through its eyes. It cannot attack but it can flank and take help action to give us an advantage on attack rolls and when it dies it doesn’t, instead it vanishes until you cast this spell again.. We can even decide to see through its eyes. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, we have Tippy Toe!

Tasha also grants you Martial Versitality, allowing you to change Unarmed Fighting to Blind-Fighting now that your Martial Arts Die caught up to it. This is the reason we waited so long for this level.

Level 16: 12th Level Monks get an Ability Score Improvement, invest in Wisdom for better Hands of Healing and Harm and Unarmed Defense.

Level 17: 13th Level Monks get Tongue of Sun and Moon, meaning you can now speak any language. I have no idea how in character it is but I could see Doreen learning extra languages to make more friends.

Level 18: 14 level Monks get Diamond Soul making you proficient in all saving throws. And you can spend a ki point to rerol a failed saving throw. Meaning now you can more or less tank everything bad guys throw at you, fireballs, Hold Persons, shove action.... And your Unarmored movement increases one last time, giving you speed of 75 feet.

Level 19: 15th Level Monks get Timeless Body, making you immune to effects of aging and no longer needing food or water to live. I kinda struggled to justifyu this one, then I remembered old Squirrel Girl from the future who is still kicking butts so here, you can now grow up to be her

Level 20: We will finish on 16th level of Monk and final Ability Score Improvement to round up Wisdom.

Before we go further let me take a moment to address possible alternatives Variant Human could let you grab Tippy Toe at first level and grab a Tough Feat. 

3 levels in College of Rhetorics Bard could allow you to be really good at talking to people by making you unnable to roll lower than a 10 on Persuasion, Bardic Inspiration you could use to both support your allies and make your enemies worse with unsettling words, an extra skill, expertise in two more skills and spells like Calm Emotions, Enchance Ability, Heroism, Animal Friendship, Vicious Mockery and  Tasha’s Hideous Laughter for puns. But I admit I could not fit them in any way that didn’t feel awkward, they did not mesh well with everything else and cost too much other features I wanted. If you want to go this way I recommend being Variant Human, taking Magic Initiate at first level and putting those Bard levels after Swarmkeeper Ranger ones, final build would be Monk 14/Ranger 3/Bard 3. Both this and previous bullet point would be fully legal under Adventurer’s League “you can use Player’s Handbook and one other book” rule.

Another option were two levels of Rogue for Expertise in Nature and Animal Handling and Cunning Action to decrease your Ki Points economy problem. 

Finally I didn’t go for Path of the Beast Barbarian despite it letting you grow tail because that tail stabs people - something your do not.

Anyway, time for Overview:

Pros: First of all, Mobility. you have movement of up 75 feet, meaning with dash you can move 150 and with double dash 225 feet in one turn, ways to move out of enemy range and even move up walls or over water. Second, you make a lot of attacks and between Hunter’s Mark, Swarmkeeper and Hands of Harm can deal consistent damage and you have Tippy Toe to ensure you keep hitting. Finally you’re plucky heart of the team/backup healer, pretty good Party Face and a skill squirrel, making you a very good party member, someone others benefit from very much.

Cons: Your HP is somewhere below 140, which means that only vew hits or one big need to hit for you to be in Power Word Kill range.  Second, your Intelligence and Strength are low enough you may fail some nasty saving throws even with Diamond Soul. Finally you have a lot of abilities that use Ki Points and Ranger spells that regenerate only on long rest, meaning you may run out of resources pretty fast if you’re not careful. 

Overall, however, I do think this is a good build. You’re hard to hit, you hit hard, you unleash fury of squirrels on your foes and you can take care of yourself. Just remember you have many abilities that benefit your allies and play a very social character - d&d is a game best enjoyed as a social one - get some friends and fight evil.

-Admin

[serararku]

Where the Wild Things Are Pt 2

<Theme>

"The tall round-eared brutes came lurking through the night! With sharp blades and flat teeth!" Chronicler Nahe got on her hands and knees to crawl along the dirt, causing the children watching her performance to shudder and whisper amongst themselves. Her assistants came from around the bonfire, covering their ears with bandanas, using their tails to imitate belts, and with half-bowls tied against the sides of their heads to resemble Hyuran ears. "With anger and greed they sought to plunder Miqo'te treasures and sell the kittens to the tribeless cities!"

"Aarrrgh!" An assistant snarled, lunging at the huddled group; their startled squeals put a smile on Era's face, as nostalgia from when she was small enough to sit with them began to settle in. "Yaargh I'm gonna take you across the salt waters and make big profits from your tails! Yo-ho-ho!" One of them began stuffing a large woolen sack with hastily made dolls; seeing that sent some of the younger kittens into a panic, before their mothers sitting behind them calmed the children down.

Nahe let out a loud and exaggerated gasp. "But wait! Who's that in the distance?!" Another assistant slowly approached from the other end, her tail and ears uncovered.

"I am Era Rarku! Azeyma's champion and the greatest blade master that ever lived!" She pointed her straightened stick at the 'pirates' as the kittens cheered her on. "When I send you to your gods, tell them Azeyma gives her regards!"

The costumed group rushed the woman, swinging their fake weapons in wide and telegraphed attacks. She would barely tap her foes with the end of her stick, sending them flipping and twirling in the sand; one pirate got slapped on the foot, and she began hopping up and down while loudly hollering, much to the delighted laughter of the audience. The last pirate was wearing a barrel with a painted grimace on her head, and she slowly stumbled forward after everyone else was laying on the ground. The Era character spun around- carefully avoiding stepping on anyone's hands- before tapping the neck of the final foe; when the barrel dropped into the dirt, red paper confetti came bursting out of the injury, as the woman flailed her arms before collapsing alongside the others.

"With the evil pirate king defeated, the kittens were saved from a cruel and terrible fate!" Nahe bowed when the children cheered and the adults clapped, but she wasn't done yet. "Oh no! The cowards hiding in their black shells want revenge for their pirate friends!"

As the pirates rolled over and hurried out of the way, four more people came shuffling in from around the haze of the bonfire. These 'Garleans' wore thick layers painted black, with buckets on their heads to mimic their magitek armor. Loud booing from the children warmed Era's heart as she watched them scowl and hiss. One daughter in particular jumped to her feet, ran to the closest one, and gave her a good few kicks in the shin before her mother was able to scoop her up and carry her back to the group.

Nahe waited for the laughter to die down before continuing. "So powerful and strong were the shelled men… that not even Azeyma's champion herself could take them alone! So she called others to aid her in this fight!"

One by one they came out in their costumes, the audience gasping, cheering, and clapping as they appeared. The first one carried a giant wooden mask shaped like the head of a black wolf, complete with a blazing torch for one eye, and an eyepatch covering the other. "Had-rel, the great Ash Wolf!" The second one shuffled in wearing pots and pans, with a thick bucket on her head. "Rond, the Iron Golem!" Next came a woman wreathed in flowing silk and satin, whose gloves were dipped in tar and set aflame. "Zaravi, Fist of the Falling Comet!" Last waddled in an assistant no older than ten summers old, wearing a cast iron pot on her head and dragging a club nearly twice her size. "And Cobbsy! The Halfling Hero!" 

Era couldn't help but laugh at the costumes resembling her friends attacking the ‘shelled men’. Pherond’s character was making robot sounds as she hammered away at a foe, Hadriel’s very loose depiction was too busy eating people and howling up at the moon, while R’zevi and Conobharo were simply spinning around in circles. Yet her own depiction lunged forward with the stick and slipped it under the arm of the last Garlean, causing the stick to accidentally break in her grasp. Era’s eyes glimmered as that dreadful memory returned in a blink- when she drove her blazing blade into the stomach of Virilus sas Tullus in her blind rage, and watched him choke on his own screams while he was slowly cooked alive from the inside out. Her heart began to race and her breathing quickened, and she suddenly felt incredibly cold despite sitting comfortably close to the blazing bonfire. Yuun noticed her daughter’s reaction, and gently squeezed her hand; it was over, that nightmare was long over.

As the tribe’s applause filled her ringing ears, and the costumed villains and heroes alike bowed before departing, Chronicler Nahe waited once more until everyone had quieted down. “Yes. She faced kidnappers, pirates, brigands, bandits, and scoundrels. She stood strong against a hundred shelled men, and lived to tell the tale. But her greatest challenge was not some mere mortal… but a great and terrible beast! A voracious monster that wanted nothing more than to eat her and her friends!” Just as Era was beginning to calm down, her anxiety crept up the crevasse of her back; she didn’t think Nahe had the time or the resources to make a costume resembling that mutated dragon abomination. 

But when she saw it shamble out from the shadows and flame, relief washed over her as a smile crept along her lips.

It was the girl in the wolf head again, only this time it poorly resembled the head of a dragon. The little girl depicting Conobharo was back as well, armed with a short stick and her traditional Zu Tribe battlegarb; she was supposed to be Era, only this time much smaller, likely to help show how much larger that monster was to her. “Era Rarku pelted the beast with arrows, severed limbs upon limbs with straight blade, even lured it into carefully laid traps! But nothing could mortally wound this immortal foe! But how did she kill it? How did she live to tell the tale?!”

“She used a big rock!” Cried out a child.

“Fire! A raging fire!” Hollered another.

One of the quieter kittens eventually mumbled out, “M-... maybe she pushed it off a cliff? Or tied it up and buried it?”

“She used a really big rock! That was on fire! That rolled down from a cliff to bury it!”

The Chronicler chuckled with the rest of the adults before giving away the answer. “Ha-! No, no, no! Azeyma’s champion is mighty, true! But she is also terribly clever! If the thick hide could not be pierced, then…!”

The ‘dragon’ head suddenly opened its wide mouth and chomped down on the little girl, with several hands scooping her off the ground to pull her into the costume. Half of the children cried out in shock, as the toddlers began frightfully squealing and panicking again. “MMMmmmm…!” Hummed the beast, rubbing its bloated stomach. “Yummy! That’s some gooooooooood eating! Hahaha! Now, where can I find more kittens to devou- oh… oh no! I’ve got such a tummy ache…! W-what’s happening to meeeEEeeeEEEeeeEEEEAAAAGH?!”

The little warrior burst out from the creature’s stomach, covered in red and orange rope. The kittens cheered her on as she pulled on the entrails, causing the twitching monster to fall onto its side and let out a comically exaggerated death rattle. Soon the whole tribe was clapping and cheering- everyone but Era. 

“Mmmn... not exactly how I told her the stories.” She mumbled, thoroughly amused yet disappointed. “She’s making it sound like I’m some sort of legend, but... almost none of this is true.”

“There’s enough truth in it to make it count.” Her mother assured, squeezing her hand. “Her job is to inspire the children in hopes they will accomplish great things. It’s no different than the stories she used to tell you.”

“To Era Rarku!” Chronicler Nahe pointed at her, snapping her out of her dazed stupor. “To the victorious champion!” Soon everyone’s eyes were upon her, with many urging her to step forward; even her mother let go of her hand and let her rise to her feet.

A tingling shiver crawled up her spine as she stood there, tail bristled and ears flat. Era didn't know what to say- she never once thought the whole of the tribe would shower her with so much praise. "I-I don't have a speech prepared…"

"Show everyone your fire sword!" Yuun shouted, sending another wave of excited cheers through the crowd. "Show us how you defeated the shelled men!"

Era quickly placed her hands together in rapid succession, performing the right mudra through muscle memory. When she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her katana, pulled the shimmering blade from its sheath, and held it aloft in the air, the dancing flames from the bonfire leapt forth to swallow her weapon whole. Then Era spun her fire-wreathed katana in a dazzling flourish, showering the sand around her feet with sizzling embers. Her family cheered again, with the kittens jumping up and down with joy; it was remarkable how easily impressed they were, but it only made sense- mudra and magicka enchantments are only truly common in the far east. Era had turned a bright shade of pink when she slowly slipped her burning blade back into its sheath. All this attention was starting to get into her head, and the rush from everyone's adoration was beginning to give her a high she could get used to. As she slowly slid her blazing blade into its sheath to snuff the flames, something just within her peripheral vision caught her attention.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him; she didn’t recognize him at first- all hunched down in a pathetic attempt to remain unnoticed- but the moment their eyes met, a scorching heat burned in her stomach and was well on its way to rising out of her throat. 

Denoh.

He still looked like a mangy bastard, only older than the last time she saw him, and shorter than she remembered. This was the coward who poisoned Tage’s meal before their duel, the boy responsible for banishing him and ultimately sending him to his death. The black leather collar around his neck could only mean one thing- he was defeated by a Tia, yet denied an honorable death. Seeing him slumped over and dripping with shame didn’t give her the peace she wanted- in fact it only made her angrier; no way in hell could this feeble rat ever hope to defeat anyone in a fair fight. It was because of him that Era left her tribe to find a real man in the first place. No Tia who relied on dirty tricks and sabotage should live to regret it. Denoh breathed the sweet air of decent folk, walked on the same ground as her family, and lived in the perpetual shadow of better men. Allowing him to live is an affront to everything Era worked toward, and the need to wet her blade with the blood of traitors, monsters, and cowards alike came back with a vengeance. She didn't even hear her family quiet down, nor the heavy footsteps approaching from her flank.

Just the dizzying pounding of her own heart, and that low, steady ringing.

"Not in front of my children." A deep voice cut through the cheering and dropped the area in a sudden silence. Era whipped around to find herself standing before the second-tallest Miqo'te she had ever seen. Muscle upon muscle clenched beneath his mahogany skin and ritualistic scars, and behind his long shaggy brown hair burned a pair of eyes the color of Dalamud in its final days.

"A-are you…?" Era fumbled with her words.

"Yes. My name is Vahli. You must be Yuun's firstborn." He slowly approached her, keeping his red eyes fixed on her form. This giant of a man towered over Era when he neared close enough to touch. He then circled her like he was a starving coeurl, and when his fingers brushed against her shoulders or ran down locks of her hair, a chill shot up her spine like lightning. "Era, right? We'll talk more after the feast."

"O-okay…" she whimpered, never taking her eyes off him while he approached the roasting boar. When she peeled her eyes away from him long enough to glance at her mother, she was greeted with an encouraging smile and a wink.

