#yeah there's SO MUCH to be angry about in this hellhole of a country that it's strange that this is the last straw but

[feluka]

soon enough the only thing we'll be allowed to watch is those high budget military AMVs they keep airing on TV <3 this piece of bitch son of a cock dipshit scumbag fuck

[clydegivestwofucks]

I ain’t really even in the One Piece fandom or experienced anything you n yours had to go through. But mingot isn’t “sucking off Russia” for defending Lera. I get the idea it’s easier to distance Russians from their government’s actions, as opposed to Israelis. They’re calling “xenophobia” because folks are angry at a woman who hasn’t had anything to do with Russia since she was 13. Lumping her in with a government that could just as easily have her whacked if, God forbid, she pissed off the wrong rich dude back in that snowy hellhole.

you see the problem is that even those russians who live abroad still are very "patriotic" and pretty much hating on us. and if you take germany for example there are a shitton of russians. and also in germany there were a lot of cases when russians killed Ukrainians including literal babies in those last few years. in germany. by russians. does it click?

i dont have a need to actually know something about lera if shes good if shes against all the wars russia started. because a fucking majority of russians support it. you should be grateful that you dont know russian language coz if you did you would understand us and our hatred for them. like yeah i agree there are actual nice people over there who pretty much are against the system and the war and all of that. but it is such a little number that it doesnt actually matter you know.

fun fact you didnt ask about: while the whole civilised world says "never again" about ww2 russians say LETS DO IT AGAIN. they are sick. and the fact that they are doing nothing to stop what they are doing says a lot of them. and you may think that oh no its just one man its all about putin its his fault but its just... wrong on so many levels. putin is not a reason for the wars. hes the result of russian culture.

why so many countries are able to raise against their government and prevent it from doing something people dont actually want? why russia isnt doing the same? cause they were happy about georgia they were happy about afghanistan they were happy about transinistria they were fucking happy about all the other countries they invaded on the last thirty years

so saying shes a good russian means fucking nothing to me and all those others who actually care

[tartlette1968]

I'm really not wanting to explore the conflict between Israel and Palestine. Because there is the simple side, namely that Israel has imposed such an awful regime on the people of the West Bank with callous disregard. It is the cruelest shit I can imagine.

Hamas have decided, like several movements before them, to inflict murderous cruelty on people who have had very little say in their Government. Now the Israeli Defense Force is insisting they really do have a reason to be blowing up buildings, and inflicting the cruelest shit on ordinary people because Hamas are hiding in tunnels. Tunnels, which the IDF have, themselves, proven to be impervious to missiles that flatten houses, hospitals, shops, and everything else.

Then there is the complicated shit. Thousands of years of habitation and to-ing and fro-ing of settlement and disenfranchisation and persecution. Neither the Palestinian people, nor the Jewish people have had an easy history, and they've been trying to smack the living fuck out of each other for years now. No sooner was Israel established, than Israel started trying to claim more land from the surrounding Arab countries. After finding itself threatened and exposed on numerous fronts, Israel quickly retreated, and have found themselves in a rather hostile neighbourhood ever since.

But they've turned the West Bank into a fragmented map of illegally seized land, surrounding Palestinian towns and villages. So Hamas, and the organisations before them did not form in a vacuum. I mean Gaza has been an awful hellhole to live in for decades.

But discussion of this is littered with "but what about..." and "remember though, that..." and "what you don't realise is..."

But I don't really want to discuss all that. Yet, there it is.

School kids have gone on strike, in Australia, to protest and demand a ceasefire. Adults, who know about as much as the school kids know, are all up in arms about it.

"Betcha they couldn't find Israel and Gaza on a map."

Yeah, I think everyone could find it now. And this is not the way to learn geography, either.

We have taken no notice of the suffering of the West Bank, and little notice of the armed response to angry teens throwing rocks at invading soldiers. We do remember the slaughter handed out by the Nazis in the forties, but have little memory of the way the British Government was so involved in the geopolitics of the Middle East over a century ago.

Of course I sit on the fence, criticising both sides. I mean Hamas are terrorists, and the IDF have aggressively pursued a tactic of using aircraft and missiles to target buildings they say are over tunnels used by Hamas. With the latest footage of actual tunnels, it is apparent that those missiles have had little impact on the tunnels. But, more importantly, the tactic was utilised as a way to not expose ground troops to open combat, at the expense of the civilians who were killed or injured by the missiles.

It's depressing, painful, and hard to take.

What a species we are.

[fific7]

Ticket to Ride - Part 5

Billy Russo x Reader

A/N: Inspired by The Beatles song of the same name. This takes place in my S1 Punisher AU with Arrogant!Billy in attendance, in which he gets a taste of his own medicine.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content, including oral and unprotected, between consenting adults* in some chapters. Drinking and swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit)

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

𝕄𝕪 𝕓𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy had begun to doze off in the warmth of the gathering dusk, so when he heard her voice saying his name, he was startled. He swung round to where she was standing behind him then leapt up and went to her, folding her into his arms and just hugging her, saying nothing.

After a few short moments, she pushed back from him and stepped away, began walking towards the hotel. “I’m going to take a shower, Billy. Then I think we should go somewhere and eat. And talk,” she said over her shoulder.

“Okay, sweetheart, I’ll be here waitin’ on you.”

At least she let me hug her, he thought.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Walking out of the hotel and across the courtyard after your shower, you saw Billy lying flat out across the park bench, boots on the ground and long legs bent at the knees where the seat ended. His eyes were closed and you realised he’d dozed off.

“Billy.” No response. “Billy!” slightly louder. Still no movement. You reached out a hand, shook his shoulder and jumped slightly when his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. His dark brown eyes were wide open now and staring up at you, and he immediately let go of you. “Ahhh… sorry sweetheart, didn’t realise it was you.” “Spidey senses not working any longer, Marine?” He grinned up at you, before moving and standing up next to you. “You’re to blame, kitten. I’m losing sleep over you.”

You scoffed, “Uhuh. Sure you are. Well, let’s get this show on the road. I’ve got a rec from the reception guy for dinner.” You turned and started walking quickly towards the alleyway, Billy taking only two long strides to catch up with you. “Where we headed?” “Just a little way along the waterfront, past that big church - Il Redentore. There’s a restaurant with tables right next to the water, called ‘I Figli delle Stelle’. Means ‘Children of the Stars’.” You’d turned your head towards him as you spoke and he smirked at you, “Sounds romantic, angel.” Eye roll from you, “That wasn’t my intention, believe me. The reception guy said it would still be pretty quiet at this time of the evening, later on it’ll get busy as the locals eat dinner around 9.30 or 10 pm.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, sounding a little despondent, “I hear ya.” The two of you walked in single file as you made your way through the alleyway, and Billy hurried to get back next to you as you turned right at the waterfront. There was a tense silence as you walked, and you surely weren’t going to be the one to break it. You could tell that Billy was antsy as hell and you were glad… he should be, the big douchebag. After a few moments, he asked, “How much further is this place?” like a kid on a day trip. “I think it’s that group of tables along there,” you answered, “so only a couple of minutes.” Billy wasn’t the most patient of men. “Okay,” he mumbled.

Lordy, he was getting more tense by the minute, you could feel negative energy coming off him in waves. You knew Billy, knew he’d be dreading talking about what he’d done, his feelings, having to (no doubt) apologise over and over. Serves you right, you big bastard, you thought.

Arriving beside the restaurant tables, you noted that only two tables were occupied so you should be able to have a certain amount of privacy in which to hear Billy’s confession. Checking for ‘reserved’ signs, you chose a table in the row right next to the water, well away from the other patrons. The maitre d’ appeared next to you holding two menus, and you asked in Italian if it was okay to sit at the table you’d chosen. Assured that it was fine, he asked if you wanted to order drinks and you asked for a large glass of rosé Prosecco and a Peroni for Billy. As he nodded and walked away, Billy asked, “Whaddya order for me?” You started laughing and he stared at you, puzzled. “Billy… with a last name like Russo I cannot believe you don’t know that Peroni is an Italian beer!”

He looked shamefaced, “Yeah, yeah, okay! So I’m a terrible Italian-American. Thanks for orderin’ a beer for me, not in the mood for wine.” You and Billy began reading through the menu, suitably impressed by the delicious-sounding dishes on offer. The drinks appeared shortly afterwards, and you made your choices - Billy had decided on a steak, and you’d chosen seafood linguine. You clinked your glass to Billy’s beer bottle, “Salut.” Billy grinned, “Yeah, so here’s me - the Italian-American - and there’s you, the all-American girl, Italian rollin’ off your tongue. I didn’t know you spoke it, sweetheart.” You smirked at him as you sipped your chilled Prosecco, “Seems like there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Billy. Like… how I will not tolerate cheating in any way, shape or form.”

A pained look crossed his face. Yeah, Billy… time to spill.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy took a long swig of his beer and cleared his throat. Here goes nothing, he thought. She was studying his face like it was a painting hanging in a gallery.

“I’ve been an asshole.”

She nodded, “I know you have, Billy. Cheating 1.01 - don’t lie about working late and then come home smelling of booze and another woman’s perfume. Oh… and a big smear of her lipstick on the inside collar of one of your shirts.” He winced, looking away, not able to meet her eyes. He twirled the beer bottle round a few times on the table top and finally met her gaze again. “Yeah, not smart, I agree. But… angel, I didn’t actually cheat on you. Not as such.”

She laughed, but it was not a happy sound. “Not as such?! What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He reached across and put his hand over hers, but she pulled hers away. “Frankie and I got into some shit with Homeland - to do with Afghanistan back when we were servin’.” He saw her eyebrows rise, and hurried on, “We sorted alla-that out with them, but had to agree to carry out a joint operation with them on somethin’ related to it. We found out that our liaison agent - Dinah Madani - was holdin’ back some critical information from us and we needed to know what and why, and make sure she didn’t do it in future.”

Taking a sip of her Prosecco she laughed, again without humour. “Don’t tell me, she wears Eternity.” He looked at her, confused, “What?” “Her perfume, Billy, her perfume.” He shrugged, “I really dunno.” “That’s not good, Billy. She’ll be expecting you to buy her some for her birthday.” He’d been drinking his beer and he brought the bottle back down with a bang. “No! I won’t be buyin’ anything for her anytime, okay?” he hissed at her, aware that the other diners’ heads had turned towards them at the loud noise his beer bottle had made on the table top. He leant in further towards her but then spotted the waiter heading their way with their plates, and moved back in his seat.

Silence fell again, even after the waiter had gone. Napkins unfolded and placed on laps, cutlery picked up, sips of drinks taken, first forkfuls of food eaten, gazing at Venice across the canal.

Billy cut another piece of his fillet steak, looking down at his plate while saying in a low voice, “I knew Madani had the hots for me. An’ I… I used that to my advantage.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You were thoughtfully chewing your mouthful of linguine, swallowing it before picking up your flute of Prosecco and sipping from it. He was silent, also chewing, still not meeting your eye. Let him pick this back up, you thought and sat back slightly, silent.

His eyes slowly raised to yours, apprehension apparent in them. Another throat clearing, another swig of beer…. a big one. Oh ho, you thought, whatever was about to come out must be really bad. You were mad at him but at the same time couldn’t deny you were dreading what you were about to hear.

“I… uh.. took her out a few times for drinks after work. Made out with her a couple times after we left the bar…” he gulped visibly, “Uh… felt her up, let her feel me up.” He broke eye contact, grabbed the beer bottle again and took a huge drink, muttering “Sorry, I’m really sorry,” before looking fearfully at you once more. You stared back at him and hoped your face was expressionless. You actually wanted to smack him in the face and stalk off back to your hotel, but that masochistic streak goaded you to say, “Oh yeah? ….And?” He narrowed his eyes, “And what?” “Exactly, Billy - and what? You’re seriously telling me that was it? It stopped right there?” He nodded vigorously, “Yeah! Yes, sweetheart - it did, I swear!”

Picking up your glass once more, you said in a low voice, “Sorry, Billy, I don’t believe you. I think you took her to some shitty motel and the two of you fucked. Maybe more than once.” His face flushed but then you realised he was angry, not caught out in a lie.

“No,” he said between gritted teeth, “I. Did. Not!” emphasising each word with a thump of his hand on the table. He leant across the table until his face was very close to yours, “It was my stupid fucked-up version of a honey trap, okay! I hated lyin’ to you, angel, and I’m so, so sorry I did that, but I was between a rock and a hard place. I had to find out what her game was. I don’t trust her an inch and I think she’s still after me an’ Frankie for somethin’ else that went down in Kandahar.”

You watched his eyes become distant, and you knew in his head he was back in that hellhole. “Seems like a helluva lot went down in Kandahar,” you said quietly, and his eyes refocused on yours. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea,’ he said softly, and chanced placing his hand on yours again. This time you didn’t draw away. “I don’t want you to have to hear all about that shitshow, but I’ll tell you another time… if you want me to.” He laced his fingers through yours, and squeezed your hand, “I promise you, on my life, that I’ll never lie to you again. Total honesty, I swear.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You sighed, “Billy… I appreciate the sentiment, I do… but it doesn’t matter because we’re not together any more.” Billy rocked backwards as if you’d slapped him, and he stuttered, “But.. but we.. I… no! We are! We are still together!” You shook your head, “Maybe you don’t think that what you did with - what was her name again, Madani?” (you absolutely knew what her name was) “yeah, Madani - was cheating but Billy, you kissed her, you got up close and personal with her. You let her think you were interested in her, that she had a shot of getting with you. Okay you say you didn’t sleep with her, maybe you didn’t - but you still went behind my back and acted like you wanted to be with her. How can you expect me to be with you after you betrayed me like that? I don’t share, Billy - even if it’s fake.”

His eyes were wide, filling with tears. “No…please. Don’t say that, please. I… I can’t be without you, you’re the only one who makes me feel safe and… loved.” He placed his other hand on top of your joined hands, and his voice was so low you almost couldn’t hear it, “I love you, angel. So much.”

Now it was your turn to sit back abruptly in your seat. You and Billy had never had that conversation. You loved him but you’d made sure never to tell him that, as you didn’t believe he’d ever reciprocate the feeling. And now he’d said it. First. Before you had.

But did he mean it? Or just saying it to try and stop you breaking up with him?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

He saw her taking in what he’d just said. He’d known that he loved her for some time but couldn’t get the words past his lips, he’d been shit-scared to say it out loud. Just let the status quo prevail, until she’d left him.

He was not going to let her break up with him. He just wouldn’t allow it, he needed her. She still had not said anything so he laid a finger on her bottom lip and gently ran it back and forward. He sensed he needed to say something more.

“I’m not just sayin’ it for effect, angel. I’ve been in love with you for a while but I’ve been too scared to say anything, I… I wasn’t sure you felt the same way.” She was still gazing at him, her eyes wide and looking a little teary. He felt a tear running down his own cheek and wiped it away abruptly. “Please don’t break up with me, just…. don’t, please. Give me another chance, I promise I won’t screw up this time.”

He heard her draw in a big breath and his stomach knotted. What was she going to say?

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“Oh Billy….” you raised a hand and wiped away another tear from his cheek, “I… need a little time to take all this in, okay? I thought it was quite straightforward - you’d cheated on me, end of story. And don’t think that because you tell me you love me I’m gonna forget about what you did, because I can’t. Not just like that.” You snapped your fingers in the air. “But you’ve really muddied the waters for me now.”

Billy grinned tearfully at you, “Well, I’m glad I’ve managed to do that at the very least. Means I might still have a chance.” You must’ve looked sceptical or something because he rushed to say, “A very slim chance, I know.”

Sighing, you extricated your hands from his and picked up your fork. “Let’s finish our dinner before it gets totally cold and inedible and we can talk more later.”

He nodded, “Okay, sweetheart. Must admit, I’m starvin’.” You couldn’t stop yourself smiling at him, “When they say that an army marches on its stomach, they weren’t kidding, were they?” “Hell no they weren’t,” he grinned back at you.

You moved on to small talk and once dinner was finished and paid for a short while later, the two of you strolled back to the hotel. Billy had tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow, and you’d let him. Your brain wasn’t really functioning at normal speed at that point and you were looking forward to getting back to your room; you wanted to think very carefully about what you were going to do about Billy.

Back at the hotel, you made your way past Reception and headed for the stairs, Billy following close behind you. Reaching your door, you didn’t unlock it but turned to face him. You could see the hopeful look on his face but he was going to be disappointed. You weren’t going to take that step tonight, no matter how much you missed Billy, his arms around you, his body next to yours, legs tangled together. You gave him a small smile, and you saw the hope fading out of his eyes.

You put a hand on his arm, “Let’s spend some time together tomorrow. I want to visit the Lagoon islands.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The Lagoon islands? He had no idea what or where those were, but he’d go to the moon if she wanted to because she’d said they could spend some time together. “So, no more running out on me, angel?” She smiled more widely at him, “No, not for now, Billy.”

He took a chance and pulled her into his arms, his mouth finding hers in a heated kiss. She didn’t stop him, so one hand made its way to the back of her neck and the other down onto her waist. He pushed his hips into hers - he knew she felt his arousal - and he was still holding out a tiny bit of hope that she’d invite him into her bed.

But now she did pull away, laughing up at him and giving him a quick soft kiss on the cheek, “G’night, Billy, sleep well.” He shook his head, smiling back at her, “You know I won’t… not in this state,” gesturing at his zip area and the tightened fabric of his jeans. She waggled her right hand at him, “Isn’t that what this is for?” He grabbed it, guiding it immediately to his zip, “If you’re offerin’, sweetheart, I’d be more than happy to take you up on that.” “Your hand! Not mine, you cheeky devil!” she laughed, pulling her hand away from him, “Now, goodnight! I’ll see you in the morning, downstairs for breakfast at about 8 or half past, okay?” He nodded, pushing his luck again and stroking her cheek, kissing her once more but more reserved this time, “G’night, angel, have sweet dreams…of me.” Rolling her eyes, she unlocked her door and disappeared into her room.

