#Young Leaders Network

[torukmaktoskxawng]

our paths crossing

Pairing: Tsu’tey x Avatar!Reader + Adopted!Spider

Summary: Tsu’tey is given a second chance at life, but not even Eywa could convince him to accept it. 

Word Count: 9k+

Warnings: single mom power, generational trauma, parental manipulation (tsu’tey’s parents suck), fluff

Na'vi words used: pa'li - direhorse, nivi - hammock, olo'eyktan - clan leader, ikran - mountain banshee, Iknimaya - Rite of Passage, marui - home, oel ngati kameie - I See you, taronyutsyìp - little hunter, teylupil prrnen - teylu face baby, niktsyey - food/leaf wrap, tsaheylu - bond, sa'nok - mother, Uniltaron - Dream Hunt, irayo - thank you, tawtute - human, tswin - queue braid, maitan - my son, sa'sem - parents, taronyu - hunter, tsahik - spiritual leader, tsakarem - tsahik in training, meresh'ti cau'pla - banshee catcher

A/N: This was heavily inspired by other Tsu’tey works written by @simps256 @byunpum @shu-box-puns and @little-box-of-autism on Tumblr, and @ AlexiHollis on Ao3

~~~~~~~~~

PANDORA, 2154+

Everything is connected, one way or another. From the tiny stem of a plant, to the pa'li that steps on it, and to the ginormous tree looming over it. Pandora is made up of various different sizes of networks, from microscopic to gigantic. Some are easier to see than others. The network of tree branches and roots is clearly visible, but there are small ones, not physically distinct, and Eywa can see it all as clear as day.

The same goes for two souls. When two Na'vi-- when two souls mate, they are mated for life. It won't matter if they met when they were children or if their paths meet when they are old and wrinkled. Two souls are still two souls, meant for each other no matter how or when they meet.

Tsu'tey, like all Na'vi, believed this to be true. Sylwanin was the soul meant for him, ever since they were children. However, Eywa had other plans in mind for the young couple and destiny tragically separated them, forever shattering their former entwined paths. Later in life, Tsu'tey finally accepted that all things happen for a reason, and perhaps in another life, Sylwanin would have been his mate. But in this life, Eywa protects the balance of it all and in order for Jake Sully to one day arrive and save this beautiful world, beautiful souls like Sylwanin would have to be sacrificed. Tsu'tey came to terms with this one day, weeks after the battle against the Sky People.

He had plenty of time to think about many things, lying in his nivi and resting from his injuries. As Toruk Makto, Jake happily took temporary command of the Omatikaya clan whilst their olo'eyktan healed from his wounds. It would be a long journey for Tsu'tey, but those who respect him and call him 'brother' were just happy he survived that fall and all those gunshots. At first, he was not as happy or even relieved. Why would Eywa deny him the chance to see Sylwanin again? As he took time to heal, he eventually mourned properly for the first time in years and was able to heal mentally as well as physically. Tsu'tey had finally managed to let his young love go, may she rest in peace.

In return for his loyalty and devotion, Eywa rewarded her olo'eyktan with a gift fit for a good man. However, it would be years before he graciously accepted it.

Tsu'tey was always aware of the other sky demons possessing Na'vi bodies. He had seen many over the years, especially when he was just a student in Grace Augustine's school. He had always found them strange and ugly and didn't hesitate to let Jake know how he felt about his appearance. Jake never took it to heart and eventually learned to laugh at such comments. Tsu'tey grimaced, almost hating the fact that Jake was getting used to him. The other dreamwalkers --"Avatars, brother, they're called avatars,"-- never really got used to him but they greatly respected him, especially after Tsu'tey allowed them to live among the Omatikaya once the rest of the Sky People were sent off-world. He had accepted these 'scientists' and 'avatars' into his village, much to Toruk Makto's influence, and so therefore, over time, Tsu'tey began to treat them all as part of the People-- his people.

As he accepted the sky demons, he also began to learn their names. One of which he was always aware of but had never bothered to learn her name.

Y/n was an avatar driver and a scientist. Even though she hadn't been on Pandora for long, she had been allowed to visit Hometree several times before its destruction, always tagging along when either Grace or Norm Spellman visited. She was part of the young group of scientists who had received an avatar before the battle against the Sky People that actively cut off the scientists' funding to make more, therefore she would be one of the last of them, as would Norm and Jake. In many ways, it was like watching the end of a species that would cease to exist once the avatars all died out. That is until children like Kiri and Lo'ak were born.

By the time Neytiri bore Jake their first son and had adopted Grace's daughter born of mysterious circumstances, Tsu'tey had begun to notice that Y/n was not just a random avatar who opted to stay on Pandora. She had also opted into becoming a mother.

It was safe to say Tsu'tey didn't know of Spider's existence firmly because the baby wasn't old enough to wear a mask and exo-pack yet, therefore he had never visited the village. It wasn't until the fierce olo'eyktan followed Jake to the functional biolab of Hell's Gate one day did he finally meet the next generation of Sky People. At first, Spider was strange to him. With a full head of yellow curls, pink skin, and a gummy smile, Tsu'tey gained enough willpower not to verbally comment about how the sky demons' offspring were even uglier than the avatars. Jake had asked him to be civil prior to this meeting, so he indulged his brother out of respect for Toruk Makto.

If Y/n had seen how put-off Tsu'tey was by her son, she didn't mention it. In fact, she barely acknowledged the clan leader, instead devoting her time to making sure her adventurous toddler didn't get into any trouble. Much to all the scientists' dismay, the child had learned to run before he could walk, therefore the attempts to baby-proof the whole place had been frantic and half-assed at best. But wherever Spider ran, Y/n was not too far behind him, always making a game of the chase and making the toddler laugh until his sides hurt.

From what Tsu'tey had learned, Spider is not Y/n's child by blood. The baby had been left behind when the Sky People left, too young for space travel. Everyone was positive that his biological mother was killed during the Battle of the Hallelujah Mountains, and as for his father... from vague descriptions, Tsu'tey had gathered who the man was and decided not to ask any further. Now, in replace of Spider's biological parents came Y/n. Even though the scientists were all more than happy to help raise the kid together as a village, Y/n had become his sole guardian, claiming that Spider should always have that one person to rely on before all others. She had gone on record stating that the boy needs a mother before a village and he shouldn't be treated as an object or a pet the Sky People pass around. No one questioned her, especially when shown how everything she does she does it for the boy and not for her own selfish needs. The scientists all proudly took the roles of aunts and uncles to the boy, but by all rights except blood, Y/n was Spider's mother. She fed and bathed the baby, clothed him, nurtured him, and sang songs to get him to sleep. Sure, she would let the other scientists help with Spider if she needed to take her avatar out for a drive, but she was determined to be Spider's family when no one had formally stepped up.

Even though he didn't realize it back then, Tsu'tey had come to greatly admire Y/n for her sacrifice and determination to raise a child all on her own. She didn't expect anyone to help and she took motherhood in stride. She acted as if she was always meant to be a mother and she had been waiting for this moment her whole life. After first meeting Spider, Tsu'tey wouldn't visit Hell's Gate for some time and didn't often think about the human child or his mother. It would be years before Tsu'tey is reacquainted with them, their paths crossing once more, and only because Spider was finally old enough to wear a mask.

PANDORA, 2163

Spider was nine years old when he first donned a breathing mask and ventured out into the vast world of Pandora, leaving the square walls of the biolab behind him. The scientists had made it into a whole celebration like it was his birthday, providing gifts of Na'vi-make and even a cake before he got too antsy and was ready to go outside. His mother was equally excited for him. Dawning her avatar, Y/n brought Spider outside after triple-checking that his mask was firmly in place. She first let the boy wander into the treeline a little bit to get the feeling of grass beneath his feet and let him try to climb the trees like the little spider monkey he was named after. He had struggled to climb the first couple of tries but managed to get the hang of it before Y/n took him on a ride aboard her ikran that she had tamed only a few years prior.

While Norm was able to gain a banshee not long after the war, Y/n had decided to wait out her training to become a Na'vi warrior due to raising a human child who couldn't go everywhere with her. Once Spider was old enough not to need his mother every minute of the day, she finally felt comfortable with occasionally leaving Hell's Gate and learning the ways of the Omatikaya. The start of her Iknimaya went smoothly due to the number of teachers she had, and eventually, she came home flying her very own ikran. Spider squealed and laughed from his bedroom window at the sight of the creature, already in love as if his mother had just brought a stray cat home. Y/n immediately sat her son down to gently let him know that an ikran is not a pet and demands respect and space. However, the ikran appeared more than happy to act like the family pet, curiously watching Spider from behind the window and resting right underneath said window whenever the creature wasn't out flying.

And when Spider was finally allowed to go outside, the boy and ikran finally got to officially meet. It was like watching a rescued animal find its forever home. Immediately cozying up and trusting the nine-year-old, the ikran allowed Spider to hug its whole face in his arms while jumping up and down happily. With excitement, Spider begged his mother to take him on a ride and finally, he got to learn what it was like to fly.

Y/n immediately flew Spider to the village so he can lay eyes on all the Na'vi for the first time. The People were happy to greet the child after hearing so many stories from his mother. The Omatikaya had grown to love Y/n and the other scientists as part of the People once they had begun to learn the Na'vi way and tame their own banshees, so when the Na'vi were finally introduced to Spider, it was like meeting the first grandbaby of the family! Everyone wanted to hold Spider due to the fascination of the fact he was still so small at his age, and the kid happily ate up all the attention. Through his excitement, he kept jumping between languages when speaking, but most of the Omatikaya were able to grasp the boy's words with ease and would respond in kind. Eventually, Y/n managed to bring her kid to the Sully marui without too many people resisting, and so Spider got to meet his best friends for the first time.

Jake and Neytiri excitedly welcomed Spider, hugging him and dragging him inside like he was a nephew who had been far away from home for far too long. Y/n followed them into the home, smiling fondly as Spider was introduced to Neteyam, Kiri, and Lo'ak. All three Sully kids were very bug-eyed and curious about this new friend. And for the first time since arriving in the village, Spider was suddenly shy with all the attention he was getting. He ran back to Y/n and hid behind her legs, nervously holding her tail while peeking at the kids behind his mask. The adults all laughed while the Sully kids continued to ask Spider questions until finally, he got comfortable enough to come out of hiding. Y/n and Spider stayed for dinner that evening after the kids begged their parents to let them stay so Spider could play. Once they got over poking and prodding Spider with interest, the two Na'vi boys and girl kept dragging him everywhere, frantically wanting to show him all their toys and favorite hiding spots, acting like he was leaving forever the moment he and Y/n would eventually step out of their home. The adults calmly remind the children that now that Spider is big enough to wear a mask, both he and Y/n would be coming back to the village as many times as they want, but that didn't convince the kids to slow down.

Tsu'tey was invited to dinner as well, but due to his responsibilities, he arrived late and could only stay for a little while. Y/n happily greeted him like an old friend -they had only met a few times over the years-, pressing her fingers to her forehead and lowering them in his direction, "Olo'eyktan. Oel ngati kameie."

Tsu'tey gestured in response out of respect but otherwise said nothing. Had he still been younger and just a warrior, Tsu'tey would've been able to help mentor Y/n during her Iknimaya trials. But due to being olo'eyktan now, he had to hand down those responsibilities to someone who had the time to do so, therefore his meetings with Y/n were far, and few in-between. As she was training, there were communal dinners where both parties were cordial to one another, entertaining small talk but otherwise keeping their respective distance. Y/n had become closer to Jake, Neytiri, and their growing family, therefore she and Tsu'tey saw each other more than usual but still in passing, like two ships in the night. Tsu'tey was like a teacher and an uncle to the Sully children, while Y/n was becoming to be a friend of the family. Now that Spider was in the picture, Tsu'tey had a feeling he had not seen the last of the mother and son.

If everyone thought Spider was shy meeting the Sully kids, they had not seen Spider meeting Tsu'tey. The boy immediately straightened his back and froze like a deer in headlights. Despite being shy and refusing to say a word, the human child looked at Tsu'tey in awe of him, recognizing his station as the clan leader of the Omatikaya. Y/n laughed and gathered her son up in her arms when he couldn't move, facing Tsu'tey so both Na'vi man and human child could get a better look at each other, "Spider, this is Tsu'tey te Rongloa Ateyo'itan. You've met before, but you were too little to remember. He is olo'eyktan. Do you remember what we say when greeting someone new?"

Under Tsu'tey's stare, Spider's hand shook as he brought his tiny fingers to the top brim of his breathing mask before lowering it in the Na'vi man's direction, speaking just above a whisper, "O-- Oel ngati kameie..."

The marui is silent and the boy waits with bated breath. To Spider's credit and everyone's amazement, Tsu'tey thinly smiled and made the same hand movement back to the child, "You speak very good, taronyutsyìp. Your mother and other caretakers have taught you well."

Spider's frozen shock had broken in exchange for a large, beaming wide smile, staring at Tsu'tey as if the man had just handed him the world. Y/n smiled at her adorable son's reaction and gratefully nodded to Tsu'tey before the moment was broken by none other than Jake's teasing, "How come you weren't complimenting me when I was learning, brother?"

"Because you were a teylupil prrnen who had to hold Neytiri's hand every step of the way," Tsu'tey was quick to respond but made sure to only speak in a hushed voice which only the adults could hear.

Neytiri playfully scolded Tsu'tey for his language and shoved a small niktsyey into his hands before he could leave, all the children confused as to why both Jake and Y/n were laughing to the point they had missed Tsu'tey sneaking out of the pod.

~~~~~~~~~

That was indeed, not the last time Tsu'tey would see Y/n and Spider. The next time they visited the village was a week later, and Tsu'tey wasn't even aware of their presence until his evening tasks were disrupted by a small force running into his legs and hugging them tightly. Startled into looking down, Tsu'tey found Little Spider, not even standing up to the height of the chief's knees, clinging to his strong blue legs for dear life while beaming up at him through his mask. Spider laughed due to Tsu'tey's reaction and paid no mind to his mother when she finally arrived. Tsu'tey didn't even notice Y/n until she stood in front of him, looking guilty and apologetic.

"Forgive me, ma olo'eyktan. He didn't want to go home until he got to see you."

Her ears pinned back against her head, tail drooping as she stared anxiously at the usually fierce and stone-faced clan leader. She looked tired, likely from a long day of following her child everywhere while he went on these new, exciting adventures around the village and surrounding forest. Y/n had volunteered to take Spider and the Sully kids to the nearby river so they could play and let off some steam. Jake and Neytiri had gratefully accepted the offer, ready to have some time away from their children for the first time in years. One look at the female avatar and Tsu'tey could tell just how drained she had been from watching all four children who barely grasp the idea of being 'careful.'

Years later, Tsu'tey will not be able to recall what came over him, but in a split-second decision, he bent down and scooped the little human boy into his arms, much to Spider's delight who squealed and laughed happily. To no one's surprise, the pink-skinned child was lighter than a basket of banana fruit and didn't struggle when Tsu'tey lifted him up over his head until the boy was sitting on his strong, broad shoulders. Spider dutifully grabbed onto Tsu'tey's braids to stay upright, eyes widening in joy and wonderment as he looked around, seeing the world from a new height that Spider could only dream of.

Tsu'tey made no sound to acknowledge his decision, despite already clocking a few bystanders who had stopped to stare at their olo'eyktan in shock before he turned to Y/n, speaking as blunt and firm as always, "He has seen me. Now let's get him to your ikran."

Initially surprised, Y/n could only nod and obediently led the Na'vi man in the direction of the claimed ikran rookery. They walked in silence apart from Spider's ramblings, beaming and waving down at all the Na'vi they passed by. Tsu'tey stubbornly ignores the stares, keeping his head held high and his gaze ahead of him, still exuding the confident, proud walk of a chief without ever acknowledging the sky demon child sitting up on his shoulders. Spider wasn't bothered by his silence, still babbling about all the things he did today and excitedly exclaiming how he couldn't wait until next time. They finally walk up to Y/n's ikran and without a word, she formed tsaheylu and expertly hopped up into her saddle, bending down to accept Spider from Tsu'tey once the man plucked the kid from his shoulders. Taking this time to admire the handiwork Y/n put into making her ikran's saddle as she secured her son in front of her, Tsu'tey nearly made a fool of himself by staring and immediately shook out of his thoughts.

"Now, boy," Tus'tey spoke carefully, lowering his voice so as not to startle the child as he stepped away from the banshee, eyeing Spider with a stern expression, "Be good for your sa'nok the rest of the night. Do not give her trouble and do as your told."

"Yes, sir!" Spider puffed out his chest and dutifully nodded, excited to follow an order straight from the Omatikaya's olo'eyktan.

Y/n huffed in amusement before flashing Tsu'tey a small smile of gratitude, "Thank you, Tsu'tey."

"Get some rest, my friend," Tsu'tey firmly nods back, "That's an order."

To his internal surprise, Y/n laughs, and even though he was confused, Spider laughed with her. Tsu'tey didn't react to their laughter, every muscle in his face coming together to keep as firm and as serious as he could manage. He wasn't sure when was the last time a woman laughed at something he said. Normally, no one laughed at Tsu'tey, believing he was too serious and he was taken as seriously as one could manage. It wasn't as though he was trying to be funny, but it was like Y/n could see something behind his eyes that told her that at this very moment, she didn't have to treat him as the clan leader. Perhaps it was the way he called her 'friend' that made her realize that she didn't have to be so formal around him. Either way, he didn't plan on correcting her manners.

