#and lived in a universe that matched the real world instead of a simple second-in-command usurping plot

[nathaniacolver]

HELP

WHY ARE THEY THEM

[elizabeth-mitchells]

five times Deena and Sam met in secret (and one time they didn’t) - Chapter 5

Chapters: 5/6 Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson Characters: Deena Johnson, Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street) Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, High School, Cheerleaders, Band, Teenagers, Teen Romance, First Meetings, First Love, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst

Secrets.

Deena and Sam met by accident. They fell in love in secret.

But how long can they last together like that?

Chapter 5 - secret heartbreak:

The following weeks were a real rollercoaster for Deena and Sam. When they were up, dizzy with love, on top of the world, they were blind to the dangers ahead of them. When they were down, a thin line away from rock-bottom, in moods so dark they could barely find each other, no matter how hard they craned their necks they couldn’t catch sight of what it was like when they were up in the clouds. Objectively, they were kids living under genuinely difficult circumstances already, and the fact that they loved each other tragically turned out to bring on more obstacles. However, if anybody dared to even hint at the fact they were possibly acting as traditionally dramatic teenagers in love… that person was aggressively ignored. If in a couple of months the two girls would find themselves involved in much more dangerous, seemingly inexplicable, deadly situations, well, they had no way of knowing that. At the time, every moment they spent together, the good and the bad, felt like a life or death situation.

Of course, there were still good moments. Those memories would last them a lifetime. Those moments would inspire them to fight back against evil forces beyond their imagination. Those memories would warm them in the cold and lonely nights they’d have to spend separately. There were big, unforgettable nights. The two of them going to a party with Kate and Simon, just so the four of them could end up ditching the party and driving Deena’s car around Shadyside in the middle of the night, music blasting from the speakers, the four of them signing at the top of their lungs, at one point breaking one of the car’s windows. Then there were a hundred simple experiences, nearly identical, but all unique and magical on their own. Three girls stopping by the Grab n´ Bag when Simon was working to cheer him up, hanging around the store as if it was a second home, making a mess and helping him clean up, laughing the entire time. Movie nights in the Johnson’s house, Kate spilling her drink during a scary movie picked by Sam, Josh adorably flustered while trying to help her, Simon waking up the next day with marker scrawls on his face, Deena and Sam sneaking away from them for some time for themselves with little to no shame in their smiling faces. Skipping classes together, bus drives to football games, hanging out at the mall, a perfect hundred years.

Looking back, in their separate houses, Deena and Sam would one day feel it was almost infuriating how perfectly Sam used to fit in with them, all of them.

Because she quickly became Kate’s right-hand woman on the cheerleading team. Kate’s commanding frown was always accompanied by a soft “she’s right” from Sam, a combination that could convince anybody of anything to the point the team looked like a small mafia of blue skirts and perfect ponytails. Kate’s razor-sharp wit was surprisingly matched by soft-spoken Sam with quiet, clever, and perfectly timed comments. The two girls used to go shopping together while waiting for Deena and Simon to get out of detention, they would be the ones in charge of cooking on the rare occasion the group chose to prepare something at home instead of ordering pizza. Deena found out only months later that Sam had approached cheer captain Kate and blushed vehemently asking her about Deena. Sam had always been too scared to call Kate her best friend, knowing Deena would always be Kate’s favorite, but that didn’t make it any less true. Kate joked so many times about how Sam “could do so much better than Deena'', not knowing Sam believed it was the entire opposite. Neither of them even suspected that in a matter of weeks Kate would be comforting a heartbroken Deena and furiously taking her side.

Then there was Simon. Walking away from him hurt Sam almost as much as leaving Deena. Simon had been the first one to call her Sam, the best at cheering her up, the one to encourage her to express every part of her that could be considered out of the norm. Sam used to be the one to paint Simon’s nails, he would be painfully slow attending Sam’s mom at the store just to annoy her and amuse Sam. He would be the one to go with her to the movies to rewatch for the third time her latest favorite horror movie, and she was the only of the girls who didn’t fight back his brotherly affection of bear hugs and occasionally picking her up. Deena had no idea that Simon had gotten the number of Sam’s house in Sunnyvale. He called her twice a week, every two weeks, once a month, and then never again. Sam deeply regretted not calling him her best more often, and she still kept the black nail polish that she didn’t even use.