Billy walked jauntily along the corridor, throwing in a couple of dance moves as he went, feeling elated. He was feeling really optimistic for the first time since the day he’d seen her ‘Goodbye’ note and the torn photo.

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(My photos - June 2012)

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@blackbirddaredevil23 @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry @odetostep @supernaturalcat7 @obscurilicious @strawb3rrydr3ss @bruxa0007 @aleksanderwh0r3 @theshadowkingsqueen @bat-luna-cat @carlywhomever

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[asleepinawell]

Book Recs

I was gonna do one of these at the end of the year, but I’ve somehow managed to read 26 books this year already (12 novellas, 14 novels), almost all featuring queer authors and/or characters so this is already a long list.

Note: There’s a few on here I was kind of meh about, but in most of those cases it was a ‘book might be good but it’s not for me so i’ll mention it to put it on people’s radar anyway’ type of thing. Insert the usual necessary tumblr disclaimer about all of this being only my opinion and your opinions are valid too etc etc.

In order of when I read them:

Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower by Tamsyn Muir - Fantasy novella from the author of gideon the ninth that’s a twist on the classic princess trapped in a tower waiting for a prince story. Quite fun. (novella)

The Monster of Elendhaven by Jennifer Giesbrecht - Dark fantasy about revenge and magic. m/m couple but like I said it’s pretty dark and twisted all around so definitely not a happy queer romantic story. My opinion was interesting premise that could have been executed better and probably should have been a full novel to embellish on the world building potential. (novella)

A Memory Called Empire & A Desolation Called Peace - Arkady Martine - Probably tied with murderbot as the best things I read this year. Scifi, f/f couple, wonderfully done exploration of what it means to fall in love with a culture that is destroying your own. More of the many queer anti-imperialist books that have come out recently and certainly some of the best. The second one is a direct continuation of the first. (2 novels)

The Tyrant Baru Cormorant - Seth Dickinson - This is the third in the Baru Cormorant series (The Masquerade) and was my favorite so far. The second and third book were originally one book that got split I believe and the second book didn’t stand alone as well (though was still great), but the third book really made up for that. Dark fantasy world starring a queer woc whose country and culture is destroyed by the imperial forces of that world colonizing and assimilating them. She vows revenge and decides to work her way up within her enemy’s ranks to enact it from within and bring an empire to ruins. Really really fascinating study of so many different aspects of our own world and the systems which enable and allow bigotry and how bigoted and violent narratives are used to control minorities. This is definitely a darker series and I was particularly impressed with some of the commentary on the racism prevalent in non-intersectional feminism as depicted through a fantasy world. Can’t wait for the last one to come out! (3 novels, 1 forthcoming)

The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells - There’s six of them--5 novella and a novel--and the first is All Systems Red. Told from the point of view of a self-aware droid/android that is rented out by a corporation to provide protection in a dystopian capitalist hellhole future that isn’t that unlike our current capitalist dystopia but is in space. Muderbot hacked the chip that controlled it and instead of going rogue just wants to be left alone to watch its favorite tv shows. Murderbot is painfully relatable and the books are both funny and poignant. Highly recommended. (5 novellas and a novel).

Winter’s Orbit - Everina Maxwell - This was a m/m romance novel with a scifi backdrop of royal intrigue. Generally I’m more into scifi with a queer relationship in the background than vice versa, so it wasn’t my favorite, BUT I think it was still well written and someone looking for more of the romance angle would enjoy it. Has all your favorite romance tropes in it, especially the yearning. (novel)

The Divine Cities - Robert Jackson Bennett - Three book series. I’m very conflicted about this one. Set in a fantasy world where an enslaved nation overthrew the country enslaving them and now rules over them. It’s a story of what happens after the triumphant victory and within that it’s also a murder mystery tied into the dying magic of the conquered nation. It also has a six foot something naked oily viking man fist fight a cthulhu in a frozen river. The second book was by far my favorite, mostly due to the main character being brilliant. My conflict comes from the fact I don’t feel like the story treated its women and queer characters well. Like it had really great characters but it didn’t do great by them overall. That and the third book didn’t live up to the first two. But still definitely worth a read, can’t stress enough how cool some of the world building was. (3 novels)

Into the Drowning Deep - Mira Grant - This might be the only one on here I disliked. It’s got a doomed boat voyage and creepy underwater terror and monsters and a super diverse cast of characters, but I just didn’t enjoy the writing style. While having a diverse cast is great, there were a lot of moments where it felt like characters were pausing to explain things about themselves that felt like a tumblr post rather than a normal conversation you might have while actively being hunted by monsters. I also bounced off all the characters. But a lot of people seem to have liked it so if you’re into horror and want a book with a f/f main couple then maybe you’ll enjoy it. (novel)

Dead Djinn Universe - P. Djèlí Clark - Around the early 1900′s, a man in Egypt discovers a way to access another world and bring Djinn and mysterious clockwork beings called Angels through. As a result, Egypt tells the British to get fucked and Cairo becomes one of the most powerful cities in the world. So Egypt, magic, djinn, a steampunk-ish vibe, oh and the main character is a butch queer woman who enjoys wearing dapper suits and looking fabulous while she investigates supernatural events. Her girlfriend is also mysterious and badass. And she has a cat. There’s three novella (one of which technically might be considered a short story) and then the first novel. You should absolutely read the novellas first (A Dead Djinn in Cairo, The Angel of Khan el-Khalili, The Haunting of Tram Car 015). Super fun and imaginative series. (3 novellas and a novel, more forthcoming)

River of Teeth & Taste of Marrow - Sarah Gailey - From the book description

“In the early 20th Century, the United States government concocted a plan to import hippopotamuses into the marshlands of Louisiana to be bred and slaughtered as an alternative meat source. This is true. Other true things about hippos: they are savage, they are fast, and their jaws can snap a man in two. This was a terrible plan.”

Queer hippo riders!!!! Very much a western but with hippos. Main couple included a non-binary character. Loved the first one. The second one I was more meh about due to one of the characters I was supposed to like having obnoxious man pain that a woman had to take the brunt of the whole time. Also there were less hippos. But queer hippo riders! Definitely read the first one, and they’re both novellas so no reason not to read the second as well. (2 novellas)

A Psalm for the Wild-Built - Becky Chambers - I may be the only person who hasn’t read the long way to a small angry planet at this point, but I did grab her new novella and I loved it. It made me want to go sit out in the woods and feel peaceful. The world it’s set in feels like a peaceful post-apocalypse...or diverted apocalypse maybe. Humans built robots and robots gained sentience, but instead of rebelling they just up and left and went into the wilderness with a promise that the humans wouldn’t follow them.The remaining human society reshaped itself into something new and peaceful. It’s the story of a monk who leaves their habitual monking duties to go be a tea monk and then later wanders into the wilderness and becomes the first human in ages to meet a robot. Very sad there’s no fan art yet. (novella, more forthcoming)

The March North - Graydon Saunders - This was such a weird book that I’m not sure how to explain it. The prose style is hard to get used to and I suspect a lot of people will bounce off it in the first chapter. There’s no third person pronouns used at all and important events get mentioned once in passing and if you blink you’ll miss them. Set on a world where magic is extremely common to the point that rivers sometimes run with blood or fire and the local weeds are something out of a horror movie and most of the world is run by powerful sorcerer dictators, one country banded together (with the help of a few powerful sorcerers who were tired of all the bullshit) to form a free country where powerful sorcerers wouldn’t rule and the small magics of every day folks could be combined to work together. The story revolves around a Captain of the military force on the border who one day has three very powerful sorcerers sent to them by the main government with the hint that just maybe there’s about to be a big invasion (there is) with the implication of take these guys and go deal with this. The world building is extremely complex and very cool...when you can actually understand what the fuck is going on. There is also a murder sheep named Eustace who breathes fire and eats just about everything and is a Very Good Boy and belongs to the most terrifying sorcerer in the world who appears as a little old grandma with knitting. It had one of the most epic badass and wonderfully grotesque battles I’ve ever read. But yeah, it is not what I would call easy reading. Opinions may vary wildly. I did also read the second one (A Succession of Bad Days) in the series which was easier to follow and had a lot more details about the world, but overall I was more meh about it despite some cool aspects. The chapters and chapters of the extreme details of building a house that made up half the novel just weren’t my thing. (novels).

The Space Between Worlds - Micaiah Johnson - In this world parallels universes exist and we’ve discovered how to travel between them, but the catch is you can only go to worlds where the ‘you’ there is already dead. This turns into an uncomfortable look at who would be the people most likely to have died on many worlds and how things like class and race would fit into that and what we would actually use this ability for (if you guessed stealing resources and the stock market you’d be correct). The main character is a queer woc who travels between worlds with the assistance of her handler (another queer woc) who she has the hots for. She accidentally stumbles on a whole lot of mess and conspiracy and gets swept up in that. Really enjoyed it. (novel)

Witchmark - C.L. Polk - Fantasy world reminiscent of Victorian England (I think?) where a young man with magical gifts runs away from his powerful family to avoid being exploited by them. He joins the army and fights in a war and comes home to try and live a quiet life as a doctor, but a murder pulls him into a larger mystery that upturns his life. Also he’s extremely gay and there’s a prevalent m/m romance. This one was a fun-but-not-mind-blowing one for me. (novel, 2 more in the series I haven’t read)

The Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon - This was one of those that everyone loved but I couldn’t get into for some reason. I tried twice and only got about halfway through the second time. It’s got dragons and queer ladies and fantasy world and all the things I like, but I wasn’t that invested in the main story (which included the f/f couple) and was more interested in the smaller story about a woman trying to become a dragon rider. There are few things that beat out a lady and her dragon friend story for me and that was the storyline that felt neglected and took a different turn right when we got to the part I’d been waiting for. But, I know a lot of people whose reading opinions I respect who loved it, and if you like epic fantasy with dragons and queens and treachery and pirates and queer characters then I’d say you should definitely give it a try. (novel)

Bonus: I didn’t read these series this year, but if you haven’t read them yet, you should.

Imperial Radch (Ancillary Justice) - Ann Leckie - Spaceship AI stuck in a human body out for revenge for their former captain, but that summary does not come close to doing it justice. Another one examining imperialism and also gender and race.(3 novels)

Kushiel's Legacy Series - Jacqueline Carey - This is two series, six books total, and starts with Kushiel's Dart. Alternate universe Renaissance-y Europe in a fantastical world where sex isn't shameful and sex workers are respected and prized. Lots of political intrigue and mystery. A lot of BDSM and kinky stuff too (the main character is a sexual masochist, oh and also bi!). I first read this series when I was fifteen or sixteen and it definitely made a big impression on me. Same author also wrote the Santa Olivia series which I’d also recommend. (6 novels)

The Locked Tomb (Gideon the Ninth) - Tamsyn Muir - I mean, if you follow me, you know. If you don’t follow me you still probably know. I’d have felt remiss to have left them off though. Lesbian Necormancers in Space. Memes! Skeletons! Biceps! Go read them. (2 novels, 2 forthcoming, 1 short story)

Books On My To Read List:

Fireheart Tiger - Aliette de Bodard

The Order of the Pure Moon Reflected in Water - Zen Cho

Black Sun - Rebecca Roanhorse

This Is How You Lose the TIme War - Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Ninefox Gambit - Yoon Ha Lee

Also, if anyone has any recs for scifi/fantasy books starring queer men (not necessarily having to do with a queer relationship) and written by queer men I’d love them. There’s a lot written by women, and some of them are great, but I’d love to read a story about queer men from their own perspective.

[strawwritesfic]

Bruce Banner x Female!Civilian!Reader: Oh My Dear [Ch. 16]

Summary: For [F Name] [L Name], Manhattan was nothing but a hellhole. She got out and wasn’t ever coming back. When a set of cut-rate superheroes tears the city apart, however, her grandmother sucks her back into that familiar life of loneliness and angry customers. Even worse, one of those superheroes has decided to use [Name] in another crazy plan to “help” his best friend. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Tony’s plan just might work-if only for a few months.

Challenge:  “#1 AVENGERS ULTIMATE CHALLENGE!!!!“ by DancingBubbles on Lunaescence Archives.

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: T (foul language; sexual references; manipulative friends who won’t take no for an answer; dead parents; difficult relationships with family members; some language that might border on verbal abuse from a family member; angst; contrived coincidences; a generally unresearched depiction of paraplegia; set post-Avengers (2012) and pre-Age of Ultron; Tony & Bruce friendship)

Pairings: Bruce Banner/Female!Reader; Tony Stark/Pepper Potts; Past!Bruce Banner/Betty Ross

Tag List: @imaginesfire​

Master List

Chapter 16: Baby Steps

Bruce did not show up at the Stand that Monday–or the day after that or the day after that. The paper bag carrying Pepper’s cleaned sweats traveled with you to work and back home those first few times. Eventually the waiting and the disappointment became too much, forcing you to shove the sack into a cubby underneath the cash register. At least you could stop thinking about it when you went home. A week passed after that. Clearly drastic measures would need to be taken if you wanted your own things back.

Not, if you were honest with yourself, that you really cared about your clothes. Like everything you owned from your young adult days, they were worn and well-past fashion don’t. Pepper probably could afford to find herself something new to wear, too. The real reason for your nerves, was something you were trying not to think about too hard about.

That did not change the fact two Saturday mornings later found you standing awkwardly in front of Stark Tower, a sore thumb sticking out from a crowd of tourists come to see what was quickly becoming a national monument.

“Excuse me. I need in the building, please,” you murmured as you tried to keep your eyes on the path despite the flash bulbs going off.

Unfortunately, everyone else had the same goal. With the construction finished, it seemed every single person in the country wanted a glimpse of the new Avengers HQ.

“You think any of them are here?” you heard not a few people ask.

“I heard he’s inviting the entire team!” was always the joyous response.

This news did nothing to help your mood. Not that it mattered, you thought as you took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself in the stream of people. You weren’t ever going to meet the rest of them. Right before this turn of thought took you down a path you wanted to avoid, someone bumped into you. Your eyes, closed to help you ignore the crowd, popped open. You barely had time to register the familiar face before Janie broke into a wide grin.

“Oh, hello! Back again, are you?” she asked.

“Yeah, along with the rest of the state,” you answered with a roving glance across the stuffed entrance. When your eyes landed on Janie again, she was rolling hers.

“I know. It’s been awful. I thought I signed up for a regular secretarial gig, but so far it’s been nothing but construction and tourists. Guess I should have known, considering the higher-ups.”

A sort of hollow laugh filled your response.

Janie shrugged as she tried to shove past a family wearing Iron Man masks. “I’ve been told there will be some police here tomorrow, at least to help with the maximum occupancy rule. Thank god.”

Since Janie was going to all the trouble of making a path, you followed her. After several minutes of arduous struggle, she popped out from between two red-haired women clutching autographed photos of Tony. She collapsed into her chair at once. You stood awkwardly next to the desk, wondering in the pause of conversation how exactly to continue.

“So,” she said at last, with another bright smile, “What can I help you with today?”

“Oh, I…” You trailed away as a shot of nerves coursed up your arms.

“Another package to deliver?”

Suddenly you remembered the paper bag clutched to your chest. “Yes!” you blurted. “Yes.”

Janie reached for the phone. “I’ll call Miss Potts and let her know you’re here.”

“Wait!”

With a frown, Janie did so. For a moment, your pulse took all your attention. How to ask for Bruce? They were Pepper’s clothes. Still, what if she didn’t want to see you after that tantrum of yours? What if he didn’t want to see you after that tantrum of yours? Maybe you shouldn’t have bothered coming. No one knew Bruce worked here either. Could you even ask Janie to call him for you?

Apparently you were taking a little too long deliberating, because she had to prompt you with a soft, “Yes?”

You shook your head. “That would be great. Um, could you tell her the package is for a mutual friend?”

“Sure thing.”

“I’m…going to go wait outside, if that’s okay. It’s a little full in here. It’ll be easier to find me.”

“I’ll let her know.”

You nodded and added an uncomfortable “thanks” before darting back outside as quickly as you could.

The sidewalk was still pretty crowded. People kept posing, pointing in the air even though there wasn’t any suit of armor to be seen, and generally making as much noise as possible. It was a little emptier at least. That would make it easier for Bruce, right? If he even came to see you. God, he was probably avoiding you on purpose. Your hands shook a little as you settled down onto the wide, cement steps in as a vacant a space as you could find. After all, you’d basically acted like a baby every single time you saw him. How attractive could that be to a guy like him?

The noise around you faded into something of a dull roar. You leaned your cheeks onto your fists and glowered down at the buses chugging past the building. Bruce hadn’t acted upset with you, though. He’d let you feel what you wanted to feel. Maybe he was tired of it. Of course he was. Thirty-year-old women were supposed to act with a little more decorum. That kiss didn’t mean anything to him. He was just drunk. He himself had said it’d been awhile since he’d got out. Probably he just hadn’t kissed someone in years. Just because it was the same for you didn’t mean anything. If you were smart, you’d just get up and take one of those buses home. You had checkbooks to balance anyway.

A hand on your shoulder made you jump as a gasp slip from your mouth.

“Sorry,” Bruce said with his hands held palms toward you. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“N-No. I–I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Bruce looked a little confused as you got hastily to your feet. “Pepper said you were looking for me.”

“I was! I just didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

“I seriously considered it,” he admitted.

You pressed your lips together so they wouldn’t betray the slight sinking of your heart.

A short pause preceded his question: “Why are you here?”

“Pepper’s clothes. You,” you scuffed your feet against the ground, “never came to pick them up.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re probably busy with all your science stuff.”

“I guess.”