Tsu'tey couldn't remember when they eventually flew away, back to Hell's Gate. He could only remember standing there like an idiot even after the mother and son were out of sight, their gentle, sweet laughter still echoing in his ears.

~~~~~~~~~

It became a sort of tradition. After a long day of being in the village, Spider would always escape his mother and run to Tsu'tey every time she told her son it was time to go home. After the first three times he did this, both Tsu'tey and Y/n just silently agreed to go along with it and indulge the child in his little tradition. Every evening Y/n and Spider were visiting the clan, the olo'eyktan could count on the young boy to find him like clockwork, then Tsu'tey will, again, lift Spider up onto his shoulders and follow Y/n back to her ikran.

Tsu'tey noticed that the mother and child were visiting the village more and more and he chalked it up to be because Neytiri had just announced that she was pregnant again. Everyone was ecstatic, especially the children. Knowing that a new baby was on the way, Spider could be spotted around the Sully marui almost every single day. The kid was in awe at the idea of meeting someone who was finally going to be smaller than him, at least for a little while. He also fully ramped the other Sully kids up, getting them to be excited for another little sibling, especially Lo'ak, who was ready to finally be a big brother instead of the youngest.

As tradition goes, the People would gift the expecting parents food and necessities in preparation for the unborn child. It was a good way to help Jake and Neytiri focus on their growing family and pay more attention to their three children instead of worrying about getting much-needed supplies ready for the baby. After Y/n explained this tradition to her son, Spider was determined to also present a gift to Jake and Neytiri, and who else could possibly help him with that but none other than Tsu'tey?

The olo'eyktan helps the boy, despite the nagging voice in the back of his head, and tries his best to help when he has the time. If Tsu'tey is not making his usual errands, he can be found with the human boy who practically drags him through the forest, looking for appropriate items to gift the Sullys. Y/n usually goes with them, never too far from her son, therefore she finds herself in Tsu'tey's company more than she ever has in all the years she's known him. And he doesn't appear bothered by it. In fact, he inwardly looks forward to these small adventures, feeling like a young warrior again who could freely leave the village without too many responsibilities weighing down his shoulders. Either Spider blindly takes the two adults through the trees without any idea of where he was heading, or he lets Tsu'tey take the lead, always excited for where the chief will take them now. The three of them do this for an entire week until Spider presents Neytiri with a beautiful bracelet with six, various different colors of beads to represent how many people will soon be in her family. Neytiri's smile was like starlight, so wide and emotional as she pulls the small boy into her arms, kissing the glass of his mask as tears stream down her cheeks. After Spider asks her why she was crying, she was quick to reassure him that they were happy tears and tells him how much she loved his gift, all the while Tsu'tey and Y/n are standing off to the side, fondly watching this scene take place.

It was an eye-opening moment for the usually fierce, stone-faced olo'eyktan. He had been standing so close to Y/n, closer than he had ever allowed himself to be with anyone, while they both watched Spider beam up at Neytiri and happily ramble about his adventures while finding the perfect beads for his bracelet. As the child explained that Tsu'tey and Y/n always went with him, even Neytiri looked surprised, glancing up at the two other adults with her ears flicking with interest. Tsu'tey swallowed and stood firm, trying not to appear nervous under the Na'vi woman's gaze.

Neither Spider nor Y/n noticed this brief interaction as the boy finally turns back to his mother and the olo'eyktan, remembering their presence and running toward them, cheering, "She liked it! She liked it!"

"I can see that," Y/n smiled, giggling as she bent down to receive Spider, picking him up in her arms without a sweat. Normally, it's a struggle in her human body to lift him up as he continues to grow, but as an avatar, it's like holding a three-year-old again. Oh, how she missed those days.

Still in Y/n's arms, Spider reaches for Tsu'tey, making grabby hands at the man who stood close enough for the boy to touch him. Tsu'tey nearly froze under the boy's attention, his own tongue betraying him when he couldn't find anything to say. It was too domestic, watching the way Spider looked for approval from both Y/n and Tsu'tey. Watching as both Spider's and Y/n's eyes land on him nearly takes his breath away, as if seeing the pair of them through rose-tinted glasses for the first time. And while standing so close, Tsu'tey can almost pretend, just for a moment, that Spider was not just any child, but his, the child wanting to share the events of his day as he had run to both Tsu'tey and his mother like they came as a pair, not just one or the other.

This was the first time Tsu'tey ever realized the gift Eywa was offering to him, but at the time was too cowardly to accept it. Taking one last look at the way Spider leaned his soft pink head on Y/n's blue shoulder, Tsu'tey looked away, purposely engraving the sight of those two small brown and gold pairs of eyes staring questionably up at him.

Even though there was no need to go out into the forest anymore, Tsu'tey still insisted on taking the mother and son out on adventures under the guise that it was time Spider learned how to gather and forage. Tsu'tey firmly stated that the boy needed to recognize certain plants before he could ever learn to become a hunter. Spider perked up at this idea, cheering and running to Neteyam, Kiri, and Lo'ak to brag about his upcoming lessons. Y/n appeared hesitant at first -call it a mother's concern- but eventually accepted the idea, happily tagging along so she could witness her son's first lesson.

One lesson became two, then three, then four, five, and six. Eventually, Tsu'tey had lost count of the number of days he had squeezed in time to teach Spider the ways of the Na'vi. It had been weeks, easily, and he had no intention of stopping. He was exhausted between his usual duties and his newly acquired student, but Tsu'tey would only have to look as far as Spider and Y/n's smiles to think it was all worth it.

Before he knew it, Y/n had fully completed her Iknimaya. After surviving the Uniltaron, she was painted and born a second time as one of the People. The whole clan was happy for her, and even Tsu'tey bore a small but genuine smile as he stood before her as her olo'eyktan and welcomed her into the Omatikaya clan, placing his arms on her shoulders as everyone else followed suit, creating an overflowing circle of Na'vi all around her.

With Y/n being recognized as a member of the clan, Tsu'tey feels a small barrier break between them. Something unspoken had come to light and before he could argue with himself, Tsu'tey had done something he hadn't done in a while.

His carving skills needed improvement after so many years of nonuse, but it was still a talent he possessed. The next time he spotted Y/n and Spider in the village, he boldly approached them without a second thought. Spider saw him first and excitedly ran to Tsu'tey, hugging his legs until the olo'eyktan crouched down to his height. Y/n walked up to them just as Tsu'tey held out his hand to the boy, "For you, Spider."

Spider greedily held out both of his hands with wide, bewildered eyes just as Tsu'tey handed him a simple but perfectly carved wooden pa'li toy. Spider initially stood there, shocked, staring down at the toy while Tsu'tey began to shuffle uncomfortably on his heels, "I understand if you think you are too big for toys--"

His backtracking was quickly interrupted by Spider lunging at him, throwing his little arms around the man's neck before practically squeezing the air out of him. Tsu'tey let out a gust of wind at the impact, unaware that the kid had that much strength in such a small body. It took a moment, but eventually, Tsu'tey began to awkwardly pat the boy on the back while Spider continued to hug fiercely.

Y/n was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling and was failing miserably, the smile stretching far enough to make her facial muscles hurt. Tsu'tey bravely peered up at her and offered his best, closed-mouth smirk, despite still awkwardly holding the child in his arms. Y/n took a deep breath and was able to rein in the smile until it was small and gentle, clearing her throat to get her son's attention, "What do you say, Spider?"

"Thank you. Irayo, " Spider whispered into Tsu'tey's ear before finally pulling away, clutching the pa'li toy in one hand while his mother took the other. Slowly, they both walk away but would occasionally look back at Tsu'tey with those sweet, dazzling smiles that make Tsu'tey feel as though he had just lifted a mountain that was in the mother and son's path. After they disappeared into the crowd, he finally stood back up, stubbornly ignoring all the stares the scene no doubt caused before going about his day as normally as he could.

Once almost every week, Tsu'tey would have something new to offer Spider. It could be a toy, small bracelets, armbands, or even Na'vi child-sized clothes, Tsu'tey would make them all for the small human child. Spider's personal favorite was the small bow, already strung up and carved to his tiny size with equally small, harmless arrows. Over time, Spider was becoming more accustomed to Na'vi culture and started to wear his hair in beads and braids and continuously wore a loincloth. The Sully kids were eager to help Spider form his new style but it wasn't hard to get the supplies, seeing as though Tsu'tey had already provided Spider with everything he needed to complete the look. Each gift was more thoughtful and appreciative than the last, and each time, seeing the look on both mother and child's faces made Tsu'tey feel a thousand times lighter.

He thought he was being subtle, but that was far from the truth. Nearly everyone could see it apart from himself. He knew he had been a fool to believe otherwise when he was abruptly visited by his parents, cornering him in his own marui.

"What is this about you courting a demon?" His mother, Artsut, sternly asked.

"I am not courting anyone." He easily answered without hesitation.

"That is not what we heard. The People say their olo'eyktan has taken a liking to the dreamwalker they call Y/n and her demon child."

"Is that truly what the People say, Mother? Or is it just you?" Tsu'tey accused, eyes narrowed on her, "From what I have seen, the People love Y/n and Spider."

"Spider?" His father, Ateyo, repeated the name on his tongue and screwed up his nose, "What a strange name."

"This is not acceptable," Artsut shook her head, "You should have taken Saeyla as your mate when you had the chance. At least she is one of the People and she would have accepted you."

Tsu'tey nodded in agreement, but kept his face impassive, "Yes. She would have. But I will not have her and she will not have me. She is mated with Ka'ani now."

"You should have chosen her the moment Neytiri ran off to mate with a tawtute."

His eyes darken a shade of color and his parents are quickly reminded that they spoke to the olo'eyktan, one of said tawtute's strongest allies who was quick to defend Jake Sully after years of friendship, "You will not address Toruk Makto in such a way. And I do not want you to ever speak of Y/n as if she is not Omatikaya. She has learned our ways and had successfully completed her Iknimaya. In time, her son will follow her footsteps."

The sneer on his mother's face was potent as ever, "Do you actually believe that a sky demon can complete the task of becoming a warrior when he doesn't even have a tswin? Even if he were to be accepted as one of the People, he will struggle all his life and suffer without the means of bonding with the Forest, the animals, or even other Na'vi! You are olo'eyktan and your duty to the People also involves having heirs to succeed you! Raising this human child alongside this dreamwalker will end your line!"

Her voice had only ever risen higher until his father gently placed a withered hand on her shoulder. Artsut immediately silences herself while Ateyo turns to Tsu'tey, "Maitan. Tell us the truth. Are you courting this woman?"

Tsu'tey grits his teeth, staring both of them down, "I am not."

The words are bitter on his tongue, distasteful. What he would give to say otherwise and make his parents flinch as if in pain. His mother shook her head, her tone quieter but still accusatory, "Others have seen you gift the child many things. Do you think we are blind and deaf? We hear whispers, Tsu'tey. We hear that to win Y/n's heart is to dote on her son. You may not be courting the woman with gifts for her, but you are courting her with gifts for her son."

The marui grew in unpalpable silence. Tsu'tey remained quiet, unable to deny it, but kept his gaze sharp and locked onto Ateyo and Artsut. Ever since he became Eytukan's heir as olo'eyktan, he had learned to stop listening to his parents constantly whispering in his ears. He had quickly realized how poisonous they were, hungry for power, believing they know the will of Eywa better than anyone, even Mo'at. He had thought he had fed their thirst for power after becoming olo'eyktan, but that still wasn't good enough for them. For years now, they have shaped Tsu'tey's younger brother, Arvok, into their preferred image now that their golden son had chosen his own path without their consent. Tsu'tey wished his brother had learned to stop leading by their influence and start forming his own future, but has been unable to advise Arvok to do so, given how busy he is as the clan leader. On top of growing up in Tsu'tey's shadow until recent years, Arvok has no part of himself that their parents didn't twist and manipulate. Arvok was no longer his own person and it broke Tsu'tey's heart to watch from a distance, unable to save his brother from himself.

A wave of guilt washes over Tsu'tey but he strongly holds firm, blatantly refusing to let his emotions show, let alone in front of his sa'sem. He regrets not taking Arvok under his wing. He regrets taking time to be with Y/n and Spider and none to be with his own flesh and blood. Perhaps a small part of himself believed he could help his brother if he could help someone as hopeless as Spider, someone who couldn't truly become one of the People, just like his parents said--

'No. That is not you talking. Already they are trying to spin their words to make it sound like your own. Do not let them poison you.'

His own thoughts drown out all the doubt and regret and so Tsu'tey shakes his head to be rid of them with a deep, dark snarl, baring his fangs at his mother and father, "You forget yourselves. You forget your place. You are right about one thing. I am olo'eyktan, and I don't take orders from you. I will never listen to you or agree with you because every word that falls from your mouth is like a sharp blade in my ears. Your ways are of the past when I, your chief, aim toward the future. By the laws of our people, Y/n is taronyu, and Spider is her son. That is enough for me, and I order you to keep whatever you have to say about that woman and her child to yourselves from now on."

~~~~~~~~~

Despite holding firm against Ateyo and Artsut, Tsu'tey couldn't help but feel sour for the rest of the week about what was said in the confinements of that room. Their lecture plus Eytukan's teachings continued to ring in his ears, unable to let him rest. They were right that as olo'eyktan, it was his duty to find a proper heir to take his place and guide the People after he is gone. He could sire an heir or choose one from the clan, but he must choose wisely, nevertheless.

For years, Tsu'tey never worried about heirs. He was openly adamant in wishing Jake Sully to take his place should something untimely happen to him. Toruk Makto had sons and a daughter with possibly another on the way. At the very least, Jake's line of succession was secure if he was olo'eyktan.

But Tsu'tey was alone.

It didn't help that as olo'eyktan, he was still in need of a mate who would one day become tsahik. Mo'at has made it very clear to him, "I am not getting any younger. I will need at least three seasons to train a woman before she can become tsahik."

Neytiri was no longer tsakarem due to choosing Jake as her mate, and while Kiri was a good option for Mo'at to take under her wing, the young girl was still too young to worry about such responsibility. Tsu'tey was positive that Mo'at would rather have her granddaughter become tsahik over whoever he chose as a mate, but he was positive it was due to favoritism. Mo'at would rather teach family over a stranger, and Tsu'tey couldn't blame her for that. Her own legacy was shattered due to losing her first daughter and becoming estranged from the other, neither of who was capable of becoming tsahik like their mother one day.

The harsh reminder of Sylwanin made Tsu'tey's stomach clench with guilt and despair. He had moved past her death years ago, but at the idea of him finally moving on, the phantom pain returned to make him feel regret all over again.

She was meant to be his mate for life, and this all felt as though he was betraying her.

Tsu'tey let his feet take them to a destination, and they end up leading him to the Sully marui. Inside, Neytiri was alone since Jake decided to take the kids fishing with Spider and Y/n, her baby bump becoming more visible by the day. Looking up and recognizing Tsu'tey, she only held his gaze with a smug, all-knowing expression.

He scowled while walking further into the home, sitting across from her, "I assume you heard the rumors."

She shrugged, smirking, "I think everyone has heard or seen something or other. The question is whether or not it's true."

The man hesitates, unable to form the proper words he wanted to say. Here sat his young love's sister, someone who would know better than anyone how he feels because she suffers the same pain and loss every day. And yet... like Sylwanin, he felt as though he was betraying Neytiri as well, "I... I don't know."

Her gaze narrows at him, surprised and under scrutiny, "You don't know?"

"I thought I did," Tsu'tey confessed, his eyes only gazing at the small fire between them, "I was ready to take and bring both of them into my care."

"Then what's stopping you?" She carefully watches him as they sat in silence, letting it linger and simmer like the meat she had just hung over the fire. When Tsu'tey had yet to look up, Neytiri had discovered the answer on her own, "Sylwanin?"

Solemnly, he nods, "We were promised to each other. It is a promise meant forever."

Her posture relaxes, relenting whatever tease she planned on dishing him out in exchange for pity. Her words were gentle as she spoke, forlorn and sympathetic, "You were not mated yet, Tsu'tey, and it was many, many years ago. You are allowed to grieve, mourn, and miss my sister. But I think she would understand if you had fallen for someone else."

Leaning forward to the best of her ability in her condition, she reaches and grabs tightly onto Tsu'tey's hand. Finally, once his eyes met hers, Neytiri whispered, "She wouldn't want you to be alone forever."

She lets him think about what she said, turning back to the food she was preparing in silence. Neytiri lets Tsu'tey hide away in her home, stewing with his thoughts as the village moves on about their day around them. Before eclipse could even make an appearance, Jake and Y/n return with the children from their fishing trip. Looking up, both Neytiri and Tsu'tey take note of how exhausted all the kids look, especially Spider, who was passed out cold in Jake's arms alongside Kiri.

Jake smiles at his wife before turning to Tsu'tey to properly greet him, "Brother. I'd offer you my arm, but I kinda got my hands full."

"So I see," Tsu'tey huffed, slightly amused at the sight before his gaze flicks over to the woman standing beside Jake, "And how are you, Y/n?"

She appeared startled at the question being directed at her, but quickly covered it up with a soft smile, nodding down to Tsu'tey, "I'm alright, ma olo'eyktan. Thank you."

Neytiri smirked, sparing one glance up at her husband before pretending to absentmindedly hum in thought, "Perhaps if you leave us Spider's spare mask, Y/n, you could leave him here for tonight and have at least a few hours to yourself?"

Both Neteyam and Lo'ak are suddenly wide awake, ears perking up at the mother's intention. Y/n paused, about to open her mouth when Jake beat her to it, "That's not a bad idea. He's already asleep and there isn't a reason to wake him," the female avatar turned to the male one, who's quick to reassure her, "I promise he'll be in good hands. And the kids would love to wake up in the morning to find Spider still here."

Again, the concern Y/n displayed on her face was about to voice her answer before Neteyam spoke up, keeping his voice sweet and soft, "Please, Aunt Y/n? Can Spider stay here tonight?"

Lo'ak chimed in, too, albiet a bit louder, "Can we have a sleepover? Pleeeaase?"

All the adults present quickly shushed the young boy when Kiri and Spider squirmed in their sleep but everyone relaxed when the sleeping children eventually settled back down. Jake moves further into the marui to gently place them down on the mats while Y/n turned around only to be met with two round pairs of pleading gold eyes staring up at her, both Neteyam and Lo'ak poking their bottom lips out for added measure.

Y/n snorts, playfully rolling her eyes, "Well, who could say 'no' to those charming little faces?"

Both the boys silently cheer and run in the direction of the other two sleeping children, anxious to join the growing cuddle pile. Y/n watches them go with amusement before she hands Neytiri the spare mask she always kept hooked around the belt of her cargo shorts, "I'll be back for him early in the morning."

"No need to rush," Neytiri smiled with assurance, "Just stop by for breakfast and you can take him home after."

Jake then proceeds to hand the single mother a throat mic and earpiece, "Just in case we need to contact you or you just wanna talk to him."

Y/n visibly relaxed a little at the lengths both Jake and Neytiri were going just to make her feel comfortable leaving her son with them. She dutifully nods and clips on the throat mic as Tsu'tey stands to meet her, the olo'eyktan tilting his head to the marui exit, "Let's get you to your ikran."

If she found his offer unexpected, she didn't show it and followed Tsu'tey out of the marui, unaware of the knowing look Neytiri was watching them leave with. Once they disappeared, Jake turned to his mate with a confused expression, "What was that about?"