Every loss that Sam was going to experience upon leaving Shadyside hurt a different way. Josh wasn’t the exception. Because Sam was an only child. She felt like she hadn't known the meaning of family until she found herself eating pizza in the Johnson’s basement with Deena, Josh, Kate, and Simon. Josh didn’t feel like a little brother to her, not exactly, but he inevitably became something very similar. Just as she knew that she couldn’t be a sister to him, not exactly, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t know she’d been a good friend to him. They could relate to each other. They were both introverted, guarded, still keeping their interest safely to themselves and the best parts of who they were hidden behind brick walls. But Sam felt more like herself whenever she was in that house, where she had received nothing but kindness and open arms. The least she could do was return the favor. The least she could do was smile and cheerfully greet him every time they crossed paths, regardless of his apparent fear of cheerleaders. She could ask about his day, about the latest videogame she didn’t really understand, about his current favorite record, listen to his rants on conspiracy theories even if Deena was rolling her eyes and trying to pull her away toward her room. Sam liked to think that if she’d known her absence would actually take a toll on him, that he’d retreat further into himself, no longer talk about his real interests to anybody in person anymore, end up resenting her and Deena as one, maybe she would’ve done things differently. 

Something. 

Anything.

She would’ve done everything differently if she’d known Kate would hate her, Simon would forget her, Josh would blame her, and Deena…

Deena.

Goddammit, weren’t there good moments with Deena? More than enough to make up for the bad ones? Why should Sam have to give up all that? Skipping class to run away with Deena, eating cheeseburgers in the hood of her car, helping her clean up her house to ease that weight from her shoulders, fall asleep in her arms, wake up with Deena’s head on her chest, stealing her girlfriend’s jacket, laughing with her, kissing her, dancing with her, talking for hours, counting her freckles, just the pleasure of seeing her smile… Who really cared about the bad stuff? Maybe Deena was wrong in pressuring her to come out, and maybe it was true that Sam refused to even talk about the future. So what if Deena’s negativity could be too much at times, so what if Sam’s idea of “better” was other people's thoughts and not her own. But what if it really could hurt when Deena’s temperament got the worst of her, and Sam went out of her way to outmatch her? Maybe they actually cared and suffered because of Deena misdirecting her anger at the world toward her vulnerable girlfriend, and Sam resenting Deena for issues that only Sam could solve but wouldn’t.

In the end, it hardly mattered if they knew that they were worth the fight. They didn’t find in time the motivation to fight against their problems, not even the ones they could have solved. Because if they would’ve just taken a step back they could have seen. The people around them, the ones that truly loved them, had been right when they suggested these were common struggles with teenagers handling feelings bigger than themselves. They could have seen most of their issues weren’t so severe, they were things they could have easily worked on. They had been so close to make it, they were meant to get better and get over those obstacles. And someday, they would. But first, they had to face the chapter in their lives when Deena got tired of being a secret and Sam had one last secret that would change everything.

--

On the last day, Deena drove as fast as she could to their high school. Her car’s tires screeched on the pavement as she parked hastily, and she was out of the car in the blink of an eye. She practically ran all the way to their spot under the bleachers to find Sam. She was waiting for her right on the spot where they met, arms wrapped around herself and eyes swollen red.

“Sam,” Deena whispered her name as soon as she was close enough and after a couple more steps, she threw her arms around her girlfriend. Sam was nearly thrown off balance, she was so dejected she barely reacted. “Tell me it isn’t true,” Deena begged through gritted teeth. “Sam,” she called her name more desperately now. “Talk to me, please. It’s me.”

That seemed to be enough to break the spell of sorrow that had fallen over Sam. All at once, the blonde wrapped her arms around Deena, grabbing fistfuls of the familiar green jacket and holding on tightly, she started sobbing, she pressed her face against Deena’s shoulder, and her entire body trembled as she cried.

“Don’t go,” Deena choked, holding the girl she loved as tight as she could. “You don’t have to go, Sam,” Deena breathed out. She was trying harder than ever to keep her cool. She bit her bottom lip hard, to avoid crying. “Please, don’t leave me,” Deena said, finally breaking down and starting to cry, “I love you.”

Deena’s heart and mind were racing, trying to make sense of what was happening. The divorce was done. Sam’s mother was moving to Sunnyvale, and taking her daughter with her. Sam was moving away. Not to a neighboring town, to an enemy town. Not a few minutes away, but a poisoned ocean away. She was leaving Deena, she was leaving her behind, and that was the loudest thought resonating in the brunette’s mind.