You frowned at the cement when the conversation ground to a halt. No matter what you mentally told yourself to convince yourself to actually say what you came to say, you couldn’t manage it. Not after Bruce was so clearly unhappy to see you.

“Here!” You thrust the bag of clothing at him.

Bruce did not take it. “I don’t have your things.”

“That’s okay.” Your eyes remained glued to a window pane high above his head. “Just have Pepper mail them to me. Or not. I mean, I can just get another pair some time.”

For a moment, Bruce regarded you in that now-familiar way of his. Then he took the package and nodded. “I’ll let her know. Thanks for bringing this all the way over here.”

“No problem.” Your throat was getting a little too tight for words. A smile forced your lips up painfully. “Sorry I made you get out here in this mess.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you later.”

“Sure.”

The pair of you stood about a foot apart, not saying anything, not even really looking at each other. Bruce gave a nervous shrug and a twitch of his head, then began to make his way back into the building.

“Wait!”

He turned, perhaps a little reluctantly. His eyes darted toward your hands, and you realized you had grabbed his wrist to prevent him from going further. You dropped it as if electrocuted. No words came from him; meanwhile, your lips writhed as you tried to form some of your own. How many minutes passed, you didn’t know. When you did speak, you hardly understood the words:

“Did that kiss mean anything to you?”

His tongue snaked out of his lips to wet them before he said, “What?”

You screwed your eyes shut and took a deep breath. More slowly, you repeated, “Did that kiss mean anything to you?”

Bruce might have colored a bit. You were trying very hard not to look at him, though, so that might have just been your imagination. Disappointment might have been a close friend to you, but you didn’t want it bursting in now. Nearly as much time passed before he spoke again as he had when this whole affair had started:

“What?”

“That kiss, at the bar. Did it mean something to you?”

“Why are you asking?”

Connect. Papa had said to connect. You willed yourself to look into Bruce’s eyes when you spoke up. “Because it might have meant something to me.”

“You’re going to have to explain.”

“Look, I–I like you. And I know that sounds stupid, but when you didn’t show up at the store like you told me you would, I thought maybe…maybe you’d decided you didn’t want to see me ever again. And that would break my heart.”

You hazarded another look up at Bruce. If you weren’t putting so much feeling into this meeting, his look of incredulity might have made you laugh. His eyes were wide and his mouth was moving almost like a fish’s.

“Of course, that might totally be the case,” you said awkwardly, “and if it is, I’ll leave you alone.”

His mouth stopped popping open and shut. Now Bruce was the one looking at the ground. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said slowly, “what’s going on here.”

You blew out a long breath and then pressed a hand to your forehead. “Okay, okay. Let me try again. Bruce, I know we didn’t start this relationship out on the right foot, but I would really, really appreciate it if you didn’t avoid me like the plague. Maybe we could get to know each other a little better.”

Bruce looked up. The tiny smile on his face soothed your nerves a little. “Are you asking me out?”

It wasn’t enough to make you stop panicking, though. You answered, completely seriously, “I am asking you out.”

“You’re kidding, right? Not a single one of our dates has ended well.”

“The coffee one kind of did!”

He lifted his eyebrows.

“Okay, it didn’t start out great, but I felt better afterward. You make me feel better. Like–you’re the only person that doesn’t mind when I get angry. It kind of feels like you like it, really. I used to feel so numb, and then you showed up and I feel angry and sad.”

It was quite clear from Bruce’s expression that this babbling was making you appear no saner in his eyes.

You stamped a foot and tugged once at your hair. “And that makes me happy. I like feeling.”

“I thought you said you weren’t interested in having a relationship,” Bruce said. He looked–not confused. More as if he just wanted to make absolutely sure he didn’t need to take you to the mental institution.

“I said that because I didn’t want anything to get me stuck in Manhattan. When we went on that date, I was still nursing this crazy notion that something might happen and I might get to go home. This is home now. It’s pretty clear I’m not going anywhere.”

With another bob of his head, Bruce looked at the sky. He looked back down at you, though, and took a step nearer. “What if I have to go somewhere?”

“Then I want to get to know you until then.”

He looked around at the tourists milling about. “It’s not exactly an advisable situation.”

It seemed that Bruce was starting to crack. You allowed one corner of your lip to quirk up. “Please? I promise, if this one ends in me storming out, you can be completely done with me.”

At last, he smiled. “Well, you were kind of right earlier. It’s nice to see someone react to things like that.”

“What, anger?”

“Yes. I don’t have a lot of angry friends.”

“Yeah, Mr. Stark seems to really enjoy his life.”

Maybe it was the obvious effort you put into not whining about his best friend. Maybe it was the fact that you’d never been more honest with a person in your entire life. Maybe it was just that Bruce was as desperate for rational company as you were. All you knew was that he licked his lips, and made to sit down on the steps next to you. He patted the spot beside him.

“So, a date,” he said.

“Right now?”

“It’s as good a time as any.”

“You sure you don’t want to go somewhere?”

“Let’s just sit here and talk.”

Again, you mashed your lips together. But this time, the smile was inevitable. You settled by Bruce, grinning like an idiot.

“How was your week?“ you asked. "What have you been up to?”

“Just checking up on JARVIS.”

“Writing a computer code?”

“That’s more Tony’s area of expertise,” he said, “how’s the store?”

“Nana has given me a couple of helpers.”

“Any good?”

“They’re two teenagers that missed the deadlines for applying for college.”

“No, then?”

“They’re driving Mr. Banner crazy.”

It might not have been perfect. The photographers kept stepping on you. Bruce kept looking around as if he half-expected someone to jump at him. Tony, on the other hand, stayed inside while the two of you chatted-and for the first time since running to Washington you felt, maybe faintly but definitely still there, as if something in your life might be changing for the better.

[boxoftheskyking]

Pick Up Every Piece, Part Five

In which we have a scene at the bar

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

--

Early November 2000

When Jiang Cheng comes to the bar on his own, he lets Wei Ying watch his back. Which is to say, he sits at the bar and doesn’t spend the whole time half-turned to keep an eye on the door. When Jin Zixuan joins them, he hangs by the corner of the bar by the weird old poker machine that hasn’t worked in years, and he mostly avoids eye contact.

“Hey Zixuan,” Wei Ying says, grinning. “How’s your cousin?”

“Hm?” He’s so polite, always, in a snobby kind of way. Like he knows he’s better than you, but he’s far too well-bred to admit it. Wei Ying sometimes wonders if he got that from his mother. Wei Ying has never really spoken to Mrs. Jin outside of an awkward few minutes at the wedding, but what he knows of the rest of the family is far more in the “knows they’re better than you and will tell you to your face” camp.

“Your cousin, you know.” He winks at Jiang Cheng. “It’s the liiiiiife of the Jin!”

Jiang Cheng joins in, “What’s going down in Lanling—”

“Cut it out!” Zixuan reaches out like he’s going to cover Jiang Cheng’s mouth, but he doesn’t. 

“It’s catchy!” Jiang Cheng giggles. It’s a gratifying sight.

“That show should be outlawed,” Zixuan says darkly.

“It’s genius,” Wei Ying argues, drinking in the two of them there, together. “Nie Huaisang is a visionary.”

“I’m going to have him imprisoned. He’s a curse.”

“He’s a genius. It’s a totally new art form.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Art form. It’s boring. I like seeing Jin Zixun humiliated as much as anyone, but it’s just rich people sitting around being stupid and rich.”

“It’s reality, but also pure escapism. It’s brilliant.”

“It’s a threat to national security,” Zixuan says. Wei Ying cackles.

Jiang Cheng makes a face. “There’s no story! There’s no, like, script.”

“There is a story! It’s all how Huaisang edits it.” Wei Ying hasn’t actually talked to Nie Huaisang in years, so he’s not that personally invested, but he can’t resist the chance to disagree with both Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan at the same time.

Zixuan slides his glass over for a refill. “Zixun is never going to get a real job. He has no skills, he can’t do anything useful, so he sits around and has cameras follow him? It’s a disgrace.”

“It’s the most watched show in the country. I watch it every week.”

Jiang Cheng intercepts Zixuan’s glass to steal a sip. “That’s because you also don’t have a real job.”

“Serve yourself then, asshole.”

“We don’t watch reality TV, we work. We’re civil servants.”

“I’ve written six columns on The Life of Jin, I’ll have you know. So it is my job. And I’m more of a civil servant than you, I barely make any money.” It earns him a pair of eyerolls, but they won’t insult the paper to his face. Not anymore. “I can’t believe they made you both work today.” It’s the wrong thing to say, and Wei Ying covers his wince to fill a row of pints.

“Yeah, well.” Zixuan scratches the back of his neck. He keeps his hair a bit long, like Jiang Cheng does, but on him it feels like a memorial. “Five years. I guess I can’t keep getting time off forever.”

Jiang Cheng is drumming his fingers on the bar, looking away.

“Five years to the day, though,” Wei Ying offers. He leans in, almost wanting to touch . . . something, then twirls away to ring someone up. He feels like a bird, a swallow, dipping and soaring and coming in close for a moment before getting scared back up to a tree top.

When he comes back the tension has receded.

“Dad wants me to move over to the business side of things,” Zixuan is saying.

“Leave intelligence?” Jiang Cheng’s brow furrows, clearly already imagining following his brother-in-law over to the corporate hellhole of Jin Industries.

“Yeah. He keeps talking about the CEO gig, as if I’m qualified.”

“No offense,” Wei Ying says, “but your dad has never been big on qualified.”

“What about Guangyao?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“He’s not the face Dad wants for the company. I don’t know, it’s like during the war, he’s staying back in his lab and his back office, tinkering with stuff. Dad wants a stupid— A face. You know, dynasty bullshit.”

“Like those propaganda posters.” Wei Ying grins at him. “That noble profile. I had one on my bedroom wall.”

“Don’t be creepy.” Jiang Cheng goes to smack him, but he ducks away. “You did not.”

“It wasn’t propaganda.” Zixuan sighs, having lost this argument before.

“It was good propaganda,” Jiang Cheng argues.

Wei Ying keeps his thoughts to himself, for once. He doesn’t comment on Jin Guangyao, either, though he could. A drunk girl yells at him from the other side of the bar, which helps.

“But like—” Zixuan takes a long gulp, spinning his fingers in frustration, looking for the words. “This is what I trained for. I joined the army at eighteen. I was in the army when it was just prison security and diplomatic escorts. My degree is decoration, and he knows that. It’s an art piece on the office wall, it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just become this business guy. It’s like— He doesn’t actually know me, who I am, what I’m good at. He just expects me to work wherever he plugs me in, to just be the best at whatever he thinks I should be the best at. I’m already the best at something. Right? I’m too old to be the best at something else.”

Wei Ying shrugs in sympathy. “Welcome to your thirties, eh?”

Jiang Cheng drains his glass, his third already. “He wants you to be a liquid.”

“What?”

“He thinks you’re a liquid. Your dad. Fit the shape of your container.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m not a fucking liquid.”

Jiang Cheng points at him. “That’s right. You’re not a fucking liquid.”

“I’m a solid.”

“You’re solid as shit, man.” Jiang Cheng pounds on Zixuan’s chest, and he winces slightly.

It’s nine o’clock, so Wei Ying decides he gets to pour himself a whiskey. He puts an orange slice in it, for vitamins.

Jin Zixuan looks into his own glass, thoughtfully. “Although, I mean. What’s a liquid without a container? Just a puddle, right?”

“Or a river,” Jiang Cheng says. They pause to contemplate rivers.

“What kind of liquid would you be?” Wei Ying asks, watching the gold of his liquor swirl around the melting ice cubes and the orange peel.

Zixuan huffs a laugh. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Vegetable soup,” Wei Ying says, then winces again.

“Soup,” Jiang Cheng agrees, quietly.

“Yeah,” Zixuan says. “Soup.”

They stare down into their glasses, drink.

“That reminds me,” Zixuan says, rallying after a long moment and pulling his fancy silver business card holder out of his breast pocket. “I got a new number.”

He hands Wei Ying a classy white card. It’s not his government one, just his phone number and his new email. Of course Jin Zixuan would have a personal business card, printed up by a printing company somewhere.

“Did you get rid of the old phone?” Wei Ying asks, carefully. Jiang Cheng looks between them, also careful, saying nothing.

“No, I just had to— I moved it to the basement. I can’t keep . . . The answering machine is still hooked up to the old one. I’ll still wipe the tape, so you can call—”

“Thanks.” We don’t talk about it. Let’s keep not talking about it. Wei Ying rinses a glass that’s already clean.

“If you want. It’s not a problem. I just can’t keep—”

“Yeah.” He wipes the glass, too quickly, the damp microfiber squeaks a little.

“A-Ling gets confused. He hears you say her name, you say ‘Jiejie,’ and he—”

“Yeah, I get it, no problem.” Wei Ying rinses the glass again.

“You can call me, though.” Jin Zixuan is looking at him, which he rarely actually does right in the face, horribly earnest. “You know that. You can call the new number and talk to him, or to me.”

“I know. I will.” He probably won’t. He looks over at Jiang Cheng, who’s chewing on his lip. Yanli would scold him for that, say that’s why it keeps chapping, worse now that it’s getting colder. He doesn’t leave her messages, Wei Ying doesn’t think. He doesn’t need crutches like that, he straps the anger onto himself like steel braces and gets on with things, limping.

Wei Ying would like to be angry, especially today on the five year anniversary. Five full years without her. That would be a comfort, such a relief, to be angry. But he doesn’t get to be angry when Jiang Cheng is around.

Jiang Cheng clears his throat. “I can’t believe your dad allows Zixun to do that show.”

Zixuan draws himself up, sucking in a breath like he’s coming out of water. “He must get something from it. Like some kind of PR or something.”

Wei Ying goes into the back and carries out a case of wine and a case of cider, loads them into the cooler. It takes a while, he has to pull things out so the warm bottles go in the back. He can vaguely hear his brothers insulting Jin Zixun and the state of modern television, keeping it light. He stares at the label on a bottle of cider—it’s an apple with a face, one of those unnerving cartoon faces where all the teeth are the same size and shape. No one’s teeth look like that.

He shuts the cooler and returns.

“If Zixun looks like a fool,” Wei Ying says thoughtfully, interrupting them like he’s supposed to, “then he’s mostly harmless. He’s a goofball. It must be useful for the great and powerful Jin to have a goofball side. It makes you look less, I don’t know . . .” He could say a lot of things. He could say things like tyrannical or despotic or calculating or morally questionable. He doesn’t say any of it, just waves his hands around.

Zixuan looks like he hears the words anyway, and as usual, he stares out across the bar. “He’s a sacrifice, I suppose. Zixun. He’s always been the spare.”

“Do you think he knows he’s being played?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Would he keep doing it if he knew?”

“My dad,” Zixuan says slowly. “Doesn’t play Go. Metaphorically speaking. Not like A-Yao does. But he does play poker. Zixun—” he spins the glass between his hands. “Zixun plays hopscotch. Badly.”

Wei Ying snorts, and it feels nice.

“I guess I don’t like the show so much anymore,” he says, pouting.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng reaches out and flicks his ear. Wei Ying lets him.

“Why does everything have to be nefarious?” Wei Ying whines, meaning reality TV but also Jiang Cheng and his mean fingers “Can’t we have something that’s just dumb? Aren’t we there, as a country, where we can just have stupid shit that’s stupid and doesn’t mean anything?”

“You mean besides you, and also your face?” Jiang Cheng asks. Zixuan sighs at them in a judgmental way.

Wei Ying taps his chin. “Although, there’s a column there. The insidious political machinations of so-called reality.” He hits the button to roll out some receipt paper and makes a few notes.

“I just don’t get why he does it,” Jiang Cheng muses. “He has to know he looks bad. Right? Like, he has to.” As if everyone is as pathologically obsessed with their public appearance as you are, which is something Wei Ying does not say. “It’s not like he needs the money.”

As always, that’s its own flavor of uncomfortable. Zixuan makes more money than Jiang Cheng, and has a trust fund on top of it. He keeps trying to make it up by buying expensive presents and starting a tab wherever they go, but Jiang Cheng won’t take it. He used to, back when Zixuan was just their shitty rich brother-in-law, or Yanli’s shitty rich boyfriend. He used to call it “Yanli’s dowry” when he’d leave his birthday dinner with a new stereo or a nice watch. Now that they’re friends, though, he gets pissed off. He’ll get mad if Zixuan buys him a hardcover instead of a paperback, now that they’re friends. He’s a complicated man. So is Zixuan, in his way.

That’s probably why they get along so well, and why Wei Ying is always a half a step off of their weird masculine choreography. Wei Ying fancies himself a complicated man, but it’s different. He’s in control in a way they don’t seem to be, not of his life but of his face and his voice and his sentence structure. It makes him a good reporter.

They, on the other hand, have always been good soldiers.

Wei Ying had cried when Jiang Cheng enlisted, mid-’93. 

“You watch too many war movies,” he’d said, looking down at this lap, twisting his hands together, face hot and heart racing. “It won’t be like that, A-Cheng, there’s not any glory in it, it’ll just be horrible—”

“It’s the right thing to do.” Jiang Cheng had been stubborn as always, chin jutting out. “Wen Chao’s last attack—I can’t just sit here.”

Yanli hadn’t cried at all, she’d just looked between them, silent.

“Why don’t you come too?”Jian Cheng had asked him, eyes like a six-year-old. “You’d be good at it. We could do it together.”

“No, I gotta— Someone’s gotta report on all your heroics, right?” Wei Ying had been sweating, panicked, chills running down his arms, blowing his nose again and again. “Maybe I’ll get an assignment so I can follow you around and sing about your adventures. Like something out of those ancient poems, right?”

He’d been wrong about his role in the war, but more right than he’d be able to guess about ancient poetry. Because cultivation was real. Magic was real, and his brother was somehow mixed up in it.