Neytiri's eyes shine with a mischievous gleam behind those golden orbs,  "With any luck, by the end of the night, Spider will officially have a father and we will have our future tsahik."

~~~~~~~~~

Tsu'tey and Y/n mostly walked in silence back to her ikran, the beauty of the night slowly making itself known as eclipse finally arrives. Over the years, Y/n was used to how intense and silent Tsu'tey could be and no longer found these quiet interactions awkward. If anything, the silence was actually comforting.

They approach her ikran and Y/n busies herself by tending to the banshee, comforting the creature when it squawks indignant and trying to look occupied to calm her own nerves. It was possible her ikran could sense said nerves and continued to act belligerent. Eventually, Y/n turned back to the olo'eyktan and nods in gratitude, "Thank you, Tsu'tey. I'll be back again in the morning."

He only nods and so Y/n took it as a sign to take her leave as the silence lingers. Double-checking the straps of her ikran's harness, she swung her leg over the creature and grabbed her queue braid--

"Y/n..."

She looked up, "Yes?"

Concern clouded her mind as Tsu'tey's eyes briefly look away, unable to meet her gaze. His ears flick at the same speed as his eyes, betraying him of his nerves as he spoke, "Do you wish to be courted?"

Befuddled, her eyes narrow cautiously, tilting her head with curiosity. Perhaps she heard him wrong, "What?"

He took a deep breath to steady himself, straightening up to be the taller more regal olo'eyktan she had come to know him. His voice is suddenly more confident and formal as he finally looks up at her, "It would be a great honor, Y/n of the Sky People and of the Omatikaya, if you would allow me to officially court you."

Y/n could initially do nothing but sit there on the back of her ikran, frozen and dumbfounded. The silence that was once so normal and comfortable between them was now intense and tightly wound like a meresh'ti cau'pla. As the avatar woman replayed his words back in her head, she couldn't depict anything else from the proposal other than one singular word, "'Officially?'"

Tsu'tey nods while further explaining, "It was not my intention to let you believe I was only tending to your boy in the hopes of courting you, nor do I wish for you to believe that I expect something from you in exchange for training your son. Spider is a spirited child and he is lucky to have a wonderful woman for his mother. You and your son have shown me what it would look like to be a part of your family and now that I have a taste of it, I want to know more. I wish to court you not just in the hopes of being your mate, but one day-- if you and the boy will have me, I want Spider to one day look up to me as his father."

The confession was something Y/n wouldn't have expected in a million years. It wasn't as though she believed Tsu'tey to be too proud, but as the clan leader he had a reputation to uphold and a responsibility regarding the wellbeing of his people. Immediately her thoughts turned to what other Na'vi might think about their olo'eyktan taking a sky demon as his mate, someone who can walk in two bodies instead of one, an alien whose species would do unspeakable things to cheat death and go against everything Eywa stood for. She never took herself to be an insecure person, but Y/n couldn't help the fear she felt when thinking about what the Na'vi people might think about her son if she decides to allow Tsu'tey to adopt him. Sure, the Omatikaya act as though they love Spider now, but what about when they learn that their olo'eyktan's legacy depends on a boy born from the Sky People?

Despite her fears, she couldn't help but think about how much happier Spider has been around Tsu'tey and the village. Y/n thought about how the boy would suddenly become sad upon returning to the biolab and leaving his friends behind, or how when he adamantly talked, it was only about the Na'vi and the Sully kids and of course whatever Tsu'tey had taught him that day. Though Y/n and the other scientists have tried to teach Spider the ways of the Sky People with the proper education and history of their culture, the kid doesn't want anything to do with Earth and tends to stick with whatever he had learned from the Omatikaya. Over time, Y/n had told the other scientists to give it up, coming to terms that Spider didn't want to learn about where he came from, only about the home he had now and the friends he had gained. Y/n couldn't blame him. Tsu'tey was a better teacher than even Max or Norm when it came to the topics Spider wanted to actually learn about. Tsu'tey was patient but firm. Informative but vigor. On one hand, he would make sure Spider listened and held onto every word he said, but on the other, he was a good listener and would praise Spider for every achievement made in his lessons. Y/n remembered watching them with fondness, amused and delighted by their interactions. As often as she sees her son and the olo'eyktan together, the more she, too wished to see what would happen if she allowed herself to feel something for that man. The man who opened his arms out to selected Sky People, allowing them into his village. The man who took Spider under his wing despite the fact the boy was human and treated him with kindness and respect even though he didn't have to. Tsu'tey has every reason to hate the Sky People and the face Spider wears, but he doesn't, and what Y/n initially thought she felt was admiration for Tsu'tey was actually a growing love for him and his character.

But she had stamped down her feelings because she was afraid of getting Spider's hopes up. She couldn't afford to disappoint her son when he already adores Tsu'tey to no end. When Y/n opened her mouth, she whispered her own confession to the olo'eyktan anxiously waiting for an answer, "... He already does."

She watches as his eyes widen before she made the decision to hop back down from her banshee, closing in the gap between them as she took the necessary steps to stand right before Tsu'tey. She watched his eyes for a moment, looking for something, likely making sure he wasn't joking despite knowing he was the last person on this planet who would. She hadn't realized they were standing so close until she felt the warm air of his breath softly fanning her face, causing her to blink rapidly and clear her throat when her skin began to prickle into a soft blush. Ignoring her brief fluster, she allowed herself to slowly, cautiously lean forward and felt relief when Tsu'tey did as well. Their foreheads faintly touch until their movements became bolder, pressing closer until they were sharing the same tight space and combating the tense air between them. Leaning into him further, Y/n closed her eyes and basked in his embrace, "You really want this?"

His shaky exhale hits her face, her eyelashes briefly twitching but otherwise remaining closed as if afraid to open and see his expression. Tsu'tey's voice was less confident now and more breathless, unable to take in a full gulp of air in this woman's presence. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the closeness, even if only for tonight, he didn't care if it was selfish. He gently gripped her arm as he whispered, wanting to pull her even closer to him than possible, "Yes. By Eywa, yes."

Her lips twitched into a smile at the same time her heart lept in joy, "I accept your proposal."

Faintly patting his chest, she then pulled away, both of them opening their eyes and smiling shyly at one another. Y/n blindly backs away to reach her ikran, unwilling to look away until the last second, "I'll see you in the morning."

~~~~~~~~~

Also heavily inspired by illustrations called ‘our paths crossing’ by kening zhu

Lemme know if you would like a Part 2! I was hoping to write more for this but it was starting to get long, so you decide if it should continue! Also leave a request in my inbox but be sure to check up on the rules first. Thank you!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

MLK at 95.

January 15, 2024

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

Martin Luther King, Jr. was born 95 years ago on January 15, 1929. As a Baptist minister, he advocated non-violence while promoting civil rights. He spoke for the poor, the oppressed, and the disenfranchised. While he was imprisoned in a Birmingham jail for protesting segregation, he responded to eight white ministers who had criticized him for participating in protests that they described as “unwise and untimely.”

Dr. King’s famous reply to the white ministers explained why he traveled to Birmingham from Atlanta to protest:

I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. Never again can we afford to live with the narrow, provincial outside agitator" idea. Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be considered an outsider.

While Dr. King was keenly aware of the racism that served as the understructure of the Christian church in the old South, he would be shocked by the virulent, mean-spirited, anti-Christian message that animates many (not all) evangelical congregations in America today. They form the backbone of Donald Trump's support in Iowa and beyond. They have adopted Trump's message that treats the poor, oppressed, and disenfranchised as “outsiders” and “others” who do not belong in America.

Over the last several days, we have learned that members of the Texas National Guard physically blocked federal Border Patrol agents from responding to reports of immigrants in distress in the Rio Grande. The bodies of a mother and two children were later recovered from the river in the area where immigrants were reported to be in distress.

Texas, of course, denies that its cruel actions caused the drownings—a denial that should be viewed skeptically from a state whose governor—Greg Abbott—recently commented Texas troopers could not shoot immigrants crossing the border because the troopers would be charged with murder by the Biden administration. Texas governor criticized after comment about shooting migrants | The Texas Tribune.

Similar animus underlies the recent comments of Mississippi Governor Tate Reeves, who withdrew Mississippi from a federal program to provide food to school children during summer breaks. Governor Reeves said Mississippi withdrew from the program to fight “attempts to expand the welfare state.”

Blocking efforts to rescue a drowning mother and her children? Regretting the inability to shoot immigrants because it would be murder? Denying food to poor children out of spite? Who are these people? How do they look at themselves in the mirror?

Ninety-five years after Dr. King’s birth and fifty-five years after his death, it is difficult to believe that people who identify as upstanding members of the Christian church can support such actions.

Another section from Dr. King’s Letter from a Birmingham Jail is relevant to this moment in our nation’s history:

But the judgment of God is upon the church as never before. If the church of today does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authentic ring, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. I meet young people every day whose disappointment with the church has risen to outright disgust.

Dr. King’s words were prophetic. See Pew Research (10/17/19) In U.S., Decline of Christianity Continues at Rapid Pace.

And, of course, as Dr. King recognized, “there are some notable exceptions” among church leaders who supported his work—just as there are exceptions today. Several readers have recommended Faithful America as an antidote to Christian nationalism. The organization’s helpful FAQ page explains why “Christian nationalism” is not Christian. See Resisting Christian Nationalism: FAQ + Resources | Faithful America.

On this day commemorating Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birth, we can see how far we have come—and how much further we must go. He didn’t despair. Neither should we.

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

[hiroshiii13]

Head Disciple Binghe x Young Master SY #Bingqiu thoughts

Sometimes I think about Binghe that didn’t have to lose his parents. Didn’t have to go through the abyss and didn’t have to fight for the acknowledgment of his Shizun.

He’d be the darling of the demonic and cultivation world; doted upon in his younger years and a respected cultivator after his coming of age. He’d be self-assured, almost cocky, the way young masters who have never experienced being wronged are.

But Binghe would always have the skills to back it up, besides his innate talent, Su Xiyan, head of HHP, made sure that his son was grounded and hardworking. In fact, he commands HHP when his parents would up and travel for months at a time.

He’s forthright, which he learned from his mother, yet empathetic and charming, which he got from his romantic father.

I still think Bingqiu would be a thing. They meet as desk mates (borrowing this @/Gusu Lan arc) and wouldn’t hit it off at the start.

SY has always admired Binghe from the stories he’s heard from his older siblings. Binghe, the leader of the next generation. He looked forward to meeting him.

Imagine his surprise when the first day of his excursion led to sparring with said leader of the next generation and his humiliating utmost defeat in .005 seconds. He wanted to look cool in front of him but he can forego this embarrassment. It’s okay!!! This was expected from Binghe!!

But what was not okay was the harsh training at HHP. SY could not help but feel a little resentful towards BH. He was the third son in a merchant family. His family’s cultivation was in refining pills and artifacts, you could say it’s 80% marketing and 20% refining even, so he had never done hard labor in his life!!

He almost regretted saying he would join HHP for the summer instead of joining another sect specializing in botany and alchemy, which was his specialization.

Binghe, as the head disciple in charge of training, provided a plan that was standard in his sect. While he does enjoy seeing this pretty gege scrunching his brows, pursing his lips, flushed like a tomato during drills, (Heh.) he does feel pity and gives him a little less reps.

But it’s in the study portions where SY shines. LBH is astounded with SY’s encyclopedic knowledge.

Reminiscent of the child-like wonder he experienced as TLJ told him stories before bedtime. Of monsters that can swallow suns and plants with roots so deeply in the earth that it shakes. He learns later on of course that these were mere exaggerations but at that time, as SY babbles on about plant no. 4892, he could not help but feel that same fascination.

Their relationship starts getting better. Binghe would pick his desk mates brain despite knowing (some) of the answers, the other would prattle on, patiently teaching.

From an outsiders point of view, LBH looked indulgent, a soft smile ever present on his face, while his deskmate would fan himself while explaining, obviously enjoying the attention. And who could blame him?? He was teaching THE Luo Binghe! From then on, Binghe would teasingly call him Shizun.

Despite SY being slightly older than BH, he is the youngest son, (he has 1 meimei) in their family. Compared to Binghe who was raised to meet certain expectations, SY had a more unrestrained behavior. If he wanted a snack, he would get it. If he wanted to nap, he snuck it in.

And nothing could stop Binghe from doting on him on their free time. As an only child, he never had someone to spoil or play with so he recaptures some of his childhood like this. Sharing snacks, showing parts of HHP and sometimes sparring in the fields between laughter.

But SY’s pride cannot take being coddled, he’s older than him! so he dotes back. Bringing him refined pills for his cultivation, sending in some rare herbs and animal skin. (He is working his nepo baby network overtime!)

When he teaches BH during self-study, he compliments him when he gets things right while patting his head. And how BH thrives from being dotted on, now at his grown age! LBH feels lucky.

He found someone, who was not only smart and chatty, but was thoughtful and indulgent towards him. He… he really liked SY. Meanwhile SY found himself even more gently stroking his hair. He can’t wait to share to his siblings how the great LBH was completely docile from his head patting. SY could not help ruffling his curly hair, almost pulling. (As for what that would awaken later on, we won’t discuss.)

They part after that summer, but keep in touch through letters. Both feeling a longing to meet. SY decides to pick up a sword and learn how to fly it. He can definitely learn it and fly to HH and casually meet BH. His siblings give it a week til he gives up. But surprisingly 1 week turns into 2, then a month, then on the 6th month he could fly long distances.

His nausea was still as bad as ever but he can endure, he will learn how to endure. As to why he didn’t tell Binghe though? he didn’t know why he wanted to keep this as a surprise.

—

The Immortal Alliance Conference was upon them, and SY had received BH’s letter and how he might not be able to respond as quickly for the time being. But in fact, he was very much aware of the event. He even haughtily bet a few hundred spirit stones when someone mockingly said LBH would not place.

No one could escape his scalding critique had anyone even breathed wrongly towards BH. The public ate their melon seeds while watching another one succumb to that monster. They could not outbid him and even more so, out talk him. What a rabid fanboy. He gained notoriety overnight.

So imagine their surprise when the conference was over. How LBH saw SY, how he ran and hugged him, bombarding him questions of how he got there. LBH showing a small cut the size of a nail, a slight glassy look in his eyes as he retold his hardship and triumph.

The passersby knew it was an exaggeration, they were all watching him effortlessly kill the demons!! His confidence practically oozing. Even the ladies fainted against such charisma. What is this?? The fiersome leader selling meng??

AND THE DEVIL INCARNATE, who ate his every opponent in a bloodless battle, was suddenly a gentleman, waving his fan with a sweet smile, talking softly while patting the champion’s head.

WTF??

__

They take a few more years of friendship before eventually tying the knot but their families have long known each other since those two have been inseparable. SY spends his days at HHP in the summers while LBH goes with the other’s family in winter. TLJ still feels a little sour in his heart that his son would spend his bdays w/ SY more than them.

The 2 men were even more sticky when they got married. Waking up, preparing meals, cleaning up, lounging, it’s as if they could not get enough of the other. The Regret of Chunshan exists btw, but rather than an angsty story of abandonment and conflict, it is said that they just, really, really loved each other for a lifetime.

(Of course the papapa is front and center!! LMY writes about a rich, young master fanboy and his seemingly respectable cultivator idol having loving, disrespectful, s/ex. She delivers always!)

END.

[hwaightme]

Feel alive

(masterlist) (taglist)

🌑 pairing: strictland!seonghwa x gn!singer!reader 🌑 genre: fluff, angst, dystopian, sci-fi, noir, music, lovers to enemies to lovers 🌑 summary: after escaping the confines of prestige academy you find yourself singing at 'morpheus' - an underground bar and club for strictland outcasts. except this reality, too, crumbles before you. your fate is again in the hands of the same man, and you are forced to ask yourself: what does it mean to 'feel alive'? 🌑 wordcount: 9.5k total 🌑 warnings/tags: semi-edited, authoritarian regime (strictland/z/universe z), lore-inspired, guns/gunshots, implied attack on club, implied violence, crime, alcohol/drinking, implied organised criminal networks, discussions about death/murder/execution, nihilism/existentialism, 'bout as dark as the diary entries, long lost lovers, starcrossed, hope, blue bird, jazz, uprisings 🌑 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🌑 a/n: noir hwa, ateez synthwave song quartet, and lore ponderings. hope you enjoyed <3 any notes, reblogs, comments, asks are always welcome! much love!

The lights dimmed, and it was as if the jazz bar never existed in the first place. The worn seats occupied by drunks who liked to pretend they had taste, sofas in the far corner reserved for big shots and well-established scum with pretty young accessories on either arm, the bar that sold everything under the rays of the dying sun and evil moon, it all disappeared with the dawn of the spotlight falling upon your alluring silhouette. A simple, yet elegant sleek black dress with a hint of shimmer that graced your curves seemed to shine in the glimmering illumination. The delicate silver accessories were stars in the hypnotising sky, the allure of an unreachable universe becoming overwhelming as your hands glided over the length of the microphone to find purchase on the stand. The music, starting from a low rumble, was an echo of the abyss surrounding you, manifested only at the softest inhale. After what could have been the drums and trumpet, or could have been the heavens announcing the beautiful singer’s presence finished their spontaneous introduction, Seonghwa had the pleasure of forgetting his purpose, at least for as long as the song lasted. He could drift into a sultry paradise, seduced by what had to be a siren’s call, and regard the customers of the Morpheus bar with something less than loathing.

As soon as he cleared the last of the russet coloured drink he had ordered in one gulp and set the glass down on the bar, shutting his eyes momentarily to focus on the warmth of the alcohol running down his throat, Seonghwa found the fingers of his right hand softly drumming out the song in accompaniment, each digit hitting one note, another, again and again. Back in the day, it had not been often that his visits to the bar occurred at the same time as the one and only Y/N’s performances, but when they did, he swore he could see the smog clear and tomorrow become a certainty. The music consumed him whole and even though he knew down to the second when the magic would be extinguished, a part of him still retained the hope that the spell would never be broken. Not when the only encore he could guarantee for himself was another torturous raid on an establishment such as this one, or another feverish witch hunt for those who had regained their ability to feel and to think freely. All in the name of a faceless leader who even Seonghwa himself had only met a handful of times despite being in a high ranking position of Guardian Inspector - above the standard white-clad machines, above the so-called officials clad in military uniform, he was in charge of ‘keeping civil hands clean’. At what cost? Perhaps his own emotions were the price.

The dark-haired man caught himself wondering how many people in this bar could enjoy themselves to the fullest. How many of these poor unfortunate souls that succumbed to the rush for easy money and easy love were true followers of hedonism, and were spending their days in an enviable bliss? Biting his lower lip, Seonghwa regarded his surroundings with a subtle scorn. He was well aware that he was to blame for it all too; The regime, to retain the ultimate, unwavering control over the citizens, even those who wholeheartedly believed they were well-hidden from the authoritarian judgement, was a supplier of one of the many pleasures after all - toying with people's weakness before the formidable seven sins only to lead them into full submission. The Strictland government, despite propagating ‘human emotion being a disease’ had anything anyone could ever desire, and Seonghwa was one of the many agents to guarantee long term partnerships, addiction to the illusion of a better life, and most importantly, stability and security for the people who had taken him in all that time ago when no one else would, and had given him a chance. 

While he was the bringer of demise, the counter of profits drenched in crushing dread and the hand of twisted and subjective justice, at the same time, Seonghwa believed that it gave him all the more right to judge the society he was a part of. After all, he was not the one being fooled. Inevitably, his glimmering orbs settled back on the singer’s gently swaying form as they broke into the chorus, and nearly shuddered as your gaze, from languid, half-lidded but oh so appealing eyes, met his, only for a split second but it was as if hellfire itself embraced him and greeted him like an old lover. Each lyric - a personal address as you moved along at a sensual pace, the song smoother than the most expensive silk. He smirked to himself as he caught his ponderings accelerating uncontrollably, attempting to squash them under a sober, calculating fist. You were no fool either. An entertainer, measuring out each attack like a venomous serpent, not threatened, seeking fun in the reveal of vulnerability of your listeners - each one believed that you existed for them and them alone, and in the hypnotic state added bill after bill to their already hefty tips in the hopes that at least some would reach you, and you would give them that beautiful smile, maybe something more. Truly, a shame that the owner of Morpheus owed the regime a lot more than all the tips, so-called donations and what, compared to the rest of the money, was "honest" earnings all combined. The Captain of the Inspectors in charge of this little project had gotten a little too nice as of late, at least that was what Seonghwa had concluded, but it was not him who was going to pay for it, naturally.