Vahli pulled a long bone knife from a leather strap on his hip, grabbed a juicy haunch with his bare hand, and began carving the boar into pieces. He fed the kittens first, of course; none of them were his, but luckily their trust could be bought at a low, yet tasty, price. Next came his wives, who got the biggest helping of the hindquarters of the entire tribe. Every woman was served more than they could reasonably eat- everyone but Era; in fact, her Nuhn didn't even give her a passing glance when he offered a choice cut to her mother. After that awkward exchange, the warrior women invaluable during battle and on hunting parties were served next, getting the more lean parts of the pig. He served whatever was left to the slaves: the feet, ears, cheek meat, and sinew. Even Denoh got enough to make it through the night. 

"Enjoy the feast." Vahli spoke, sweeping his gaze across their faces. He then settled his gaze on her mother before adding, "You know where to find me."

"She won't be long." Yuun assured him, slipping her daughter a piece of her dinner once he turned his back to return to his chambers. "Come with me, sweetie. It's time to freshen you up for your fateful evening."

---

Mentions: @hadriel-ffxiv​, @rzevi-tia-ffxiv​, @conobharo-cobharo-xiv​

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Love for a Princess; Tom Holland x reader

*Author’s note*

Okay now for the real reason for all these updates, here is a request that came from an anon who wanted a Tom Holland fic. Thankfully I have written for Tom Holland before (hopefully soon I can transfer what I got on wattpad onto here cause let’s face it I love the boy and idk why I haven’t posted anything beyond the one fic I’ve got of his version of Peter when I know I’ve got like 4 other stories on my wattpad, I am sorry everyone)

So to the anon who requested the fic I hope you find it and I made some slight changes, NOT big but just very small changes but I still hope I did you proud on what you wanted and I also apologize for having you wait so long. Hope you and everyone else who sees this enjoys this loveable fic :)

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural

@plethora-of-things

@ixchel-9275

@platawnic

@waddles03

__________________________________________________________

I was up in my suite watching Spiderman Homecoming for what was probably the millionth time.  I can easily quote it word for word but the main reason why I’ve watched it so many times is because of the newest face taking the mantle of Spiderman, actor Tom Holland.

Sure while I did grow up watching the Toby Maguire version and enjoyed what he brought, and watch the Andrew Garfield saga however his story got a little too dark and I hate to say it boring for me, a bit boring to me.  So when they announced that for the MCU they had brought in this upcoming young actor named Tom Holland, one look at him and it was like I was actually looking at the real life Peter Parker.

What he did for Civil War, he had me at ‘Hey I’m—I’m—I’m Peter.’ Plus you’d have to be blind to say that he’s not cute.  God I just wish that one day I could get the chance to actually meet him, however there’s one slight problem.

“My lady, your mother has rescheduled your badminton practice to 11 o’clock instead of noon, shall I help prepare you?”

“No thank you Niles, I can do it myself. Thanks for the update.”

“Of course your majesty.” That’s why.  See I’m not like other girls, hell I’m not like other people. I’m a princess. No really I mean I’m an actual princess, the Princess of England to be precise. My name is (Y/n) Diana Elizabeth Charlotte (l/n), daughter of Prince Brian and Princess Anita.  I am their eldest child so that would make me next in line for the throne should anything happen to my mother.

I sadly had to stop the movie because it was now half an hour till 11 so I had to get ready.  My maids twin sisters Brigitte and Brigitta came in and they helped gather up my bat-mitting outfit, shoes and hat.

“Here we are Princess, your badminton outfit.” Said the blonde Brigitte.

“Shall we help you change your majesty?” asked the brunette Brigitta.

“No thanks girls I can help myself, you girls take the rest of the afternoon off for lunch.” They curtsied to me but I told them, “Ah-ah what did we talk about?”

“No more curtseys.” Brigitte whispered to her twin.

“Very well (y/n). Just call us if you need anything else” Brigitta answered and the two of them smiled and winked at me and I thanked them before dismissing them. I went into my grand closet and stripped out of my normal clothes and into my badminton outfit.  Once I got on the shoes, placed my hat on and quickly raced down towards the badminton court.  

As I ran through the palace, I was dodged servants and butlers but nearly may or may not have caused some of them to drop some stuff like plates, or accidentally bumped into pillars holding priceless vahzes to which of course were caught by the servants and I apologized profusely before taking ff running again.

“Here I am right on time as promised and I—” I suddenly tripped over my feet and I saw dozens of people coming towards me but I said as I stood up, “I’m good. I’m all good it’s all good.”

“I swear (y/n) you are probably the clumsiest girl I’ve ever seen. Even as a child you were.” I heard my mum tease.

“Mum please!” I whined out.

“Alright my Princess, let’s see what I’ve told you to practice.” My instructor Javier said.

“Bring it on Javey.” I challenged.  He served first and I quickly went after it.

Practice went on for the next hour and a half and by then I was beat and winded.

“Not bad your highness, although your stance is still a little off balance on some of your swings, you’ve got to make sure to pivot your dominant foot before striking the birdie.”

“Yes Javier.” I said as I took a sip of water.

“But other than that well done, your strike is excellent and you’ve got good distance on you. Keep that up and you could go pro if you want to.”

“Thank you again Javier, same time next week?” my mum said and he nodded before taking his leave.  “Oh hey (y/n) guess what?”

“What is it mum?” I asked her.

“Well I’ve heard some news that for the next Marvel movie, they will be filming it here in London.”

“Really? Which movie is it?”

“The next Spiderman movie.” It was then I spat out my water.

“The…the new Spiderman movie…shut…up!”

“I do not lie love.”

“So that means….”

“Yep the entire cast will be filming some scenes here in London.” I then offered a crazy idea, I mean really crazy and I didn’t know if she would allow it but I just had to try.

“Can we invite them over for tea and brunch when they come?”

“Well…..”

“Please mum, please! I’d never wanted anything more than this, you know that!” She looked at me and she said.

“When your father gets done with his meeting I’ll talk to him about it. If he’s in, I’m in.” I squealed and hugged her thanking her repeatedly.

Later that day as I was doing some homework, (mostly political stuff because hell even royalty needs to go to school) when I heard a knock at my door.

“Come in.” It was then both my parents came in.  My dad had his usual stoic face while my mum looked like she just wanted to burst out a secret.

“Your mother tells me you wish to invite some of the cast of the new Spiderman movie over for tea and brunch.” His tone was low and authorative, and I knew whenever he spoke like that, there was no chance of horsing around.

“Yes father.” I spoke softly as I gave my full attention to him.

“Your mother and I talked about it, and she suggests that it would be a good idea for you to hang around people your own age so we’ll send out an invitation for the entire young cast members of the film.” I think at that moment my heart just stopped.

“Are—are you serious?” I as bewildered.  He nodded and that’s when I squealed in pure joy as I hugged him and thanked him repeatedly.  He hugged me back and stroked down my hair and I felt him place a kiss at the top of my head.

“But there are conditions.”

“I better sit down for this.” I sighed as I went back over to my bed.

“First, I will be there with you to meet them.” I nodded and he said, “Second, if I see that you and Tom aren’t with the rest of the group and see the door less than 3 inches open, then they are all out. And number……”

“And number three your father promises not to be an overbearing daddy bear.” Said my mum as she wrapped her arms around his waist leaning against his shoulder.

“We’ll send out the invitation once the cast arrives here for their London location shooting.” With that my parents left my room and once they left I squealed and jumped backwards into my bed literally fangirling out at the fact that I was going to meet Tom Holland.

*Tom’s POV*

Once we had gotten done with the Atlanta shoots, we flew out to my hometown of London. After a day of filming here in London it was then I was told by my manager that I personally had been given a special letter.  Thinking it was from either a loving fan or even my nana (since she still sends in letters, not really tech-savvy) but it wasn’t until I had seen the Royal cross and the special wax-sealing that I began to panic.

“Oh shit, Harry come look at this!” Harry came running into the room and he said.

“Wha What is it?” I then showed him the letter which bared the Royal cross and he said.

“Wow is—is that……”

“Yeah.” I answered breathlessly.

“Well what the hell are you waiting for open it!” I broke the seal and it almost felt like I was waiting my letter to Hogwarts and I unfolded the letter inside and it read.

To Mr. Tom Holland,

My daughter Princess (Y/n) Diana Elizabeth Charlotte (l/n) has expressed pure interest in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, specifically the Spiderman movies.  Having been told that the cast would be here, you all are cordially invited to Buckingham Palace to spend one full day with the Princess herself.

You are allowed to bring as many of your younger cast members along to join her for tea and brunch.  Please RSVP us back immediately once you have come to a decision.

Thank you and have a good day and filming process.

Sincerely,

King Brian Harold Harrison Adams (L/n).

Holy shit. The Princess of London is a fan of the Marvel movies.  I thought politicians and rulers couldn’t focus on anything but politics but now knowing that the Princess herself is a fan, it was—mind boggling!

“Well what’s it say?”

“We’ve been invited to Buckingham Palace for tea and brunch with the Princess.”

“Wait, you mean Princess (y/n)? The Princess (y/n)?!”

“Yeah. And she’s even wanting to invite the rest of the cast to come along.”

“Whose invited us to where?” Peeking in was Zendaya and Jacob.

“Guys, we’ve been invited to be amongst London’s royalty.” Answered Harry.

“No freakin way are you serious!?” exclaimed Jacob as he raced over and took the letter from Harry’s hand.

“I shit you not guys.” Said Harry.

“Okay wow this is…..are we supposed to wear anything fancy to the palace? I mean I only had to do a meeting royalty for the Greatest Showman but this—this is the real deal now.”

“It’ll be okay Zendaya, it doesn’t say anything about a dress code so I guess just casual will do, but if you want I guess we could do semi-casual.” I said as I placed my hand on her shoulder trying to calm her down.

“When are we supposed to go?” asked Jacob.

“It say this Thursday.” I answered.

“That’s two days from now.” Harry stated.

“So are we gonna go?” asked Jacob.

“I’ll talk with Jon when we get ready on set and we’ll see what he says.” Man I still can’t believe it, the Princess (y/n) is a fan of the Marvel movies and she’d like to hang out with us.  Somebody pinch me because I must be dreaming.

After talking with Jon about this visitation, he allowed us to have a late afternoon/evening shoot once we got done with our meeting with the royal family.

Finally the day had arrived.

Instead of getting one of our cars ready, a car sent by Queen Anita herself to pick up me and my friends.  As we drove down towards Buckingham Palace, I said to them.

“Okay guys remember we’re gonna be before royalty. So that means no funny business, no insulting or offending stances, and try not to embarrass yourselves.”

“Uhh Tom, I think you should look in the mirror and say that.” Zendaya teased.  I glared at her and soon we felt the car stop. We all looked out and even though I’ve driven past it most of my life, here I was standing right before the actual gates of Buckingham Palace.

“Spiderman Far from home party?” one of the security guards came up to us.  We nodded and he said, “We’ve been expecting you, right this way.” We were escorted throughout the large corridors, all the while I heard Jacob say.

“Wow. Never did I think I would get the chance to walk through an actual castle.”

“I mean I had to but that was just a set. No this is the real deal.” Said Zendaya. We walked for what felt like eternity until finally we reached the grand throne room.

There sitting on the throne were King Brian and Queen Anita.  Our escort then stood before them and said.

“I present to you, King Brian and his fair Queen Anita.”

“Your majesties.” I said as I bowed along with all my friends.

“Oh please rise Tom, you and your friends are no strangers to us. Richard, go fetch our daughter.” Said Queen Anita.

“Yes my Queen.” He bowed and went off to go get the Princess.

“Your palace is amazing your majesties…..uhh your highnesses….I mean….” Jacob started stammering before Zendaya kicked him in the shin making him cry out.

“Thank you Jacob.” Said King Brian gratefully.

“Presenting, her royal highness, Princess (y/n) Diana Elizabeth Charlotte (l/n).” Richard’s voice soon proclaimed.  It was then coming out from the side door was the most gorgeous girl I had ever seen.

She was in a beautiful lavender A-line wickstead dress.  Her hair was done in gentle waves and she wore one of those large sunhats of the same color.  It kinda reminded me of one of those old school movies from like the 30’s or 40’s when the actress would walk in wearing those big hats before revealing the beautiful face underneath.  She walked up towards us and smiled widely.

*My POV*

God I can’t believe they’re really here! Zendaya, Jacob, Harry (Tom’s assistant) and of course the leading man himself, Tom Holland.  They were all dressed up in semi-formal outfits.

“Hi. I’m so glad you all accepted the invitation. I’m a huge fan of the MCU but if I had to pick, then Homecoming if defiantly my #1”

“Wow that’s awesome!” said Jacob.

“Thanks Princess.” Said Zendaya.

“Oh please no formalities I hate that. Call me (y/n). And by the way Zendaya, amazing job in the Greatest showman, I literally can’t stop watching that film.”

“Thanks, you know I did all my own stunts in that right?”

“Shut up!” she exclaimed.

“For real I did, as did Zac.”

“Okay that’s it, you’re officially the coolest person ever!” She grinned and the two of us shook hands with each other.  Guess I already found my best friend of the cast.  I then turned to Tom and said to him. “You’ve been a bit quiet Tom, is everything alright?” He stammered but managed to say.

“Y-yeah. Yeah everything’s…..everything’s fine.” His voice even did that cute little boyish crack.  I smiled and said.

“I hope you weren’t expecting anything grand or different.”

“No!” he suddenly blurted out which echoed throughout the throne room.  He cleared his throat embarrassed and said, “I mean no, not at all. I mean I wasn’t expecting much I mean—” I giggled softly. Oh go he was cuter in person.

“Well, since you all are already dressed, I’ll escort you to the garden where Martin will serve us our tea and brunch. If you all will please follow me.” I then escorted them out of the throne room and out to the garden.

*Tom’s POV*

As we were walking I couldn’t help but think how much of an idiot she must think I am.

“Mate what’s going on with you?” whispered Harry.  I shrugged and that’s when I felt my phone vibrate.  I opened it up to see that Zendaya had texted me saying.

Smooth lover boy

I glared at her and she just grinned smugly at me.

*My POV*

We soon arrived at the garden where Martin and Chessie were serving us brunch and tea. The garden was decored with the finest silk streamers and the tea set we were using today was imported to us from Japan. The finest Japanese tea set we’ve ever had the privilege of owning.