He got drunk with Yanli the week after the first cultivator battle. The first battle with the new cultivator corps. Zixuan, Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan, Mianmian, and the others.

“You husband is a wizard,” Wei Ying had said, slurring.

“Your brother is a wizard.” Yanli had flicked a sunflower seed into his lap. 

That was her secret: when Yanli got drunk she could go through two bags of sunflower seeds by herself. She got the cheap ones from the gas station on the corner and split them with her teeth, scattering shells everywhere like a little disaster zone. She’d clean up all the evidence in the morning, before anyone woke up. She was almost never hungover. 

Wei Ying loved that about her, the evidence she left, her secret messiness. He’d catch a stray shell in the corner, behind a potted plant or caught in the fringe of an area rug, and he’d get so rocked with love—violent, breathless love for her—that his vision would go spotty. 

Or maybe that’s just how he remembers it, now that she’s gone.

“Actually, he’s your brother too,” Wei Ying had said at the time, poking her nose. “Your husband and your brother are both wizards. So what does that make you?”

“Well, there’s Lan Zhan. You’re blushing, see, you’re blushing. And Mianmian. They’re your—”

“Friends.”

“Yeah, but you kissed both of them.”

Wei Ying had stuck out his tongue at her, or done something equally childish.

She’d cracked a sunflower seed and popped it into her mouth. “We could be wizards if we wanted to.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely”

“We just aren’t.”

“We’re busy.”

“We are busy people.”

Wei Ying is shaken out of the memory by a pint glass slamming down on the bar, just missing Jiang Cheng’s elbow. It’s Li Wangcheng, youngest son of his usual source, Li Riseung.

“Fill ‘er up, asshole,” Li Wangcheng says, listing into his buddies on either side. Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are both looking at him with equally disdainful nose wrinkles. “Chop chop.”

Wei Ying sighs. “Sorry, Wangcheng, you’re cut off. I already over-served you, and I promised your dad and your brother I wouldn’t.”

“Fuck you.”

“Your liver can’t take it. Here, have some water and go sit down.”

“Fuck you, Wei Ying. Fuck you.” He’s pushing off his friends, leaning over the bar with his tobacco-stained teeth and his mix-of-alcohol breath.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Ying moves away, wiping down the counter, and Wangcheng follows.

“I’ll fucking kill you. You watch your back, bitch, I’ll fucking find you, and I’ll kill you.”

Wei Ying puts up his hands. “Okay, man, take it easy.”

“I know where you live. I know where you park your bike. Your stupid little fucking— Your stupid bike.”

His two biggest friends start pulling at his elbow, pulling him away. He shakes them off.

“Don’t think I won’t. Don’t think I won’t find you, motherfucker.”

Jiang Cheng is off his stool, now, and Zixuan is moving around behind him, coming in to engage. Wei Ying waves them off, desperately. Wen Ning is leaving his spot by the door.

“When you leave tonight, you better—”

“The fuck did you say?” Jiang Cheng is up in his face, now, and Wei Ying has to come out from behind the bar. He hates leaving the bar, it’s his comfortable place to be.

“Leave it. A-Cheng, A-Xuan, leave it, leave it.” He gets himself between them all, holding his brother back. Wen Ning has a good hold on Wangcheng’s shoulders.

“Fuck you.” That sprays a bit in his face, the plosive. “Everything was fine before you came here. Yiling was fine before you came here, and then everything went to shit.”

“That’s not—” Jiang Cheng tries to butt in, but Wei Ying sticks an elbow in his gut.

“I said, leave it.”

“Fucking worthless,” Wangcheng spits at him, and Wen Ning and his friends haul him back towards the door. “Fucking demon. You’re a fucking demon, Wei Ying! Fucking cursed!”

Wen Ning throws them out, and the silence following is awkward, no one looking at each other. Wei Ying wipes his face, straightens Jiang Cheng’s shirt collar, and goes back to work. There’s a short woman standing there, frozen, holding out her empty glass. He gets her another gin and cranberry, pleased that he remembered, and she gives him a pitying kind of smile. He hides his hands down by his sides, but he knows she’s seen them. Everyone can see them; he doesn’t cover them.

“Holy shit,” Jiang Cheng says, still staring back at the door.

“Yeah. Never mind.” Wei Ying readjusts his t-shirt.

“Never mind? That was a death threat. For what, cutting him off?”

“Forget about it.”

“For cutting him off? What the fuck?”

“A-Cheng, forget it.”

“I’m not gonna forget it, that guy knows where you live.”

“It’s fine, it happens. Leave it. Please? Leave it.”

Jiang Cheng sits down. Zixuan says nothing, looking between Jaing Cheng and the door.

“Does it happen a lot?” Jiang Cheng is interrogating, intelligence-mode.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Wei Ying, does it happen a lot?”

“I mean, a bit. Okay?”

“For cutting—?”

“It’s not about cutting him off. It’s not about that. It’s not about me. Calm down.”

“Sure sounded like it’s about you. ‘Demon,’ really—”

“If it wasn’t me it would be someone else. Wen Ning. His friends. His dad.” Wei Ying chops more limes than he needs to, calmed by the sharpness of the knife. “He’s dying. Actually dying, everyone knows it. His liver is shot. He’s been laid off for months, and he can’t pay for any more treatment. His dad’s broke, mom died in the war. He’s lashing out.”

“But that’s not your—”

“You can’t swing at the clouds forever. Right? He’s not the only one. People feel good here, they feel comfortable here, and so they can hit someone here if they need to. You get beaten down and beaten down for year after year, eventually you have to fight back. Right? Otherwise what are you?” What am I? he doesn’t ask.

Zixuan clears his throat, still not looking at him. “What’s the use of fighting you? You’re not—”

Wei Ying laughs at him, mean. “What’s he gonna do, fight your dad? The whole fucking government? Who can he hit? After a while, you have to hit something or you’ll go mad. You have to make contact. Right?” He chops another lime. “You have to have an effect on something. You have to hit someone and see the bruise, or yell at someone and see them flinch. Otherwise it’s like you don’t exist at all. You’re already dead.”

“Wei Ying,” Zixuan says it, which is a surprise. He almost never says his name.

“Somewhere like this, somewhere like Yiling, all you can reach is the guy next to you. Once they put the crabs in the bucket, they put the lid on.”

The chatter in the bar is back, which is nice since there’s an awkward silence between the three of them. Wei Ying puts the chopped limes into the cooler and washes the cutting board, washes the knife. He replaces a drink at the other end of the bar earlier than he normally would—the guy is only halfway through, but he nods a thanks.

“What about—” Zixuan starts, hesitant. “Wei Ying, what about police?”

“Ha!” Wei Ying snaps it at him, not a laugh, not at all. “Don’t you— You don’t come here, into my bar, talking about police.”

“I didn’t come in talking about police, I’m just saying—”

“No cops in Yiling.” He shuts a cooler with his heel, a satisfying slam. “Cops are military, and the military hates Yiling.”

Zixuan bristles. “No, we don’t.”

He always does this. It’s one of the things Wei Ying can’t process about him, and one of the reasons they’ve never been close and probably never will be. It’s always “we.” The Jins, the government, the military. Wei Ying can like him if he doesn’t see Jin Guangshan, if he doesn’t see Jin Guangyao, if he doesn’t see the war when he looks at him. But then he comes in with the “we.”

It’s probably sad, actually, how long he’s been a soldier. How much of him is wrapped up in being his dad’s perfect soldier.

Wei Ying bites his tongue, takes a breath. “Of course you do. Everyone in charge hates Yiling.”

“I don’t hate Yiling.” Zixuan is getting stubborn. He looks like A-Ling, almost a pout. “It’s where you live, and you’re my family.”

Wei Ying blinks at him. “I don’t know how to talk to you when you get like this.”

“Like what?”

“Sincere. All, you know—” he waves an empty bottle around in Zixuan’s face. “Sincere.”

The pout becomes more of a pout. “I’m always sincere.

“Yeah, that’s why we don’t talk.”

Jiang Cheng leans across the bar and snags the rail whiskey bottle to top off his own glass.

“I can beat you up later, if you like,” Zixuan offers.

“Yeah.” Wei Ying doesn’t want to smile, but he does anyway. “Maybe.”

The silence isn’t awkward this time. Wei Ying takes the whiskey bottle back from Jiang Cheng and makes a show of wiping it off with the bleach rag. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

After a while, Jiang Cheng asks, “Is there something happening here this month? For the five years? Like a memorial or something?” He’s looking away, all careful again.

“Is Lanling doing something?” They look at Zixuan, only slightly accusing on Wei Ying’s part.

“No. I mean December 3 there will be a whole . . . Armistice anniversary.”

“But nothing for Sunshot. Nothing for the massacre I mean,” Wei Ying says.

“I mean, not specifically.” Zixuan licks his lips. “I’m sure it’ll be mentioned.”

“Nothing here, though?” Jiang Cheng asks again.

“Trust me, people around here aren’t the ones that need reminding what you’re— what Lanling is capable of.” 

“That’s not fair,” Zixuan says.

Wei Ying looks down at his hands, the mottled brown of them. Flies, flies and dirt and flies and chemicals and flies. “Don’t talk about fair. Not about this.”

Zixuan opens his mouth, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head, violently.

“A-Cheng, it’s not—”

“Stop it.” Jiang Cheng is glaring at him now, the kind of look Wei Ying gets all the time, but Zixuan doesn’t see so much. It makes him stop.

Wei Ying goes to the back and grabs the broom. Jiang Cheng reaches over for the gin bottle and tops off Zixuan’s glass. Wei Ying pretends he doesn’t see it and starts at the far end of the bar. It’s getting slower, people heading out for the night to more exciting places.

A song comes on, something from his college days. He remembers recording it onto a cassette tape from the radio, keeping it in his backpack. Lan Zhan didn’t really like it, but he let Wei Ying play it all the time on his cheap little dorm room stereo.

Wei Ying sings along under his breath as he sweeps. “And if I lied, would you forgive me. Whoa-oh-oh. Fit to be tied, but you still live with me. Oh, whoa-oh-oh.”

“This song,” Zixuan says, smiling a little. “We used to— We used to fight a lot. A-Li and I. Stupid stuff. I was late for dinner. My mom would get so overbearing and we’d fight about that. Her mom would— Well, you know. We’d fight about that. Baby stuff. We didn’t know what to do about baby stuff, so she bought out the whole section of the book store and said we’d divide and conquer. But every book was different, so we’d argue. Dr. Po says this. Well, Dr. Wen says that. She could be so— You’re all so stubborn. Stupid stuff. And we’d be so pissed off we stopped speaking to each other. But I bought her this CD once, not for a birthday or anything, just because. She loved them from way back. And she’d put it on, and we’d dance, and we wouldn’t be mad anymore.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said, clearing his throat. “She liked that sappy shit.”

“Do you play it for A-Ling?” Wei Ying asks.

Zixuan shakes his head. “It makes me sad to hear it. I spend most of my time trying not to be sad around A-Ling.”

Jiang Cheng moves like he’s going to touch him, his arm, his shoulder. He aborts the move and grabs his glass instead, slides it over to tap against Zixuan’s. 

“You’re doing good,” he says.

Zixuan looks down, blinking seriously.

“You are,” Wei Ying agrees. “You’re doing good. And you know it pains me to say it.”

Zixuan gives him an echo of a laugh.

“A-Ling is lucky.”

“He’d be luckier if his uncles would visit. Both of them.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying say in unison.

“You want me to change the song?” Wei Ying asks.

“No, leave it. It’s good. It’s a nice song.”

An old woman leans on the bar—she’s familiar but Wei Ying can’t remember her name. “Hey, hey, Wei Ying!”

“Yeah, auntie?” he smiles charmingly at her.

“You know my daughter’s coming home soon. December 21.”

“Cheers to that!” he gives her a half-salute.

“I’ll set you up, once she’s home. Just you wait, she’s the prettiest, even now.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“She makes that jumpsuit look like runway fashion. Still has her figure, even with the prison food.”

“Can’t wait,” Wei Ying says politely.

“December 21,” the old woman waves her finger at him and heads for the door. 

“Invite me to the wedding,” Jiang Cheng teases.

“December 21,” Wei Ying rolls it around in his mouth. “The Wens are coming home.”

Zixuan straightens up. “Really?”

“That’s what we’re celebrating. We don’t celebrate the Massacre, but innocent people coming home? That’s worth it.”

“Innocent is—”

“Zixuan, think about where you are.”

Zixuan nods.

All of the Wens who’d been scooped up post-Sunshot, post-war, those related to rebels or in the wrong place at the wrong time, they’d all been sentenced to five years in prison. “Just to be safe.” The majority came from Yiling, Dafan, other small towns in the West. People who couldn’t afford to run to Lanling, to Gusu, somewhere safe during the worst of the fighting. People who wouldn’t turn their backs on brothers and aunts and cousins in Nightless City. 

But five years have almost passed, and the Wens are coming home.

“It’ll be weird, won’t it?” Jiang Cheng asks, diplomatic in his insensitivity.

“A hundred and forty-three people,” Wei Ying says. “At least, that’s how many went in. I’m sure a couple fucked up inside, got their sentences extended.”

“But still.”

“But still,” he agrees.

“Are you going to do something for it? In December?” Jiang Cheng asks him.

“Dunno. I should stock up though, shouldn’t I? I’ll make a note.”

Later, after Jiang Cheng and Zixuan leave for Jiang Cheng’s Yiling sublet—a two bedroom so Zixuan doesn’t have to get his own place in town—Wei Ying sweeps up while Wen Ning flips chairs up on the tables.  

“Have you ever gotten over something?” Wei Ying asks him.

“Like what?” Wen Ning stops working and looks at him. He always does that—Wei Ying has always wondered if he had hearing loss as a kid. If he’s talking to you, he always has to stop whatever he’s doing and look at you right in the face.

“I don’t know. But have you ever stood there a second and realized you were over something? Or through something. You know, on the other side?”

Wen Ning thinks for a while, and Wei Ying sweeps around his feet. “School, I guess.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“What about you?”

Wei Ying leans down with the dust pan. “I don’t think I’ve ever come out the other side of anything. I think maybe if you stay in something long enough you adapt. Grow gills or whatever, so you can breathe. So you can survive when the world turns unlivable around you. And maybe you aren’t living at all, maybe you’re a stone, or you’re a dead fish with rotten eyes, washed up on the bank of a river that dried up years and years ago.” 

Wen Ning still looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn’t ask Wei Ying to make sense. It’s what Wei Ying appreciates the most about him. 

“So maybe you’re dead, or maybe you’re evolving. Like, maybe that’s just what the world is now, and what you would have previously defined as dead, what you’d look at ten years ago and say that’s a dead thing, maybe that’s just what life looks like now. Evolution.” 

Wen Ning nods and picks up a chair. “I think . . . I might be remembering wrong, but I think evolution takes a long time. Like many generations. So maybe you should look at the kids.”

“The kids?” 

“Yeah, see if the kids have gills. Or whatever. Whatever you said.”

Wei Ying leans his chin on his broom and watches Wen Ning go table by table, strong and methodical. He sets the chairs so gently on the tabletops that it doesn’t make any noise. He flips them with complete control and lines up the seats.

“Maybe,” Wei Ying says. He goes back behind the bar and turns up the music. There’s work to do before heading home

[wizardcow12]

Alright I'm a fucking history nerd and like geography too much so I thought why not share that with you guys. Anyway

MY FAVORITE EUROPEAN BORDERS!!!

Okay so remember the Tumblr post about Croatia being inland and uranium mines?

Yeah notice it has one flaw. IT HAS A GIANT ASS COAST LINE. So giant you might say it's cucking it's neighbors from the sea most noticeably Bosnia, and you might be asking

"why why is it shaped like that" And I'm hear to give you the answer

So back in ye olden days of the 19th century when imperialism was becoming the new fad and the ottomans (the dudes in Anatolia who thought the silk Road was cringe and cock blocked Europe from it) anyway the ottomans didnt know if they were in Europe or Africa so they decided to expand a bit early in the medieval ages into both. they won and lost but for the most part they looked like this

You're probably thinking

"wow what a nice empire"

But if you notice their borders in the Balkans it's suspiciously similar to bosnias borders. So ottomans influenced the bosnaians that's why, actually kinda but there's more.

BALKAN WARS. And the Europeans are angry about having ottomans in their land so they kick them out yay peace in the balkans.

Okay so ww1 happens and ottomans are in it! We're done with them for now (spoiler: they lose) but now we're following SERBIA or you know them as Yugoslavia. Okay so ww2 happens, angry short European tries to own the continent 2 electric boogaloo and the Croatians or Croats decide serbia is a bit of an asshole so they decided to join Hitler in some genocide of some Serbs. Croats lose ww2 and Yugoslavia is back and whole ffw to the 90s or 80s or something and it's some dude shoved a bottle up his ass and blamed an Albanian and everyone decided having one country lead a ethnic hellhole doesn't work shockingly so they start to break up and Croatia pops out like this because they hate having a country with two different alphabets and then bosnia also pops out so

TLDR Islam had a bit of an empire and with the power of religion and genocide the two countries had this as a border

So thanks for listening to my dumb rant about the balkans

[dawninlatin]

Queen of Peace, Chapter 2

A manorian high school AU

Words: 1773

Warnings: Vague mentions of psychological abuse

AO3 Link: Click here

Summary: Manon Blackbeak is flawless, untouchable. From the outside at least. Her grandmother pushes her to achieve greatness, and she doesn't let anyone get too close in fear of being hurt. How can anyone love her when not even her parents could?

Dorian Havilliard has always felt safe and confident around his friends. He might not have the greatest of families, but with Aelin and Chaol by his side, nothing can go wrong. That is until he tries keeping his greatest secret from them.

What will happen when Dorian and Manon gets to know one another? Can two lost souls find their way back together?