Twisting his head, Seonghwa took note of the familiar faces that appeared at the entrance to Morpheus to join the rest of the Inspectors that were posing as regular customers, cleverly dispersed among the filth that reeked of dependence. Of course, dependence on what the regime was selling. There was no other way about it. Nodding the two men a curt hello, Seonghwa let his eyes trace back a swift path to the magnificent performance. He paid attention to how your dainty earrings glinted even in the lowered light, and how, with every subtle movement, he could see the gorgeous dress tighten just a little around your body. You were so out of place in this scene, an angel in the darkest pits of hell, a little bird struggling against the wiring of a cage, curling inwards, growing smaller until the last flutter of the wings. As he was caught up in admiring your beautiful style, grace, and listening to your sweet, warm tone, one of the two newcomers, a fellow brother in governmental salvation to Seonghwa, tapped him lightly on the shoulder and occupied the seat beside him.

“As flashy as ever, Woo. Might as well tattoo ‘trouble’ on your forehead,” he motioned towards his not so inconspicuous suit that made him look more like a mafioso rather than an average joe. Seonghwa had to admit, however, that the outfit looked too damn good on him, but this was going to be just one of those things he was to take to his grave. The man did not need his ego fed any more than what the ladies he finds as company for the less busy nights not hounded by the lower ranking Guardians provide.

“I’d carve a pretty smile on that face. Not even a hello?”

“Hi San,” Seonghwa deadpanned, looking past his friend who he noted had tied his hair into a low ponytail, and right at the other half of his duo. Wooyoung and San, two peas in a pod, and probably the last people one would ever wish to see if they were in trouble with any of the Inspectors.

“Aren’t you mean today… what, pretty star over there didn’t give you attention?” Wooyoung retorted with a smirk creeping onto his lips. With a raise of an eyebrow and a shake of the head, Seonghwa dismissed any thoughts of peace that he had been imagining, settling back to regular business.

Rolling his shoulders back, he let the scene come and envelop him. It was no coincidence that so many of the Inspectors had gathered, especially with Wooyoung and San now closing in the arrivals. It did not take a genius to guess that Captain had changed his terms, and this was no longer going to be an ordinary shakeout for money or customary information gathering from the owner of Morpheus. The owner had stalled for far too long, had strayed from ‘good practices’ of a loyal rat, and it was time to set an example for others. Disease was the human emotion, and this bar was a breeding ground for thought crime, was it not?. Lowly, lonely creatures who gathered here were all examples of where society had gone astray from the perfect vision Z had put forward, at least… most were. Those who had forgotten the meaning of feeling despite having regained the ability, those, to Seonghwa, were the true vermin. He regarded the few gathered who were most definitely not meant to be part of this story. A middle aged, haggard man with flushed cheeks and what had to be his fifth glass of the cheapest liquor on the menu. Some bigshot from another town who he recalled some of the Inspectors in charge of patrolling the area identifying this morning - no ties, no money, just a lot of ambition that was to amount to nothing. A few lowlives here and there who were faceless, in shades of grey. All not meant to be here, and yet by some stroke of fate, here they were to remain. Finally, he drifted back to the main act, still at the centre of the stage, the sole luminance among the tainted - those who had no hope in making Seonghwa feel anything but numbness. You were the only one working here. Earning your meagre pay - he had discreetly checked the bar’s balance books when the old man behind the counter was too distracted to care for a person of his kind strolling into his office that was concealed in a dark corridor. It was shameful how you were still in this far less than grand establishment, sharing your angelic vocals, despite obviously not having any compensation nor appreciation of your efforts. Perhaps the moments on stage were the only time when you felt alive; the thought would not leave Seonghwa. After much investigation playing pretend, he was confident in his conclusion: you had not changed.

You were on the tattered poster plastered up outside - the one and only, shows every Friday night. Perceive and behold the spectacular ethereal being as you sang songs that spun threads out of a spectator’s very soul, blood trickling from the cracks in their shattered form turning to gold. You sang their… his pain, promised him his glory, soothed and comforted him. Seonghwa was well aware that you were the sole reason that he had shifted his visits to Morpheus to this particular day of the week and monitored the illegal location so closely, otherwise, your face would never grace his corrupt, bleak vision. You did not deserve to go with the rest. When breaking free, one was not supposed to fall into another trap, and yet, here you were. You were not meant to be here, littering the ground that you stood on as the last of the gunpowder would settle on your perfect skin, your long, alluring eyelashes. The onyx-haired man felt a shift within himself as he mused the outcome of the unspoken plans - by the way in which Wooyoung leaned back onto the counter, a grin dancing on his features and by the way San was acting particularly kindhearted to the lonely staff who was rushing about, struggling to keep up with the visitors’ habits, he knew that tonight, they were not planning on hearing any cries for mercy. They were here to complete a mission for a higher purpose. And that mission was far from the sweet music which he had loved his whole life, and finally found again.

“They’re not supposed to be here.” he mumbled, his voice obscured by yours, echoing across and elevating to a sensual culmination.

“Aren’t we all? We’ve got to do what we’ve got to do. Think of them as a sculpture or something if it makes things easier,” Wooyoung took out a rolled up bill to put between his lips - a habit that he had formed after a few too many hits on the back of his head by San, an interesting approach to make a man quit smoking. He called it ‘smoking capitalism’, earning quite a few chuckles from the Inspectors, Seonghwa included. 

“So say someone’s going to scope the ring to clean it up a bit, would you let them hit our favourite auntie?” he asked, referring to the friendly cleaner who was probably the only one in the entire city who did not bat an eye at the violent matches that Wooyoung managed under the wraps for the regime, instead cooing over the fighters he brokered for and giving the men an extra helping of her home-cooked delicacies. In many ways, she was a mother figure for the Guardian Inspectors, despite her being at risk, every day, of being taken to the Red Humans should one of them be in a ‘different kind of mood’ on an arbitrary morning.

“Definitely not. But this singer. Who are they to you?”

“A pawn.”

“A pawn?”

“Mhm. I can pawn them in for rewards.”

“Suppose they are pretty enough, if that’s what you’re thinking of…”

“Goodness, take the pimp out of the bordello but can’t take the bordello out of the pimp. That business was shut a while back for you, no?” with a groan, Seonghwa retaliated at Wooyoung’s rather out of pocket suggestions. Over the many years of serving Z in not so ethical ways, the man had tried on a few too many hats and seen a few too many hats to retain even a sliver of compassion towards anyone except those closest. It was understandable. Odd, but understandable.

“Kidding. But for real though, what’s the use?” Wooyoung bit down on the bill softly, gaze following San who had moved towards a couple of underlings that had gathered in a booth off to the side, towards the far corner of the bar. Clearly, he was checking if they had read the room.

“Say, isn’t it Captain’s niece’s birthday soon? We don’t exactly have a musical act to hand since…” Seonghwa trailed off, knowing that Wooyoung knew what incident he was referring to, involving an accusatory phrase, a short temper and a very professional shot from a sniper rifle from the boss’s office window into the temple of a figure that was storming away from one of the many Inspector accommodations. Another one to fertilise the soil with.

“Smart. I’ll give it to ya. If you sort the business out before showtime, pretty thing’s all yours.” Wooyoung responded, patting his side where, underneath his shirt, Seonghwa knew was a holstered pistol. Pushing himself away from the counter he stood up, adjusting his long, leather coat and glove. It was not that he had a particular preference, but ever since entering the new life upon being pardoned for feeling, a life where he had to say found a home, he could not help but wish to always look just that little bit more put together, even if only to appear loyal. 

“Cheers. I’ll get them a nice candle-lit dinner to soften them up and then inform Cap’,” sounding purposefully sarcastic, Seonghwa mumbled under his nose, well aware that this was not a method that had ever been in use. One glower and curt phrase had always been enough - the rest was simply the heart’s doing masked by odd humour. 

“Awh, look at you, how sweet and lovely. What a darling,” Wooyoung teased, sending Seonghwa a wink. The music was fading away, the last notes landing on his ears, marking every moment.

“One more word and you’ll be the main course.” with his index finger he poked the centre of his fellow Inspector’s chest in threat, maintaining a cold expression.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m going to be roasting out here tonight, so make it hot with pretty thing.”

“Filth,” the taller man spat, knowing that attempting to counter his friend was nearly impossible - out of all the people he knew only Captain could fully round him in, and even then Wooyoung had a smile on his face, much to Seonghwa’s confusion.

“It’s not me who is with the heart eyes.”

“I just saw an opportunity,” playing with the leather piece that buttoned up to protect his neck, he eyed you, waiting for you to finish. Unknown to you, you did not have much time left before your very life would be placed on a scale and thoughtlessly pushed to lose against the weight of usual Strictland business. Such was the violent, catastrophic illusion of order, such was the structure that had been Seonghwa’s twisted saving grace. He was going to be doing you a favour by taking you away, won’t he? Either way, you would be out of work, and he was helping you with a little job search from one of the highest payers - chivalrous and kind hearted, that was who he was. How else could the Inspectors form any partnerships and feast on forbidden fruit otherwise? Who was he kidding - a soul like you was not meant for a life like this. But he had to try. He needed time to think. 

“Sure. Sure. An opportunity to grab the gorgeous star for yourself.”

“Oh shut up will you?” snapping, Seonghwa were desperately trying to cut the conversation short, seeing the window for him to make a beeline for the edge of the stage, towards which you promptly setting off after finishing your set, and receiving a dismal lack of applause - what else would he expect from the crowd gathered in Morpheus? Especially when the stench of iron and the final judgement was mere minutes away from materialising.

“You know that’s not my style.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be good. Hope you did not block my mustang,” throwing one last comment behind him, the solemn man was off, only barely catching Wooyoung’s half-hearted response.

“Have I ever…” 

The mission was simple. Since he was dismissed from the less than pleasant task of wiping out the bar, considering that two more senior Inspectors had made their appearance and were clearly more in the know of what was brewing, Seonghwa had only a couple of minutes before all freedom would cease to exist. And then, no heaven could bestow mercy upon neither him, nor the beauty he had come here to save for no logical reason, instead relying on some hazy version of hope and nostalgia. He had parked his ink black ride around the block - out of sight for unwanted eyes, and perfectly positioned for getaways just like this. If you could catch the Inspector’s drift, that was. One could only pray that the dazzler on stage was just as dazzling when it came to reading between the lines. He had perhaps even less than the estimated time to explain himself before Wooyoung and San would call the owner over to get the real evening show started. Time was ticking along with the skyrocketing pace of his heart as he stopped you on your tracks with a slightly outstretched leg, only to move forward and cast a shadow over you.

It was difficult to remain level-headed when, even at such proximity, in the normally less than flattering lighting, you were nothing short of a deity. Something out of fairy tales, stories of royalty or angels in kingdoms far far away, those that were not supposed to exist. But here was one, staring right into his eyes with your beautiful expressive orbs, as deep as the history that Seonghwa had raced here to try and reignite. A universe in your irises, an all-consuming black hole in your pupils, beckoning Seonghwa, leading him into a stupor before he stuffed his hands into his pockets, bringing himself out of the momentary trance by force. Time was not on his side, and he knew that it would never be unless he kept on running.

“Lovely song, that was.”

“Indeed. ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ is one of my favourites. Did you enjoy the performance?” Your speaking voice was different, of course, but nonetheless struck that stunning familiar chord within Seonghwa, one that should never see the light of day if he were to remain how he had to be. It was terrifying, how he was ready to let go of his resurrected image as an Inspector for a chance to turn the past into the present. 

You were polite. The features of your alluring face were hinting at a genuine interest, an appreciation of every movement, every breath you were taking. Though, in Seonghwa’s own line of work, particularly in the stage of undercover investigation, this was simply the usual. Show a smile, bat the eyelashes, make business, disappear. Genuine interest was an artform, but even if you were indeed expressing it in the way with which he was familiar, it felt so natural that he almost wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe this daydream who had come to change the colours of his occasional Fridays, his hunts for those straying from what Z had deemed ‘right’, leaving glimmers of memory to last him through the weeks when he had to be numb to life itself until he could come and see you again. It did not mean much to you, most likely. You were strangers in your respective new lives, and had Captain not made the decision to teach the owner of Morpheus a lethal lesson, you would have remained that way. Drifting together for a few hours, remaining distant, and drifting apart again. A forever flowing story that was to rekindle a starcrossed ‘once upon a time’ but never have that sought after resolution. A dream that reminded Seonghwa of why his unlikely survival was a blessing. As your eyes revealed a hopefulness, a plea for praise, Seonghwa gave you a soft smile.

“Of course.”

“I look forward to seeing you, you know.”

“O-oh?” Seonghwa could barely contain his surprise, the previously cool demeanour cracking into a raised eyebrow. Could you remember?

“Yes! You always sit at the bar, second stool from the left. And order… what is it… a brandy, right?”

He would be lying if he were to say he was not surprised by your suddenly chipper attitude. Almost like you were a kid who entered a candy shop for the first time to see all of your favourite treats, you excitedly revealed to Seonghwa your observations. While it was endearing to see, the shuffling behind him, along with the idea that he was not the only one intently observing left the Inspector with a sense of unease, nearly throwing him off from the initial goal that motivated him to brave talking to you in the first place.

“In…deed?”

The singer, who was previously an astounding yet distant figure captivating all who cared to look even once, rapidly transitioned into someone who he almost found endearing, the keeper of far too many qualities that cemented the rightness of his decision. You were not meant to be here, he repeated to himself. Mutters around the bar were getting louder, and as the rest of the musicians filed out of the main hall and crammed into a tiny room off to the side, in Seonghwa’s peripherals he noted San’s steady, seemingly innocent amble between the scuffed round tables and equally unpleasantly antique chairs.

“You are the only one who listens, so, how could I not notice? Actually, I wanted to talk to you properly, or at least say thank you but didn’t want to impose.”

As much as he wanted to sink into the warmth of your words and allow you to recognise him on your own accord, the rippling commotion that was finally rearing its ugly head spurred him on and struck his heart with an icy, calculating mace. He had a minute tops, knowing Wooyoung’s love for never counting down to zero before beginning.

“Well, let’s talk. Outside,” The black-clad man tried to walk off, aiming for the dark corridor at the end of which was the fire exit, but when you did not move, rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking I could buy you a drink-”

“Cute. Another time though,” seeing the tinge of disappointment in your gaze was new, and entirely unexpected, but gave Seonghwa plenty of leeway to sway you into following him, “since you watched me enough, I bet you can guess who I am. Or, what I do for work. Right?” 

A steely glare, leaving nothing open to interpretation. For additional evidence, he demonstratively adjusted his coat, loosening the belt he had tied around his waist to reveal a leather holster, discreet, gun always within reach. Attentive to detail as ever, you took note of the inconspicuous design of the pistol before he let it disappear once again under the fabric - in this city, there were few who had access to any form of weaponry, the items being so highly regulated by the government that it was nearly impossible to purchase or get licensing. Your mind began to list off options; Seonghwa clearly was neither a standard Android Guardian due to the lack of mandatory uniform, nor a scruffy criminal whom you had gotten used to over the time that had passed, nor part of the police force, nor a Class 2 Prestige Academy student. It only left an answer that shook you to the core. Of course, it was not that you did not hold the assumption in your heart. As a matter of fact, you had previously assumed that you were used to greeting people from different walks of life, all gathered in the same place, at the same time for what you wanted to believe was a ‘good time’. That was what drove you to live the life that you were living. Exist in this space, despite your pay and your security almost always not being enough, but you would give even that up if that meant you could keep your freedom.

Seonghwa was effortlessly graceful, determined in every step and gesture, not a single movement wasted. In a sense, it was as if he had purposefully learned and memorised the most efficient adjustments of the body, letting himself metamorphose into a lithe, agile animal. It was terrific, and terrifying, how at any moment he could pounce, and you would never know when until it was too late. For this hint of a reason, you decided to follow the man’s unspoken command, only whispering an airy inquiry after the other musicians, which he coldly dismissed:

“You need a better band anyways.”

---

The gravity of the situation only began to settle in when the biting breeze outside of the stuffy bar hit you, seeking opportunity to tousle your locks. The strands that had managed to fall over your face were trembling, the only sign revealing your suppressed distress as the last of Morpheus's dusk-like illumination was shut from your vision with a confident slam. Your eyes widened as you watched the Inspector, or in other words, your personal grim reaper, flip a lock on the door - previously thought to be inaccessible to anyone except the owner, done so masterfully as though he were the one who had installed it in the first place. An exit, a saving grace for innocents inside, turned into a dead end - more symbolic than one would ever initially assume. He trailed up the length of his arm stopping for a moment at the material that covered his shoulder, listening to leather hit leather. Seonghwa could only find calculated resolve within himself. This was the usual for him, and that after weighing all the options, he had logically come to the conclusion that the demise of the people inside was indeed the most attractive option.

As you heard the first shot resound inside of Morpheus, you shuddered, but did not dare stop following the man in the trench coat as he strode on ahead, hands remaining in his pockets. To any onlooker it would seem that he was relaxed as ever, out for a late night walk in a neighbourhood he knew better than he knew himself. Breath in, breath out; you were trying to remind yourself of the simple act, focusing harder than you had ever done during your performances. Imagining your diaphragm stretching, letting the lungs take in as much air as possible and-

Another shot. Breath knocked from you, balance off kilter, you desperately wanted to run. Anywhere. Maybe you should have stayed, not picked up on the subtle offer of your life being spared. In that way you would not have to live with the guilt of not having said anything to your fellow bandmates, not having said thank you to the owner for… what was there to thank anyone for? Out of habit, you lifted a hand to brush over your ear, echoes of the time when you had first felt emotion rippling across your body, making you shiver. You were all fools misled by hope for a brighter tomorrow in a world that was permanently overcast. Where did this running lead you? Where did your wistful song guide you? Back into the arms of the apocalypse - broad-shouldered with hair the colour of ink, the last thing you would see before disappearing for good. At least you should thank your former so-called colleagues for the information about the common demise. Tears welled up in your eyes as you obeyed the lean man’s orders and practically toppled into the black vehicle parked by the Morpheus, a lonesome yelp masked by the gunfire and indecipherable orders. 

You had no idea where he was taking you, and you did not dare ask. The man reminded you of all you had been trained to avoid in your new life, a threat, a weapon, a soldier. His gloved right hand remained resting beside the gearshift, while his left coldly gripped the steering wheel. Not a single one of his muscles appeared to be relaxed, and not a single movement had a semblance to anything natural. An automaton in the driver’s seat, you wanted to feel comforted by the idea that you were the only one truly human in the car, for the idea that someone as brutal as a Guardian Inspector could be conscious or decisive was too strong of an agony. 