“I hope all of this isn’t too much for all of you. I don’t wish to overwhelm you all.” I said.

“No, no this is great. Never did I think we’d get to go into a real royal palace.” Jacob said.

“And these teacups are so beautifully decorated.” Said Zendaya as she admired her teacup.

“Yeah. It was hand painted by one of the best Japanese painters and sculptures.”

“Wait so this was also sculpted too?” I nodded.  It was then Chessie came in and said.

“So what shall it be today your majesty.”

“Ohh Chessie you know the rules, guest always go first.”

“Right, right forgive me Princess.” Zendaya went and ordered some blueberry French toast, Jacob got the order of deviled eggs, Harry ordered some Egg and cheese hash brown waffles, and surprising Tom asked for my favorite brunch meal the Vanilla crumpets with cinnamon cream.

“So you like vanilla crumpets too?” I asked.

“Yeah uhh….my mum always made them for brunch when I was a kid and I just can’t stop eating them.”

“Yeah, my mum got me into these when we went on a business trip to Madrid. Ever since then I had it immediately put on the brunch menu.” Soon enough the food arrived and I asked, “So how long are you all here shooting in London for?”

“Three months?” questioned Zendaya.

“Yeah about three months. Just to get some of the vacation shots before we have to go back to Atlanta.” Answered Harry.

“So Jacob, Zendaya have you two seen more of the city yet?”

“Not yet, film schedules keep us on our toes that we rarely have any time to go see the sights. And this is my first time visiting London.” Answered Jacob.

“Well if you’re willing as well as with the permission of your director. I’d be more than willing to give you all a royal escort throughout the town. I can even show you my favorite sights.”

“Really you’d do that? Oh thank you your majesty. Uhh I mean (y/n), sorry.”

“It’s okay Jacob.”

“So (y/n), if you had to pick your favorite marvel superhero who would it be?” asked Zendaya.  I blushed and quickly looked to Tom and said.

“Well I mean…..not to be biased since the actor playing my favorite character is here but Spiderman was my first superhero movie I ever saw. Saw it during Toby Maguire’s movies, then I watched the Andrew Garfield ones, wasn’t as into them as Toby but…..when Civil War came out I—guess I found my new favorite Spiderman.”

“Re—really?” Tom asked. I bashfully nodded and I said.

“Yeah, ever since then I’ve been diving into the Spiderman rabbit hole. Reading everything I could. I even have some of the original comic books up in my room.”

“You’re serious? The Original copies!? Like first print editions?” exclaimed Harry.

“Mm-hmm. Got the as birthday presents. Didn’t ask for them but dad has always spoiled me like that. I—only just wish I could’ve met the creator of my favorite franchise. I’m so sorry to hear about him.”

“We never even saw it coming. I mean yeah he was old but every time we saw him he was—just so full of love and life. And now he’s gone.” Tom said solemnly.  I then reached out for his hand, hoping that I wasn’t crossing anything but I said to him.

“Yeah, and I have no doubt in my mind he finally got to see the Spiderman he imagined through you Tom. And—at least he’s now reunited with his wife. It couldn’t have been easy living without her with as long as they’ve been together.” He looked at me and softly smiled before gently squeezing my hand back.  God his hands were so warm.

“He even kept a picture of her in his pocket and he’d look at it every time he was on set with us after she died. He really did love her.” Zendaya said.

“I’d probably do the same.”

“He was a great man, and he’ll be forever missed. To Stan “the Man” Lee.” Harry said as he raised his teacup.

“To Stan “the Man” Lee.” We all joined in the cheers.

After we all had brunch I showed the guys more of the palace grounds.  From the garden, to the meeting rooms, the training facility (cause hey even a royal Princess needs to know how to defend herself) and the shooting range.

“Oh hey guys I haven’t shown you the best part, c’mon follow me!” we all raced along the corridors till we reached my dance room.  In here I’ve got practically every dance game known to mankind from the old school Dance, Dance revolutions, to the current Just Dance. The Michael Jackson experience, Black-eyed Peas experience, and everything else in-between. You name it, I’ve got it.

“Whoa!” the all choired out in awe.

“Welcome to my personal ballroom.”

“(Y/n) this is—this is dope. This is…..you’ve got practically very dance game that’s ever been released. Even the old machine ones that you jump up and down on to match the arrows with.” Said Zendaya.  I entered into the changing room to put on some more casual clothes that are appropriate for dancing and said.

“Yep. So you guys think you can take on the champ?” I bragged.

“Please Princess, I’ve got the high score on Just Dance 3 by beating these three losers.” Zendaya bragged as she tossed her hair aside.

“Well then, care to see who the champion of champion really is?”

“Oh girl you are on.” We slapped hands with each other and I got the game set up. I told the guys where to find some clothes in case they didn’t want to ruin their formal attire and let it get all sweaty. Zendaya came out wearing a black tank top with a pink heart on it as well as yoga pants.  Jacob wore a plain white t-shirt and khaki colored pants, Harry kept his jeans but changed into a grey short sleeved shirt and Tom was wearing a black basket-ball like t-shirt as well as pants.  I adverted my eyes so that I wouldn’t be caught staring at those toned arms of his.

I turned on the X-box 360 and went through the process of getting through the menu and both Zendaya and I signed in as a duel battle.

“Alright you pick the song Z-Daya.”

“Gladly your majesty. And don’t worry I’ll make sure to make it an easy song.” At that point the guys exclaimed as she had burned me.

“Ohh that’s how it is huh?”

“That’s exactly how it is Princess.” She teased.  She scrolled through the menu until she reached ‘Pump it’ by the Black-eyed Peas. “You ready?”

“Are you?” I mocked as I stretched out my arms and gave my legs a good shake off. Zendaya jumped up and down shaking out her nerves and I slide the screen to play.

I’ll admit, Zendaya definitely kept me up on my toes.  It was literally a back and forth of us either nailing the move or one of us missing a step or two.  Our scores were practically neck and neck but in the end she did end up beating me by 100. The boys were all cheering and Zendaya and I clasped hands with each other and hugged it out.

“You weren’t kidding, you truly are the master.”

“Yeah but gotta admit, you’ve worked me harder than those three chuckleheads over there combined.”

“Okay so whose next?” For the next couple hours it was nothing but dance battles. Tom vs. Harry, Harry vs. Jacob, Jacob vs. Tom, Tom vs. Zendaya, and every other combination you can think of. That was until it came to Tom vs. me. I was scrolling through the playlist until Rihanna’s Umbrella came on and at that point everyone but Tom exclaimed.

“DO THAT! THAT’S THE ONE! DO THAT!”

“Ohh god guys no!” Tom groaned.

“Ohh c’mon Tommy honey that’s your song!” Jacob exclaimed.

“Are you guys talking about the time you two were on Lip Sync Battle?” I asked.

“Oh my god you—you saw that?” squeaked Tom.

“Yeah, I didn’t see it live but a friend of mine showed me the Youtube link and I was….amazed. You’re a pretty good dancer Tom, and you definitely pulled off the Rihanna look quite well.” He blushed and cleared his throat and said.

“Okay we’ll—we’ll do it. If you’re game for it.”

“Ohh I’m game. But in the light of us doing this song, if we’re gonna do it….” I quickly raced over to my prop box and pulled out two umbrellas. “We’ll do it right!” I tossed him one of the umbrellas and everyone cheered.  I went back to the controls and scrolled through the list explaining to them, “Let me just find the one with the alternate duel battle of this song. That doesn’t have the umbrella in it.” After about 7 songs, I found it.  “You ready?”

“Let’s do it.” He said.  I pressed the start key and I got into position one.

I gotta say even with a whole different choreography than he learned the first time, Tom still knows how to work an umbrella and how to sensualize himself when the dance called for it.  I was just thankful this wasn’t a Lip sync battle cause otherwise I would’ve definitely lost.

*Tom’s POV*

Wow she was good.  She was…..she knew exactly how to keep in time with each dance move and it….wow she was sensational.  I swore I almost got distracted and almost stopped dancing because I just couldn’t take my eyes off of her.  If I didn’t know any better I’d say that like me she had dancing experiences when she was a child.

By the end of it all she ended up winning but I wasn’t a sore loser about it, I congratulated her on the win.

“Not bad, you still got it.” She said.

“Thanks, hey did uhh—did you ever take dance lessons before?”

“A little bit, mostly ballet but I hated it so I quit within a year. No most of my dancing comes from playing these games.”

“Well you danced like a pro.” I said.

“Care to go for another round?”

“Uhh hate to break it up guys but that was Jake. Says Jon wants us back on set within an hour.” Harry said as he held up his phone.

“Aww man but I was about to break my high score on Crazy little thing called love. And I was gonna have (y/n) be my leading lady!” Zendaya whined out.

“Sorry guys but we gotta go.”

“No problem, go ahead and change and I’ll have a car for you guys outside to escort you back to the set.” She explained but I could sense the sadness in her tone. Call it my own ‘spider sense’ but I could tell she was a bit disappointed in the visit being cut so short. And believe me she wasn’t the only one.

After getting changed back into the clothes we came in with and walking through the hallways to the same path we came in on, Harry pulled me aside and said.

“Alright when you gonna tell her?”

“Tell who what?”

“Don’t play games her Thomas, all day you’ve been making goo-goo eyes at the Princess. When you gonna tell her you love her?” Zendaya pressured.

“Whoa what? Love!? Who—who said anything about love? I mean yeah she’s cute but I—she….” Of course all three of them weren’t buying this and I sighed heavily and said, “So what if I did? Huh? She a Princess. I’m just an actor. I’d never fit in with her class.”

“Bullshit, don’t you know she’s been making the same lovey-dovey look to you. She does love you. And not just because you’re Spiderman dude, you’re a total catch. Now let her reel you in!” Zen lectured me.

Soon we reached the main entrance and walked out of the palace and there standing by the same driver that brought us here was (y/n).  We all walked towards her and she said.

“Thank you all again for accepting my invitation this…was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“Thank you (y/n) for inviting us. I really hope we can hang out again sometime.” Jacob said as they shook hands with each other and he got into the car first.  Zen walked up to her and said.

“See yah later Princess.”

“See you Zendaya, and I promise next time we meet on the dance battlefield, I will show you why I am the champion.”

“I’ll be counting on that.” They clasped hands with each other before hugging each other and she went into the car.  Harry walked up to her and bowed his head.

“Thank you your royal highness for this lovely day.” He spoke with such a posh tone it was laughable, and (y/n) seemed to agree with it.

“You are most welcome kind Harrison.” He took her hand and kissed the back of it just to irk me before getting into the car.  Finally it was my turn.  The two of us stood face to face with each other and we both spoke up at the same time.

“I just wanted—” we both laughed nervously and I told her to go first.

“I….especially want to thank you for coming. I—didn’t think you’d come personally.”

“I maybe an actor but I’m not like all those spoiled kid actors that throw tantrums if they don’t get their way.” She smiled and continued,

“Still it—made me happy that you all accepted the invitation.”

“Thank you for inviting us. And hey if—if you have time to come by the set, I’ll personally see to it that you are given all access to everything. Just as long as you don’t spoil it.”

“Don’t worry I won’t. I’m not like you when it comes to spoilers.” I gawked at her which made her laugh some more but I didn’t retaliate cause it was true. “Well, goodbye Tom.” She held her hand out to me and I took it and we shook on it.

“Goodbye, (y/n).” she smiled before finally letting go of my hand and she started heading back up the stairs towards the palace.  Graaahhh! You bloody idiot go after her! This could be the last time you see her! Go. After. Her. C’mon Spiderman! “(Y/n) wait!” I raced up towards her and I quickly said as I gripped her shoulders, “I pray I don’t get shot for this.” Then I went for it.

I kissed her, right on the lips.

I felt her tense up but she didn’t push me away.  I felt her wrap her arms around me as the kiss deepened a bit before we finally separated.  The two of us softly panting and I said.

“God I—I’m sorry I-I-I-I just….it’s just that I….” she interrupted me by kissing me again before whispering.

“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed for this to happen.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah. Sorry if that sounds creepy.”

“No! No not at all. I—it’s just when you first walked out it….it looked like I was looking at an angel, oh god that sounds so cringy doesn’t it?”

“A little. But also sweet. Most boys that I meet either just want to get to the crown or just treat me as a Princess. They don’t see me for what’s underneath, and I’m glad you got to see that.”

“Anytime. So…..are we….” I drawled out as I gestured between the two of us.  She giggled and said.

“Only if you’re okay with it.”

“I’m okay if you’re okay.”

“Okay then we’re okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Alright this is getting old.” She joked which made us both laugh.

“Can I….get your number?” She nodded and we exchanged phone numbers with each other and I sent her a test text and once she got it, she simply replied with a heart emoji.  “I’ll give you a call whenever we get done filming.”

“Sounds good, have fun filming. Spiderman.” I smiled at her and gave her one last kiss before she turned and walked back up towards the palace.

From the car I could see the guys all giving me emphasized winks and thumbs up. I rolled my eyes at them but I couldn’t help but thank those guys in the end.  If they hadn’t gotten me to admit that I had fallen in love with (y/n), I wouldn’t have gotten the guts to kiss her and show her how I felt about her.

As I got into the car, I couldn’t help but stare down at her message and so I sent her a kissy face emoji along with a little message. That typical three word phrase “I Love you” MY Princess.

[magnoliasinbloom]

Lullaby

AO3 :: Previously

Chapter 22

I had the sweetest baby in the world. Every mother thinks that about their child, but it was completely true in Faith’s case. She was a lovely baby, who hardly ever cried. Everything was blissful around her; she lit up a room.

Dad was fiercely possessive of his granddaughter; as soon as he walked through the door every evening he would seek her out and practically wrestle Faith from the arms of whoever held her at the moment. He argued with Mum sometimes over whose turn it was to give her a bath when I wasn’t around. My friends visited often, and hovered over her crib, trying to make her gurgle and smile.

The months had passed quickly. I had returned to uni a couple of weeks after Faith was born. My course load wasn’t as heavy as I had thought it would be, so I still had time to spend with my daughter. I would often hold her and feed her with one arm while I read or typed on my laptop with the other. I was determined to get top marks for my first semester. Mum offered to watch Faith when I had class in the mornings, and Ellen came by some afternoons to our house. Faith was adored by all.