‘Cause I’m gonna be free and I’m gonna be fine

But maybe not tonight

-Florence + The Machine, Delilah

Manon stared into her history book as the desks around her slowly filled up with students.

People were talking about their summers. Parties and hook-ups and vacations and memories made with friends.

She couldn’t have cared less.

The classroom buzzed with excitement over a new semester, a new year. She couldn’t have cared less about that either.

Manon only wanted one thing: To stay focused on her grades, get into a good college and get out of this hellhole. Only the best will do. You don’t want to end up like your mother, do you?

Shaking off her grandmother’s words, she looked up just in time to see Elide Lochan enter the classroom. The girl was wearing a light blue dress, wavy, dark brown hair cascading down her back, and she was headed straight towards Manon. Fuck.

She had managed three years of high school without having to share a class with Elide, but apparently her luck had run out.

Lochan was a walking ray of sunshine. Always smiling, always talking, always caring. She had been Manon’s best friend once, but that was a whole other story.

«Is this seat taken?» Elide asked, still smiling. Manon looked around to see that all the other desks had already been filled up with students.

«I guess it isn’t,» she answered drily before diving back into her book, trying her very best to ignore the girl sitting down next to her.

Elide put down her backpack, taking out her books and placing them in front of her. «How was your summer?»

That girl will only slow you down, stopping you from reaching your goals.

Manon shrugged, not taking her eyes away from the textbook.

She will find new friends as soon as you start high school anyway.

Elide - clearly not taking the hint - spoke again: «I really miss you, Manon.» Her voice seemed hurt, but Manon was certain she could hear a sliver of hope as well.

«No, you don’t.» She still couldn’t look up, couldn’t see the crushing disappointment surely written all over Elide’s face now.

You need to stay focused. You need to study, and not spend your time giggling over make-up and boys.

The next time Elide spoke, Manon lifted her gaze in surprise, for her voice was not shaking, it was hard, almost cold, as she said: «You think you can push me away, but I don’t believe any of this stone cold act you’re putting on. I see you, Manon.»

«No, you don’t,» Manon replied quickly, voice emotionless.

Elide didn’t cower under her stare, didn’t look away. She looked angry, and just as she was about to speak again, the teacher walked in.

Manon turned to face the board, their teacher clapping his hands together before saying:

«Welcome back! Before we get started on today’s lesson, I just want to let you know that the places you have now will be your places for the rest of the semester.»

Fuck.

-

Dorian was walking down the hallway with Aelin, who was furiously ranting about some book she had just finished.

«-and then she went to find this creature so it could tell her how she could heal him, and it reveals that they’re fucking mates! It was insane! So she did the only sensible thing, she stormed off, leaving him, but a few days later he finds her and he tells her everything and she accepts the bond - and believe me, I was sobbing when I read that part - and then they have sex for like 20 pages or something, it was wild - there are other scenes like that too and I didn’t know so I was reading the first one in front of my mom, and she just goes: you okay there Aelin? You look a little warm. I shit you not, she actually said that as I was reading this super steamy scene - anyway, you think everything will be fine but on the last pages EVERYTHING goes to hell and then it just ends!»

Dorian failed to hide his grin as Aelin gestured wildly. She looked mad. «You done yet?»

Aelin gave him a sheepish smile as she said: «Yes, I’m done. I can’t wait for you to read this so we can discuss it together.»

«I’m gonna start it as soon as I have finished my current read, did I tell you about that?»

But Aelin wasn’t listening anymore, Dorian noticed. She had stopped, her smile gone as she was staring at something ahead of them.

Dorian followed Aelin’s gaze until his eyes landed on Manon Blackbeak, standing by her locker, listening to her cousin with a bored expression. She was one of the seniors - just like them - but Dorian had never actually spoken to her. They had never shared any classes, and she wasn’t someone you could just walk over to and start a conversation with.

No, Manon Blackbeak was untouchable.

As Dorian looked at her, he had to admit she was rather pretty. She had long, silky, white hair, full lips wearing a bright red lipstick and her light brown eyes looked like molten gold.

Stop staring, you creep, he scolded himself, shifting his attention to Aelin.

«You okay?» Dorian asked his friend.

Aelin finally seemed to come out of her trance. «Yeah, she just gives me the creeps,» she said, nodding her head towards Manon. «I had PE with her last year, and I swear to god, she has the emotional range of a teaspoon.»

He looked over at her, smirking. «Did you just quote Harry Potter? Nerd.»

She lightly punched his arm. «We both know I could recite the whole series from memory,» she replied, rolling her eyes at him. «Besides, you took that reference. Nerd,» Aelin mocked back, mimicking his voice and sticking her tongue out at him.

Dorian laughed before realizing they now stood outside the science classroom. «Shit! This is my stop. See you at lunch?»

Aelin gave him two thumbs up and a grin before disappearing into the crowd.

As he stepped into the classroom, his mind wandered back to silky, white hair and a pair of golden eyes. Aelin might believe her to be incapable of feeling, but the depth of those eyes told a different story. A story Dorian wanted to hear.

-

«-five, six, seven, eight. And one, two, three -.» The music came to a halt, Manon turning around to face the rest of her team.

«Why did we stop?» Vesta asked, panting slightly, always the first to speak.

Manon didn’t have the patience for this. Today had been stressful enough as it was. After having to spend an entire history lesson with Elide Lochan, her day had progressively gotten worse. It was only the first day of school, and she had already been assigned with two tests and a two-thousand word essay.

«You’re falling behind again, Sorrel,» Manon answered, annoyance clear in her voice.

The routine wasn’t that hard. As long as you focused on the music, it was easy to coordinate the moves.

She could see Asterin rolling her eyes as her cousin bit back: «It’s the first practice after summer vacation! We should start with something easier to get back into the rhythm.»

«You should be in ‘the rhythm’ already. Actually, you should have spent your summer getting better. All the progress we had before vacation is gone now. If we wanna beat Iskra and her team we need to step up.»

You need to be the very best. Always. I won’t accept any less.

Manon could see that Asterin was about to protest, but she beat her to it. «And need I remind you, Asterin, who’s captain of this team?»

She turned the music back on, her grandmother’s words still repeating in her mind.

«We’ll keep practicing this until you know it backwards.»

-

Dorian was lying in bed, looking at old photos, an episode of BuzzFeed Unsolved playing in the background.

He kept scrolling until he reached a photo of himself and Aelin grinning madly as they were riding a rollercoaster. He remembered Chaol chickening out at the last minute, how Aelin clutched his hand as they neared the top, himself puking into a trashcan as soon as they got off. It was taken years ago, but Dorian could still hear the children screaming in frightened delight, could still taste the cotton candy he had shared with his friends, could still smell the popcorn.

If he focused hard enough, he could still feel what it was like being a child. When you had nothing to worry about, because your dad was the strongest, bravest person in the world and your mom could fix every problem.

But it wasn’t like that anymore. They had grown up. Dorian had grown up, and along the way he had realized that his dad was a weak and pathetic coward and his mom could barely handle her own problems.

He looked back at the picture. It wasn’t just his family that had changed.

Dorian, Aelin, Chaol.

It had been the three of them for as long as he could remember. Dorian couldn’t even recall how they had met. Aelin and Chaol was a constant in his life. The one thing he could always rely on, no matter what.

All of that was changing now. He could feel it.

They would soon be scattered across the country for college, and Aelin was spending much more time with Rowan, now that he was her boyfriend.

That isn’t the only thing keeping you apart, a voice inside of him said.

It was also the matter of the secret he kept from them.

Dorian still hadn’t told them he was bisexual. His stomach grew heavy as he yet again reminded himself of the fact.

He didn’t know what he was so scared of. They would without a doubt support him - and he wasn’t ashamed of his sexuality, not in any way - but it was always a possibility, always a what if? And if he told his friends it would be out in the world, and Dorian would no longer have all the control.

The secret inside him kept tugging and tugging, fighting it’s way out, but something stopped it.

Dorian hated himself for not being able to just say it.

He was done letting this get in the way of his friendship.

This was the last year they all had together before going separate ways. He didn’t want to spend it pretending to be someone he was not.

He just had to find the courage first.

A/N: And we're getting started!

Thank you so much for reading this<3

Feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you think<3

Also, I will begin every chapter with a Florence + The Machine quote just because no one can stop me;)

Peace&Love -Dawninlatin<3

[portals-to-a-new-world]

You Know What They Say About Assuming: Chapter 1

Who?: Leonard McCoy x Reader

What?:  “Y’know, Doctor, it’s a good thing I like watching your lips move; otherwise, I might never hear anything you say.” “Lieutenant, that is highly illogical, as you have no history of hearing problems.” “Ignore her, Spock.” “Oh, it’s not a hearing problem, Commander. It’s a concentration problem. I find the good doctor’s looks are completely unfair and entirely too perfect to ignore.” “Lieutenant, might I remind you that you are not there to flirt.” “My apologies, Captain.” Bones’ eyes flashed with anger, and his jaw clenched to avoid throwing his tricorder. Boy, you had really done it this time.

Word Count: 1365

“Lieutenant, my office.” You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off with a simple “Now.” You cast your eyes to the floor and missed the slight falter in his step when you murmured

“Yes, Doctor,” The walk to the medbay was dangerously silent, you were trying to figure out how to explain to your family that you’d been kicked off the flagship of the fleet for flirting with it’s CMO too much. They always did say your mouth was going to get you into trouble one day.

“Excuse me?” You looked up in surprise, not realizing that you had not only reached McCoy’s office but that you had also spoken that last thought aloud. Your mouth flopped open and closed as your brain desperately tried to find a response. He stalked towards you, backing you up against the wall. “My mouth is going to get me into trouble?” In any other situation, the incredulous look on his face would have been hilarious, as it was though, it only served to shock your brain into responding.

“No! I was just thinking about how my family always warned me that my mouth was going to get me into trouble. Guess they were right, huh?” You said trying to ignore the part of you that was screaming for you to reach out and slam your lips against his. Leonard scoffed as he stepped back, and you tried not to visibly relax after his body was so close.

“I’d say so. You know you could be sent back to the academy for your mouth?” Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You knew he was right, in fact, protocol mandated that’s what was to be done at this point.

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” You said, returning your gaze to the floor, hoping it would hide the tears in your eyes. Getting kicked off the Enterprise was nothing compared to the fact you’d ruined any chance at being anything more than a friend; not even that, considering how angry he’d gotten on the planet.

“Leonard.” You looked up in confusion.

“What?”

“Call me Leonard. If you call me doctor one more time, I think I might explode,” Still confused, but not wanting to push him anymore, you decided to do as he said.

“If I could, Leonard, I had no intentions to offend-”

“Offend? Sweetheart I’d have to be crazier than Harry Mudd to be offended by someone as pretty as you flirting with me. However, I have no intentions to hurt Jim so unless you stop I will report-”

“Jim? What does he have to do with this?” Leonard scowled at you.

“(y/n), I think I’d know that my best friend happened to be dating the most beautiful woman on the ship,” You were too confused to offer any sort of response, so you settled for raising an eyebrow instead. “Please, I may be just an old country doctor, but I’m not an idiot. He never stops talking about you. I see the way you pace when he’s on an away mission. Hell, you bout lost your mind when he came back from that hellhole planet with all those arrows in his chest last month. So don’t insult me by trying to pretend-”

“Doctor McCoy, James Kirk is my brother in law. Now I realize it might be confusing cause I’m just some redneck tactical officer from North Carolina, but I don’t actually fuck my family members.” You said, not entirely sure why you were so defensive. On the other hand, rendering the great Leonard McCoy speechless was more than worth it, so you continued. “If that is all, I need to have a word with said family member, as my sister was in labor before we left, and I’d like to find out if I have a nephew or a niece to look forward to meeting.” Leonard simply nodded his head, still too shocked to speak. You spun and tried not to stomp, though you probably failed. You knew Bones wasn’t really to blame, as Jim apparently never told him that you were related, but your frustration at nearly being kicked off the ship for such a stupid misunderstanding was overwhelming. Your confusion at why Jim would talk about you so much; furthermore why he never mentioned that you were his sister in law; just fueled your frustration even more and by the time you reached the captain’s quarters you ended up hitting the door chime a little harder than was necessary. Your face must have portrayed your frustration, as Jim attempted to subtly hit the soundproofing as you pushed inside.

“(y/n)! Don’t tell me Bones threatened to throw you off the ship, cause if he did, I’ll go and talk to him. He’s just stubborn and-” You held up a hand to cut him off.

“Why does Bones think we’re dating?” It took a minute for your words to process, and the confusion on his face would have been funny if you weren’t so upset.

“He’s just scared cause he- wait, what?”

“Yeah. He said that you never stop talking about me, and I’m always worried about you so of course he’d know that his best friend was dating the most beautif u  l…” You trailed off as your brain caught up and realized what Leonard had said. He thought you were the most beautiful woman on the ship? You shook your head, trying to focus. You could ask Bones about that later. “Speaking of, why do you talk about me so much?” Jim let out a frustrated sigh.

“First of all, I only talk about you when I’m trying to get him to pluck up the courage to talk to you,” He said, running his hand down his face.

“Why would you try to get him to talk to me?”

“Cause he likes you! He’s just too scared to admit it,” You gave him a skeptical look, and he shook his head. “No, I’m serious. You should have seen his face when he first saw you,” Jim let out a small laugh. “And you really should have seen your face when I introduced the two of you,” You blushed thinking back to the first time you met the good doctor. You had just gotten off the shuttle as everyone was rushing around to get everything ready to depart when you heard Jim call you over. You knew from the moment you saw the grumpy expression of the man standing next to Jim, you were fucked. You could only imagine your expression as you got closer and saw the enigmatic color of his eyes. You don’t think you managed to look away from them for a second, and you honestly couldn’t remember what you said to the two men before they got called to the bridge. You did, however, remember drinking quite a bit that night as you tried to get the doctor out of your mind. Jim cleared his throat, drawing you from your thoughts with a deep blush. He just shook his head and continued. “Secondly, I don’t know why Bones thought we were dating, cause I introduced you as my sister in law. Oh! Speaking of you just missed the vidcall. Little Dorinda says hello,” You let out a whoop and threw your arms around him.

“I told you it was gonna be a girl! Pay up!” You pulled back and held your hand out dramatically. Jim just shook his head and placed his hands on your shoulders to guide you to the door.

“I will after you go talk to Bones. He’s going to be losing his mind right about now, and I’m almost certain you owe him an apology for whatever you said,” You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off. “Nope. I know you, go apologize and give him a chance. Don’t make me order you.” You huffed in frustration and stuck your tongue out.

“Fine,” You said as he closed the door. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. You took a deep breath before heading to the medbay. Leonard McCoy had one hell of an apology coming his way.

[spideyy-girl]

2:48 am ~ Five Hargreeves

Requested by @campcampie: hey can i request a five x reader w prompts 19, 27, and 42 please? if not that’s ok!

19: “You’re hot when you’re angry. Not that you’re not already really hot!”

27: “Make me.”

42: “Can you come over?”

Summary: Y/N is pissed when her boyfriend Five leaves for a mission on short notice and doesn’t bother to tell her that he’s okay

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Warnings: angst, fluffy ending, lotta swearing oops

Word Count: 1648 (4.5 pages)

Date: May 12, 2019

A/N: this is sorta an AU? where it’s like Five never really disappeared? I just thought it would work better with the plot I had in mind. Also, Five and reader are like about 18 in this. Hope you like it! Feel free to request!

2:48 am

Five Hargreeves flopped onto his bed after an all too long mission, two weeks to be exact, and was more than happy to be catching up on the hours of sleep that he's missed in that time. His so-called 'father' had forced Five and other his siblings in the Umbrella Academy to go on an out of the country mission, the second one this month. Five was not happy, to say the least, and only got worse as the four days turned into nearly two weeks. 

What was worse was having to tell his girlfriend, Y/N, that he was leaving once again, only days after he had gotten back. Because of the mission, he not only had to leave her on short notice but went completely MIA on her. He couldn't imagine how angry she would be with him once she figures out he's back. He would definitely be in for an ear full.

Just a few minutes after Five had finally been able to fall asleep, after worrying about his girlfriend, his phone starts buzzing. Five groans, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before turning to face the source of the noise that woke him up. He reaches over to his bedside table, grabbing his phone and checking to see who the hell would be calling him at such an hour. Of course, he wasn't surprised to see the name that shone brightly back at him on the screen.

My Y/N❤

As much as Five loved his girlfriend, which was a lot, he couldn't help but be a bit pissed that she was calling him in the middle of the night. And the fact that he was completely sleep deprived didn't help the matter at all. But he still swiped the accept call button and put the phone up to his ear. "Hello?" he asks her. He heard the girl sigh.

"Five, is that you?" she asks, her voice quiet, which was unusual, but he looked past it. Bad idea.

"Yes, my love?" he asks, smirking, but overwhelmingly happy to hear her voice again.

"What the fuck is wrong with you," she starts. She was pissed, and she was pissed at him. "You are so dead to me, you know. Why the hell have you been ignoring me."

"Y/N we talked about this already," Five tries to explain, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. "Just calm down-"

"Come over, now," she said through the phone. She was pissed, for whatever reason, and Five couldn't help but smirk at her demanding tone of voice.

"Make me," he responded, leaning back onto his pillows. The line went silent before he heard her sigh again, he could tell something was wrong, but he wasn't sure what. It usually wasn't easy to piss her off, an attribute she had to pick up after years of dealing with Five and the rest of the Hargreeves siblings.

"Five, I swear to God if you don't get your dumbass over here right now I will make you and I'm not in the fucking mood for that bullshit," she starts but before she could continue Five quickly pulls the phone away from his ear and hangs up. He should have known that that is a giant no with her and pretty much every other girlfriend. But he put his phone down and walked over to his closet, pulling out one of his dumb Umbrella Academy uniforms, the only clothes he owned. 