At the same time, in the moments where the Inspector turned his head to check the surroundings, you noted something familiar. He dashed past the blue, purple and aquamarine signs that lined the streets of the district you had learned to love, himself turning into a painting. Be it in the angles that formulated his stern face, or in the elegance that he was unable to conceal, the past crawled out of a long-forgotten cavern in your psyche and gnawed at your nerves, just out of reach of realisation. Perhaps in another time, you had known him. Perhaps in one of the banned art pieces, you had seen him. At the same time, this could not be the first Guardian Inspector you had encountered - they were all similar enough in demeanour, so what was another face? Equally as entitled, above the law. Above a runaway like you. You were vermin. The enemy. A traitor to the Academy, to Strictland, to Z himself. Or so you were told. The only thing that could be different about this Inspector, was that he could be your last.

A sharp stabbing sensation spread from your temples and what had to be through your skull, jabbing into bone and into the cerebellum. Nauseous, you shut your eyes and clutched your head in a futile attempt to seek some form of relief. The car roared, and a sudden stench of rubber and concrete penetrated through every crevice, choking your senses and making you taste the acrid pollution. One turn, another, your organs were being jolted back and forth as the monstrous engine urged on by none other than the embodiment of oblivion dragged the car across eternal misery of long-abandoned districts.

“Oh goodness…” a feeble whisper left your lips. You reached out to grab hold of the door handle, peering at the grooves to find at least something to focus on. His vision was swimming in your eyes, etchings of your surroundings morphing into repressed memories. 

A boy marching beside you to class, head held at the angle commanded to all academy students. A young man, dressed in all white with black locks parted in the middle. A solemn stare, unreadable, though not fully blank as it should be. But at the same time, how could you, another student of Prestige, detect that something was not quite right? Since when could you feel? You lifted your head cautiously to try peeking at the Inspector again, but he was frozen. Only the abrupt tightening of his gloved hand around the steering wheel and a determined turn reminded you that he was not quite an automaton. 

“I must be dreaming…” you blinked away a teary blur, and clenched onto your dress for the remainder of the journey, feverishly recounting whatever lyrics you could. Your little safe haven, your precious prayers to the arts - truth which you had discovered after abandoning everything you could have been.

Your hand moved on instinct to the side of your head, feeling for what once had been the hub of your consciousness. A chip that made you feel right at home, heartless, but with a purpose. Forty years of education, an eternity to serve something greater than you; clear goals, a mission for your generation and many that would come after you. Hand in hand, you were soldiers of a catastrophically closed-minded society; at the time, however, you could not be ‘happier’. Or rather, more numb. Because you did not know of negative nor positive, you could not experience either, and so remained in a stable equilibrium, just as the superpower of this forlorn land had instructed. Disease was the human emotion. You were ‘healthy’. Until that boy appeared in your life, and revealed himself to you.

Bright-eyed, hopeful, excited. So unlike anyone. And against better judgement, you let the inklings of curiosity drip over your heart, and the beginnings of affection take flight. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, a smile brighter than the sun, a soothing mellifluous voice, vowing to you that you could build another life together. A life much more beautiful than one constructed with deception and hollow propaganda. What could a little tap of a breaker do to you? Apparently, it could change your destiny. 

As you massaged your temples, you locked gazes with the man in front of you, but met the boy from your past in the mirror. That same worry, knotted eyebrows, concern and care so evident you could touch it if your fingers grazed his cheek. You could not move, even when he turned back to the road, and continued to stare at the rear view mirror in the hopes of seeing your daydream again. You had to be wrong. This had to be you hallucinating. You must be just… afraid. Out of your mind. And so you were recalling one of the few times when you thought the world could do you no harm. 

“Get out,” a command. As cold as steel. The engine was still roaring in your ears, despite the surroundings having gone dead silent.

A click. The doors unlocked. You could run if you wanted to. Though you were fully aware that the action would shorten your lifespan to a mere few seconds. You remained seated, gaze falling onto your lap, and listened to the painful succession of sounds that led the man to open your door, and roughly grab your upper arm.

“I said, get out,” you followed him like a rag doll, knowing that any attempts to resist would put you into even more danger. At the same time, even though the Inspector was obviously attempting to instil terror and a twisted respect for him, he could not face you. Consciously he made an effort to barely raise his lashes, thus keeping his scrutiny concealed. Reading through his hesitation was easy enough.

He could not keep his hand on you for a second longer after you stood up straight, darting away as though you were an open flame. The man cleared his throat and locked the car, before gesturing towards an abandoned building that loomed over the gravelly opening where you had completed your journey. Comically, it reminded you of Prestige, even though the latter was of much larger proportions and possessed a more unique shape. Perhaps it was the fact that this block, what used to be an apartment building, was crumbling, made you think of the academy’s inner workings. Rotting away. The cogs in the machine tearing each other apart.

This might be your end or your beginning, you were not sure which one. With an astounding loyalty, you let yourself be guided into the long-forgotten cement fortress, up exposed stairs with metal railings, past walls left bare, illuminated by an exposed moonlight, laying down a carpet of silver. It was oddly easy to think that life was beautiful when it was likely going to be taken away from you. The walk was silent, and the longer it lasted, the more at peace you felt. The odd step rang out and echoed like the gunshots you had heard, so surreal that you could barely believe it. It must have been a joke. Fireworks, or someone just being a little boisterous. Morpheus had seen so many colours of Z’s regime, it could not disappear now… oh who were you kidding. It was done for. You little version of an escape. Your space to feel.

As you made sneaky glances at the Inspector to your right, who not so ceremoniously had loosened his coat’s belt once more to have easy access to his gun, you could not help but think of the boy. You had followed his advice, made a run for it while he had been taken away by the Red Humans. Two youngsters who betrayed the regime. But who was truly free? The one who had been exterminated, or the one who had to live in fear, but at least felt the ruthless emotion?

The enigmatic man slowed down, and so did you. He made a turn, so did you, acting as his shadow. You were certain that you were probably breathing at the same rate. An empty hallway, lined with equally empty rooms and destroyed apartments. From a humble abode to rubble, you could see the horrific vistas of the district, and the drop to the cold ground below. No wall, no security, no certainty. It was only you and your fate in the form of a man who seemed to possess too much of a likeness to the keeper of your fragile adoration.

The Inspector walked in front and turned to face you. You froze, burning under his scrutiny. Eyes like scalding cold ice, assessing you, condemning you. Your best listener, now listening to your terrified heart. For what could be the last time, you felt alive. As the man reached into his pocket, you prepared for the worst, however, he only motioned with his head for you to follow him. Confused, you obeyed, finding yourself in a more secluded corner of the floor, one which had remotely retained the appearance of an actual room. Stuck in the same few seconds, there were no further commands from the Inspector, causing your mind to wander, and lips to move on their own accord:

“I should not be here.”

“Neither should I,” he deadpanned, though his choice of words was unsettling. Wasn’t he on a mission?

“I should be dead,” you persisted.

“I should have more blood on my hands.”

A pause. You were in shock, pointlessly clinging onto your own upper arms, stuck in a false embrace. Like prey that had been cornered, you were beyond the point of trusting survival instincts. You simply wanted for the interaction, or dare you say, interrogation, to be over, so you could be given away to the Red Humans, to whatever the afterlife had to offer, in peace. If you were to be melted, then so be it. If your departure were to be short and sweet, so be it. But a little question in your head still remained, a persistent worm which you decided to unleash given your hopeless circumstances:

“Then why-”

“It is pointless to ask when there is no answer,” the man answered coldly, not sparing you a glance as he picked at a filthy off-white tulle which covered a blown out window - now just a frame, with his gloved hand, glaring at the pitiful greyness outside the abandoned building before wiping the hand off with a handkerchief produced out of the pocket into which he had stuffed his hand.

A few steps separated you, but you knew better than to try and make a run for it – the man was armed, and you assumed that the gun you spotted was not the only weapon in his arsenal. He was menacing, unpredictable, and very dangerous. Alongside that, as much as you hated to admit, but the Inspectors were nothing short of extraordinary when it came to their expertise and training. Unlike Android Guardians, they were the leading forces, capable of high-risk decision making and unparalleled critical thinking. If you were to try to describe them, you always ended up thinking of chess. That was what they were playing whenever they were out in the field.

In fact, it was for this exact reason that you were concerned about this Inspector’s behaviour – it was out of line. Inefficient. Sub-optimal. You wondered if this was a new strategy or there was a higher plan; there were so many possibilities that your head could start spinning. You dug your fingers into rapidly cooling flesh, waking yourself up from the distressed rumination. What was the Inspector going to do to you? You had followed his demands so far, and weren’t putting up a fight - what more could he want?

He was unreadable. Gestures unpredictable, expression stoic, he regarded you with an air of superiority characteristic of people from his class. Serpent-like and calculating eyes, regal nose, facial structure reminiscent of a statue, plush perfectly shaped lips – all were a nod to his upbringing, you bet. He did not feel real. Reminiscent of automatons that the regime sometimes used in place of regular Guardians during high-volume riots, he was what one would call the ‘ideal specimen’. Down to the strand of wavy hair that fell on his face, he was a beautiful painting of your worst nightmare. Life had been unkind to you, you decided. It only showed you something prettier than the night lights when it was the last thing you would see.

The man stepped towards you, and your eyelids slammed shut automatically. You did not wish to see your death. The sound of leather against leather, the tied coat belt, the creaking of ancient rotten wood planks under lacquered ankle boots. He must be getting ready to end you. Were you too high profile to be lying with the other bodies in the club? Were you more dangerous in the Inspector’s view, being a singer, or as one could say a ‘spreader’ of inappropriate entertainment. Was this treason? Terrorism? You were not sure – the sentence changed more than the weather. But were you an enemy? With confidence, you had to answer with a Yes. Having escaped the regime, and according to those who had helped you regain some parts of your past self, having had a part in the uprising within Prestige Academy, you were the worst kind of citizen of Strictland. Disobedient, unchanging, and influential. You were waiting for the cocking of a pistol, for cool metal to hit your head, and for the world to go even darker as you collapsed on to the floorboards. The man had to be taking out his gun. He must have taken you away from the raid to be particularly ruthless. A sadist? Maybe. You had no time to judge.

You felt the fabric of your shimmering dress under your fingertips, and imagined you were preparing for a show of a lifetime. You counted your inhales and exhales like you would do before a performance, and conjured an audience in your mind. More rustling, another step. He, that boy, no, young man, was in the audience. Still in the Prestige Academy uniform, but the chip was long gone. He was giving you an encouraging smile eager to hear what you had achieved in your time away from the academy. Leather caressed your hand and you flinched, comforted only by how cautious the action was. Hand turned to raise your palm to the omniscient skies, your illusions combined with reality - what was Seonghwa to give to you?

Funny, how in critical moments, the mind could give you what you had longed to forget. Seonghwa. His name tasted sweet, with a bitter aftertaste. A fine wine, dizzying, addictive. A handsome, talented student who had the future ahead of him, only to throw it away for the taste of something more ‘real’ in his eyes. Something cold was being pressed into your palm, reminiscent of a large bullet or a device your fingers could remember before your mind. Your eyes shot open and were met with a dream and a nightmare. Finally, it hit you. Behind the Inspector’s facade, a mask crafted by years of experience and brutality, was the same boy, who, just like now, pressed a breaker into your palm.

“Wake up.”

Your gaze fell to the intricate metal handiwork, spotting the carving of an ‘A’ contained in a circle right at the base. The taste of anarchy, an uprising, revolution, a hope for something better flowing through a tragic story you two had written. At last, it had a resolution, and you were more than content with who was holding the lethal pen. You stared at the breaker. The very thing that brought you out of an eternal somnolence, submission to a regime. You had woken up then, and never could sleep.

“Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer… the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…” you lifted your head once more, staring into Seonghwa’s softened eyes. He had matured, his features having become siren-like, dangerous, seductive. Befitting his character. You smiled sadly, “...or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and, by opposing end them?” He remained quiet, as if he was the one waiting for you to decide your own destiny, “Shakespeare. Hamlet. Ever read it? Or do they not let you?”

“I-” he cleared his throat, concealing a pang of nervousness, “I am familiar with his work.”

“Mm, isn’t that a criminal offence?”

“What is?”

“Reading work exploring human emotion… sounds like treason to me.”

“Reading does not imply sympathising.”

“But you do.”

Again, a heavy pause. Seonghwa rocked from one foot to another one time, another - an old habit? Or an attempt to convince you that he was at least a fraction the same?

“I… I do not,” before you could scowl, he continued, “‘Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once’. I am more partial to this way of thinking.”

“Ah, the irony of it all.”

Your hand formed a fist around the device, and you kept on searching for fragments of the man you loved inside of the new Seonghwa before you. In flashes, you spotted glimmers of gold, feeble hints for something that could be concealed in the depths of his soul. 

“So, are you going to make me a valiant person?”

“What?” 

“Wasn’t that what you were supposed to be doing?” feeling a little more brave, you taunted him, wishing to see what his limit was. Whether he was lying to you just to set you at ease and make his job easier. So he could see one final sense of betrayal in your pupils.

“We are already dead, Y/N.”

---

Music. A universal language. The biggest risk for a community that someone wanted to silence. So you hummed one song after another, head leaning against Seonghwa’s shoulder as you sat on the concrete floor, in the corner of the room that was barely holding itself together. Bathed in silver light, you shared with him the luxury of reminiscing, mourned what had been lost only to have the feeling be replaced by a budding desire to wish upon anything at all.

Seonghwa might have lied to many of the Inspectors, and was in danger of facing a fate worse than extermination, but at least he did not lie to you. And because he did not lie to you, you were here; you were real. He could have the pleasure of having you beside him, wrapped up in his leather coat; your dress was not exactly ‘inhospitable conditions’ material, as pretty and befitting as it was. You were refusing to let go of the breaker as though it was the tether to a more sunny past, not that Seonghwa would ever dare pry it out of your hands. So long as you could keep singing for him forever. Even when music were to cease existing, and when the sky would fall down, he would still hear your voice. How many times had he visited Morpheus in secret, outside of his official inspections and scouting missions? How quickly had he transferred into a field role just for the chance to find you? How had he managed to remain alive even though his sentence had been supposedly set in stone, and he was still feeling? With each question, the answer grew blurrier and blurrier, until it no longer existed. Perhaps this was a manifestation of destiny. You were supposed to meet again after so much turmoil, so you did. Curious.

“What song do you like?” your voice, sleepy, serene, cut through his ruminations. Seonghwa looked down and to his side, meeting a gentle gaze. 

“What song do you want to sing?”

“Mm, no that’s not an answer,” you snaked your hands around his arm and pulled him closer. 

“But I like everything you sing. Because you sing it.”

“Sweet, but I’m at a loss.”

“Then let’s be quiet. Together. For as long as we can.”

“There’s not too long left, is there?”

Your question was rhetorical. Both you and Seonghwa were aware of it. Time in Strictland was not governed by the individual but by an unforgiving system. A person, or perhaps a symbol, holding the clock with an iron grip and making the hands fly faster and faster until a second was an impossible measure. Involuntarily, he sighed, causing wisps of steam to escape his lips and rise to the exposed armature of the floor above. With cooling temperatures came the cooling heart, and it was difficult to tell what it was that you loved. What was it that made you feel alive?

“You know, they gave me a choice,” Seonghwa began. There was no reason why he should be telling you about what had happened to him, but the sombre atmosphere seemed to bode well for a confession. You did not interrupt, choosing to remain passive, resigned, “either die for what I believe in, or admit I was wrong.”

“Funny how they gave you a choice,” the infamous ‘they’. The Guardians, the regime, the enemy. Now turned into a friend. Interesting how life changed.

“Definitely was not what I expected.”

“You sure they didn’t say ‘sike’ at any point and you just got lucky?”

“I don’t think they can miss,” a simple, but sharp fact. You bit your lower lip, “...anyways. You can probably guess what I chose to do. The only caveat is that I admitted I was wrong… for a different thing.”

“Do tell.”

“I was wrong for putting you in danger, Y/N.”

“Nothing we could do about that. We were two fools in love.”

Seonghwa detangled himself from you, only to grasp your free hand in his, place the other on your thigh and meet you face to face. Misty-eyed, his rationality was growing frantic, and you knew that at any moment he could snap, and only the clearing night knew what would happen then.

“But I was the one to jolt you out of a peaceful existence. I was selfish-” After years of doubting himself, sinking into a destructive illusion where he would march alongside others like a machine, he was breathing. Much to his regret, it was a sensation far too sweet and heavenly, worth every revolution and rebellion.

“I don’t regret it.”

“...What?”

“I would put this thing to my head time and time again if I had to,” you raised the breaker to eye level, attempting to get at least a smile or a chuckle out of Seonghwa. Much to your dismay, it did the opposite. You would be lying if you were to proclaim you were euphoric. 

“I- I’m… Y/N I’m so sorry…” you shook your head and pulled him in, until his exhales and inhales were tickling your neck. Hunched over you like a black-clad shield, Seonghwa was unmoving. Eyes darting down, you spotted that he had taken the pistol out of the holster, and upon a second glance to where he had been sitting, you noted its lonely presence, tucked away with debris and gravel.

“You are alive. And clearly still care enough to remember me. That’s your apology. And your punishment,” in a soothing gesture, you ran your fingers through his hair, cautiously at first, then turning your ministrations continuous, measured out when Seonghwa sat back down on the concrete, only this time nuzzled into you. 

“Sorry…” he forced out, choking up.

The moon counted down the time while lazily passing over the building. You were at a crossroads. In haste, Seonghwa had told you of the opportunity to serve the Guardian Inspectors, being a private entertainer of sorts, but he knew you would refuse. Fast. Becoming one’s own enemy was the one thing you would not follow Seonghwa into doing. And that is why he admired you. You were strong. You were truly alive. A bird soaring in the skies in spite of the risks of being hunted, being shot. Simply for the feeling of the wind under your wings, to be closer to the stars and to sing your song loud and clear, every note a celestial blessing. 

“Blue bird…”

“Hm?”

“I think I have an idea… if you are willing to go into hiding, that is.”

“Planning uprisings are we?”

“Oh they’ve been long in the works, my love. It is part of my job to close my eyes when necessary, and when convenient.”

“Are you about to be wrong again?”

“Maybe. Or very, very right. Depends on how the song sounds to you.”

---

Walking down the corridors of the headquarters, hands behind his back and appearance pristine, Seonghwa was nothing short of a model Inspector. Low ranking employees cowered before him and bowed, while his immediate colleague Wooyoung smirked, attempting to hook any information out. 

“So… where'd the pretty star go?”

Silently, Seonghwa handed him a slip recording the disposal of an ‘unnamed entity’.

“ Oh… well that’s harsh. What did they do, reject you?”

“Apparently once gone so far astray, one cannot be changed. I had to do what was best for the regime.”

“Such an example for others. Wow. Almost too good to be true, Park. Well, I’ll be reporting that the extermination and cleanup of Morpheus was successful.”

“You do that.”

While Wooyoung turned the corner, Seonghwa continued to walk straight down the metal corridor, eyes locked onto the very end. Morpheus was no longer, indeed. But your song was still ringing in his ears, and no doubt, there would be a time when it would resound over the many speakers planted all across Strictland.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Bluebirds singing a song

Nothing but bluebirds all day long

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you're in love, my how they fly

Blue days, all of them gone

Nothing but blue skies from now on

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[letsgetrowdy43]

Omg, imagine Dad!Quinn gets asked to do a podcast episode, and he's super excited to do a little media that isn't run by the league or any broadcasting networks.