Jamie was also present, although he was busy with medical school he texted and visited whenever he could. The only shadow cast over these happy months was the memory of Frank. Some of him was undeniably there, in Faith’s features, the darkness of her hair. This only made me sad, not angry, when I thought of it, for which I was grateful. I was saddened by the fact that he had chosen not to stay with us, and by virtue of that choice he would miss out on one of the greatest gifts life had to offer.

~ ~ ~

My days were filled with Faith, school, and family. I spent my time getting to know everything about her: from the way her hair curled on her forehead (like mine!) to the exact shade of her brown eyes, and the indentations behind her chubby knees.

I stayed late on campus one day in November to work on an assignment. I was at the library and it was almost seven by the time I was done. I grabbed a quick cup of coffee and raced home to Faith. During the first month I had been at uni, I had called Mum obsessively to ask about her, until my calls were screened and I had to grudgingly accept that Faith would be perfectly fine without me for a few hours.

When I got home, everything was quiet. “Hello?” I dropped my bag by the staircase and wandered into the living room before I checked the crib upstairs. What I saw stopped me in my tracks.

Jamie was sitting on the sofa, his head leaning to the side, fast asleep. Faith was in his arms, also sleeping. The telly was on, the volume muted. I took one step closer, surveying the scene. An empty bottle was on the coffee table, along with a couple of burp cloths and some of Faith’s toys; her favorite blanket was on the floor. I picked it up carefully, so as not to disturb either of them.

And then I saw. Faith’s tiny fist was curled on Jamie’s chest, holding on to his shirt. As it rested there, her hand moved slightly with the steady rhythm of his breathing. I watched them both, mesmerized. An odd sense of awareness stole over me, one I had tried unconsciously to suppress.

I was in love with Jamie. It had come to this, watching my daughter cling to him, as she would to me, like she needed him. He had done more for us than anyone; he had been there when I thought I was alone. More than a friend, in every look, every word, every gesture. Jamie was duine uasal—a man of worth. He was strength, courage, and honor. Why had I been so blind…

I took the blanket and laid it over them gently. I traced a finger down Faith’s cheek, reveling in the softness of her. I glanced at Jamie, still asleep. I hesitated for a second, before I brushed my hand over his forehead, his coppery hair tickling my fingertips. He shifted suddenly, and I jumped back, nearly tripping over the low coffee table. I managed to grab the edge of the sofa and sit before he was fully awake.

“Sassenach, hey.” Jamie sat up carefully, adjusting Faith in his arms. “Yer mam had to step out to the shops, so I was left in charge of the wee lass.” I felt my face flush crimson as he gazed upon her sleeping shape. It was as though everything I was feeling, all my thoughts were etched into my skin for him to see.

It didn’t help when he stood up and came to sit next to me, cradling Faith; he kissed her forehead tenderly with a soft, “There, a leannan,” before handing her to me. We held perfectly still in close proximity, so close I could feel the warmth from his body and his just-woke-up scent. I was afraid to look up. The silence dragged on.

“Claire?” Jamie’s voice was gentle, concerned. “Is something amiss?”

I held Faith closer to me and touched my finger to her small open palm. Her fingers closed tightly around it.

I smiled and found the courage to meet his eyes with mine. “No, nothing. I’m just home.”

[uk-news-talking-politics]

Week in Review: When will Labour get real about how screwed it is?

By Ian Dunt

There's a weird tone to the Labour leadership contest. They're in a moment of existential collapse, but most of the candidates don't show any real sense of urgency. It's like they've been given a cancer diagnosis and decided to drink some Lemsip and get an early night.

This weekend will see a final frantic spasm of campaigning before voting kicks off on Monday. There's still several weeks more of this to go after that, but in previous contests many members cast their votes early. So we're set for a strange - but perfectly fitting - slumping finale, with five weeks of candidates campaigning despite the race probably having already been decided.

Of all the candidates, Lisa Nandy is the only one who has really demonstrated the kind of passionate energy you might expect from a party which is staring into the abyss. She's been charismatic, thoughtful and authentic throughout and a credit to her party. She is very unlikely to find the numbers to win it, but she's done more than enough to secure herself a prominent position on the front bench from now on.

Rebecca Long-Bailey is precisely what you would expect. She's shown not a smidgen of understanding, or even that much interest, in the national difficulties Labour faces. One of her first policy announcements was open selections of candidates at an election. It was the kind of proposal someone would come up with if their intention was to run as far away from reality as possible at the greatest speed available.

Unless something changes, Keir Starmer looks like he will be the next leader. He's a smart, principled and impressive political figure, but there's not been much imagination or clarity in his campaign.

The strategy is plain. He feels he can bank Labour Remain votes for his record during the last few years. And he deserves them. He was the man, more than anyone, who tried to steer the Labour leadership into a sensible position on Brexit - or indeed towards any position at all. That left a vulnerability on the left-wing of the party. He had built credibility here, sticking in the shadow Cabinet when others left and largely refraining from criticising the leader. And he has been careful to let left-wingers know he shares their values.

It all makes perfect strategic sense. But it leaves us with a very vague and indecipherable candidacy. Is this just a way of winning an election? Or will this also be the way he leads the Labour party? If the latter, it will be a disaster. This period of politics demands firm, easily-understood positions, an immediate sense of who someone is. Trying to be a little bit of this and a little bit of that on issues which voters are perceived to care about will not work. It'll repeat the Miliband years.

Labour has just been handed a very robust beating by the British electorate. It is important that the party shows that it heard them. At the moment, that is not the case. Starmer is too nervous of the Corbyn lobby to be explicit about what happened. And that creates a sense of a party which does not have the honesty with itself that it needs to ever be able to win again.

There is a problem with the morality of it as well. This week, shadow chancellor John McDonnell paid a two hour visit to Wikileaks founder Julian Assange and decided it was suitable to compare his plight to that of Alfred Dreyfus, the Jewish officer who was the subject of a deranged outbreak of nationalist anti-semitism in turn of the century France.

But that was clearly not the lesson McDonnell took from this incident. He said Assange was "the Dreyfus case of our age, the way in which a person is being persecuted for political reasons for simply exposing the truth of what went on in relation to recent wars".

To say it is a misreading of history is to put it in its kindest possible light. It's nonsense of the highest order. Dreyfus didn't 'expose the truths' about wars. He was simply fitted up for a crime because he was Jewish. And Assange is not persecuted for recent wars. He is a self-serving amoral catastrophe.

McDonnell took an anti-semitic incident and wallpapered it into one of his standard anti-war conspiracy theory warbles. It's not just wrong on the facts. It's worse than that. It's further evidence of precisely the kind of wilful blindness and utter lack of interest which allowed anti-semitism to take root in the Labour party in the first place.

The Corbyn period of Labour will be remembered with shame. You can understand - grudgingly - why a leadership candidate might need to take it easy on the criticism when running to replace him. But they shouldn't mistake that for what is required once the contest is over. Labour needs to make massive, honest, hard-headed changes. It needs to face the reality of what has happened - tactically, politically, electorally and morally. Or else it won't just be five years in the wilderness, or even ten. It'll be game over.

[mangled-dreams]

Casual Affair.

Casual Affair.

“Anti, we can't. If anyone were to find out.” Your heart is thundering but your voice would never display the fear and rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You know this is wrong, but... but you can't stop yourself from following Anti's lead as he dodges around buildings, pausing in bushes on his path to a secret location.

“Shh, if you won't tell neither will I.” He teases. You love him like this: Free. He's an internet sensation, a well loved and well respected member of the Septic family and brother to Sean, or rather JackSepticEye. He's amazing and it baffles you he'd have anything to do with you much less engage in such a romantic affair with you.

But there is a blinding truth you can't ignore as well as he can. Anti is married, to Darkiplier of all people. He's been married for years before you ever came on as an assistant videographer for a large motion picture Anti starred in. You'd talked in depth during late night shoots, shared a breakfast here and there over the course of six months to get the filming done.

Everyone warned you that Anti is a notorious flirt and that he's married. You promised everyone he was just a friend and someone you have admired for years. Doubting you'd get another chance to work with him you took full advantage to get to know him. A few photos, some deep—and you mean deep conversations, and a pocket full of innocent dinners out you find yourself slinking in the cover of darkness and black clothing with Anti's hand firmly grasping yours.

You have a hard time keeping up with his long legs and part of you knows you should skip a step, to fall, make noise and end this before it goes to far, but you can't. Nearly every desire you have in your whole body wants to prolong your goodbye. You're in love with Anti. It's no longer just a fantasy crush or something that will fade with time, but a God's honest love you've never felt before.

And maybe, maybe he did this to you on purpose. Bringing yourself to resent him if it was his plan all along is something you cannot do. You want this just as much as he seems too.

Lungs burning you grip his hand tighter. It's larger than yours, stronger, warmer. You feel comforted by his touch, his voice, by that shy smile he gives when he knows he didn't do a line correctly. You especially love that cocky, self assured smile he's sporting when he glances over his shoulder at you.

Your breath labors and you push through the pain and the burning, anything to be there with him, anything to be what he wants you to be, to do for him. You're so hopelessly lost in his blue eyes and crooked smile.

You haven't crossed that line. Not that you haven't thought about it, you just can't bring yourself to let it go that far. Anti hasn't pushed the situation past your level of comfort. It's bad enough you feel like he's cheating on Dark on an emotional level. In some ways it's worse than cheating in a physical sense.

Thankfully Anti pauses letting you catch your breath in heaping gulps of air. He smiles apologetically at you, his hand rubbing your back as you double over to keep from getting too dizzy. “Not used to running around?” He teases.

You shake your head. “N—No.” Gasping you look up into his playful baby blues. “How---how much further?” You ask not sure how much farther you can go at this point. You are painfully out of shape and it shows right now.

Anti chuckles. “We're here.” He tells you stepping away to flick a light switch on the outside of a stone mason building. Soft fairy lights twinkle to life casting a soft glow of light. Not bright enough to blind you upon looking after being in the dark, but light enough to show you the beauty of the outdoor space.

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. You don't know if it's from your mad dash through the night or the beauty and thoughtfulness of it all. “Anti...” You whisper. You feel like a young child stumbling upon the greatest hidden garden of all times. Rose bushes in perfect order, well trimmed, and in full bloom row the wide walkways. Large stones paced with care and love make your pathways. Soft moss and well clipped grass sprout around the stones giving a soft cushion below your shoes if you miss a stone.

“I found this place not long ago, I thought you could appreciate it better than anyone.” Anti says keeping to the side, watching you with a soft gaze as you wonder through the paths. The raw awe and wonder in your eyes humbles him. It's been years since he's seen that look on anyone's face, much less Dark's.

He doesn't quite know what it is about you that attracts him. On the surface you're fairly plain. He'd never utter the words out loud so callously, there is nothing wrong with plain looks, it actually makes you more attractive to him. And had he had hoped you gave him normalcy, you humbled him with your enthusiasm and pride in your work. You put your everything into your job and it shows.

He didn't quite know when it started to happen; the affection, the need to see you, to see you smile and giggle behind your hand. He adored the way you'd have to actually turn away and pretend to cough to keep from laughing when he'd mix up a line or fail at a stunt.

You had genuine concern for him if he'd gotten hurt or if there was a hint of injury. You were first to greet him in the morning with his favorite coffee and a chocolate scone hot and fresh from the oven. He thought you just hit the bakery first thing in the morning but then he actually learned you wake up hours before anyone else to bake the scones at home and bring them in with home pressed coffee.

You dedication to your work, the passion you put into everything you do it left him speechless and wanting to know more about you. He shared more with you than he ever had with anyone outside his small circle. If he'd met you before Dark he wonders which direction his life would have gone.

But thinking about the what if's never helped anyone. Stepping away from the stone wall Anti meets you in the center of the garden area. A large twenty by twenty foot square is bare. Your eyes shine like diamonds in the fairly lights. He knew this would be the best place to show you.

“Do you like it?” He asks finally.

You nod your head looking around the garden. It's spacious and large but still feels small and secluded and private. “It's wonderful, Anti. It's simply stunning and... I'm at a loss of words.” You tell him smiling happily. You adore the garden. You adore Anti for showing it to you. “But,” You whisper looking to Anti again. Some of the wonder lost as reality settles in. “I can't help but wonder why you brought me here.”

Anti's smile falters. It takes a moment before Anti's smile is back, but the sadness is there too. The change solidifies your darkest fear. “I'm leaving for Ireland in two days.”

You gasp. It hurts, it stings, but reality is often cruel. You know from the moment you realized how deeply you'd fallen for Anti just how far you'll fall when it's done and over. “O-oh, for how long?” You ask taking a step away from Anti. Maybe if you put some distance between you and the news it won't hurt as much....

“A year at least.” Anti responds knowing what you're doing and doesn't stop you.  He's been adapt at reading you for a while now, it still doesn't make this talk any easier.

Once you start nodding you can't seem to stop whispering, “Th-that's great. You... you've been meaning to go back.” You have to put your focus into stopping your head from nodding any more. One arm wraps around your waist as the other gently rubs the back of your neck. You're gaze drops away from Anti. “I'm... I'm happy for you. You'll be able to spend more time with your family.” You add when Anti doesn't say anything in response.

You can do this. You can hold yourself together just long enough to encourage Anti. You have to do this for him. You can't... You can't fall apart. Over and over in your mind you tell yourself you can do this. You promise yourself you can break down once Anti is gone and can't see you fall apart.

“Y/n,” Anti whispers. Your smiling, he see's you trying to hold yourself together but that's worse than crying to him. He can see you doing everything you can to keep from breaking down out of some misguided thought that it would fool him. “You don't have to hide...”

You interject quickly, “I'm not hiding anything except my excitement for you! Come on. We should go celebrate you journey back to Ireland.” Mustering up your best, brightest, happiest smile you flash it at Anti and spin on your heels throwing your arms up. You need to be enthusiastic for him, you can't help him in on the torment you feel at his leaving. “You'll have so many people ready to see you, so much to do... to s—see. You won't miss this place...” Keep digging your own hole, you chastise yourself instantly. Rub more salt into your own wounds. Your throat closes, breathing becomes more difficult within seconds. Clear hot tears race down your cheeks in thick fat drops leaving behind come streaks  when the wind picks up for a moment.