Meanwhile, in the little apartment Y/N lived in just down the street, the girl sat on the floor in her room. Her mouth hung open as she listened to the dial tone coming through the small speaker on her phone. She felt her face going hot as she slowly took the phone away from her face, looking at the screen that showed the cute picture of her and Five on their last proper date, over a month ago. On the screen under the picture, the words 'call with My Babyboy💗👅 has ended' was displayed. The girl shot up gripping her phone tightly. "Five Hargreeves you son of a BITCH!"

Y/N could feel the all too familiar feeling of bile rising up her throat and tears forming in her eyes. She was having a panic attack. She couldn't feel anything as her hands and legs started to violently shake and tears rolled down her face. At the point, Five had teleported himself into the room, looking at the girl who currently stood back facing to him. 

"GODDAMIT FIVE," she screams as she throws her phone across the room, grabbing at her hair and pulling it before throwing herself onto her bed. "YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING ASSHOLE," she screamed into her pillow, bringing it around her head and screaming in it. 

"You're hot when you're angry," he comments, walking towards her and sitting on the side of the bed. He smiled at her and patted down her hair. "Not that you're already really hot," he continued as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head. Y/N suddenly shot up from her bed, causing Five to stand up with her. Before he could even realize what was going on, the girl brought her hand back and slapped him across with such force that it left him in shock. He stumbled back, hands going up to clutch his cheek as he looked up at the girl who was seething in front of him. "Y/N, what the fuck was that?!"

"That's what you get for ignoring me, you dick," she growled before pushing on his chest, causing him to stumble back once more. "Do you know how fucking worried you made me? I couldn't sleep for the past two weeks knowing that you were somewhere and that you might be in danger or you might be dead." 

Five ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. "Baby, I'm so sorry-"

"NO! Don't pull that shit with me," she yelled, walking to stand even closer to him, her ears starting to go red at the tips. "Five, don't you ever pull that shit on me again. What the hell were you even thinking? You left with no notice at all and you just go off the grid on me? I should break up with your ass right now."

At this statement Five froze up, his eyes going wide. There was no way that he could lose her. He opened and closed his mouth, thinking of what to say. He knew that she had a point and what she was saying was true. He leaned down and grabbed her hands, pulling her closer into his chest. "Babe, please. I'm so sorry, please," he begged her. Although she was still pissed, Y/N couldn't help but give into his touch and lean into him, to which he replied by letting go of her hands and wrapping his hands tightly around her frame.

"I wish I could hate you," she whispered into his chest as she wrapped her own arms around his waist. "But I know I can't live without you. You got lucky this time, Hargreeves."

Five chuckled airly, his arms going down to her thighs and picking her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. "I sure did," he smiled, kissing her temple as he walks them back over to her bed and lay down with her on top of him. She cuddled back into his neck, leaving feathery kisses on it as he raked his fingers through her soft hair. 

"I missed you," he whispered, pressing another kiss onto her hair. She lett out a heavy breath, pulling her head closer to his chest, grabbing onto his shirt. He could feel the fabric getting wet, presumably from her crying.

"I missed you too," she replied equally as quiet. "I was so worried, Five. I thought something happened," she confessed, continuing to cry. "If something had happened to you, which I thought it did, I-I don't know what I would've done."

"Hey, don't worry about that," he said, shushing her and putting the hair behind her ear. He grabbed her chin gently and brought it up so she was looking at him. "You know I'd never leave you." Y/N only scoffed, averting her eyes.

"Well that's easy for you to say because you're not the one checking your phone every two seconds hoping for a response or anything to tell you that your boyfriend is ok," she says quietly, hitting his chest weakly. "That's all I needed, Five. What the hell."

"Ok, that was a dick move, and I'm really sorry," he says. Y/N rolls her eyes, but Five could see a smile making its way onto her face.

"Yeah, it was a major dick move, you asshole," she mumbles out, putting her head back into his neck. He laughed, hugging her waist tighter and nodding her head.

"But soon, we won't have to worry about it, love," he says quietly into her hair, giving her another kiss. "Soon we'll be 18, and I can finally escape that hellhole I call home, and we can move somewhere far away from all of this." Y/N smiled at the thought of her and Five living in a small apartment together, just the two of them, finally. She moved her head to look up at him and smile, to which he gave her a loving smile back.

"Yeah, okay," she says giddily. Five takes her cheek in his hand and kisses her lightly. The kiss only lasts a few seconds, but that's all it needs to be. Y/N cuddles back into him and he holds her tightly, and that's how to two of them fall asleep that night. And in both of their minds, they're counting the minutes until they can escape.

[squidproquoclarice]

All right, continuing with this Ask: I apologize if you've covered this already, but I just started reading Sunrise and I was wondering about your interpretation of Javier and Bill. Arthur REALLY soured hard on Javier even though they were good friends in the beginning--he can even be heard saying they should have left him to die in Guarma. I don't think RDR2 even really explains how Javier split up with Dutch, let alone the pathetic state he ends up in RDR1. Part 2: Javier I think Javier kind of got done dirty by RDR1.  I’ll say that up front.  The predestination of him being one of John’s RDR1 targets very much forced his char’s arc in RDR2, which kind of sucks, because given the man we see in-game, it could easily have gone the other way. I’ve remarked in the past that Arthur and Javier seem to be a tragedy of two similar men on parallel but opposite courses.  They’re both artists and dreamers who care about people, are intensely loyal to those they love, and are deeply insecure about their place (Arthur due to a history of abuse, Javier due to being an immigrant and POC).  Arthur starts as an unquestioning hyperloyal thug who hates himself and ends up finishing RDR2 as an idealist with strong principles and openly expressed compassion.  Javier starts as an idealist with strong principles and openly expressed compassion and ends up in RDR1 as an unquestioning hyperloyal thug who hates himself. We see Javier was a revolutionary who wanted so much to change things in Mexico.  (Side note: Sadie and Arthur aren’t seeing the worst of things in Mexico in Sunrise to this point, but some of that’s because they’re largely transient when they’re riding through the villages and estates where more absolute power is being exercised, and they’re also white Americans.  They’re experiencing Mexico with some privilege, and don’t get as much access to viewing the cruelest realities as someone like Javier who grew up in that system.  I’ve tried to still pepper hints here and there that things are a bit fucked up.)  He came to America running from the law for effectively speaking up and fighting back, and Dutch found him and took him in.  For a non-white, non-English speaking man on the verge of starving by that point, that act of kindness, of being seen and implying he has value, meant everything.  And so like so many others, he gives Dutch his gratitude, his loyalty, and his worship. He’s a quiet, thoughtful man who tries to make the camp better with his music and the like.  He’s openly philosophical in a way Arthur is only in the pages of his journal.  But when it comes to Chapter 6, he proves he’s afraid to lose the man who made him feel more than worthless.  He sticks with Dutch rather than face the uncertainty of what lies beyond the gang’s schism.  He embraces Micah and Bill because that’s what it takes.  He does it because he knows Dutch.  He knows Dutch will keep him around.  Otherwise, what is he?  A Mexican man in a country that clearly doesn’t want him.  Even at the very end, though, he’s still hesitant to try to attack John and Arthur, and I honestly think he’s not 100% sure what the hell is going on.  He missed the exposure of Micah as the rat, and Micah’s shooting Susan--all Javier knows is he ran into camp to warn about a Pinkerton attack approaching, and everyone’s pointing guns at each other, and demanding he pick a side.  He makes his choice and in his fear, picks loyalty over principles. Arthur early on is very friendly with Javier, which makes sense given they have a lot in common, even if most of that’s hidden in Arthur.  But they click readily as friends and brothers.  But by Chapter 6 they’re clashing, because that “parallel but opposite paths” thing is coming into play.  Arthur has the drive of a man with a possibly fatal illness striving with everything within him to accomplish his goals.  He’s also got the fervor of a man recently awakened to his principles and hating who he was.  So yeah, he’s impatient with blind followers and people who still willingly choose to follow Dutch down this road of destruction.  If he’d had more time, maybe he could have been gentler about those facing his same crossroads, but he doesn’t.  So he’s critical towards Javier, to the point of viciousness, and it’s not pretty.  He sees Javier making his choice, the wrong choice, and putting himself into opposition of Arthur’s goals.  He literally doesn’t have time for this shit anymore.   And I think unlike Bill, Arthur genuinely expected and hoped for better from Javier, the dreamer and idealist, so in his pained disappointment, he’s lashing out at Javier in anger, to the point of saying pretty lousy things like how they should have left him to die on Guarma.  If he had the space and energy left to think about that, he’d likely be appalled to realize he’s engaging in another Dutch-ism: you’re not helping me accomplish what I need, so yeah, I’d be willing to abandon you to die.  But when it comes to the gang, he has to shut out everything but the will and determination to help save those who want to escape this hellhole. It’s an interesting contradiction that while he’s at his softest with many people in Chapter 6, he’s his most ruthlessly dismissive towards others.  Though even at the end, he’s pleading with Javier and Bill to think for themselves, one last time. Post-game, I think Javier realized soon enough what he’s done.  He’s with Dutch, yes.  But look who else Dutch chose in the end.  Micah and Bill, who have both abused him with racist remarks, who think the answer to everything is to shoot it?  Is this who he really is?  He’s sold his principles for nothing. So I don’t think he goes with Bill and Dutch.  I have him wandering Central and South America for a time, but he finds no answers there, and nowhere he belongs that would help set the balance within him right.  Sometime before 1911, he ends up in Mexico, and drifts into the role of the strongarm for Agustin Allende, the kind of man he used to despise and fight against.  A man who abuses people, abuses power.  But he deserves no better than this now, does he?  He made his choice. In 1911, John finds him.  And as opposed to Bill, who shoots John readily, it’s interesting that Javier never tries to fight him.  He’s been working as a hitman, a level the Van Der Lindes never sank to (given both Dutch and Arthur clearly state to Bronte and Jean-Marc respectively that they’re not paid killers.)  So he’s a man of ready violence.  But he quietly tries to talk John down first.  Then he tries to escape.  Never once reaches for his gun.   He only gets angry if John captures him alive, and then starts spitting some insults after being dumped in a jail cell.  I honestly think he was hoping John would kill him, because he’s had to live knowing what a huge mistake he made, and what it cost him.  John’s made it clear it’s a mercenary situation, and he’s desperate to save Abigail and Jack: “it’s your or me, and I figure it might as well be you.”  Javier can maybe even accept that.  But John doesn’t even think he’s worth killing anymore, and how much of a “fuck you” is that?  He’s got Sadie’s deathwish, but hers makes her reckless, whereas I think Javier’s just makes him empty.  

[thedyingmoon]

***

May 28, Sunday

Kristoph Sutherland was humming to himself while staring at the ceiling above him.

Tomorrow would be a big day for him. He was deciding whether to reveal the names of his supporters or not when the cell doors clanked open, revealing a very tall man wearing a dark bowler hat and a perfectly tailored suit.

The guard, which he didn't really recognize ( maybe someone on a different shift? ), glared at him and left immediately.

He looked back at the man who sat right in front of him.

"Well, what brings you here, Kenny?"

The man called Kenny looked at him, a grin apparent on his face. He just shrugged and leaned on the chair comfortably.

"Just paying an old friend a visit." he said with his deep voice, his dull, steel blue eyes not leaving Kristoph's muddy ones.

"You must've done that a bit earlier!" complained Kristoph, wincing at the wounds caused by the Military Police's torture on him. "They're quite relentless. Really wanting me to spill out the beans and expose you, guys."

"Oh, is that so?" Kenny said, an eyebrow raised. "Forgive me, then. Good job on the silence."

"Yeah, you must give me higher compensation for that."

"Why would I? I'm not your employer."

"Then, tell Fritz! I didn't come here to get punished. I came here to end the Ackermans!"

Kenny just laughed at what he just said, earning himself an angry look from Kristoph.

"My friend, I believe you got the wrong idea." Kenny drawled lazily. "He didn't tell you to kill them."

"And what about the serum we developed? Isn't it to kill those demons?"

"You developed it, not us. Only you assumed that role upon yourselves, not us."

"But, the deal! The Ackermans are to vanish. The King promised me to - "

"What? There are no promises made, Kristoph. Tell me,..." Kenny leaned closer to Kristoph. "You want the Ackermans killed so no one would protect the King when you ambush him and steal his property, am I correct?"

Kristoph clicked his tongue in annoyance and looked away. "And what do you care if it's the truth?"

Kenny laughed once more. "Oh my goodness, how far you've fallen from the truth."

"What did you say?"

Blue murderous eyes snapped back at Kristoph. "First of all, Fritz is not the true ruler."

Kristoph looked confused. "What in the - ?"

"You heard me. Second, it was a noble named Rod Reiss who truly ruled this country. You know, the one you bullied that one evening during the Winter Season. The fat maniac, as you have called him. Well, he was also the one who bailed you out of jail."

"You're lying, aren't you, Kenny?" Kristoph just laughed at what he just heard.

"And lastly, Reiss' true intention for hunting down the Ackermans in the past was because he feared them."

"Feared them?"

"Yeah, don't you know a thing about the Coordinate? You know, the power which was passed down from one Reiss to another. The power used to control and manipulate people's minds. He wanted the Ackermans killed because the Coordinate never works on them. So, we made a pact, Yuri and I."

"Yuri? Who is this Yuri?!"

"I would follow him and his family to the ends of the world and protect them at all costs, and he would lessen the sentence from execution to just exile. You know the ones who were exiled to the Underground years ago? Those were the remaining Ackermans, and they are powerless."

"I don't know what to say right now, Kenny. This is downright hilarious and unbelievable,..."

"That serum was supposedly the bane to take away any Ackerman's power. It was to prevent them from having their revenge against the Reiss family. Yuri was no longer persecuting them, but you did. That's an unforgivable breach of contract."

"Well, if this power truly exists, I could do lots of wonderful things with it! I could almost imagine the world at the tip of my fingers."

"Ah, yeah. Unfortunately, you have to, first, be a injected with the Titan serum. Then, you must swallow the Reiss who currently owns the Coordinate. You will become a shifter who'll only live for thirteen years, but that's not half as bad, right? You'll have the Coordinate, anyways."

"Then, what are we waiting for? Get me out of this hellhole and let's get down to business!"

"Uhh, you won't get out of here alive, Kristoph."

Kristoph stared dumbly at him. "What did you - ?"

Before he could even finish the sentence, Kenny was already on his feet, his left hand covering his mouth and his right pointing a very sharp knife at his throat.

"You know what, you've been a total ass, Kristoph. I never really considered you as my friend in the first place. We're just using you."

Kristoph struggled, but his actions were fruitless. Kenny was way too strong.

"And you know too much, so, you'll have to go, okay? Rod's orders. Nothing personal."

Kenny was about to slash his throat when he said one more thing to him.

"Oh yeah, I'm an Ackerman, as well."

Kristoph was so shocked of what he just heard. He was about to lash out at him when he felt an object gliding through his exposed throat. He felt lightheaded and saw darkness.

A few seconds later, Kristoph was down on the floor, his body limp and unmoving.

Kenny grinned.

"Another happy customer."

TO BE CONTINUED

***

💚 See Me Now 💚

***

~ @levi4mikasa , @yepps , @shewolfofficial , @unhappysap , @clovemcpandas , @shortbty14 , @super-peace-fangirl , @fangurl-ontgeside , @emilyackerman78 , and @nerdyphantomlady . 💚

***

Yup, a huge surprise is coming your way, this I promise. 💜

***

💚💚💚

***

[regular-lord-reckoner]

i hate that i’ve felt this way, but i’ve been...really angry today.

i was blessedly disconnected enough that it didn’t really hit me all of what happened with my neighbor over the past few days, but today it just kind of crashed down on me and it’s just been really hard to get through the day without having a complete and utter meltdown (although by the end of my shift i was just sitting there working on referrals while crying because i had too much work to do to have a proper sob). 

it’s just been hard because i’ve been trying to hold myself together for so long now and am trying to be in the mindset of focusing on getting better, getting a handle on my mental health, healing, etc. but like...how am i supposed to do that when i’m always on edge now? 

how am i supposed to do that when i’m always waiting to hear the next gun shot or the next explosion? how can i find peace if i’m always looking over my shoulder or jumping at every noise i hear because i’m afraid it’s this dude about to escalate shit? 

and moreover i just feel like...why? why the fuck is this happening? why do i have to keep reliving this? 

like yeah, i get it, gunshots are going to be part of life (especially in this hellhole of a country). i get that living out in the country makes that possibility even more likely. i’ve heard it in movies, tv shows and music. i know that it’s ultimately my responsibility to handle my trauma and i don’t expect the rest of the world to just...stop what it’s doing because of me, i get that.

but i feel like........i don’t need that right next to my fucking house??? especially because that’s where said trauma took place?????? feel like i don’t need to hear the sound that sets me off only amplified by 1,000 with whatever explosive it is that he keeps setting off?? idk. 

i just feel like it’d be a lot easier for me to get a handle on everything if i didn’t have to deal with this and i know there are courses of action we can take to try to combat this, but honestly i don’t have much faith in them because ultimately the law’s on his side on this one. 

unless he really escalate this shit or starts shooting more so at night we’re not really going to be able to do anything. 

i don’t want to be in some ugly, drawn out thing between us and this dude trying to see who ~wins. 

i just want peace. that’s it. i just want to be able to be in my own fucking house and just...be at peace and i feel like it’s not outrageous of me to not want this dude to be doing what he’s doing. 

that being said, i wrote a letter. i don’t know if i’ll end up putting it in their mailbox, i’ll obviously have to wait until at least tomorrow just to make sure it doesn’t accidentally get picked up by the mail carrier, but i feel like it’s worth a shot. 