He gets to the set and he thinks it's gonna be so chill, and it is for the most part. They talk about the babies and the summers in Michigan, what it's like to be a leader at such a young age, it's all fun, for the first half of the episode!!

Up until they get into talking about his university days, it goes from chatting about hockey to the hookup culture and stigma that surrounds players.

They are poking around trying to get a little insight into what an 18/19-year-old Quinn was like in uni and then in his rookie year in a new city. And almost immediately they are asking about girls and whatnot.

Quinn was all sweet like “Oh, it has always been my wife Honey, she's always been by my side!”

And the interviewers are not buying into his nice guy “act,” and they bring up that it's common knowledge that they split up for a bit and they wanna know how much action he was getting as a young player in such a large market while he was single.

Quinn is immediately put off, “I'm sorry what does this have to do with hockey??” and they keep pushing this narrative that Honey was holding him back in his early years and he must've slept around a bit when he first got to Vancouver because that's just how guys work and blah blah blah.

“I love my wife now, and I loved my wife then, even when she was on the other side of the continent, and that's all you need to know,” is all Quinn has to say to get the conversation to be put to rest

It's safe to say that Quinn is deemed the league's number-one wife guy the second the podcast is posted!!

[tinydefector]

Star Gala dress

(Mtmte) Starscream × human reader

A small little thing I enjoy is Senator Starscream of Vos, and this also gave me the excuse to write about this dress.

WARNING: hints to future smut, mentioned nudity.

Wordcount: 2k

Request and ask open, read pinned post

Starscream masterlist

11

111

________________

The young human liaison stands off to the corner of Starscream's office desk reading through appointments and schedules for upcoming events. "Sir, I have more council data for you," they call out to the Seeker as they turn and walk closer to him, transferring the schedules and meetings.

Starscream barely acknowledged the young human, continuing to pore over reports and schematics on his desk. As they approached, he let out an exasperated ventilation and raised his optics to meet their gaze.

"What is it now? I'm a very busy mech, in case you hadn't noticed." He gestured imperiously at the datapads stacked high around him. "I don't have time for the trivial matters. So this had better be important."

The seeker leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chromsteel cockpit impatiently. , he had little patience for being interrupted while working. But as the human was his earth embassedor, it was his unfortunate role to deal with their petulant requests and demands.

"Well? Out with it. I don't have all cycle," Starscream snapped. His piercing red optics bored down at the human, he knows he shouldn't be snapping at them, but the stress of the cycle was already getting to him.

They sigh softly, "There's gala that you have been requested to be at as one of the 'Repentant' and also new senator of Vos. They have asked that we both attend for publicity purposes. They want both the senator and the human ambassador attending. I believe they want you to do some speaking or such after the incident with those protested outside your home, but from what I can read its mainly just other higher ups of Cybertron's social networking coming together for political face value again" they reply while scrolling throught their own data pad.

Starscream let out an irritable ventilation at the news. "Another one of these pointless mingling exhibitions, I presume?" he hissed derisively.

Playing the politician was not something he had ever seen himself doing, he had been a military leader and scientist, but he had little choice as one of the few remaining Vosian Seekers with enough knowledge on political matters. Since the fall of Vos, he had taken up representing his Seeker constituents on Cybertron - whether he wanted to or not.

"And I suppose they think parading you around with me will make me seem more 'palatable' to the masses," he scoffed, glaring down at his little ambassador. As if mingling with snobby council mech wouldn't do his prossesor in more.

Still, he had little choice if he wished to hold onto the dwindling scraps of power and influence he had left. With a frustrated huff, Starscream rose from his seat. "Very well, we'll attend this affair," he grumbled begrudgingly. "But make no mistake - you are to stay by my side the whole even, primus knows im not hunting you down if one of those council mech get their servos on you. Try not to embarrass me."

A soft laugh leaves the embassdors lips'. "Sir considering you already put up with me as is, I won't be leaving your side regardless. Plus you enjoy my charming wit and gossip to much. But yes I believe they wish for you to show off our alliance" they reply with a smile to the Decepticon as they move closer to wards him.

Starscream let out an impatient vent at the human's response. "Your company is a necessary chore at best, fleshbag," he retorted. He glowered down at the tiny organic, wings flicking irritably.

They walk up closer staring him in the optics with a raised brow ans crossed arms . "A chore huh?, I didnt realise getting kisses being a chore Mr, guess i won't be sharing the bed with you tonight since its such a chore" they teases their lover, knowing full well they had caught starscream in a fib.

Starscream's optics flashed dangerously at the human's teasing remark. "Careful," he growled softly."

However, his armour flared subtly in reaction to their challenge. As much as he loathed admitting any weakness, this tiny organic had somehow managed to work their way past his defenses. Against his better judgment, the Seeker  found himself strangely enamoured with the human.

Leaning down until his facial plates were mere inches from their upturned face, Starscream indulged in a quiet vent. "You know as well as I that appearances must be maintained in public," he stated lowly. "But in private...well. Let's just say I find your company... not entirely objectionable."

His clawed digit reached out to delicately brush their cheek in a rare unguarded moment of affection. Despite his cold demeanour, Starscream cared deeply for his consort, however much he refused to show such vulnerability openly.

A soft laugh leaves their lips as they run a hand across starscream's faceplate. "Hmmm, keep telling yourself that handsome," they reply before pressing a kiss to starscream's lips. " For all your snark and scowling, you're not as big of an asshole as you try to act." they hum contently.

Starscream's optics flashed at the human's brazen words, but he made no move to rebuke them further. Instead, he vented softly as their lips met his own, the gentle contact stirring something deep within his spark.

"In matters of politics and power, have weaknesses make you easy prey," he stated gruffly, though without his earlier bite. Seekers valued strength and cunning above all else.

Still, behind closed doors was another matter. "You have a most insolent mouth... but I confess, where you are concerned, I find I do not entirely mind."

His clawed digits reached to ghost almost tenderly along their cheek. Starscream found he was willing to set aside his usual façade. They had come to mean more to him than he ever dared admit.

"Hmm, glad you enjoy when I talk my mind, Stars." They pressed another kiss to his lips before just resting against starscream's bulk. "Fuck I need to find something decent to wear if I'm going to get paraded around a social gathering" they mumble softly. They weren't initially prepared for an event like that, most times they stuck to the office and were never far from the seeker.

Starscream let out a soft vent as their lips met once more. "In private, you may say what you wish, fleshling," he replied in a rumble. "But do try to mind your glossa in public. Less i have to get involved"

The Seeker peered down at their smaller form resting against him protectively. "As for appropriate attire, I may have something in storage that could suffice for your diminutive size."

During Vos's heyday, the Seekers had many diplomatic functions requiring certain getups. While the outfits were tailored for flightsuits and armour, perhaps a piece could be tailored down further for a human or some that were originally for pets of past senators.

"Come. Let us search my archives and see if any pieces are in presentable enough condition after vorns of neglect," Starscream said, extending a clawed digit for them to climb onto. The public face he showed the world was cold and severe, but in private moments, his consort brought out a softer, rarer side to the fierce Seeker.

Testing on clothing for a gala wasn't what they had planned, but it was enjoyable except for the fact that Starscream wasn't happy with anything they had been tired of yet. "Stars, this is the 8th outfit. Are you really that picky?" They ask while grabbing another outfit.

they slowly changed into it, making sure the chains hung  the right way and the choker was set in place. They walk out wearing a shimmering black dress, which showed skin of their hips, neck chest, and arms. It makes starscream stop to admire. "What about this one?" The call out while double checking everything was in place.

Starscream's optics roved appraisingly over the human as they emerged wearing the shimmering black dress. "Hmm, not bad..." he murmured appreciatively. As much as he grumbled about the task, the Seeker did appreciate aesthetic beauty. and this particular outfit did justice to their form. "Spin," he says while making a motion with his servo.

"The material compliments your organic optical structure and plating," Starscream observed. As a scientist at Spark, he couldn't help but be intrigued by alien biology, however primitive. And he had to admit, the fragile frame could produce pleasing visual and tactile sensations on occasion.

Venting softly, the Decepticon stroked a clawed digit gently down their arm. "I suppose this one will suffice to showcase our...alliance, as they say. It highlights certain appealing assets while maintaining... some modesty." His mouthplates twitched in a rare half-smile. "You clean up passably well for a human, sparkbug."

They roll their eyes at starscream before grabbing his servo and pressing a kiss to it. "Glad you like how I clean up, Mr. demanding, your privilege is showing again," they reply with a teasing smile. "You could use a new lick of paint before the event too, don't want these little scratches on show" the state with a wink before walking to go get changed out of the dress and to store for the gala.

Starscream let out an amused vent at the human's spirited retort. "Insolent creature," he said with a hint of affection. 

Still, he made no move to rebuke them further. As loath as he was to admit any chinks in his armor, this human was right, he did indeed need a new coat of paint before the event, less the other mech and femme figure out the scratches were from the ambassador.

The Seeker watched appreciatively as they began to change out of the dress, leaving their back exposed to him. "Do try not to damage that piece before the gala. It would reflect poorly on me to have my...consort attired in anything less than their best." His mouthplates quirked faintly.

"I'll make sure to keep it safe and ready for the gala," they reply only to gasp softly when they feel starscreams lips against their back.

Starscream rumbled softly as his intake pressed gentle kisses to the human's neck, relishing their pleased reaction.

"See that you do, sparkbug," he murmured against their spine. "I wish to show off my talented...consort to my peers." His gaze held an unfamiliar warmth as he gazed upon the tiny organic, his servos wrap around their waist, digits spreading out Across their soft skin.

Humans were primitive, fragile things, but this one stirred something within the Seeker none had before. With surprisingly tender digits, Starscream traced idle patterns against their side, lingering to savour the minute but pleasing tactile feedback their skin provided with tiny bumps.

"Now, let us complete preparations for this tiresome political display. But know that after, your frame is mine and mine alone to clain," Starscream murmured possessively against their ear, relishing their shiver of reaction. His human may be small and fragile, but they had become his in a way none ever had before.

They laugh. "I didn't realise you liked the dress that much, hmm shame you have to wait three cycle before you get to rip it off me" they teases him with a quick kiss, as they try to flee his grasp.

Starscream let out an irritated vent at the human's teasing words. "Insolent little pest you are," he growled, capturing their intake in another firm kiss to wipe the smug look off their faceplate. 

While he cherished this fragile organic, their boldness tried his patience at times. "Three cycles, is it?" The mighty Seeker rumbled against their ear again, glossa flicking out teasingly. "Very well then, bug. But know that when the time comes, I fully intend to savour stripping that fine material from your form... and everything underneath. I intend to have you bed bound for a while. " His clawed digits tracing almost affectionately over their frame left no doubt as to his meaning.

"I very much look forward to it, my handsome shooting Star," they reply.

[fandomtrumpshate]

FTH 2024: Supported Nonprofit Organizations

Here are the nonprofit organizations that will be supported by this year's FTH auction. Many of these orgs will be familiar from last year's list, but we've cycled in some new groups as well. In particular, because it's a major election year in the US, we've brought in (or brought back) organations focusing on voter enfranchisement.

If you are a FTH creator and you want to ask your bidders to support an organization that’s not on the list, please read our policy on outside organizations here.

Bellingcat *

Bellingcat is an independent investigative collective of researchers, investigators and citizen journalists brought together by a passion for open source research in the public interest.

Civil Rights Education and Enforcement Center *

The Civil Rights Education and Enforcement Center (CREEC) is a nonprofit legal organization that fights for liberation and equity through the lens of intersectional disability justice.

In Our Own Voice: National Black Women’s Reproductive Justice Agenda *

A national-state partnership focused on lifting up the voices of Black women leaders at the national and regional levels in our fight to secure Reproductive Justice for all women, girls, and gender-expansive individuals, NBWRJA delivers proactive advocacy and policy solutions to address issues at the intersections of race, gender, class, sexual orientation and gender identity.

Life After Hate

LAH provides support to people leaving hate groups, and providing pluralism education and training to vulnerable young people.

Middle East Children's Alliance *

MECA is a nonprofit organization working for the rights and the well-being of children in the Middle East. They collect funds in order to provide direct aid, financial support for community projects, water purification systems, and university scholarships, and also create educational and cultural programs in the US and internationally to increase cultural understanding.

National Network to End Domestic Violence *

NNEDV offers a range of programs and initiatives to address the complex causes and far-reaching consequences of domestic violence.

Never Again Action *

A Jewish-led mobilization against the persecution, detention, and deportation of immigrants in the United States, NAA takes on campaigns against detention centers and ICE training programs, and organizes mutual aid and deportation defense.

Razom *

Razom initiates short and long-term projects, or collaborates on existing projects with partner organizations, which help Ukraine stay on the path of fostering democracy and prosperity

Sherlock’s Homes Foundation *

SHF provides housing, employment opportunities, and a loving support system for homeless LGBTQ+ young adults so that they can live fearlessly as their authentic selves. Within these homes, young adults learn about responsibility, accountability, financial independence, life skills, and how to love themselves

Spread the Vote

STV helps eligible voters make their voices heard through voter education, supporting voters through the process of getting necessary ID, and advocating against voter suppression laws.

Violence Policy Center *

VPC works to stop gun death and injury through research, education, advocacy, and collaboration; exposes the profit-driven marketing and lobbying activities of the firearms industry and gun lobby, and offers unique technical expertise to policymakers, organizations, and advocates.

VoteRiders

VR works to help all citizens exercise their right to vote. It informs and helps citizens to secure their voter ID as well as inspires and supports organizations, local volunteers, and communities to sustain voter ID education and assistance efforts.

Umbrella: Environmental orgs

For the past four years, FTH has supported one “umbrella” cause: we invite participants to donate to their own local grassroots organization, while also suggesting a handful of exemplary organizations working in communities where the need is especially acute. This year our umbrella category is environmental organizations.

Pollinator Partnership *

Deploy/Us *

Together Bay Area

Wildlands Restoration Volunteers

Coral Restoration Foundation *

++

Organizations marked with an asterisk (*) allow for international donations directly through their websites. The orgs without asterisks may take international donations through a paypal or venmo account. If you are a non-US-based bidder/donor and you are having trouble finding an organization to which you can donate, please email us directly at fandomtrumpshate @ gmail . com.

[eternal-echoes]

Ordinary Palestinians want to build a prosperous, functioning society. Hamas, in its obsession with annihilating Israel, doesn't care about that. It wishes only to bring about a genocidal Islamist dystopia. It is Hamas, after all, that holds Palestinians hostage in Gaza, setting up military installations in — and launching rockets from — civilian areas in the full knowledge that counterstrikes will kill innocent people. It is Hamas that impoverishes Palestinians by stealing humanitarian aid to fund its terror. This is what 'by any means necessary' truly signifies: supreme callousness towards Palestinian life. If you genuinely want to see peace between Israelis and Palestinians, or more generally between Muslims and Jews in the Middle East, then Hamas should be your enemy. And even if — like many in the West, as we can now see — you don't care at all about Israeli or Jewish lives, even if you care only about the lives of Palestinians, Hamas is still your enemy. After all, Hamas ruthlessly persecutes any Palestinians who disagree with it: a 2022 U.S. State Department report found that, among other abuses, Hamas detained and assaulted critical journalists. It is especially hostile to public figures associated with its rival Fatah, the Palestinian party voted out of office in Gaza in 2006, but which still runs the West Bank. Hamas harasses its own dissidents, and has invaded the home of at least one young critical activist, telling his parents to keep their son under control — or else. As a Dutch MP in 2004 and 2005, I travelled to the West Bank and met Palestinians. In public, they spouted all the usual lines about Israel being their 'oppressor'. But once the cameras were switched off, they spoke more truthfully. They complained bitterly about their treatment by Hamas and other radical groups, and told me how money meant to feed the people was being taken to fund those organisations' activities and their leaders' luxurious lifestyles. Arabs and Palestinians alike told me how fed up they were with conflict, and how ready they were for peace. Hamas, like other Islamist groups, has done its best over the course of decades to stomp all over those wishes. And it has been successful. The shocking rise in anti-Semitism in the West owes much to the entrenched Islamist networks that have spent years stirring up this ancient hatred. Europe must now wake up to these fifth columnists who shamelessly celebrate violence and bigotry, promoting hatred of the Jewish minority in Europe. The West must also wake up to the moral corruption of its own Hamas supporters, from Left-wing university students to flag-waving street thugs. Meanwhile, elite human-rights organisations need to do far more to name terrorism when they see it. It is horrifying to see Amnesty International claiming that one of the 'root causes' of the crisis is 'Israel's system of apartheid imposed on Palestinians'. Human Rights Watch, meanwhile, should do more than merely equivocating in its insistence that no injustice can justify another. This is not to argue that Israel should be immune from criticism. My point is that much of the criticism is at best misguided and at worst thinly veiled anti-Semitism. Hamas, like Lebanon's Hezbollah, Isis in Syria and Iraq, Nigeria's Boko Haram, Somalia's Al-Shabaab and several other groups, are fighting not for the liberty and prosperity of Muslims but, ultimately, for the annihilation of Israel and the imposition of an Islamic state. If Palestinians and other Muslims have to suffer for that aim, then so be it.

Full article

The emphasis are mine.

[bonefall]

So why's BB!Skystar like That? I'm not looking for a justification or excuse mind you, and I understand he completely refuses to better himself, but not even someone like him is born evil.

I'll get to his origin and tell you exactly how he grew up, but lemmie be clear about something. I don't think people respond to what they experience in a proportionate, 1:1, "hard times go in, bad guy comes out" sort of way.

People aren't bread and yeast. We don't follow a recipe for "becoming a bad person." You don't add trauma and then from there they choose to be a bad person because of their pain or not. No one is born evil, and the other side of that coin is that EVERYONE has the capacity for it.

Extremely privileged, charmed, blessed people with wonderful home lives can also become awful people. Violent, demanding, murderous ones. The "why" is "choice."

That answer's not satisfying because we want it to be deep and interesting. Like it makes it "mean" something, or adds some kind of "logic" to it. But you won't get it.

EVIL is simple. It feels good to get what you want. It feels good to hurt the people who keep it from you. POWER is even simpler. It is the act of making others do what you want. It's as simple as childish entitlement, indifference, or spite. Gratification that outweighs guilt.

If you're looking for some grand tragedy, you won't find it here. Nothing he went through was particularly unique and there was no grand ideology at play. His dad vanished when he was young and so did Gray Wing's. The Tribe dealt with a famine and several people died, including members of Bright Storm's family.

The only thing special about his birth and upbringing, in particular, was that he was quite privileged from the start.

Clear Sky and Gray Wing in the Tribe

From their very birth, both kits were welcomed and celebrated. They were destined for greatness from the start. Their mother was Quiet Wing, a direct descendant of the Stoneteller, Half Moon, and the father was a respected leader and political figure, Tempest Sky.

(This was before the Tribe would eventually become three camps, "Wards," united by a river. Tempest might have been considered an early leader of such a Ward.)