Anti's heart breaks at the sound of your soft sob. Your shoulder jump head falling forward. He knew it'd be hard, but not this hard. He never would have imagined seeing you try to make him feel better, to see you break down all while trying to hide it would hurt so much. You both knew the affair couldn't keep going.

Looking at his hands Anti moves swiftly. He has to comfort you. He has to do something. He did this to you, to himself. He'd seen you innocent intentions, the way you dismissed his flirting as awkward conversation skills, and unlike him you'd held on to the notion you were friends and only friends. Wrapping his arms around you Anti hugs you tightly. “Y/n, I'm sorry.”  He whispers resting his forehead against the back of your head.

You can't talk, talking hurts and is impossible. All you can do is sob and shake and wish you could disappear. You feel stupid, humiliated, weak, but mostly broken. You can't even comfort Anti in this state.

“I never should have done this to you.” He whispers too low, his voice never making it to your ears despite being so close. Loosening his grip Anti walks around you never breaking contact with you. He's worried you might run off the moment he releases you. Lifting his hand Anti touches the underside of your chin coaching you looking up at him. Even now with blotchy skin, red puffy eyes, and tears leaking from your eyes you still are a vision of beauty and goodness to him.

“Y/n,” Anti pauses. He was about to tell you if he'd met you before Dark things would be different, but stopped himself from causing you more pain by being careless with his words. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Closing your eyes you try to drop your head. Anti doesn't give you that liberty. “I don't blame you.” You finally say between hiccups and deep unsteady breaths. “I—I knew... but... but I couldn't stop... I should have...” Your thoughts are jumbled and you can't make your words make sense in any fashion.

Something breaks in Anti at the knowledge of what he'd really done to you. “Do you love me?” He asks softly.

He doesn't fight you when you drop your head again. Hot salty tears slip through your lashes. “Yes. I love you Anti, and I... I shouldn't.... I knew better...I knew..” You sniffle lifting your gaze to the sky. “I knew and I didn't stop it... I kept...” You shake your head at your own naive thinking. “I kept telling myself I wouldn't fall for you. That I could keep my emotions at bay and be that friend you needed.”

The sincerity in your voice hits Anti like a two by four to the gut. He sees it plain as day. He's broken you. “I'm sorry...” He knows you deserve more but it's all he can muster to say.

Your smile pains him as you shake your head. The sincerity of your actions, your words, your love for him... he doesn't know what he's doing anymore. He can't believe he thought this would be harmless fun for all.

“It's okay.” You tell him nodding your head again. You keep the painful smile on your lips to keep from crying again. “It's okay. I knew.” You sniffle looking away from Anti for a moment. “You're married, and I... I never should have let it get this far.” Blinking a few times you keep your gaze from Anti.

It hurts, hurt more than anything he's experienced before. He thought being ignored by Dark, pushed aside for work had been painful, but it pales against this goodbye. If Dark hadn't found out Anti could have continued on with you. Happily. He'd happily continued as you have for the past eight months. He feels more live with you than he has in years.

But he loves Dark still. He wants to be with Dark and he hasn't physically cheated with you, not that he hadn't wanted to, but the emotional comfort had been better than any sex he'd ever had. He still held so much guilt over the emotional cheating he'd been engaging in with you. He never admitted to regretting to the casual affair, he couldn't because he isn't.

Rarely he's been at a loss for words for so long, but nothing he can think of sounds worth of you. Nothing sounds good enough to express just how horrible he feels for stringing you along. Never mind how enthralled he is by you, or how much he's beginning to believe he could be happy with you at his side; he could never give you that hope knowing what he does now. It's tear you down further to have that kind of dream ripped from you.

Looking around the garden you spot a small but beautiful budding rose. Walking over you take care to remove the rose with a long stem. A parting gift that will die just like your foolish dreams. “Here. A parting gift.” You say holding the rose out to Anti. His fingers take the stem just above your hand. You can see the confusion in his eyes. He doesn't understand. You don't want to drag this scene out any further. It'll just be that much more painful.

Stepping closer to Anti you stand on you toes and kiss his cheek. “Take care of yourself Anti. Talk more with Dark. Don't...” You have to take a deep breath to get through this next part. “Don't let this happen again. You both deserve better.” Tears blur your vision. Steeling yourself you smile at Anti again releasing your held breath with crass laugh. “Safe flight.” You add when Anti doesn't say anything back to you.

He doesn't know what to say. He wants to call out to you, to tell you he's sorry that he loves you too, but he can't  do it. You'd said your peace to move on. This would be his punishment. Hearing your soft sobs disappear into the night will haunt him.

You are perfect and amazing and... and he hurt you  in a way no one should ever be hurt. He doesn't know when the tears started or when he'd brought the rose to his chest cradling it against his shirt. You'd been his victim. “I'm so sorry, Y/n.” He whispers.

Dark steps out a french door hidden by ivy. He'd seen the whole thing. He'd seen the way Anti's eyes watched you with such kindness and affection it hurt him. It was in that first moment of seeing his husband interact with you the Dark realized just how in denial two of you were.

Dark had to steel himself from sympathizing with you. You even admitted to knowing what was happening. You showed remorse for not stopping it, and even denial that it'd gotten so far, but most of all, you showed you understood just what your actions had done.

Without words Dark wraps his arms around Anti, holding him close. He's careful of the single rose you'd left as a gift. If things were different... but then again when has the what if game ever lead to anything good? “I know that was hard.” Dark whispers. There isn't any point in rubbing it in. It's obvious to him Anti is in enough pain.

“I'm sorry, D.” Anti looks up into his husbands dark brown eyes. “I'm a horrible person.”

Dark shakes his head. “No, just misguided and foolish, but not horrible. Y/n will heal in time, and so shall we.” Dark promises. Anti nods.

[calacuspr]

The Daily Telegraph: Dina Asher-Smith has more medals to win - ice cream can wait

The life Dina Asher-Smith has lived for the past 22 years is about to change forever. From winning the European 100 metres title and becoming the fastest woman on the planet this year, she is now odds-on to make history, with two further gold medals up for grabs in the coming days.

That she will become the darling of British athletics seems inevitable – she is the natural heir to Jessica Ennis-Hill’s crown.

Expectation will grow, publicity will increase and marketing experts are already talking about seven-figure sponsorship sums.

But no greater insight can be gleaned into the unwavering focus of the would-be queen than her late night abstinence in the wake of her greatest triumph to date.

Confronted by a delivery of ice cream on arriving back at her Berlin hotel after claiming European gold on Tuesday evening, the self-confessed fast-food junkie forced herself to turn a blind eye, with the 200m and 4x100m yet to come.

“No celebration – I was like, ‘No ice cream for me,’” says Asher-Smith. “I’m not just focusing on the 100m and treating the 200m as a bonus. For me they mean the same. I’m only half-way or one-third of the way through my championships.”

Mention of the ice cream prompts startled wide eyes and a schoolmasterly “she didn’t tell me about that” from her long-term coach, John Blackie, before he is hastily reassured that she did not submit to her vice.

Blackie first came across Asher-Smith when she joined his Bees Academy coaching initiative for children under 12, and he has imparted to her the benefits of total focus. She was just one of hundreds of eager youngsters who would tear up and down the track in Bromley, south London, but Blackie soon had a hunch that someone special was on his hands.

“She obviously had a lot of athletic ability,” he says. “You look and see who has strong, muscular legs or a spring in their legs and Dina had both of those. You don’t know how they are going to turn out at that age, but you just know there’s something there.”

That X factor is something sports brands spend considerable time and money seeking out, long before athletes hit the public eye. Far from the glare of the spotlight, in places such as Bedford and Lee Valley, athletics scouts from sportswear companies routinely cast their eye over the next generation in a bid to hunt out a future gem.

Asher-Smith was one of them. Totally dominant in her region, she signed her first Nike contract at the end of 2012 after completing an English Under-17 sprint double that followed on from the same feat at Under-15 level.

The sportswear giant was not to know what the future might hold, but Blackie was already hopeful that he had a senior international under his charge. No one would have been so bold as to predict what has happened since. As the first British woman to have won European 100m gold since 1962, Asher-Smith is no longer a prospect for the future, but a genuine threat to any current sprinter in the world. She should head to next year’s World Championships as a triple European champion, with the 2020 Olympics looming on the horizon.

Such success on the track naturally attracts riches off it and brands are likely to fall over themselves to be associated with the ever-smiling King’s College London history graduate.

Sponsorship consultant Nigel Currie says Asher-Smith will now be entering a “completely different league” of marketing potential compared to her British team-mates.

“There is a falling off of the old crop from 2012,” Currie says. “The sprints are the blue-riband events and she is so marketable – she comes across brilliantly in interview, is highly intelligent, very switched on and that makes up a complete package.

“If she continues to do well and is able to stay at the top for a period of five years she could potentially become the highest-paid female athlete of all time. She has to win Olympic gold medals and stay up there for a long period, but that’s the potential for her.”

Fame and fortune comes at a price, though, and David Alexander, managing director of sports PR consultancy Calacus, says Asher-Smith must be careful not to take her eye off the ball.

“She will have to be prepared for personal appearances, interviews and photoshoots, and being available for a raft of television shows, while at the same time ensuring her training is not affected,” he says.

“What Dina has to remember, as Jessica Ennis-Hill experienced at London 2012, is that with great profile comes expectation and pressure, and that’s something she will have to cope with for the rest of her athletic career.

“The most important thing she can do is focus on her training and competition. All the profile in the world counts for little if she is not on the podium winning medals, preferably of the gold variety.”

The public eye is not something that overly concerns the understated Blackie, who is unlikely to allow Asher-Smith to get carried away, having greeted her previous 10.92sec national record with the gruff verdict: “She’s done OK.”

Blackie has always been impressed by Asher-Smith’s ability to compartmentalise the distractions in her life, be they media duties, studies or boyfriends – including former partner Zharnel Hughes, who replicated her European success with gold in the men’s race. If her immediate reaction to her world-leading time on Tuesday is anything to go by, there is little to worry about.

Having hit her pre-season target of 10.85sec that would prompt her to purchase a personal treat, Asher-Smith has now reneged on the deal she made with herself and set a new mission to go even faster before the year is out.

When it is pointed out she now leads this season’s world rankings, she counters by suggesting a non-Olympic and non-World Championships year “is not indicative of the next cycle”. Further, she argues that British sprinters are naturally in better shape than those of other nations due to the dual challenge of a Commonwealth Games and European Championships in the space of four months.

They are not the words of a young woman about to get carried away with success. This week, she says, is one big “stepping stone”. Greater things await.

To read the article at The Daily telegraph, please click HERE

[shystoryrebel]

Wronged Race: The agony of a Brahman

My countrymen, I served honestly and to the best of my ability. But their numbers out numbered me. Their votes were well cast (e)-ed… Their votes flew like the stinking autumn leaves, and blinded the vision of all like the bright sun in the desert. My intellect fell around me…The sun ascended pale on us in the morning, and at night it lost in the gloomy clouds, and appeared as an emissary of devastation. That was the last sun that shone on this Brahman…He is now a slave to the quota man… He has done nothing immoral for which a Brahman ought to be disgraced and cursed. He has served his country, society and people, against abusive quota men, who punch the system, year after year, to cheat the people and seize away their fundamental rights.

 You know the cause of our knowledge and intellect. It is known to all my country men. They ought to be ashamed of this. Brahmans are not deceitful. The quota men speak badly of the Brahman and look at him maliciously. But the Brahman does not tell lies. Brahmans do not steal. Story is same every where, be it Kashmir or Tamilnadu or Utter Pradesh or Bihar.

 A Brahman, who is as bad as the quota men, could not live in this great nation; he would be put to death, eaten up by meat eater vultures. The quota men are bad masters; they have the benefit of false acts, and covenant in false actions; they grin in the face of the poor Brahman to cheat them; they vibrate them by the hand to gain their confidence, to make them drunk, to con them, and ruin their lives and family. We prayed them to leave us alone, but they curved themselves among us, like the snake. They poisoned us by their slap lightly. We are not safe and secure. We are in danger. We are becoming like them, hypocrite and liars, double-crossing slothful murmur, all talkers and no workers.

 This mournful truth is the reality of our existence. Sun sets very slow but here more slow, where all are slaves to numbers and power. Where merit is cursed and intellect is abused, here life is won by bribes and flatters implored.

 Great Chanakya said, “The nation which insults the merit, is bound to perish” The quota men do not scalp the head like brute Moguls but they do worse-they poison the system and mind…Farewell, my nation! My People-Farewell to a Brahman- Wronged by the Constitutional Apartheid.

 Brahminical system is the greatest strength of Hinduism. It has the power of assimilation, a readiness to reform and include new things and discard old and outmoded ones. It is here that the Buddhists were outwitted by the Brahmins. Buddhism is perhaps the greatest religion that the world has ever seen, but who can compete with Shiva and Shakti, the systems of worship which have lasted in India for thousands of years since the days of Indus valley civilization? Who can compete with Vishnu, the greatest of all Puranic gods? They incorporated every precious bit of folk religions, Shakaracharya even assimilated the whole Buddhist philosophy of Nagarjuna, and thus the Brahmins ensured that the reach and scope of Brahminical Hinduism were peerless.

This order or caste mobility was fully allowed depending on a person's merit and abilities. If Hinduism is really this resilient, vibrant and assimilatory way of life which we all believe it is.

It's possible, because Hinduism is an ever flowing river, and not a frozen pond; we don’t have a Quran or a Bible; we even acknowledge the validity of atheist philosophical schools like Sankhya within our fold, and we have heterodox systems (which challenged the authority of the Vedas) like Buddhism, Charvakism etc. What we need is a new religious ferment. There is little use in howling over the atrocities of Islam unless we are able to offer an irresistible alternative to the common man. Let's make Hinduism attractive, new, innovative and egalitarian. Let's destroy caste hierarchy based on caste quotas created by neo-Ambedkarites Brahmans. This casteism is our Achilles' heel, and some Hindu wisdom must prevail now so that we can start another reform movement in India at par with Adi Shankaracharya, Buddha, Mahavir, Shri Chaitanya and Swami Vivekananda.