i just explained what the situation was in case for whatever reason at this point he isn’t aware. i asked him to please just stop doing this shit so close to our house. i don’t care if he keeps doing it, just...not right up next to our house. 

i even apologized for my own behavior, for the things i said (if he could even hear them, i’m not sure) because i know i shouldn’t have sank to that level and let my anger get the best of me. 

i’d say it face to face, but i’m honestly afraid i’d just end up getting angry or crying and i don’t want that, i’m sure he doesn’t either. 

i’m hoping this is just...a situation where he thinks we’re his cranky neighbors who are trying to control his behavior and that’s why he’s reacting this way, but that if i explain what’s really going on maybe it’ll appeal to whatever sense of human decency i hope he has and he’ll get the message. 

and from there, provided he reads it, i’ll at least know that i tried. i tried to explain, i tried to ask nicely, i didn’t just add fuel to the fire and if from there he decides to continue or to get worse then...well...we’ll figure out where to go from there. 

i really don’t want to be bogged down with so much anger and upset. i know it’s not good for me, i know it’s only making things harder for me and i know i shouldn’t be letting someone else have this much power over my mental state, but these past few days have just been hard in general and then this happened and now i just feel....defeated. 

i feel like what’s the point? i feel like ever since i made the decision to actually get better that i’ve been tested A LOT to see if my resolve was true and i’d managed to come out on top every time and still be hopeful, to still be optimistic and kept my eye on the prize but after yesterday i just keep thinking, “what’s the point? what’s the fucking point?” 

if it wasn’t enough for me to have gone through the initial event and to live with everything that came after that, but being dragged back to that moment in time over and over and over again and in such a violent way... i honestly feel like i’m in hell and like nothing’s ever going to get better. 

i’m trying not to feel that way and not to go to that hopeless place where i just give my depression exactly what it wants which is what i’ve been doing for the past ten years and just...give up, but BOY HOWDY is it hard to not be tempted after this shit and i wish i was stronger than this, i wish this wasn’t impacting me as much as it is, but in a lot of ways i feel like i’ve only just barely been hanging on by a thread and every time this happens that thread gets more and more frayed. 

i dunno. i guess i’ll decide tomorrow if i’m going to send it or not. i’m not sure if he’s even there now because i haven’t heard any shooting today, so he might have gone back to wherever he actually lives and will be back this weekend, in which case the letter will end up going to his aunt or grandmother (i’m still not sure who she is to him) but maybe if she reads it she can talk to him and ask him to stop. i feel like he’d respect her more than he would me, so maybe that’d be for the best. 

i dunno. i hate to be such a downer and i wish i had something good to share, especially right after christmas but i just don’t have it in me. 

it’s been bad enough that this year especially has been such dogshit and i know it’s probably due to getting older and just how shit is in the world in general right now, but this year especially i haven’t felt any christmas joy whatsoever and like...yeah, big deal who cares, but...i care. 

i always loved christmas time because it felt like such a special, peaceful time. people tend to be a little kinder, you get to pick out gifts for people you love that you can’t wait to see their faces when they open them, i love seeing all the lights and hearing christmas music like...i love all that shit.

and yet this year i didn’t put up my tree, i haven’t done any of my usual decorations, i feel like i dropped the ball shopping for people, and i just...haven’t cared. it’s just been something to get through. 

and yet...i thought, y’know at least i have the day off. at least i’m at home and i can just relax and do whatever i want and just have a nice day. 

and i couldn’t...even...have...that. 

i already didn’t get to have the halloween i wanted (which losing joy in that one the past few years has especially hurt), but i just wanted this one fucking day and i couldn’t even have that. 

idk. regardless of what i decide to do, i’m going to try my best to just...stop reacting to what he does. i said as much in the letter, but if his motivation for doing this is to get some kind of reaction then like...fine. you’re not getting it. that’s going to be incredibly hard for me, but i’ll suck it up and i’ll do it because i don’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

i guess maybe i just needed a day to be angry and upset about this and by tomorrow i’ll try my best to get back into a better mindset and get back on track. 

i did get some better headphones for christmas that block out sound a lot more than the ones i’ve been using so if nothing else i guess i can just start jamming those in my ears and turning up some music if he keeps this up and hopefully once i start back with therapy i’ll learn some tricks and tools to help keep myself calm. 

i know my life could obviously be a lot worse so i’m not trying to sound ungrateful or just complain endlessly, but at the same time i just feel like this is a wholly unnecessary situation that 100% does not need to be happening and isn’t fair to any of us and i’d very much like for it to stop, whatever that will take. 

i’m hoping it doesn’t get to this point, but i’m not at all above calling in some favors. i could have a group of dudes roll up to his front door and drag him out of his house to beat the shit out of him if i wanted and as much as there’s a part of me that would LOVE to see that......i’m trying to be better than that. i guess we’ll see how this goes if i end up sending the letter. 

[nekojitachan]

would you ever consider writing abram and stuart’s (and the rest of the hatford crew) meeting abram for the first time after he makes the call? i imagine it’ll take a while for abram to open up to stuart and he’d probably be rather skittish

*******

Haaa… hi! So, it appears that I’m in the mood for Armies prompt! (and just a note in general - I have everyone’s prompts and I try not to comment because I like keeping them ‘saved’ in my message box, that way I don’t lose them. So don’t worry if you send me something. If you think tumblr lost it, you can always resend, but I worry about losing prompts or forgetting them so I try to keep them until I can attach the fic).

That out of the way… all right, so this is partially done? Looking at it now I see we just get Stuart’s point of view, but it’s a start at least? And there’s a comment in Armies where Neil/Abram only met Henry once, and that would have been when Abram was a child, so no Henry pov, sorry. But! Stuart pov finally! And this is a prequel of sorts to Armies and I think I may expand upon it - though honestly, Jamie and Ally won’t ‘meet’ Abram until after the whole Popescu thing.

Which all of this is a lot of me rambling without posting the prompt?

TW: character death, mention of past abuse, brief thoughts of suicide

*******

Alex stood still as the cold water of the Pacific Oceanwashed over his ankles, as it rushed forth to cover the small cairn of rockswhich served as his mother’s anonymous grave. Mary Hatford deserved so muchmore, deserved a proper resting place surrounded by family and a coffin and atombstone so loved ones could visit over the years, and instead had herhalf-charred remains all but dumped into a wet hole in the ground which no onewould ever knowingly visit. In a few more minutes, Alex would turn around andwalk away, would discard his current name and leave her behind forever.

He might be joining her in an unmarked grave soon enough –Mary Hatford’s latest sacrifice all for nothing. Over six years on the run fornothing, all the pain and abuse suffered at Nathan Wesninski’s hands for nothing.

All because she refused to give Alex (Nathaniel) up to theMoriyamas.

He wanted to scream his rage and anguish and confusion intothe night sky, to deafen the sound of the endless waves and screeching seagullsas he thought about what his mother had confessed to him as they fled Seattleand his father and what he’d thought had just been yet another bout of terribleviolence and bloody near-miss. Instead, it had been his father landing a fatalblow on Alex’s mother at last, a long-overdue retribution for her taking hisson away, his son and five million dollars… and only increasing the Butcher’sdebt to the criminal syndicate he owed allegiance.

Alex knew that his mother had been born a Hatford, into acriminal empire of sorts in the UK, but he’d thought that his father had beenresponsible for his own business of death and drugs and intimidation on theEast Coast. It seemed that Nathan Wesninski was merely a subordinate, and hadpromised his son to his more powerful employers.

Which meant that Alex had four choices left to him at themoment; he could walk out into the ocean and end things right there, could stoprunning once and for all. He felt so tired, felt so worn down and battered, andit wasn’t just from the bruises littering his body from the fight earlier. Yethe could still hear his mother’s weak, raspy voice in his head telling him to run and never stop.

He could obey her like he always did, could grab his bagsitting on the beach and shed ‘Alex’, could pick a new identity and find one oftheir stashes and rest in city number twenty-three for a while, then move on.And on. And on… until his father or the Moriyamas caught up to him.

He could hand himself over to the Moriyamas and explain thathe hadn’t known the truth. For a moment he felt a faint thrill at the thoughtof playing Exy again, at being on the court at Castle Evermore with Riko andKevin and… and there had to be a reason whyhis mother had taken him and run, hadn’t there? Why she believed everythingthey’d suffered was better than him going on to play for one of the best Exyteams in existence.

Or… or as his final choice, he could retrieve his phone andcall his uncle Stuart, call the number that was to be used as a ‘last resort’.Alex’s mother had done her best to stay away from her family after they’dimmediately left Baltimore, to not rely upon them for help or return to thatlife… but Alex didn’t see any choice at the moment. It was either end up likeher or end up in his father’s hands.

He stared out over the fluid waves for a few more secondsbefore he turned around and had to blink his eyes at the remnants of the fire asit flickered low in the metal frame of the ruins of the car, and stumbledtoward his duffel bag.

He’d already thrown his mother’s belongings into the ocean,those which he hadn’t burned, and had almost gotten rid of his own phone sinceit was the same cheap, disposable model as his mother’s. He gazed at it for acouple of seconds before he forced himself to power it on and then dialed anumber long-memorized, aware that it would be early morning in London.

“Who the hell is this?” Stuart answered after a couple ofrings, his gruff voice thick with sleep. “Ally? This one of your tricks?”

Alex’s throat grew tight at the sound of his uncle’s voice,of the familiar accent. “Ah… it’s-“ he almost said ‘Nathaniel’ before he caughthimself. “It’s Abram,” he said, his voice falling into the same accent, the onehe always used when with his mother, and used the name his mother had alwayscalled him. “Uhm, Mary’s son.”

“Mary’s – fuck, kiddo, what’s going on? Where’s your mum?”Stuart didn’t sound so tired anymore. “Where’s she?”

Alex fought back a sob as he fell to his knees and rockedback and forth. “She… she’s not… I… your number.”

“Dammit. Dammit!”There was the sound of something loud clashing on the other end while Stuartyelled, which made Alex flinch and almost drop the phone. “Dammit, Mary! I –wait, are you okay, kiddo?”

Alex shook his head before he realized that Stuart couldn’tsee him. “I-“

“Are you safe? Is that fucker nearby? He did it, didn’t he?He got Mary.”

“Yu-yeah.” Alex forced himself to answer, even though hehuddled over at the sound of an angry adult male. “Yes, sir.” He recalled acurt man just a few inches taller than his mother, several years older than hismother with blond hair and grey eyes yet who always tried to bribe him with tartcandies to step away from Mary so he could ‘get a proper look at you, kiddo’.Stuart hadn’t seemed so bad, back in London.

“Fuck.” ThenStuart let out a slow breath. “Okay. Okay. We need to focus on you, Abram,” hesaid in a quieter tone of voice. “Where are you? You’re all right, yeah?”

“I’m fine,” Alex told him. “Uhm… California, by the ocean,in the north.”  He let out a shudderingbreath. “I… I buried her here. By the water. Burned the car.”

“Fuck,” Stuart breathed out as there was the sound of breakingglass. “Dammit. There a town nearby?”

“Uhm.” Alex scrubbed at his face as he thought about thedrive from Seattle, about his mother’s weak voice and bright eyes and heavywords, how it had been so hard to look away from her even to pay attention tothe road once he’d realized that something was wrong. “Eureka. It’s a few milesnorth.”

“Can you get there without any problems?”

“Yeah.” He was used to walking when they didn’t have a car,when they needed to fade into a city and lose people on crowded streets.

“All right, then you go there, and you find someplace publicyou can crash until I send someone to pick you up, do you understand? It’lljust be a couple of hours, tops, and they’ll get you to the nearest airportwith an international flight to London. I’d come get you myself but this’ll bequickest – I want you out of that hellhole of a country before the day’s out.”

“Okay.” Alex wanted out of the States, too; nothing goodever happened to him while he was there.

“Good boy. Now, give me a safe word or something so you’llknow the person I send to fetch you.”

Alex frowned as he attempted to think of something that hisfather’s people wouldn’t guess; anything related to Exy wouldn’t be a goodidea. “Ah… ‘poppies’,” he said after a couple of seconds, as he glanced over atthe still-smoldering wreck of a car.

It made his chest ache, the thought of how little he’d knownabout his mother (actually, everything to do with her made his chest ache), buthe’d caught her smiling fondly at the little fake flowers they handed out onRemembrance Day one year while in the UK and had learned that poppies were herfavorite flower. She’d never have a proper grave, would never have a placewhere he could leave a bouquet of them on her headstone each year to mark herpassing or birthday or anything like that, he realized.

“’Poppies’,” Stuart repeated, his voice thick once again butnot from sleep – something similar must have occurred to him. “Get going,Abram. Be careful, call as soon as you reach the town or if you need help. I’llsee you soon.” Then he hung up.

Alex held the phone clutched in his hand for a moment, hisfingers scraped raw from digging in the sand, then he forced himself to put thephone into the duffel bag and pull out a clean pair of clothes that didn’t reekof gasoline and smoke and burnt flesh. Once he was changed into them, he threwthe other pair into the flickering flames as he passed the remains of the carthen kept going, refusing to look back as he made his way to Eureka.

*******

“Are you sure about this, Stu? Miriam said that-“

“I’m sure,” Stuart argued for the eighth time as he cutshort his brother, tone a bit snippy but… eighthtime. He knew Will meant well, was stressed and still processing the fact that theirsister was dead, but they had to focus on her son right then. “Give me a day ortwo with him, a little time to get him settled in and then you and Miriam cancome over. But he sounded at his wit’s end the couple of times I talked to him,and if he’s anything like Mary,” dammit,he hated how he could barely say her name, “then you know how that’s gonna go.”

“Yeah.” Will was just as choked up; they should have beenprepared for this day, had thought they were, but Abram’s call had still been ashot to the guts. Mary was – had, dammit– been clever as fuck, been the strongest of the three of them in her own way,so damn stubborn and unwilling to bend. Stuart was amazed that she’d lasted solong on the run, had kept herself and her son free of the Moriyamas and that fucker Wesninski with so littleresources.

Had.

Dammit, keep it together, Hatford.

“Take all the time you need to settle Abram in, and call mefor anything, you hear?” Willordered, his voice back to stern and demanding. “Anything that boy needs. We’llfigure out what to do with him soon enough, the main thing is he’s home now.”

“Right, I’ll keep you updated,” Stuart promised his brotherthen went to pour himself some more coffee once the call ended. It had been along as hell day already and Abram would be there any minute, leaving Stuart todeal with Mary’s teenage son.

Mary… beautiful, stubborn, independent Mary, so certain thatshe always knew what was she was doing, that she didn’t need to listen toanyone, that people were trying to hold her back or treat her like a child ornot trust her to make her own choices. Foolish, fiery Mary who thought shecould do so much better than her brothers, who leapt before looking and marrieda psychopath leashed to the yakuza.

Stuart wanted whisky more than coffee, but he stuck with thecaffeine instead because the last thing poor Abram needed was being dropped offinto the custody of some drunk uncle he barely knew, right?

At least Will still had enough pull with some of theorganization in Vancouver and Arthur Boylen had been able to send one of hismen across the border to fetch Abram, take him to Sacramento and board a planewith him to ensure that he arrived in London in one piece.  Cal had been sent to pick up the poor kid andbring him to Stuart’s home since they didn’t want to make it too obvious, thefact that Mary Hatford’s son had left the US to return to her family.

No, the less the Moriyamas found out about Abram’swhereabouts, the better; Stuart knew that Mary hadn’t wanted her son to becomeinvolved in the ‘family’ business, which was why she hadn’t stayed with themafter finally coming to her senses and leaving Nathan Wesninski. That meant heand Will needed to figure out what to do with Abram, what kind of life theycould offer him at last.

He was on his second cup of coffee when Cal finally showedup with an exhausted and wary Abram in tow; Cal was babbling away about takingthe kid down to Covent Gardens to pick pockets, of all things, while Abramslunk into the townhouse as if expecting to be yelled at (or worse) any moment,all defenses up and hunched shoulders.

“Ah, here he is! Your uncle Stuart, in the flesh. I’ll leavethe two of you at it, okay?” Cal nodded to Stuart before he smiled at Abram.“It was nice to meet you, kid. Let me know if you get bored and wanna hangout.”

Abram gave the enforcer a slight nod but didn’t sayanything, his attention flickered all around as he took in Stuart and thetownhouse in a hyperaware manner which Stuart recognized as someone doing hisbest to assess any and all potential threats – Stuart included. So Stuartdidn’t come too close as he did some assessing himself.

Mary’s son had obviously inherited the Hatford genes when itcame to height, or lack of it, since the kid (he’d be at least sixteen, ifStuart remembered correctly) was about 160 centimeters. He was scrawny as fuck,too, which wasn’t helped by the overlarge rags he wore, pale blue jeans and apale grey sweatshirt that had seen better days a long time ago. The red hairStuart remembered in the photos which Mary would send was gone, replaced bywhat he suspected was dark brown dye (it had been dyed a lighter shade duringhis visit years ago), and the kid wore brown contacts as well.

One could see that fucker Wesninski in the kid’s face, couldtell the two of them were related, but Abram’s cheeks were sharper, his facethinner and more refined, and there were bits of Mary in there as well (thefine eyebrows, that mouth). Stuart looked at his nephew and ached as he took inthe dark shadows around those masked eyes, the tightness lining the mouth, themissed years between the young child who’d last stood before him and now.

It occurred to him that he’d never seen Abram laugh – not inany of the pictures that Mary had sent, not in that week when she’d brought himhere, never. He’d rarely seen the kidsmile, either, and those had always been guarded things or falsehoods for thecamera.

“So, uhm, hi,” he said to his nephew, all of a sudden at aloss for words. Part of him wanted to wrap his arms around Mary’s child and hughim, to share in the grief between them, but he knew that Abram was too on edgefor that, too wary of him.