The older kit, a perfect image of xeir mother, was said to be the inheritor of her legacy as a relative of their founder and holy speaker. Xey were named Gray Wing. The younger, who would surely become the natural leader his father was, got the name Clear Sky. In their language, Koof Yaawrl-- Not just a sky without clouds. A perfect, flawless sky.

The two of them grew up with great opportunities. Connections are everything to their culture, and they had their pick of any amount of interests they wanted a paw in. The hunters would happily bring them along if asked. The crafters had extra patience set aside just for them. A good deployment of a mew and baby eyes could get them some extra scraps at dinner. Everyone wanted to make their little mark on such special, talented kits.

Clear Sky was a little general type. He wanted to be a leader right away. He loved hunts, he loved being in charge of other kids, he loved the way people listened to him. He wasn't familiar with the word No and was almost always the top banana of a group of other children. Even if they were older.

(Gray Wing in contrast was more of the game-creator, the "old soul," the kid who got along better with adults than other kids. Less of a leader and more of the guru, good at networking and settling disputes between people.)

While they were still kids, Tempest Sky vanished.

He was missing for days, and was assumed dead. There's plenty of ways to vanish in the mountains, but no remains were found. The Stoneteller tried to contact his spirit over and over to confirm his death, and he never came. So it was most likely that he just... left. Or maybe was taken.

Either way, they didn't really get closure for it. It was an awful thing to happen to a little kid, and Clear Sky took it really hard. A while after that, their stepdad entered the equation. Stone Peak wasn't big or strong or special, he just made their mom happy.

Gray Wing LOVED this man. After some friction, him and Stone Peak became excellent friends. They had a deep sense of respect and camaraderie. Clear Sky hated this. It was like Tempest Sky was being replaced before his eyes.

It was years before Stone Peak and Quiet Rain had a litter, well into Clear Sky and Gray Wing's adulthoods. It burned Clear Sky a new one to think that she was moving on from his father, who could still be alive. Maybe it's part of why he was so willing to throw his half-brother out into the snow, that fateful winter.

When Jagged Peak and Fluttering Wing were about half a year old, there was a terrible drought. It wasn't "overpopulation." It was a bad season. NOTHING could have stopped it. Lots of cats died.

Fluttering Wing was one of them-- along with some of Bright Storm's immediate family, Fox Claw and Petal Claw's mother during a hunting accident, and many more.

At the height of this drought, the southern river's level was so low that it became a scorched, crackled path with only a wet scratch of mud running along the middle. This dry riverbed beckoned to be followed downwards, until the water could be found again. THIS is the "Sun Trail;" a path carved by the sun.

It was Gray Wing the Wise who interpreted this as an omen. Xey believed it was their ancestors showing them the way to safety. The rest is history.

But the bottom line is...

Skystar's upbringing wasn't a supreme tragedy. He faced adversity just like everyone else, but he'd NEVER bring up the privilege that he had when he was young as something unfair to be examined. Tempest being a respected leader whose connections gave Clear Sky lots of opportunities is only spoken about in terms of Clear Sky being a "born leader" or "coming from greatness."

All of his charisma, his achievements, his command over other cats, that's all something he's "worked for." All of the adversities are examples of how strong HE is, in contrast to other cats, even if they went through the same exact struggles.

Why is he the way he is? Why is he so controlling? Why is he violent? Because he will take what he wants, and no one can stop him. He likes power more than he cares about the consequences of treating people poorly, so he cries "unfair!" if you take his toys away.

Stand by him and the rewards are sweet and delicious. Deny him what he wants, and he will crush you. He chooses how he treats you based on how much he likes you, and at the rotten heart of his behavior, is the simple choice to be this way.

[intothemultifandom]

– 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄 [𝟏/𝟑] || 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐚

SUMMARY: In the aftermath of The Blip, you and Attuma–warriors turned interim leaders–bond over loss, grief and the weight of two different worlds. When the second blip occurs, those who’ve returned decide to wage war. Unaware of the relationship you’ve forged in their absence. PAIRINGS: Attuma x Reader, Wakandan!Reader, T’challa + Shuri Sister!Reader TAGS/WARNINGS: angst ; hurt and comfort 

You lost your siblings during The Blip. 

T’challa had turned to dust right before Okoye, Shuri scattered somewhere out on the battlefield; and a weight unlike any other (the weight only your brother knew) settled around shoulders when the wind did not claim you, too. 

At only seventeen, you had been reduced to an only child by the snap of a Madman’s fingers. Expected to ascend the throne now that your older siblings could not. Not that you would, given your distaste of politics and the UN Embassy in general.

Where T’challa was King and Shuri led your scientific division, you had trained under the tutelage of the Dora Milage. Had become one of the best warriors of the country in spite of your youth, expected to surpass Okoye once you reached her age.  

Your natural skill had fuelled your desire to join the War Dogs before N’Jadaka had come into the picture (as Princess, you could not join the Dora Milaje officially), a dream you had to contribute to the safety of your Kingdom and your brother’s reign under the aloofness of being the youngest child.

In the eyes of the world that remained, however, this was not possible when your existence, your survival, received constant praise by Nations who hungered for someone young and naive to ascend the throne.

To their displeasure, you’d assumed leadership over the secret division of your country instead, entertained by the thought of Colonisers dictating what you did with yourself. Your amusement further peaked as you presented yourself publicly as Wakanda’s Consulate General alongside your natural title as Princess.  

With your Mother maintaining the throne and dealing with politics, you’d spent the first three years working diligently to forget your siblings’ absence. Your own grief and shame.

Someone had to stamp out the political unrest in your country, had to re-establish Wakanda’s spy-network in the midst of mounting political tension around the world.

And you had done it all at from seventeen to twenty, held together by the love of your Queen Mother and spurred on by the council of your closest confidants, Okoye, Aneka, Ayo and, surprisingly, the Jabari’s own M’Baku. 

The success of your network around the world had earned you the respect of many, though nothing cemented your legacy more than what happened during the Wakandan three-day-Massacre: 

The Marube Tribe were a relic of time, isolated from the rest of your country when they denounced the advancement of your technology.

Deep in the Mute Lands, they’d practiced old customs and studied even older texts where, in the shadow of Thanos’ terror, they’d turn to ancient techniques to make their warriors strong. Stronger than even the Black Panther. 

Since they could not ingest Vibranium through the heart-shaped herb, a group of their men had etched it into their flesh. Tattooed the raw substance into the planes of their body so they could flow better with nature.

And for a brief time, it worked. The process had given them unnatural durability and strength, the ability to run faster than the wind and yet capable of moving the Earth with a stomp of their foot.

Only, Vibranium itself is radioactive unless tempered with a substance only Shuri and her division knew how to make.

And with your sister and her team gone, ashes in the wind; the Marube tribe, without knowing the consequences, inadvertently kickstarted what might’ve been the doom of your people with the creation of the Madmen. 

As Vibranium had become one with flesh, the radiation did not blister skin nor melt flesh from bone. Instead, it drove the person to madness, to a murderous rage that would not end and was made even worse by the indestructibility of their bodies.

In a single night, the Madmen decimated nearly their entire village before they took to their neighbours. 

When the missive came the following morning, your Queen Mother demanded only for the Dora Milaje to go, for them put an end to the madness before it reached the Golden City.

What she seemed to forget was that the last Madman you fought murdered your siblings, so you could not, would not, simply remain in the Palace.

And so as stealthily as you could for someone who’d learned many tricks from Nakia, you followed your warrior-sisters beyond the throne room, grateful that Okoye turned a blind eye when she caught you amongst their numbers. 

The battle against the Madmen had been a ruthless and bloody affair. 

The people who fought with you and against you were your own people; the land you fought on once roamed by your Ancestors; yet no amount of familiarity could diminish the brutality of war as the Madmen slaughtered your people in masses, pushed your team deeper into the battlefield and towards the centre of their ruined Tribe like wolves surrounding sheep.

Just as you thought you had reached your end, had stood back-to-back with Okoye, Aneka and Ayo and readied yourself for death, Bast had smiled on you that day as the survivors of the massacre–women and children who’d hidden themselves beneath the ground–opened a hidden hatch and welcomed your group into their refuge.  

The Marube people may have denounced modern Wakanda; but they were Wakandan all the same.

For almost half an hour, you and the warriors huddled with them in the dark of their underground cave system where you’d grieved and planned, prayed for your Ancestors to see you through another day even when the Madmen waited for you above. 

It had been one of the Elders who survived, a woman named J’Kobe who weakly presented the idea of someone undergoing the same process as the men above to turn the tides of the battle. She who suggested bestowing a great power upon someone, anyone, so that they could end the Madmen’s bloodshed once and for all before madness took them.

It would be a sacrifice, went unsaid. 

As the determination settled on Okoye’s brow and Ayo and Aneka shared a sad, resigned smile (they’d realised too that the Madmen could not be beat as their weapons bent under the pressure of their strength)–you had stepped towards J’Kobe with the memory of your family and your people, the smile of a toddler who bared your brother’s name, as you knelt at her feet and offered yourself before they could.

Your siblings had been gone for three years, and in those three years you’d found no dignified way of joining them until then: ...though of course, you didn’t actually die as you thought you would. 

Even now, you could not remember what had happened down in those tunnels, how long your friends had argued against your decision before you laid on your back and then your stomach, the pain immeasurable as they and J’Kobe embedded the Vibranium along different areas of your body. 

Tattooed by your countries most fearsome warriors and one of the last practitioners of old, you did what many thought was impossible when you ascended the tunnels with fresh tattoos that glowed purple and a newfound strength to greet the Madmen as an equal match. 

On the third day of the three-day-Massacre, you gave your people a new protector as you stood over the Madmen who lay at your feet, defeated: 

Olumo, J’Kobe called you. 

Molded by God. 

After the battle had been won, and you’d marched with your Warriors and the survivors home to prepare to be put down, to apologise to your Mother one last time before calling Nakia; like the wind that did not claim you when your siblings disappeared, death did not take you in the end, too. 

Because your Father, his Father and so on, ingested Vibranium through the heart-shaped herb, they’d altered their genetics and granted their children and lineage invulnerability to the radiation of Vibranium. 

Meaning you would not be lost to madness from the procedure after all, a stroke of luck for your friends who considered sacrificing themselves. 

Since then, you’d fought many battles as Olumo, the disciple of Ptah and Kokou. Had succeeded in many minor and major battles that helped you carve your own legacy as you fought for True Wakanda, your Vibranium tattoos a symbol of your service and devotion. 

There were days, of course, when the power you’d been bestowed stirred uncomfortably. Days where you felt restless in your own skin, plagued with the undeniable urge to move, run and fight. 

You’d always been a warrior than a leader. 

The Dora Milage, adored as they were, were supportive in this regard; always ready to give you an outlet to rid yourself of this feeling as you fought and sparred them in the safety of your Kingdom. 

Even M’Baku and his warriors, through a rare sight in the Capital, sparred with you when they could. 

It wasn’t until you met him, though, that you felt more alive than you’d felt in the past three years. Felt seen and understood in a way that your friends and Mother could not and would likely ever understand, given the power and responsibilities you now held. 

His name was Attuma, and he called himself the greatest warrior in the underworld. 

NOTES: 

• This is Part 1 (context; your POV) of a three-part-story. 

• Part 2 (snippets of you and him during moments in-between; his POV) will be coming soon. 

• Your background is inspired by the BLACK PANTHER #7 (Origins of Vibranium) + BLACK PANTHER #3 (#200 Legacy) 

• Ptah the Shaper is considered the god of metal alloys, mainly Vibranium whereas Kokou is considered the Wakandan god of War

TAGLIST:

@tommymcartney ; thanks for inspiring me to keep writing! 📝

[vague-humanoid]

To fully grasp the current situation in San Francisco, where venture capitalists are trying to take control of City Hall, you must listen to Balaji Srinivasan. Before you do, steel yourself for what’s to come: A normal person could easily mistake his rambling train wrecks of thought for a crackpot’s ravings, but influential Silicon Valley billionaires regard him as a genius.

“Balaji has the highest rate of output per minute of good new ideas of anybody I’ve ever met,” wrote Marc Andreessen, co-founder of the V.C. firm Andreessen-Horowitz, in a blurb for Balaji’s 2022 book, The Network State: How to Start a New Country. The book outlines a plan for tech plutocrats to exit democracy and establish new sovereign territories. I mentioned Balaji’s ideas in two previous stories about Network State–related efforts in California—a proposed tech colony called California Forever and the tech-funded campaign to capture San Francisco’s government.

Balaji, a 43-year-old Long Island native who goes by his first name, has a solid Valley pedigree: He earned multiple degrees from Stanford University, founded multiple startups, became a partner at Andreessen-Horowitz and then served as chief technology officer at Coinbase. He is also the leader of a cultish and increasingly strident neo-reactionary tech political movement that sees American democracy as an enemy. In 2013, a New York Times story headlined “Silicon Valley Roused by Secession Call” described a speech in which he “told a group of young entrepreneurs that the United States had become ‘the Microsoft of nations’: outdated and obsolescent.”

“The speech won roars from the audience at Y Combinator, a leading start-up incubator,” reported the Times. Balaji paints a bleak picture of a dystopian future in a U.S. in chaos and decline, but his prophecies sometimes fall short. Last year, he lost $1 million in a public bet after wrongly predicting a massive surge in the price of Bitcoin.

Still, his appetite for autocracy is bottomless. Last October, Balaji hosted the first-ever Network State Conference. Garry Tan—the current Y Combinator CEO who’s attempting to spearhead a political takeover of San Francisco—participated in an interview with Balaji and cast the effort as part of the Network State movement. Tan, who made headlines in January after tweeting “die slow motherfuckers” at local progressive politicians, frames his campaign as an experiment in “moderate” politics. But in a podcast interview one month before the conference, Balaji laid out a more disturbing and extreme vision.

“What I’m really calling for is something like tech Zionism,” he said, after comparing his movement to those started by the biblical Abraham, Jesus Christ, Joseph Smith (founder of Mormonism), Theodor Herzl (“spiritual father” of the state of Israel), and Lee Kuan Yew (former authoritarian ruler of Singapore). Balaji then revealed his shocking ideas for a tech-governed city where citizens loyal to tech companies would form a new political tribe clad in gray t-shirts. “And if you see another Gray on the street … you do the nod,” he said, during a four-hour talk on the Moment of Zen podcast. “You’re a fellow Gray.”

The Grays’ shirts would feature “Bitcoin or Elon or other kinds of logos … Y Combinator is a good one for the city of San Francisco in particular.” Grays would also receive special ID cards providing access to exclusive, Gray-controlled sectors of the city. In addition, the Grays would make an alliance with the police department, funding weekly “policeman’s banquets” to win them over.

“Grays should embrace the police, okay? All-in on the police,” said Srinivasan. “What does that mean? That’s, as I said, banquets. That means every policeman’s son, daughter, wife, cousin, you know, sibling, whatever, should get a job at a tech company in security.”

@karpad @quasi-normalcy @ubernegro

[beardedmrbean]

How can we understand the terrible, self-imposed deprivation now gripping the people of Gaza? The heart-wrenching stampede that unfolded in Gaza last Thursday casts a stark light on the brutal reality of life under Hamas's rule. It is a somber reminder of the urgent need to address the suffering of Gaza's people, but it also serves as a crucial moment to clarify the accountability for Gaza's plight.

The chaos and desperation that led to this tragedy are direct outcomes of Hamas's governance, which prioritizes violence and killing Jews over the welfare of its population. The stampede, occurring during an aid distribution, tragically underscores the severe humanitarian crisis in Gaza. Driven by sheer desperation, people found themselves in a deadly crush, a situation that should never occur.

To pave the way for peace and stability for my brothers and sisters in Gaza, it is essential to acknowledge the root causes of their suffering. Hamas's diversion of resources, suppression of dissent, and neglect of civilian needs must end. The international community, along with the Palestinian people, must demand accountability and seek a future where governance prioritizes human dignity, economic opportunity, and peaceful coexistence. Only through addressing these fundamental issues can we hope to prevent such tragedies and build a brighter future for all Palestinians.

As a Palestinian human rights activist deeply sympathetic to the plight of the Palestinian people and the complexities of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, I can tell you beyond the shadow of a doubt that the terrorist group Hamas is responsible for the suffering of Gazans.

Outside obfuscators often try to misplace blame for the suffering onto Israel's "blockade" on the Strip, but a brief consideration of the timeline shows the absurdity of this conceit. Israel unilaterally withdrew all of its soldiers and settlers from Gaza in 2005. Within hours, Hamas-aligned looters had stripped bare and destroyed the greenhouses and farms Israel had left behind for local sustenance. In 2007, Hamas seized military control of the strip in a brutal local coup against the internationally recognized Palestinian Authority (PA), throwing its supporters off the roofs of buildings.

Since then, rather than engage in peacemaking and economic development, Hamas, like a Mediterranean North Korea, has diverted all of its resources to warfare. It and its ally, Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ), have repeatedly fired rocket salvos into central Israel—in 2008-9, 2012, 2014, and 2021. In October 2023, Hamas breached all precedent with an all-out invasion of Southern Israel, massacring over 1,200 innocents in a single day—including 300 young people at an all-night nature dance party celebrating peace.

Rape, torture, and bodily mutilation were reported on a systemic scale, and over 240 innocents were dragged back to Hamas's terror emirate in Gaza as hostages. Hamas is still holding over 130 of these innocents hostage.

As a human rights activist and a human being, I recognize that it defies all rules of geopolitics, morality, and human nature to suggest that Israel not respond militarily to dismantle Hamas and rescue its people, who we now know are being raped and psychologically tortured in captivity.

Read more

I'm a Palestinian. Hamas Alone Is Responsible for the Blood Shed in Gaza

We Palestinians Must Dump Our Leaders and Accept Israel's Offers for Peace

Hamas Is Committing Terrorism Against My Palestinian Brothers and Sisters

And yet, amidst the intensity of the ongoing war, Israel has facilitated the transfer of international aid to Hamas-controlled territory—while Hamas has been seizing these essential supplies and transferring them for military purposes. Hamas has built a massive network of tunnels under the Strip that exceeds the New York subway system in length, where hostages have been kept underground without light and used as human shields to protect terrorist commanders. Hamas's cannibalization of the civilian economy has gone so far as to dig up water pipes and convert them into makeshift rockets to fire into Israeli territory.

Beyond economic manipulation, Hamas's rule in Gaza is marked by a severe crackdown on political dissent. Opposition and press voices are silenced, often violently, with human rights organizations reporting arbitrary arrests, torture, and extrajudicial killings. LGBTQ+ individuals, and anyone else who defies the harsh religious extremism governing all life in the Strip face torture and execution.

The real victims of Hamas's governance are the ordinary people of Gaza, who endure the consequences of their rulers' bloodthirsty actions. The youth, facing unemployment rates that are among the highest in the world, see their futures evaporate in an economy stifled by mismanagement and artificially exacerbated conflict. The sick suffer from a health care system in disarray, with hospitals overwhelmed and under-resourced, in part due to the diversion of medical supplies to serve Hamas's fighters and the repurposing of these healing spaces into military command centers.