  Brand Name

God send me on the earth, an innocent being,  Untouched by the black and white doing,  But the world branded me as a Brahmin,  And a curse fallen on this urchin,  A child of lesser God,  The entire honor was forbidden to this pod,  Education, help, livelihood,  All was snatched by Robin Hood,  Some branded it as social equality,  But it was state cruelty,  Other’s called it secular passion,  But it was ugly repression,  All the isms kill human rights,  They are the Jan us face of racial might. 

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/brand-name/

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Once a Witch

Chapter One

For @yourtropegirl based on this Ask. Another request which got out of hand. Hope it is everything you were wanting!

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Witch!Reader  |  Word Count: 1686 Warnings: Tragic death.

August 1692, Salem Village, Massachusetts.

In the dark of the night, you were running, fleeing for your life from those who hunted you through the pitch black. The baying of hounds pierced the silence which surrounded you. Your laboured breathing and choked sobs the only other noise to break the quiet stillness.

The hysteria in the village had been growing. Good men and women had been hung after being labelled witches for worshiping the devil.

Henry had been urging you, begging you to leave. It was no longer safe to stay near the village, your quiet cottage in the woods already casting the two of you in the light of being odd. But Mary Ann had been so close to having her babe, and you knew the birth would be a difficult one. Without you there, both she and the child likely would not have survived.

So, he’d relented, and now… Henry was gone.

They had come for you in the night, come for you and Henry. Your husband, your lover. The one you had walked through hundreds of years with. While the girls in the village had raved in hysteria, thrown false accusations on innocent women, you and Henry had been what everyone was looking for.

The two of you were witches.

You’d met five hundred and seventy-two years prior on the eve of a full moon. Two powerful forces drawn together under the moonlight, born of neighbouring clans, meeting beneath the light of the goddess, and falling instantly in love.

Big, bold, and brave, he’d been a most powerful man. Skilled with sword and shield, able to move things with only a thought, and deliver a mighty blow which could fell a man with ease. But not even he had been able to escape death at the hands of a bullet.

From the village, they had come. Men bearing guns and torches, your name on their lips, shouting for your surrender. It seemed it was your turn to be accused of witchcraft.

If only they knew the truth.

And it harm none was your creed. You could do no damage with your magic, but you could protect yourself.

The spell you’d cast had been quick and would not last long. You’d hoped it had been enough for the two of you to sneak into the night, the fog and mist you’d summoned shrouding you both, but you’d been wrong.

A sharp-eyed villager had glimpsed you slipping into the forest and given chase, managing to shoot Henry in the side.

He’d grunted, stumbled, before shoving you forward, forcing you to run.

Thinking it was not as bad as it had seemed, you’d raced into the dark, the trees bending beneath your request and closing behind you, making it difficult for those following.

It wasn’t until he’d stumbled again, his breathing ragged, that you'd realized it was far worse than you’d feared.

Falling to your knees his side, you’d lit a fairy light to see by and cried out softly in dismay. Too much blood had poured down his side, soaking his pants and the ground beneath him.

“Henry, no!” you’d cried when he’d fallen over, managing to catch his head and bring it to your lap.

He’d reached up, flicking your light out. The beautiful blue of his eyes had glowed softly, his magic flaring. He’d placed his hand on your cheek, wet with his blood, and gently stroked it as he always did. “You must run.”

“Not without you!” you'd protested, but he’d knocked your hands away when you’d reached for his wound.

“It is too great. I am not long for this world.”

“No, no, no! I cannot do this without you, Henry!” You’d wanted to scream with denial, but already you could hear the men hunting for you.

“You must!”

Sobbing, biting your fist to keep the sound muffled, you’d cradled his head. “No,” you’d moaned. “Please…”

“Mo ghaol,” he’d whispered, the light in his eyes dimming. “I will not be gone forever. Our souls entwine, our hearts beat as one. I am tied to you, and to you, I will return.”

Nodding, you’d held him and said goodbye, your tears falling on his face until the beat of his heart slowed and stopped beneath your hand.

With the barking of the dogs closing in, you’d whispered a soft spell, “Unto the earth, I return your frame because the goddess calls your name. May she hold you safe and free, until the day you return to me.”

His body sank away from you into the earth, nothing more than a shell which had once housed your greatest love.

Now, running still, you came to the river and paused. Tired, heartsore, and distraught, you rested against the bark of an old maple and reached for the flicker of power inside you. It was muted now with your pain.

Plants and animals were your specialties. Your connection to nature strong, but with how much pain you were in, could you even cast the spell you needed to escape?

Pulling on your magic, you brought your fist to your lips. “Confuse the nose and blind the eye, your senses now become a lie. Return you to where once you came, for everything here smells the same.” Blowing on your fist, you let the power go, shimmering in sparkles through the air.

The baying fell to silence. The dogs milling now, confused and unsure before they picked up again, heading away from you.

Collapsing to your knees, you finally let the tears fall freely.

“Henry…” Whatever would you do without him?

***

 Present Day, New York City

Steve Rogers, the noble Captain had a secret. A big one. One no one knew about. He’d thought he’d done a pretty good job of hiding it until the fight at the airport when Spider-Man, the now known Peter Parker and a friend, had called him out on his shield, stating how it defied the laws of physics.

It did, in fact, defy the laws of physics, but not because of the metal it was made from. The vibranium had nothing to do with it. It was because Steven Grant Rogers was telekinetic.

He hadn’t always been. In the forties, when he’d been nothing more than a skinny punk, he’d had no such abilities. It wasn’t until after he’d been injected with the serum and the change had overtaken him that his power became apparent.

The first time he’d figured out something was different had been when he’d gone after Bucky and the 107th. In the forest, when he’d been assured he’d been alone, he’d practiced drawing his gun because let’s face it, he hadn’t exactly been getting in target practice when he’d been touring with the girls.

He’d been taking aim at a tree a few yards away, draw and aim, pretend to pull the trigger, when he’d gone to put his pistol away and accidentally fired it instead. Having still been focused on his target he’d been rather surprised when the bullet had not plowed into his foot, but had curved up and hit the knot in the tree dead center.

Something inside him seemed to awaken with that first incident, and when he’d been given the choice of shield by Howard, he’d taken his opportunity to select a round one, knowing he could pass off his abilities with lucky ricochets.

Too bad Peter was so observant.

Steve also had to admit he’d been a little… slack with his aim. Using his power to call the shield back even though it really should have gone off course. He didn’t know why he didn’t just come out and tell everyone he had these powers, but every time he tried his heart would beat faster, a cold sweat would break out on his body, and a place in his side would sear heat and pain as if he’d been shot. He couldn’t, however, remember ever taking a wound there.

But his unexplained pain was not why he was awake at this ungodly hour, pacing the halls of the tower as he headed to the gym where he would, hopefully, work off enough energy to go back to bed.

Wrapping his hands quickly, he began laying into a heavy bag with vigour, needing to get the stress out.

The sweat had gathered, creating a ‘v’ in the back of his shirt when a voice cleared behind him.

“Steve.”

“Tony.” Steve nodded.

Making his way across the floor, Tony leaned against the wall. “This is becoming a habit for you.”

Steve shrugged, going back to punching the bag.

“Something on your mind, Cap?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?” Tony asked, frowning.

Sighing, Steve grabbed the swinging bag with both hands and dropped his forehead to it. “I’m having… dreams.”

“Steamy dreams?” Tony grinned.

“Disturbing ones.”

“About?”

“A woman.”

“Wait, wait, wait. How is a dream about a woman disturbing?”

“She's scared, terrified. We're running through the woods… and then I die.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Well, that would be disturbing.”

“They feel like… it’s stupid, but they feel like… memories?”

“Maybe they are.”

Steve snorted. “Sure.”

“Hey,” Tony muttered, stepping closer, “if Asgardians are the gods of old, why can’t past lives be a real thing too?”

“Past life?”

“You know, reincarnation and shit. Maybe you used to be Cleopatra or something.”

Rolling his eyes at Tony’s smirk, Steve shook his head. “She called me Henry. Pretty sure I wasn’t an Egyptian Queen.”

“You having these dreams every night?” Tony asked.

“For the past three weeks.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Tony waved at Steve’s hands. “Get rid of that. We’ve got work to do.”

“Work?”

“Yeah. We’re going to figure out just what and where you’re dreaming of.”

“Why? What good will that do?”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe none. But maybe knowing the who and the where will be enough to let you sleep. If not… no one said you had to be here round the clock. Take a furlough. Go off and figure it out.”

***

Three hours later, and after many pots of coffee, Steve had an era and a destination.

Flopping backward on his bed, he stared at the ceiling, hoping for a few hours of sleep before getting up, packing, and heading for Salem, Massachusetts.

Next Chapter

[imgilmoregirl]

Something Broken

AO3 Link

Summary: Belle was brought to Hyperion Heights by the curse too, but there she is Isobel, detective Weaver's ex-wife, for who he is still totally in love with.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: “You said you’d always be there for me…so how did this happen? Why weren’t you there?”

This story was revised by my amazing beta @ethereal-wishes.

Dealing with Rogers was starting to frustrate him. By the time  Weaver chose his new partner, he thought that this time he had done something right, but then that stupid one-handed man started to gain some confidence and seemed insistent on doing anything that could rid them of Victoria Belfrey.  Not that this wasn't what he desired too, but being reckless was not the way they were going to pull her down.

He had been following his partner around, lingering in the shadows the whole morning, until his cell-phone started to ring and the number of his son's school appearing on the screen arrested his attention. Weaver quickly picked up the call, hearing the hurried explanation of the teacher as she said that Gideon probably had a broken arm, and he was ready to go to his car and rush to the school, when he saw Rogers entering the restaurant, and he knew that he would need to fix his mess. The detective rung  out his phone, promising himself that as soon as he finished with this, he was going to look out for his boy.

However, it took longer than expected to clean up Roger's mess, so when he finally finished his job and warned the new detective about the dangers of working behind his back, he entered his car and went to the school, just to find out that his ex-wife Isobel had already taken their boy to the hospital.

So there he was, playing with his car keys while walking through the white corridors in search for someone that could give him any information about his son and that was when he saw her: auburn hair pulled up in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a pink blouse and looking a lot younger than she really was. Isobel was biting down on her lip, arms folded against her chest as she stared transfixed on one of the hallways.

He approached slowly, unsure of how to start a conversation when they barely spoke ever since their last big argument, a year ago. But then, this was for Gideon and they always put him first.

"They called me from the school," began Weaver, starling her and making Isobel turn around with an angry look on her face.

"Yeah, around five hours ago, I suppose."

A long, deep sigh, left Weaver. Isobel had been this bitter with him for too long now, and he knew that she still blamed him for how things ended in their marriage, but there was a time in the past when they were genuinely happy and truly loved each other. But, well kind of later than sooner, Isobel realised how much of a bastard he was and asked for the divorce. Some small part of him always knew that they were fated to end badly, but the devotion she had for him blinded Weaver for a long time, making him believe that it was possible for them to live happily together. It only increased by the news of her pregnancy, that gave them their precious Gideon. This foolishly gave him hope.

Now-a-days, he only saw his son during the weekends or after school on Wednesdays. And Isobel... His dear Isobel hated him.

"I was working," he explained, "I couldn't get here immediately. I went to the school and they told me that you had already taken him to the hospital."

"I did, because I was there five minutes after they called," she remarked in a clipped tone.

Of course she was. One of the greatest things he admired about her was how she was a such a good mother, but today it only served to irritate him.

"Where is my son?"

"Getting  an x-ray," Isobel whispered, glancing away.

That was when he noticed that she had tears in her eyes and was trying to wipe them before he noticed, however she wasn't fast enough. Taking a deep breath, Weaver stepped forward to touch her arm.

"Are you alright?"

"No, I'm anything but alright, Weaver," she said, pulling away from him. "You know, the day we got married you made me a lot of stupid promises and being  the naïve girl that I was, I believed then, but now I know that I was nothing more than a fool."

"Belle - " the name slipped out of his mouth like an old love song, beautiful and sad.

When they were married, he called her Belle very often, because as much as he wasn't one too used to nicknames, he thought that it suited her so perfectly, and  he couldn't help himself by saying it over and over again. And she used to love that, she used to curl herself on his lap and say that she was being a bad girl that needed to be investigated by the local detective. He would call her Belle when they were alone, but he would call her that as well on any other occasion he desired too, and they were blissfully in love, instead of what they were in that hospital that day: angry and bitter.

She shook her head at him, more tears escaping her eyes which made his heart race in agony. He longed to touch her face, to kiss her lips, but he wasn't going to give in to that. He was too stubborn.

"You said you'd always be there for me, so how did this happen?" Belle asked, gesticulating between them. "I've been raising our child all alone for years while you've been solving your freaking crimes. Gideon didn't ask for any of this, but you let him down too, he has a broken arm and a shattered heart, because he has been asking for you ever since I picked him up at school. Now tell me, Weaver, why weren't you there when we needed you?"

"You didn't contend on our marriage to last either!"

Weaver couldn't believe that they were yelling at each other in the middle of the hospital, blaming the other for something which both were clearly guilty of.

"I should have listened to my father when he told me that marrying you was the worst mistake of my life," Isobel mumbled.

"Yeah," he agreed, "maybe you should've."

He was so mad that he didn't realise that a small figure had stopped in front of them and was looking between the pair with wide brown eyes, while cradling his injured arm with the opposite hand.

"Mommy?" Gideon queried, "Daddy?"

"Hey, sweetheart," Belle kneeled beside him, wiping her cheeks and putting on a smile. "You already took that x-ray?"

The boy nodded, his expression showing some insecurity. "The doctor said that they wilI need to put a cast on my arm. Can you sit by my side while he does it?"

"Of course, I can."

Isobel rose to her feet, running her fingers through Gideon's hair as she started to lead him back to the hallway from where he'd came from, but the boy stopped, looking over his shoulder to where Weaver was, still standing in the same spot, unsure of what he should do next.

"Aren't you coming, daddy?"

"Sure, my boy," he smiled, following the two of them inside the room where the doctor was waiting to put the cast on Gideon's arm.

Weaver watched patiently while his boy had this arm immobilized.  Belle stroked his back nervously the whole time. The doctor said that they should come back there in six weeks to see if they could  take the cast off, and told Gideon to take care of the arm, then he let them go. He accompanied his son and ex-wife to the parking lot.

"How did you get this broken arm?"

"Running," he shrugged. "Me and my friends were just playing during our lunch break, but then I stumbled and fell."