Abram started at the sound of his voice. “Ah, hi.” Hehitched the duffel bag hanging on his left shoulder a little higher. “Uhm…thank you,” he said, his voice rough with exhaustion and stress. “For… forthis.” He gave a slight wave of his right hand. “I can… I can be gone in a-“

“You’re staying here,” Stuart snapped, furious at thethought of Abram vanishing just like Mary had, of losing the last bit of hissister he had left, and then let out a slow breath when he caught Abram’sflinch. “I’m not forcing you to do anything, but you called me for help and thefamily’s here for you, kiddo. Don’t go running because you think you have to,all right? Rest for a while, we’ll help you figure things out. You’re safehere.” He waited for Abram to slowly relax and nod. “What do want right now?Something to eat? To sleep?” The kid looked ready to pass out.

“Uhm… bed be good,” Abram admitted in a quiet, slurred voiceas he rubbed at his eyes with a hand all scraped up for some reason.

“We can manage that,” Stuart said as he was cautious aboutstepping around his nephew to lead him up the stairs to the bedroom he’dprepared earlier in the day. Abram appeared mindful to stay just out of reach,to keep him in his sights at all time, and after getting over his shock of aroom with the large bed and attached bathroom, locked the door behind Stuart.

There might have been the sound of a chair or somethingbeing pushed against the door a minute later, as Stuart hovered in thestairwell. Mary obviously didn’t raise a naïve child, and Stuart would have hiswork cut out for him in gaining Abram’s trust, it seemed.

Stuart tried not to think about what Abram’s life must havebeen like, all those years on the run. He definitely didn’t want to think aboutwhat it had been like in Nathan Wesninski’s house.

He reheated the last of some take-away as he called Will tolet him know that Abram had arrived, and spent some time talking to hisbrother; Miriam was busy looking into schools for their nephew, possibly aboarding school where he could stay under an alias. Part of Stuart didn’t wantto even contemplate letting Abram being out of his sight, of letting go of Mary’sson after they’d gotten him back… but it would be whatever was best for theboy.

He made a few other calls to ensure that work wouldn’t betoo disrupted by him staying at home for a couple of days, Henry more than capableof stepping in for him (a good learning experience for the young man), andfinally gave in to the urge to grab the bottle of whisky before he tuckedhimself into the one comfortable chair in the living room with an old photoalbum.

They never knew if it had been deliberate or not, theirparents waiting so long to have Stuart and Mary after Will, but William was olderthan Stuart by ten years and Mary by almost another four. The age gap hadn’tbeen so bad between Will and Stuart, but then again they were brothers – he’dalways looked up to Will, had seen him as a mentor and an example and a hero ofsorts, someone to emulate. He’d annoyed Will a little for a few years with hisconstant tagging along and all, but Will had always taken his responsibilitiesto the family seriously, had looked after Stuart and taken the time to show himwhat to do and how to fight and everything else he’d felt was the duty of a bigbrother.

There was less of a gap between Stuart and Mary so they’dgotten along better, had understood each other and felt like it was themagainst their parents and the rest of the family often since they were the ‘youngones’. Still, Mary was the ‘baby’, was the only daughter and seemed to vacillatebetween spoiled/adored and coddled – the first she used to her advantage, thelatter she detested.

Stuart gazed at a picture of his sister - probably no morethan nine or ten years old, her hair pulled back and curled and dressed in someridiculously frilly outfit - glare at the camera with her hands in fists uponher hips and thought he remembered some party his mother had thrown where shewanted Mary to be a ‘proper’ little lady. A party which Stuart and Will didn’thave to attend, of course, which had only added to Mary’s ire.

She could cause one damn righteous scene she could, hissister. He found himself smiling at that memory, before he remembered aboutthat inner fire being snuffed out forever, snuffed out by some American prickwho’d hurt her for years. Hurt her and Abram while he’d been unable to do adamn thing about it.

Stuart began to drink in earnest.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the nextthing he knew was that his neck hurt and his head ached and there was a strangenoise in the house. Cursing beneath his breath, he shoved himself onto his feetand stumbled toward it as he fumbled for a weapon, which turned out to be the mostlyempty bottle which had been on his lap,and blinked as he found a wide-eyedAbram in his kitchen with a glass of water in his trembling hands.

“Ah… I was… I can-“ Abram fumbled to put down the glass ashe backed into the counter.

“No, no, just… jus’ forgot you were here,” Stuart tried to explainas he set the bottle aside. “What time izzit?” he asked as he rubbed at his blearyeyes.

“Ah… six am?” Abram sounded apologetic about that fact, eventhough he’d slept a good bit since he’d arrived the previous evening.

“Right.” Stuart gazed at his nephew who still looked tiredand was dressed in another oversized outfit which hung on his too-thin form. “Whenwas the last time you ate?”

Abram was quiet as he sipped at the water, his eyesdowncast. “There was food on the plane.”

That wasn’t an answer. “Tea or coffee?” Stuart asked as hewent over to start a pot of coffee for himself, mindful not to get too close tothe spooked kid.

“Ah, whatever you’re making,” Abram told him in a quietvoice as he glanced at Stuart from beneath his overlong bangs; Miriam wouldhave to take him to get it cut as well as buy some decent clothes.

Mary had always preferred tea in the morning, so Stuartfilled the electric kettle and pulled out some teabags, and noticed how thetension in Abram’s narrow shoulders eased a little. “All right, breakfast orsomething.” Fuck, he’d been so busy getting Abram out of the States that hehadn’t thought about food, had he? He went over to the refrigerator and frownedas he checked the contents. “Not so much breakfast, eh? Still, something toeat,” he reassured his nephew as he grabbed some cheese and butter. “Grilledcheese sandwiches all right?”

To his surprise, Abram graced him with a slight, sad smile,the first smile Stuart had yet to see from him since he’d arrived. “Yeah, that’sfine. Mum would… well, those are easy to make anywhere,” he finished in a weakvoice as if uncertain he should admit that.

Stuart paused in grabbing the loaf of bread as he thoughtabout being a child and sitting next to a grinning Mary as they fought over thelast grilled cheese sandwich. “She always liked ‘em when we were growing up,”he told his nephew, and felt a pang in his chest at Abram’s obvious surprise. ‘Whatthe hell, Mary’, he thought to himself over that fact, over Abram not knowingsuch a simple thing about his own mother.

Abram kept a too-careful watch as Stuart made thesandwiches, the mug of tea forgotten in his hands while Stuart wielded a knifeto slice the bread and cheese, and didn’t relax until it was discarded into thesink.

A million questions danced around in Stuart’s head,questions about what the hell the kid and Mary had done the last several years,what they’d been doing in Seattle, why she hadn’t called in so long… but heknew it was better not to press right away. Abram was as skittish as an abusedferal cat, distrustful of people and rightfully so after everything he’d beenthrough with his parents.

The important thing was that he’d come home at last, that he’dreturned to the Hatfords. He was blood and he was where he belonged, was wherehe’d be safe – Stuart and Will would make sure of that. They may have lostMary, but they wouldn’t lose Abram, Stuart swore to himself as he set a placeof sandwiches in front of the half-starved young man who clearly had to forcehimself to sit at the opposite side of the island from him.

He wouldn’t let Abram down.

*******

Hmm, trying to decide where to post this - at the start of Armies? Especially if it because a proper prequel/prologue?

[delkios]

The Whole Earth Opening Wide (DC TV)

Title from A View to a Kill by Duran Duran. Descriptions inspired by my own drives through Kansas and to the summit of Mt. Evans. Title: The Whole Earth Opening Wide Fandom: DC TV Rating: G Word Count: 2314 In Responds to: ColdWave Weekend 2018: Fun in the Sun Characters: Len, Mick Summary: After the death of Len's grandfather, Mick takes them on an impromptu roadtrip. Len's grandfather died a couple months before he turned seventeen. It was from some complication or other brought on by the inability to afford proper medication. Mick didn't really know, too busy trying to keep Len from slipping into panic attacks as the last buffer between Lewis and his children finally slipped away. Not that Mick was in a much better mental space given it had been less than a year since he killed his own family. But Len scrimped and saved and ran risk after risk, trying to get enough money to send Lisa to two different camps that would keep her away from Lewis through almost the entirety of the summer and Mick helped out to the best of his ability. He went with Len to drop Lisa off for her first camp, three weeks of figure skating training with the second starting two weeks after that. Lisa hugged Len tight, obviously afraid of leaving him with their father for so long by himself. Mick wasn't insulted by it; he couldn't intervene the way their grandfather had and Len wanted Mick to stay away from Lewis as much as possible. Probably because he knew Mick had no qualms killing the man if he ever had the chance. But Lisa was bundled away onto a bus with all the other hopeful skaters and Len watched it disappear forlornly down the street. Then Mick swung a duffel bag into Len's midsection, jolting him out of his sulk. "C'mon," he said. "Let's go."

Len took the bag by reflex. "Where?" "Hell if I know." Westward was basically the extent of Mick's planning. He drove them out of Central, through Keystone and just kept going. The sun was bright and sky speckled with clouds and it was still early enough that the wind was still cool so they drove with the windows down. They stopped at a fast food place off the side of the highway for lunch, stretching their legs out for a bit, then drove off again. Len stayed silent almost the entire time, barely responding to Mick's words and just staring aimlessly out the window. Mick tried filling the silence with the radio but all he could get with any consistency was country music and talk stations. Having had to grow up listening to both, he had no interest in doing so ever again. The highway was straight and flat and in the afternoon with no shade, the air heated up quickly around them. Mick turned on the air conditioning- his father had always been stingy with it given how much gas it used, but he wasn't driving anymore. Mick called those kinds of shots now. He'd never driven out this far before and it was kind of difficult not letting his attention wander. There was nothing to look at but farmland after farmland, the occasional speeding vehicle and billboards advertising either food or salvation. By the time they stopped for gas, Mick felt like screaming. It felt like this hellhole was doing its best to keep him from leaving, just making him drive one monotonous mile after another until he was half convinced they'd already driven that same stretch of land before. As Mick dug cash out of one of the wallets Len had pocketed during their lunch stop, Len asked, "Do you want me to drive for a while?" Len hated driving. He was also a shitty driver but he couldn't stand driving and Mick couldn't imagine what he looked like to have Len offering. "Nah. Just get me a bunch of candy for the road. I'll need the pick-me-up." Mick paid for gas, two bags of chips and a huge slushie. Len was already inside the car while Mick filled up. After they'd driven a few miles away from the gas station, Len started pulling out handfuls of candy packages. He opened up a bag of Skittles and passed it over to Mick. Then he opened up the glove compartment, pulling case after case of cassette tapes from his pockets and stuffing them inside. Wordlessly he picked one from the stash and pushed it into the tape deck. After a couple seconds, synthpop filled the car and Mick eventually recognized it as Duran Duran's Rio. "Are you fucking kidding me with this crap!" Len didn't say anything but Mick could see his smile in the reflection of the window. ~*~*~*~ It was a weird thing to say, but the Rocky Mountains had been a bit of a surprise. Mick had seen the sign that said they'd gone into Colorado but overall it wasn't that much different from Kansas. It was the same empty horizon with farms and billboards and a whole lot of nothing for hours. He hadn't even noticed the mountains at first, they were so far away they were just irregular smears in the distance, barely indistinguishable from the rest of the sky and could disappear any time the road curved. Then it was like the moment he started seeing signs for Denver, the mountains just appeared. Still distant and still faded blue but dark enough that the jagged line they made was obvious. Mick reached over, shaking Len's shoulder as he dozed in the passenger seat. Len woke up with a start, hands coming up, ready to fight someone off. "What?" He asked groggily. "What is it?" Mick just pointed out the windshield. "Mountains." Len peered forward, waiting for Mick to drive under an overpass that was obstructing the view. "Yes," he said at length. "Those are mountains. Your geographical knowledge is astounding." Mick snorted but magnanimously didn't point out the fact that Len wasn't settling back to sleep again. He knew Len was oddly excited about them. After all he, like Mick, had never seen mountains in person before. They stopped again to fill the gas and their bellies and Mick picked up a map and directions from the clerk while he was at it. When he rejoined Len- with more snacks and drinks because why not -Len asked snidely, "Are you planning on going into the mountains?" "Sure," Mick said easily, dumping everything in Len's lap so he could buckle himself in. "Why not?" Len scowled and tossed everything into the back. Except for the map. "It's a big rock, Mick. What's the point?" "Because we're going passed 'em anyway." Len raised an eyebrow. "We are, are we?" "What, you wanna head back already?" When Len didn't say anything, Mick turned the ignition. "Yeah, didn't think so." Len narrowed his eyes at Mick. With great flair, like an act of defiance, Len pushed a new tape into the player. Mick caught sight of the case, just long enough to recognize it as one of Lisa's favorites: Cyndi Lauper. "Mother fucker!" Len chuckled maliciously but graciously opened the map while he was at it. ~*~*~*~ The closer they got to the mountains the less Len was able to pretend he didn't care. His eyes grew wider the higher they loomed and with every crest they made, there was another line right after. It took Mick a while to realize that, for as big as those first line of ranges were, they were only foothills. Rolling greens with deep crags of rocks and thick with trees, they were nothing compared to the actual mountains. They passed through a tunnel and suddenly the land was high enough to block out the sun. Len had to crane his neck out the window in order to see the tops. Mick drove carefully, somewhat unnerved by how closely the narrow, winding road hugged the mountain walls, especially having only ever driven either packed city streets or the wide open countryside. It looked like Len could lean out and touch it with his fingertips in places. He drove so cautiously, in fact, that Mick even pulled off a couple times in order to let other cars pass him. The way they sped by made him swallow hard. And he thought Len could get reckless. Not to mention, as much as Mick claimed to have grown up in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, but a town with only a two lane highway passing through and impossibly high mountains all around seemed incredibly isolating. But still he drove if not just because now Len was no longing hiding his excitement. He kept marveling at the rocks, at the river they drove alongside, at the sheer number of trees around them. Then they started on the switchbacks, going higher and higher until the trees started to thin out and once the road broke out of the treeline and they could see the land falling away, Mick pulled over at the first available place. They got out and just... stood there, staring at everything below them. The mountains and hills rolled away, fading into the distance and Mick hadn't even noticed how many ranges they'd driven through. "Holy shit," he said quietly. "I can't believe we didn't snag a camera." Len grabbed Mick's arm, a bright grin spreading over his face. "C'mon. Let's see how it looks from the top." They drove on, high enough they started passing patches of snow that still lingered despite the pre-summer heat that had them sweating all through Kansas and the eastern part of Colorado. They stopped again when they reached a huge lake near the summit. The water was so clear and blue they could see the rocks along the bottom. Out of curiosity, Mick went up to the edge and stuck his hand in for a split second before jerking it back. That shit was freezing! He knew it would be, of course, given the snow and how chilly it was so high up and the fact they drove through a fucking cloud on the way up, but it still took him by surprise. Len was pretending he wasn't laughing at Mick but Mick glared at him anyway. They continued, the road almost entirely switchbacks from that point on, barely any vegetation at all, just rocks and sparse patches of grass. Len slapped Mick's arm so hard Mick nearly drove them off the road. Mick was too surprised to be angry, however, when he realized Len was point at a couple of mountain goats that were just chilling a few dozen feet from the road. There was a parking area near the top where the ruins of a building that had burnt down a few years prior and, further beyond that an observatory sat. The actual summit was a short hike up a fairly impressive pile of rocks. They still had to stop for a breather a couple times, though, as altitude sickness got to them. But Len was determined to reach the top and wherever Len went, Mick followed. When they finally reached the top- a few other tourists giving them words of support as they passed -Mick crawled up to the top of the rocks and flopped on his back, trying to stave off the dizziness. Len was also breathing hard, but he was sitting up and taking in the view. "Goddamn," Mick said faintly, "mountains suck. Why is breathing so hard?" Len just hummed, eyes never moving from the horizon. After a while, Mick sat up. The view was spectacular, the land undulating until it faded to blue, blending in with the sky yet again. After a long stretch of silence, Len said, "Do you think that's Kansas?" "What?" "Over there." He pointed out to the horizon. Mick assumed he was pointing east. "Do you think that's Kansas? Or still Colorado?" Mick leaned forward slightly, squinting his eyes as if he could see some delineation of a border when he couldn't even tell if he was looking at flat land or more mountains. "I dunno. Why?" "I just... never realized how big the world is, I guess." Mick could see that. Until the impromptu roadtrip, Len hadn't even been to Kansas. "Less than thirteen hours and already there's an entire state and a half between us." "We could keep going." Len visibly hesitated so Mick continued, trying to keep his voice both neutral and coaxing. "Still got nearly three weeks until Lisa's back from camp. We could head back to that little town and get a room for then night, then keep going west in the morning. Spend a week traveling the California coast. We'd still make it back before she does." Len looked down, twisting his fingers together. "My dad will be pissed when I get back." "He's gonna be pissed no matter what you do." Len took a deep breath, pulling his lower lip between his teeth and worrying at it. Mick just put a hand to Len's back, thumb rubbing circles at the base of his neck. "Just a thought," Mick said, "we don't gotta do it." They sat there, long enough for their shadows to spill out down the mountain side, the valley below them getting darker and darker. Just as Mick was about to suggest getting a move on before the sun got much lower, Len said, "Okay." "Huh?" He turned to Mick, smile a little wavery but determined like he was trying not to talk himself out of it. "Let's see what's on the other side of the mountains." Mick grinned, heart pounding in his chest for reasons he didn't understand. Daringly he pulled Len into a tight, one-armed hug. "Sure thing, Boss." They went to the car, Len still tucked up against Mick's side. Their adventure was slightly waylaid when the mountain goats decided to stand in the middle of the road as they were leaving the summit but eventually Len managed to startle it off by cranking up a Motorhead tape. When they were able to start driving again, Mick socked him in the arm for hiding that up until now. Len just laughed, bright and happy.