As a Palestinian human rights activist, my loyalty lies with the Palestinian people, whose rights and future have been compromised by a cruel leadership that prioritizes military and terrorist objectives over human welfare. For those of us caught in the middle, the path forward requires an honest confrontation with the reality of our situation.

The plight of Gaza is a wound at the heart of the Middle East, a testament to the failures of an international policy that has foolishly coddled a brutal tyrant and implacable foe. Only by dismantling the governing rule of the irredeemable Hamas can we begin to heal this wound and move toward a future where the rights and dignity of all Palestinians are upheld, and peace and economic development alongside our Israeli neighbors can at last bear fruit for both sides.

Bassem Eid is a Palestinian human rights activist. He lives in the West Bank.

The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.

[jokeroutsubs]

Bojan on the cover of Astro Suzy, special summer edition of Suzy Magazine, focusing on astrology and spirituality. Scans and ENG Translation by: @kurooscoffee Cover Title:

Bojan Cvjetičanin: "We have a duty to change things for the better"

Article title:

We are driven by our love of life

WITH JOKER OUT, WE HAVE WITNESSED A MENTAL LEAP AND A SOCIAL PHENOMENON THAT WE HAVE LONGED FOR. THE BOYS GIVE HOPE THAT YOUNG PEOPLE ARE CONNECTING INTO A STRONG COMMUNITY THAT CARES ABOUT THE FUTURE, EVEN THOUGH PREVIOUS GENERATIONS HAVE LEFT THEM IN RUINS. IN A FLOOD OF STARLETS AND ARTIFICIALLY CREATED ONLINE INFLUENCERS, WE GOT ROLE MODELS WHO DON'T OFFER DISCOUNT CODES, BUT IMPORTANT MUSICAL MESSAGES ABOUT VALUES. IN THE MIDDLE OF A SLOVENIAN AND EUROPEAN TOUR, THE LEAD SINGER AND VISUAL OF THE BAND SHARED WITH US WHAT HE'S THINKING ABOUT, WHAT CAUSES HE'S STANDING BEHIND, AND WHY IT'S BENEFICIAL TO DEEPEN YOUR SPIRITUAL KNOWLEDGE. What are you thinking about as representatives of the new wave, the new generation? What is your attitude towards the dynamics in society, climate change, pervasive social networks, in short, everything that weighs on modern man? On the one hand, we ourselves are involved in all the processes that actively and continuously prolong the problems you are talking about. On the other hand, we are deeply aware of them and we are afraid of what is coming. It seems to me that in our generation the desire for change is very strong. There is a universal language of youth that has come together on the basis of feeling obliged and able to change things for the better. The song New Wave is about just that. We are ready to celebrate this common strength because we are encouraged by the idea that we are not alone. At the same time, we know that we are compelled to do something because someone before us has seriously 'fucked up'.

In your hit song 'Novi Val' (New Wave), already the very first verse has you wonder where to go from here. Do you know the answer?

If we want to do anything other than burn the horizon, the only way is towards community, away from egocentrism, with an onlook towards common good.

Let's stick to the anthem of the generation of love, as you named your peers and loyal supporters. The phrase 'We were born yesterday and everything is already our fault' is powerful and worrying. You have been given a pitiful lagecy by your ancestors. How do you defend yourself from taking a role of a victim and instead get actively involved in creating a brighter future?

Great question! It would be hard to change anything for the better if we put on the victim's cloak. The fact that in recent years it has become clear that there is a rebellion by people who have had enough is already a cause for optimism. When you put yourself in the role of the one who carries a scepter as a synonym of the leader of change, you move away from being a victim. And each one of us in this community carries it. In reality, we are taking the position that society is currently a victim and it is our task to defend it.

How?

We all contribute in our own way. The role of musicians is to connect people with positive messages. So by constantly reminding people about friendship, love and other social components that can be tapped into through music. In Slovenia, we have a lot of organisations that are trying to change the situation for the better in many different ways. It does not require much to at least educate oneself about what these organisations are doing. I have the feeling that many people would like to get involved and help. At the end of grammar school and at college, we were encouraged to find out about collective organisations. It was clear to them that many people would want to join of their own initiative once they knew what they stood for. I know many former classmates who are very active members and supporters of various movements. Even if we minimise our own negative energy on social networks, it is a big step towards a good state of society, and of mind.

(picture 1: Family Cvjetićanin knows how to stick together)

You seem to care about a world that is increasingly drowning in chaos. You have become idols, not only of young people, but also of their parents. Is this a burden of responsibility or does it encourage you do even more activism?

It's a great feeling when the little ones take you for an idol. As a teenager, it was also inspiring to be surrounded by the music of Big Foot Mama and Siddharta. It gave me a message in a language that I could not compare with anything else. But our creativity does not depend on what people think of us or how they perceive us. But it is a great honour to know that you are one of those who encourage someone. Many people are listening, but not hearing. Joker Out is made up of five individuals who, in real life, when the cameras and the spotlights are off, are just normal guys. We went through all the processes of growing up on the streets, socialising and playing. We went through the process of going to school, and we were not problematic adolescents. Even today, our most extreme departure from an ideal is what 99% of young people do. To party sometimes. We are not outlaws by nature.

Your work is a beacon of light, a source of hope and strength. Many have done it before you, especially the Beatles. A lot has changed since their era, much of it unfortunately for the worse. How do you keep optimistic? Why is it worth the effort?

Every musician in history who has sung about ending war and living for love has failed miserably. I believe that at least those people who follow the messenger are convinced of peace and love. If every musician encourages someone to to do so, it's a hefty amount of opponents of hate. We are driven forward by love for life.

Writing texts is a responsible job, and you are baring your soul at the same time. Where is the line, to what lengths are you willing to go to protect the most vulnerable part of yourself?

I have never consciously inhibited the process of looking inside myself. But I feel that with age and experience I understand more and more what can lead me to a deeper state of mind. In the beginning I didn't dare to dig into myself. Today I have no problem in fully exposing my feelings, because they are, after all, states that happen of their own accord - and it is impossible to force them

(picture 2: The boys of Joker Out became even closer)

No Slovenian artist has enjoyed such a fierce international success as Joker Out. Concerts in iconic European clubs are literally sold out in hours, even minutes. How do you accept fame? Is it a blessing or is there also a bit of fear?

There are certainly Slovenian musicians with international experience. Maybe not at our age, but that doesn't take away from their importance. We have achieved a very nice success here in terms of listeners, we have honed our skills and we have grown with the band as a collective. We have grasped who and what we are as a whole. We are a group of people who make music purely because we really enjoy it. Whatever feelings our music-making evokes, it all comes from us in the most sincere way, Fortunately, our music is liked by a larger crowd and we have managed to transmit our unforced joy, happiness, joy across national borders. There is no better catalyst for such a breakthrough than Eurovision, we chose the moment to participate wisely. It paid off as a successful project, because for a good band it doesn't matter which part of the world it comes from. It's important to be heard - and we were heard by a lot of people. The only thing that has changed so far is that the bonds between us have strengthened. Suddenly we have been forced to talk about emotions and experiences that we did not have before. There has been a lot of filtering of unfamiliar feelings. The desire to create increased a thousandfold for all five of us.

Are you aware of the role that the public attributes to you, to act as a beacon of light in a crowd of frustrated, bitter people?

No. I would hardly say that I can understand that. Every time I hear something like that, it strikes me that it is saying too much. I really cannot think of myself in such a strong context.

You are giving yourself away. You are constantly on the road, interviews, concerts, promotional tours. It's exhausting. How do you recover? What calms you down, fills you with grace?

It's true that we give a lot of ourselves. But we get so much more in return. Nothing calms me more than coming home and being close to my family. And of course the company of Kris, Jan, Jure and Nace. The people we were with friends before this euphoria, have stayed with us, this team surround us with a lot of love.

(picture 3: He's noticing, that young people are connecting into a strong community that cares about the future)

As a front-man and lyricist, you are even more exposed. You've crossed the magical 200 thousand followers on Instagram, which is a mega number, but also a mega stressful situation. Most young people who find themselves in such a situation turn to intoxicating substances. Can you consciously stop and say that you need time for yourself?

The only thing that made me a bit anxious was the sudden exposure to such a large audience'on social media. This brings with it unimaginable dimensions of human imagination, including malice. Imaginary stories emerge in which people literally compete to see who can come up with something more bizarre. This stress got to me at the beginning, because I felt that I had to defend myself in front of the public. In the end, I realised that I didn't need to convince anyone and that it was enough to know the truth. With the help of colleagues who have similar experiences, I have calmed down. As for the substances, I have a natural protection against those, because I am an incorrigible hypochonder. I dare not take an aspirin unless it is really urgent. Above all, I know when to stop.

You come from a close-knit, loving family. That is certainly a solid foundation on which to build your personality. What is their view of everything that happens to you?

They are very proud! Of all my achievements and of me for being able to pull off a music career combined with the academic milestone of graduating. My parents and my grandmother are definitely my biggest supporters. They accompany me on my journey with warnings, but they are more about eating regularly, to not get a stomach ache, to consume enough water and to get enough sleep. I have been chronically lacking the latter in the last few weeks.

What is your relationship to astrology, esotericism, in short, something that is intangible but can be felt?

Superstition is the one I use the most. For Eurovision I had a special pair of underpants and I was haunted by the feeling that if I didn't wear them, everything would go to hell. Jan's mum gave me a lace clover, which I didn't dare leave in Ljubljana. I asked the stylist to sew it on my outfit as a precaution. I got a clay horseshoe from a little girl, and it went with me to Liverpool. It will seem strange to some, but I believe in energies and ghosts.

How do you strengthen your spiritual side?

Not very well. I wish I had managed to acquire more spiritual knowledge in the last year. For example, basic meditation techniques and the laws of yoga, because I am definitely not physically active enough. The feeling of being 90 years old eats up most of my spirit. My back hurts all the time. The best thing I do for inner growth is to read books. Not enough, but I'm going to get better. A little less phone scrolling and more self-reflection, that'll do the job! Author: Tomaž Mihelič, PHOTO: VITA OREHEK

Scans and translation by: @kurooscoffee (jokeroutsubs) DO NOT REPOST!

[blessed1neha]

Venus in various houses

Venus in a sign symbolises our romantic and sexual desires. But in real life, a person's needs are not always met by fate.

As a result, whereas the house of Venus provides a response to the question of "where and under what circumstances will our love be born/manifested," the sign of Venus just addresses the question of "how we love."

I observe that we are currently discussing those intensely trembling emotions and not at all about marriage relationships, which are examined in other indicators.

Venus is thus in:

The first house represents your innate beauty, charm, and love of your body. gives meaning to how you look. Generally speaking, people find it appealing and it has a natural sense of tact. He requires love and respect.

The second residence requires money and material comfort. Material possessions will in some manner play a significant role in both love and life in general. a sign of financial success in the field of beauty, especially when Venus is in harmony.

The third house is characterised by ease of acquaintance, a large network of relationships, the capacity to persuade others, and extensive communication. Perhaps a love of education, a passion for travel, a love of communication, and communication.

The peaceful Venus in the fourth house suggests a happy childhood filled with love and understanding. the desire to beautify your home in order to foster a cosy and loving atmosphere. Friendliness and emotional ties to the tribal structure.

Numerous books, lovers, and flirting are associated with the fifth house. adore the emotion of love. likes to have fun and celebrate holidays. It may show signs of "burning out of life." love for young people.

Sixth house: reading books at work or with coworkers. passion for dogs and regular activities. workplace adornment. If Venus is out of harmony, there may be feminine disorders or throat ailments. Workplace issues stemming from romantic interactions with an unbalanced Venus.

The seventh house represents partnerships and marriage for love. Publicity and social acceptance. diplomatic, kind, and attractive potential spouse.

Love, the eighth house, can both create and contribute to life issues. Love can erupt under 8th house settings, like road accidents, funerals, rock concerts, and anything else that could be disastrous. Acute life events tend to bring out feelings the greatest. Triangles, suspense, and risk-taking. Sexuality is crucial.

Falling in love with teachers, philosophers, religious leaders, gurus, and outsiders is a ninth house affliction. novels read when travelling, in universities, or abroad. idealised image of a spouse.

A career through romantic relationships and romances with high-ranking individuals go under the tenth house. Women support careers (in harmony with Venus). Venusian careers include those in the arts, beauty, design, business, pleasure, and romance. career progress through the use of charm, diplomacy, and compassion.

Novels with friends, novels in a variety of public organisations, and books in communities. emotional response to political and social issues. friendly emotional ties among friends.

Twelveth house - hidden connections that are secretive and secret. They frequently keep their connections and emotions hidden. a virtual partnership. love for a distant, unreachable thing. aversion to love. fantasises about ideal love.

[lol-jackles]

I understand producers wanting a no risk lead and Jared earned that credibility and reputation. I don’t disagree with everything you said about Jared.

But I’m still surprised that Jensen didn’t earn the same reputation being co-lead and surprised he has not been given the opportunity to lead or co- lead again on another show. He seemed to have built a strong reputation with directors and producers and execs in the industry so shouldn’t he be on that same short list? I just don’t get what jensen is missing that jared or max theriot, Tom Ellis or Justin Hartley seems to have. What is that “x” factor?

The work he did on Smallville, Spn, Big Sky and The Boys, why didn’t that earn him points to have studio execs ensure he stays employed and part of a show?

Even in an industry that 97% are unemployed, Jensen seems to be a standout actor that gets constantly overlooked. Why?

Jensen was going to be a lead in Greg Bertlanti's unnamed project, but then Zaslav happened. But you ask a very good question on why the networks' bean counters don't have him on a Short List.

First, my wild guess is while Jensen's scene stealing talent improves the episode he's in, it's not the same as having screen presence to create a story, which is a must for lead actors to carry a show. For example, Jared's two-minute screentime in "The End" was not scene stealing, he became Lucifer for the sake of the story and left a memorable impact on the viewers' impression.

Think of every time spin-offs were created to capitalize on the scene stealers’ popularity, only for the scene stealers “special-ness” to evaporate into the ether when they have to carry the show by themselves.  Rebel Wilson had her own tv show called Super Fun Night. but it failed because fans expected to see the whacky side kick persona, but instead got a Rebel Wilson playing a normal woman who is sometimes socially awkward.

Second, Jensen has a bit of a branding problem.  If an actor doesn't understand what their brand is, then how do you expect casting directors to see it as well?  

Actors make the mistake of trying to please every customer by changing who they are and not understanding that getting hired starts with choosing a brand for themselves and sticking to it.  Say you own an Italian restaurant and I come in and say, “Oh, gosh! You know what? I want Mexican food.” And then you say, Okay, we’re cooking Mexican food now.”   This is what a lot of actors do.

I used to joke that Jensen was like an active from the show The Dollhouse. Actives are neutral human husks until they're downloaded a personality to carry out a specific mission.  You don't know what the true nature of an active unless you're willing to watch several episodes to look for clue crumbs to their innate personalities.  

I tell young aspiring actors on how to discover their brand by pretending to write a profile for an online dating site.  People usually don't write descriptive sentences but use adjectives: funny, athletic, intense, quirky, great smile, etc.  To help them along, ask their trusted friends and family members to make a list of 5 qualities that pop into their heads.  Then use the impression that appear over and over again because now you know that is you, your essence.

Too many times actors wait for an agent or manager to show up and tell them who they are. Or they ask me, “what do you think I am?". Actors have to decide for themselves and figure out their acting “singularity”  -- that exclusive combination of attitudes and behaviors that make them an original even when they're typecasted. Some people describe Jensen as a version of Dean-lite, but that doesn't make Jensen an original then.

Third, Jensen is not a natural born-leader. Most of us aren't, but like acting, you can constantly work on the craft. Leaders are supposed to protect their team, but Jensen was still soft-bashing Jessica Alba twenty years later. I don't care if Jessicca was a bitch, a real man is not supposed to betray a woman’s confidence. He can still talk about the difficulties of working with Jessica while respecting the position she was in and up against. In contrast, Jared immediately defended his female co-stars when it was popular to dunk of them: the Olsen twins, Paris Hilton, and Snookie.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Mary McCool

Published: Apr 18, 2024

Scotland's NHS has paused prescribing puberty blockers to children referred by a gender identity clinic.

The Sandyford clinic in Glasgow also said new patients aged 16 or 17 would no longer receive other hormone treatments until they were 18.

It follows a landmark review of gender services for under-18s in England.

Dr Hilary Cass's review said children had been let down by a lack of research and there was "remarkably weak" evidence on medical interventions.

NHS England confirmed it would stop prescribing puberty blockers in March.

Puberty blockers work by suppressing the release of hormones that cause puberty and are often prescribed to children questioning their gender as a way of stopping physical changes such as breast development or facial hair.

Like other parts of the UK, Scotland has seen a rapid rise in the number of young people questioning their identity or experiencing gender dysphoria.

The only specialist service for under-18s is the Sandyford clinic in Glasgow, where people can self-refer or can be referred through their GP.

Figures released to BBC Scotland News under a freedom of information request, showed that at the end of 2023, 1,100 patients were on the waiting list.

As well as referrals for puberty blockers, the Sandyford also refers patients for "gender affirming hormones" such as testosterone or oestrogen to 16 and 17-year-olds.

In the NHS in England, fewer than 100 children - who had already started a prescription - are now taking puberty blockers.

In Scotland, the number is likely to be far smaller.

Following the position taken by NHS England, NHS Greater Glasgow and Clyde (NHSGGC) and NHS Lothian deferred starting new patients on the treatment in mid-March.

The Glasgow health board said patients had now been formally notified, however existing patients currently receiving treatment would not be affected.

Dr Emilia Crighton, NHSGCC's director of public health said: "The findings informing the Cass review are important, and we have reviewed the impact on our clinical pathways.

"The next step from here is to work with the Scottish government and academic partners to generate evidence that enables us to deliver safe care for our patients."

Review findings 'considered'

Scottish Health Secretary Neil Gray welcomed the decision, saying the government and health boards are considering the recommendations of the Cass review.

He said: "We have been clear it is for clinicians and health boards to make decisions about clinical pathways, and that these decisions should be made carefully and based on the best evidence available.

"This is what both health boards have done and their position is supported by the chief medical officer.

"More broadly, the Cass review's final report and findings are being closely considered by both the Scottish government and health boards, in the context of how such healthcare can be best delivered in Scotland."

Vic Valentine, of Scottish Trans and the Equality Network, said pausing puberty blockers was the wrong decision and said it would "harm trans children and young people".

A statement said: "This decision has been taken within the context where the reality of trans people's experiences and lives is questioned almost daily in some of the media and some political circles.

"This makes us worry that the decision has been influenced by that context rather than solely through consideration of the best interests of trans children and young people."

Scottish Conservative deputy leader Meghan Gallacher said the decision was "long overdue" and accused the government of leaking the news to the press "before having the decency to update parliament".

She called for an urgent ministerial statement so MSPs had a chance to ask questions on the matter.

She said: "I'm beyond fed up with this lackadaisical approach to gender care. They are failing children and young people."

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"Social Murder Charter" is the best band name ever.