A sideways grin  appeared on his lips as he remembered how many times Isobel had fallen down by accident or just dropped something and broken it.

"You're getting as clumsy as your mom, huh?"

That made Belle stop walking, and she turned around, opening the door of her tiny blue car and gesticulating for the boy to get in.

"Gid, go wait inside."

Nodding, Gideon hugged his father quickly before obediently settling himself in the backseat of the car. Weaver looked at Isobel's eyes, noticing how they were narrowed in annoyance.

"You can take your weekend by yourself," she informed him, "I'll take care of him."

Both his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"It is my weekend, Isobel."

"And I'm sorry, but I don't care," she snapped. "He needs attention, and I know that whenever you spend the weekend with him, you let Gideon do everything he wants while you analyse your cases."

Not that this wasn't true, but it hurt Weaver to hear the accusation leave her lips. He loved his son more than anything in this world and it wasn't fair that she trying to keep them apart because she thought that he didn't do a great job as a father.

"I'm not an irresponsible, I can take care of my child!"

"Try next week, detective," Isobel said, opening the driver's door and sitting in front of the steering wheel. "I won't have him breaking another arm so soon."

Shutting the door, she started driving and the car disappeared down the street, leaving Weaver stewing in his anger.

"Whoa, she is good at beating you down with words," he heard somebody say behind him.

The voice was a well-known one, and he didn't even need to turn around to know that he would find the blonde girl in that same old plaid red shirt.

"What are you doing here?"

Tilly shrugged, looking around without any specific interest.

"Thought you wanted me to follow Henry Mills around, and I seen him in the cemetery last night."

"Not exactly interesting," Weaver pointed out, still thinking about Belle and his boy and wanting more than nothing than for Tilly to go away.

He started to make the way to his own black car, but the blonde girl followed him.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Why do I have the feeling that even if I say no, you are going to ask it anyway?"

"Because you know that I will," Tilly said in a that playful tone of hers that used to irritate him. "So, why did you divorce Isobel? You're clearly still in love with her, I can see it in those puppy eyes you make every time she is near."

And that was a conversation that he wasn't intending to have with her of all people, not that he really would ever discuss his relationship with Isobel with anyone, but Tilly was a foolish young girl and despite her clearly bad inclination, probably still dreamed of true love. However, he couldn't just say that she was wrong, because she wasn't. His heart still beat for Belle.

"We weren't right for each other," he sighed. "Now can you please go do something else and leave me alone?"

"I'd like to have a mom like her," Tilly muttered. "She is so dedicated."

Turning around, Weaver looked her in the eyes, putting on a threatening face. "Why are you still here?"

Tilly opened her backpack and took a white and blue chipped teacup from there, one that he had last seen in another life. Weaver was hit by a wave of memories that made him dizzy, and he needed to lean against his car as not to fall at the sight of it.

"I found it on your apartment today," the girl explained. "Can you tell me why do you keep something so damaged inside a safe?"

Swallowing hard, Weaver stretched a hand to get it from her. "Go away, Tilly."

"But - "

"Go!"

Seeming to be angry, Tilly turned her back to him and disappeared between the cars, but he needed to take a moment to breath before he managed to open his car door and settle himself inside, still fighting to organize the new memories in his head.

He wasn't detective Weaver. No, he was Rumplestiltskin and the woman that he had met in the hospital wasn't his ex-wife Isobel. She was just Belle, the only one that could have loved him and damn that curse for separating them, but now that he was awake, he wasn't going to let anything get between them.

"Oh, sweetheart," Rumplestiltskin whispered, looking down at the chipped cup. "I'm sorry."

It was time to fix things.

[gaysonbikes]

Fly Me To The Moon (Chapter One)

Fandom: IT

Pairing: Reddie (Richie/Eddie)

Authors: starks-and-skywalkers and cacti-cool

Warnings: lots of angst, swearing

Read on AO3 here

Derry was one of those towns that never really changed, no matter how much time passed. The tall trees that lined the streets still swayed in the breeze. The sun cast a nostalgic, orange glow over every citizen and building within the city limits.

A run down, second hand car raced through the streets, thoroughly shattering the illusion of the perfect town. Music blared obnoxiously from the subpar speakers and the peeling blue paint winked in the high noon sun.

Richie Tozier, behind the wheel of said car, had not slept the night before. He had lay awake until the wee hours of the morning, thoughts racing around in circles, taunting and screaming. They did the same thing now, so he forced himself to concentrate on something else.

He felt heat seeping into his legs through the paper bag in his lap, and heard a sound of distress from the seat next to him. Right, Eddie was in the car as well.

“I’ve seen blind people drive better than you, Richie Tozier.”

“I’m trying not to spill our lunch, Eds. Don’t doubt my efforts.”

Eddie scowled at the nickname, before reaching over the console and relieving Richie’s lap of the paper bag.

“The food will be knocked over if we get in a car cra- EYES ON THE ROAD!”

Richie screeched to a stop upon registering the flash of a red stop sign. Eddie put his arm out to brace himself against the dashboard, jolting forward in his seat. Richie looked over, grinning at his friend. His brown hair had fallen into his eyes a little, cheeks pink from exclusion and heat. Richie forced his eyes away and continued back down the path to their high school.

“We should change your name from Trashmouth to Trash Driver, I swear to God.”

“Oh, come on Eddie Spaghetti, I know you love the thrill of a good ol’ drive.

Eddie made a frustrated noise.

“For the final fucking time, don’t call me that. And you shouldn’t be giving anyone rides ever again.”

“Your mom would beg to differ.”

“Beep beep, asshole,” but Eddie grinned a little, so Richie knew he wasn’t mad, not really. Richie allowed himself to look over at his companion out of the corner of his eye. His hands were fiddling with the edge of the paper bag in his lap, face passive and content. He pulled a bit of his lip between his teeth, biting off some of the chapped skin there. He must have forgotten his chapstick that day. But just as Eddie started to look back, Richie snapped his head back, looking at the road.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it, he recited in his head, nearly white-knuckling the steering wheel. His skin prickled as he felt Eddie’s eyes turn to him.

“You okay Trashmouth? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The lie bubbled out of his mouth easier than anything.

“Yeah, just didn’t sleep last night. That mother of yours…” Richie smiled and shook his head, but the joke was half-hearted.

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Stop avoiding the question. Was it, y'know,” he nervously runs his tongue across his lip, “It?” Richie’s hands gripped the steering wheel a little harder.

“Yeah, it was.” The half truth might as well have been a lie as well. But Eddie nodded in understanding.

“What did It do?”

It had you.

“It had all of you, down in the well.”

The leper had you in the well.

“You were all caught in the deadlights.”

He kept whispering to you. A nickel, a dime, for free. “Come on Eddie, be just like me.”

“I couldn’t reach any of you.”

I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream. I’m so sorry.

“I get what you mean. That’s terrible Richie.”

I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIlo-

“Yeah. It wasn’t the greatest,” He turned and grinned at Eddie, “But seeing your beautiful mug makes it all better.” Richie pinched Eddie’s cheek, earning him a swat on the arm.

“Quit it. Make sure you don’t hit anyone.” Richie gave a mock salute, screeching into the parking lot of Derry High. He could spot all of their friends sitting underneath the shade of one of the large trees littered around campus. They all turned at the sound of the car squealing to a halt, grimaces contorting their faces as Richie clambered out of the driver’s seat.

“Oi, ya wankers, all rise for provisions,” he bolstered, slipping into one of his voices.

“I can’t even tell what that’s supposed to be,” Ben quipped, followed by a barrage of beep beep, Richie shortly thereafter.

“I’m never riding in a car with him ever again,” Eddie said, sitting down in the grass and pulling food from the paper bag. Everyone began scrambling to grab their order, the sounds of paper and tin foil crumpling overtaking the conversation. With the group all engrossed in their food, Richie allowed himself to steal a look at Eddie once again.

Richie knew Eddie was queer. He’d known from the time they were 13. They were best friends, so of course Richie comforted him when Eddie began having nightmares following the death of It. They had many sleepovers with the Losers Club in the months following the attacks. Of course they did, but not near as much as the ones where just Richie and Eddie were present. It was during one of these that Eddie finally divulged what really terrified him about the leper form that It took.

“He kept offering to… do things. Sexual things. He said I could pay him a nickel, then a dime, and then for free. H-he almost got me, Richie,” he whispered, curled up in the corner of Richie’s bed in one of their rare quiet moments. Richie had wrapped his arms around his friend, in an attempt to even provide some comfort.

“That’s awful. But it’s over now, Eds. It’s dead.”

“He told me… he told me he could teach me to be just like him.”

“You couldn’t ever be like him. You’re not a monster.”

He mumbled something then, too softly for Richie to hear him.

“What’s that?”

“... What if I am like him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if I don’t like girls? What if the leper was right?”

Richie was taken aback for a moment, before finally just gripping his friend tighter, placing a hand on his soft brown hair.

“Then more girls for me, I guess,” he said with a chuckle. Eddie sniffed, but Richie could feel his shoulders ease a little. “Seriously, Eddie, why would that make me stop being your friend? You aren’t any different than before. Besides, it’s not like you’d ever like me, I already drive you nuts.”

“I guess you’re right. Thank you Richie.”

Thank you Richie.

Richie.

Richie.

“Richie!”

He jumped at the sound of Eddie shouting his name, the entire Losers Club staring at him.

“What? My dick hanging out the bottom of my pants again?”

“Shut up. We were talking about prom,” Stan mumbled stoutly, words slightly garbled through the food in his mouth.

“What about prom? It’s a cesspool of sex and angst, what’s new?” Eddie snarked, tearing off a bit of burrito with his teeth.

“Yeah, and that’s before I get there,” Richie said with a wink. Everyone ignored him.

“W-who would a-any of us even ask?” asked Bill, verbally stumbling into the conversation.

Immediately, Richie casts a look over at Eddie. His heart palpitated, but he forced his body to stop it.

“Don’t you worry guys, I’ll have the hottest babe in the land on my arm. Oh and we’ll dance and dance,” he stood, swinging his burrito around like one might carry a dance partner or lover. This demonstration, however, proved to be fruitless, as his food eventually slipped free of it’s tin foil skirt, flying through the air and landing on the ground with a moist thud.

“Fuck. Thar she blows,” Richie muttered. Eddie, who’d been watching this display in a perpetual state of doneness, exhaled sharply, before offering half of his sandwich to Richie. He accepted it gratefully, trying not to let his thoughts linger on the brief contact of their fingers.

“Good ol’ Eds, keeping me fed and happy. You’ll make a great wife someday.”

“In your dreams, Trashmouth. At least I have some future prospects.”

They went back and forth like this, like nearly every day of their lives. But Richie’s mind couldn’t stop wandering. Did he want more than this? Did he even know anything about himself?

What do you want?

What do you want?

What do you want?

Was he like Eddie?

[onemerryjester]

Somewhere Up Above The Stars

Rating: PG-13 with a good dose of Angst 'cause I heard that's in style :D 

Pairing: Shallura

Summary: It had been a long time since Shiro disappeared from his vessel and Allura wants to do everything in her power to find him.

A/N: I'm like 2+ weeks late but this is supposed to be my contribution for @shalluraweek Lost/Found. I haven't written a fic IN AGES so (un)naturally I wanted to practice my writing chops again and this idea just came in the spur of the moment. Slightly influenced by the song Moving To Mars by Coldplay. Don’t really know where I was going with this, but it would do me such a SOLID if people told me what they thought! ^^;)/

----

When Shiro had once asked her if she could recall a near-death experience, she had simply shrugged. It was a moment out of all their other moments together, her eagerly joining him on small ventures in-between their missions to share what made them distinctively different in their race and origins. This time he had posed his question ever so casually, a hint of a boyish demeanor cast under the last few strokes of light of a setting star on the solitary planet they had visited.

 “Near death…” she had mouthed. It was an abrupt leeway into a topic that she felt he was using to seek something out of her, and when she thought she had had an answer ready for him, she didn’t.  

 Allura remembered it being strange, she of all people not knowing what it was like to face death – really face it. She was always at war, always facing the high probability that her efforts could fall in vain against an empire that had such a terrifying presence in the universe. She could still see the day when Altea fell apart, still hear the screams of many through the smoke of warfare before everything became achingly silent. Even then, even now, there was a constant hum of panic of the unknown within her core that had become unnoticeable.

 Except that was not it. That was not what Shiro had described after her frustrated attempt to hold the reigns of such a knowledge had failed.

 “Have you ever felt it then?” She had asked in return.

 “Yeah,” he had responded with a soft chuckle. “As a child. I was struck by lightning on my father’s farm. It was…a weird feeling. Like I died and came back to life. My father said I looked so terrified that my hair had turned white.”

 They had both laughed when Allura pointed at the obvious absence of color on the strands falling over his forehead. She combed her fingers through them when he let her, bringing order to an otherwise unruly mass stained and sweaty from battle. It would have been their last attempt at peace, their last rendezvous under the half-lidden horizon before executing their greatest plan to end the war once and for all. His curiosity of death, however, had irked her, and she did not know why.

 She did not foresee or fathom what was to come afterwards, or why that moment swiftly crossed her mind weeks later after the impossible became possible and Zarkon crumbled under Voltron’s might. What would have been a victory only ended in distress, and as if losing her dearest friend, she had crumbled herself.

 On the surface, she could not betray her feelings. But that memory with him – all their memories together – had become a tool to keep her panic at bay. At the helm of her ship, she would scroll through hologram after hologram until her fingers began to ache, and using the mind-melding machine to reach out to the void would drain her incredibly. Each time, Allura felt the dread seep through her sense of rationality and leave cracks on her composure. On days when she felt wholly helpless, she let the tears flow before mustering a spark to continue her pursuit.  

 She had to find him. She had to find Shiro.

 Allura knew she had given orders to the team to reassemble. Ever since the realization had struck her that the Black Paladin had completely vanished from his lion, and from any vessel or space around them, she had to play her role as their commander. As their voice of reason. They had no other choice but to assign themselves new roles to make up for what was lost, and in some shape or form, they had to work together twice as hard. She had faith in the paladins, but in herself, she could not tell. She couldn’t tell if she could continue without knowing what had happened to him.

 An answer was all she wanted. Was he dead? Alive? What happened in that split second when Voltron had finally struck through Zarkon’s defenses and ended him for good? She wasn’t there to see, she wasn’t there to catch him in his last few moments before he was gone. The thought had plagued her over and over for god knows how long while they each tried to recuperate.

 Their mission had not stopped of course, but no matter how many days or nights passed since his disappearance, she kept seeing him in her sleep, and she kept sneaking away during odd hours to seek him in the stars. A sign, a presence, a miracle that she wished she could conjure with her newly-found powers.

 And just like that, one day it came.

 “Allura,” Coran had called for her softly behind her, appearing like any other time to make sure she did not exhaust herself from the futile search. “Allura, I think I know where he is.”

 Like a whip she had turned to face him, a knot in her core loosening through a rejuvenated sense of hope she didn’t expect to blossom so soon. She must have had done something different – she must have prayed harder, or persisted longer. Something always came back to give her motive again and again, but that one time, something told her that they were going to succeed.

 “Where is he, Coran?” her voice had come out breathlessly. She could have flung herself at him if she could, but she had to know. “Where did you find him?”

 “It’s em…it’s a bit odd,” he had merely said. “Slav kept mentioning alternate dimensions and we both looked into it – it seems Shiro is caught between two mediums of physical realities. Almost like a spirit.”

 “What do you mean?” A glimpse of hope had come and gone. It wasn’t enough of an answer to keep her steady, or to learn that he was somewhere beyond her scope of understanding. “C-could we reach him?” It wasn’t enough that she thought that he was possibly dead.

 But Coran had looked at her with the softness of a guardian she knew so well. “Allura…I would never present a problem to you unless I already had a solution.”

 As half of a truth that was, Coran had not failed to deliver. Leading her to the hangar that belonged to one lion in particular was just the beginning. What came next was something more complex, something that involved the genius of their valuable passenger, Slav. The creature had constructed a special teludav to access this middle plane with the help of the Black Lion.

 “It’s a temporary installment,” he had said. “I am afraid you can’t exist there for long if you want to return to this reality.”

 Allura had not questioned his antics, nor did she complain when she was told they had to wait until his location aligned with their trajectory, whatever that meant. That was nothing compared to the days and weeks when she had run restless from his absence, when the imminent threat of Zarkon’s son broke her young paladins but somehow brought them together when the need called for it. The wait was nothing when it gave her time to decide on what she wanted to tell him – one being in particular.

 “I believe we are ready now.”

 The hours came and went. It could have been a day or two days, perhaps many many ticks, she did not know or count. But Slav finally spoke the words she wanted to hear. With some act of untapped technology and extraordinary science, a wormhole was formed along the blackness of space that bent and sent their ship into a frenzy of confusion. Coran warned her that they could not get too close, but that the Black Lion was going to transport her through.

 “She’s fast. And she has this power, almost like a teleporting capability,” he informed. “She’s the only one that can get you to where he is.”

 Allura was never surprised by the beast’s prowess, and it only made sense that she would sense her paladin’s presence more than anyone. The time was ripe for the taking, and it wasn’t long until Allura positioned herself in the cockpit, feeling the surge of heat and revitalized remnants of what the previous pilot felt in the midst of war. She gripped on hard, but her faith in the lion was unwavering.

 “Remember, you can’t stay there for long,” Coran warned her through the intercom, voice veiled with worry. “Please be careful, princess.” 

 She merely cast a nod. Within seconds, something heavy had pushed her back, and even before she could take a sip of breath, her senses were knocked out as everything collapsed. The warped atmosphere consumed her, whirling to wherever their path ended. It was a sensation she had never felt while teleporting ever, nor did she have time to feel.

 In a blinding flash of light, she was suddenly there, suddenly in this dimension she could not explain, could not describe as being real. There in the intangible space that felt like a dream, she was weightless. A spirit. But she could think, she could sense. And with it, she moved forward and away from the lion that stood like a giant landmass – absolutely still and undisturbed.

 And then from the corner of her eye, she saw it. Saw him. He was there like a speck in the blackness, ghostly and faded like her. She recognized his defining shape, and as she inched closer and closer, she saw the calm in his eyes and the flighty specks of stardust illuminate his visage. White metal worn and grazed through time that never left his body, his artificial arm remaining lifeless against his sides -  there were so much that she could describe of him if a choked whisper had not escaped her lips.

 “Shiro?” she let out steadily, as if a single breath could have shattered him. She followed his gaze towards nothing in particular, and yet a smile had formed on his lips.

“Do you see it?” He suddenly spoke. “That boy right there?”

 Allura hesitated before answering. “Eh-no. I don’t see anything, Shiro.”

“Oh. You don’t?” He turned to look at her finally, but his expression carried no fear or dismay, no guilt, no sense of panic or need for apologies. He looked like he was right where he belonged. “I guess I sound a little ridiculous now, huh.”

 His chuckle slightly unnerved her. “Shiro, do you…” she lifted her hand towards him, but stopped. “Do you know where you are right now? Do you remember…what happened? With Voltron.”

 She half-expected him to react, to throw a sign of familiarity or awareness, but Allura feared the worst. She feared him forgetting. Forgetting them. Forgetting her. Whatever medium that had separated him from the universe he existed in, she felt it had obliterated his memory to leave him as a hollow shell. Out here, in this lifeless place that carried no matter but only apparitions - a tear between two realities – she felt the drumming possibility that it had changed him for good.   

 It was only when she felt a familiar weight on her head – his palm gently taking refuge to stroke through the bed of her silver hair – that she realized all was not lost. 

 “Allura.” She shivered at the softness of his tone, the warmth of his calling. “Yes I remember. I remember everything.”

She stifled her cry of relief and waited for him to continue.

“But I did something stupid. I think that’s why…I’m here. Wherever this is.”

 He moved his hand away, much to her dismay, but her eyes remained on him, seeking every expression and every word to pick at his thoughts.

“Why do you say that?” Allura asked. “You had vanished when we went to search your cockpit, when we knew something was wrong. Right after Zarkon, you—”

 “I freaked out.” Shiro quickly interjected, and Allura noticed it. The guilt. “I became afraid, Allura. I told my team… I pushed them to give it our all – right then, in that exact moment, I charged in, not knowing or thinking if we were going to win or lose. Just letting all my anger overpower me until I didn’t know who I was anymore, or that I was risking the lives of these kids. And then…”

 He paused, leaving a gap of silence that echoed through her ears. Because she felt his fear.

 “And then I just…got so afraid. I remember delivering that final blow and just…everything turned black. It was so strange, Allura. I thought…I thought I—”

 “You thought you died.” Allura finished for him. She could have let him go further, to allow herself to access the situation with clarity, but this was not one of those times. Something gripped her senses at the urgency, and she broke her restraint to pull him into an embrace. Her skin searched for his in a desperate attempt to mend the signs of wear, to restore him in some shape or form to remind him that he was not alone.

 “Black heard me. I think she sensed my fear and tried to push me out…eject me to some other dimension or something if she could. She was trying to protect me.” She felt his hands wrap around hers, but the feeling was odd. It was odd for both of them, two lost beings trapped in a different chasm of space trying to touch the other and not knowing if they were themselves real. He was cold and immensely light, almost airy. But Allura kept him still.

 “She feared for you too.” Allura continued, reminding herself of the way his lion seemed more burnt out than normal when she piloted her there, more devastated by her actions to face her paladin again. “It’s the last thing you remember, isn’t it?”

 “Yeah.” He pulled away to face her again, uncertainty tugging at his eyes. “Did Black tell you that?”

 Allura shook her head before taking his hand into hers, adding whatever force she could muster to bring warmth to his veins. He was there, alive and well in front of her. This was not a dream, nor was she going to accept that he was some intangible presence in an astral space. The memory she was fishing for all this time came in like a burst of energy.

 “You told me once…that there was a common belief among humans that one saw everything that had happened in their life – every important memory – all at once right before they died, “ she spoke softly and surely. “But you believed that was not the case. You believed that you only saw…what you considered the most important thing at that very moment. At that very second. Before it’s all gone.”

 She saw Shiro cast an unknowing look, before trying to follow her trail of thought. “I did say that. But I don’t understand why…I mean how…”

 “Because that feeling. I felt it for the first time.” Allura interjected, keeping her hands firm around his fingers. “That feeling of a near-death experience. When Zarkon’s weapon got our castle, when I thought…I thought I was hit and was really going to die, I remember sensing something. For a split second, I was horribly afraid. But then it was gone…and I saw…” she took a deep breath. “I saw you.”

 A tremble in her skin, and suddenly he was gripping her fingers harder. She recognized this. She knew this so well about him – as if it had become etched to his veins – his selfless reasons to put her before himself. And she saw him search her eyes as if he had reasons to be in disbelief. As if it wasn’t obvious enough.

 “I saw you too.” he slowly breathed. “Before everything went black and I was here. I saw you and me…and we were…”

 “At peace,” she continued for him, revealing a timid laugh. “Together …with good things ahead.”

 “Yes,” Shiro returned a smile. “I remember seeing that…and it scared me. I lost control and Black sent me here.” A sigh. “I’m so sorry, Allura.”

 She shook her head and accepted the subtle but uncanny spark of joy. To think he had imagined her at the end of his life, above all else – just as she had of him – calmed the restlessness in her core. A chuckle escaped her lips once again, and she looked up for the first time to see the nebulous skies overhead engraved with stars and traveling streams of colorful light and clouds. This world would have been beautiful if it was inhabitable – if she could remain in this dream without a care of where time took them both.

 But it was childish to think of such things.

 “Shiro…” she began. “We are going to find a way to bring you back.”

 Her words were only followed by silence, and she prayed it was his way of agreeing with her. She looked back at him to notice his attention diverted by something she could not tell.

 “Shiro, we’ll get you out of here,” she repeated, a bit louder this time. “I’m going to do everything I can to return you to where you belong. With the others. With us.”

 He said nothing, and Allura found herself feeling the hollow hums of the astral world affecting her senses. A strain of dizziness swept through her as she took a step forward to catch his line of sight, but he was already lost.

 “Shiro? Shiro, please say something.” A drop of dread, a flicker of panic. His eyes had sunken into blackness, but she could not look away. She could not stop hoping to hear his voice. At all cost, he had to still be here alive. She had to know it was possible to return him to the physical realm, to make him the Black Paladin again, to reunite him with his teammates and be there for her when she needed him. To join her as her equal. To plan their future together.

 “I said I will get you back! I promise, Shirogane, I promise!” A reckless cry. “Do you hear me? No matter what I will …”

 She broke off when her fingers went through his body, and like smoke, he faded into the stardust. She could have screamed if it weren’t for the figure that took his place. Small, scared, at least a bit entranced, a young boy stood facing her, as skinny as a twig and garbed in a blue jacket labeled with icons of stars and space.

 Allura held her breath as he continued to stare at her. Nothing stirred, nothing moved, but she felt that surge of wonder and innocence emanate from him, and through his eyes she saw his thirst for flight, his deepest desire to fly into the cosmos as a commander of a vessel. The most important thing at that very second.

 And just like that, everything vanished.

 Allura found herself look up to the dimmest of lights, and she touched the softness of fabric underneath. When her vision cleared, she saw her mice find their way to her side. Coran was there. The paladins were there too, maybe even others they had recruited aboard their ship. But the moisture on her eyelids was still fresh, and her voice came out in a raspy whisper.

 “Did we find him?”

 She heard murmurs and some shuffling of feet before Coran stepped forward. His expression was recognizable even when his figure was immersed in shadow.

 “Allura…” he spoke. “You fell unconscious while working the mind-melding device again. You, em, overworked the systems and it may have affected your visual cortex.  I let you sleep for some time.”

 She could have asked for more. She could have questioned him and forced him to explain further. But in her heart, in the deepest crevice that burned a hole she did not think would widen so soon, she already knew.

 “It’s been over a year, Allura. We have tried everything,” he continued, knowingly. “Maybe it’s time…to give it a rest.”

 She bit her lip to hold back the urge to go against him. She wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Even if everything she had envisioned was all in her mind, or if her pathetic desperation had led to some obsessive hallucinative experience - she did not care. But she knew this was not the place. This was not her at all. To retaliate would demean her status in the public eye. There was no time for distractions when danger still lurked mercilessly, when survival was a mere luxury.

 “I saw him, Coran…” she chose to turn to him, to keep her voice low so only he could hear. “He was trapped somewhere between the world of the living and the dead. Only seeing memories of the past…the important memories…” She crept up a smile. “He was such a…thin little boy. With a dream to fly, to leave his planet and his home and find freedom in the stars.”

 “Is that so?” Coran followed along. 

Allura nodded, recounting a memory Shiro had once shared. “I felt it. He almost died on his father’s land when a lightning struck…but that’s all he saw at the end of his life. A pilot. A great one. That was the last thing…before he blacked out. It was always his wish…before…”

 She couldn’t continue, not when it was beginning to grow painful. Coran took this chance to lean over and plant a kiss on her forehead.

 “I’m sure what you witnessed wasn’t just a dream, Allura…” Kind eyes met hers as she took in his warmth for support. “I’m sure he’s still out there…somewhere.”

 Allura smiled again before blinking out the rest of her tears. Coran wasn’t always right, nor was he capable of imagining what she had seen, so distinctive and clear, a place beyond discovery or comprehension. But he wasn’t wrong either. Even when all she had was wishful thinking and a strong sense of hope to lead her on, he was her second voice in a world that still needed her, still needed Voltron.

 “Coran, sir,” someone had spoken from the far corner. Kolivan, she recognized. “We are nearing one of Lotor’s largest strongholds as planned…how shall we proceed?”

 The Altean did not waste time to look back at her, his expression raw with weariness but with a steadfast determination to wait for her command. “Princess?”

 Allura took a deep breath, letting the leader within her take over without hesitation.

 “Proceed with full force. And with caution.”

 There was a roar of eagerness from her paladins, along with battle-ready cries from the Blades and any new allies that had joined them for the same cause. Her soldiers shuffled out for battle, everyone that had journeyed alongside her to now bring down the Galra empire for good. Everyone except one.

 “I’ll find you someday…” She called out, somewhere in her mind, a place that was still so alive and real and waiting to see her world return to the peace it once knew. Allura cleared her face before sitting up with that unwavering goal.

 “Please wait for me, Shiro.”

----