For a while, all they could do was hold each other. Eventually, Sam’s sobs subsided, their tears stopped coming, and their breathing evened out, so their hearts were once again beating in unison. Sam eased her hold on Deena and pulled away just enough to rest their foreheads together. She looked at the pair of eyes that had become her one true home, and she said, “I love you too, you know?”

Deena gave her a watery smile and moved her hand to delicately wipe away the tears that fell on Sam’s cheeks. “Why are you making it sound like a goodbye?” she wondered. As her only response, Sam closed her eyes, but continued to hold her. “When do you leave, Sam?” was Deena’s next question, but again, she only received silence in response. She saw no option but to pull back so she could properly look at Sam, and she repeated her question. “When do you leave, Sam?”

The blonde nearly started trembling again, but she didn’t cry. She took a deep breath, opened her watery blue eyes, and looked at Deena as she replied, “Next week.”

“Are you serious?” Deena flinched. That was a genuine question, and when the other girl nodded, she frowned. “And you’re only telling me now?”

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, looking down again.

“Sam, that’s fucked up,” Deena seethed. Her arms fell from her girlfriend’s frame as she took a step back. Sam reached out just in time so at least their hands would stay linked.

“I didn’t,” Sam sniffled, “want to do this.”

“Do what?” Deena tilted her head. “Break up with me?”

“Don’t do this,” Sam closed her eyes again, tightly.

“Oh, excuse me for being shocked at the fact that my fucking girlfriend tells me she’s moving away one day before leaving!”

“It’s not one day, it’s one week!” Sam protested. “This is exactly what I was avoiding.”

Deena let go of Sam’s hands then. She took a step back, but she bit her tongue to keep her next accusation from spilling out. “I’m sorry,” she finally grumbled.

Sam looked at her with a small spark of hope in her eyes. “Me too. Really.”

There was a pause in their conversation. Sam couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable if she’d tried. Deena was clenching her jaw and looking at the ground. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her pants and when she trusted her voice to be sufficiently steady, she said. “Sunnyvale, Sam? Really?”

The blonde let out a sad chuckle. “My mom’s choice. But… you know…”

Her words made Deena frown. “Know what?” She inquired. “Know what, Sam?”

In response, Sam scoffed. “Nothing,” she shook her head, “Nothing. I just, uh, have to go.” She shrugged, and looked away.

“Holy shit,” Deena breathed out, as something important clicked in her mind. “You actually want to go…”

“I don’t. My mom’s making me go.”

“Bullshit,” Deena snapped. “One, you hate your mom. Two, you’re lying to me right now, Sam.”

“She’s my mom, Deena.”

“You also have a dad,” Deena pointed out.

The comment made Sam roll her eyes. “You know my dad’s not doing much better than yours.”

“Don’t fucking get my dad involved in this.”

“Fine,” it was Sam’s turn to snap. “I’m just saying, it might not be such a bad thing.”

“Not a bad thing?!” Deena laughed darkly. “Babe, you’re moving to Sunnyvale. That goes against everything you are.”

“You don’t know that,” Sam’s frown deepened.

Once again, Deena exhaled a bitter laugh. “Oh, this again?”

“What?”

Sam had taken a step closer, and Deena imitated her, not even realizing when they had moved so far away from each other in the first place. “You think you can move to Sunnyvale and it’ll fix all your problems, huh?” Deena willed herself to smile through the pain she was feeling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I’m right,” Deena continued to smirk, even if her heart broke repeatedly watching Sam’s eyes fill with tears again. “You think that if you follow your mom blindly to Sunnyvale she will suddenly like you? Is that it? You think that you can change your house, the color of your cheer uniform, and it’ll change what’s inside you? Take away all your problems?”

“Deena, stop,” Sam attempted to put an end to the attack, her voice shaking.

“Tell me, Sam,” Deena continued, ruthless, “does she know you came here to break up with me? Or is that a secret too?”

“I’m not breaking up with you.”

“Might as well do it.”

“Deena.”

At that point, both girls shut up. They were hit by the realization of what Deena had just said, what she had hinted at, not very delicately. Deena was horrified by her own words, but Sam was only getting angrier.

She took a deep, steadying breath and said, “Deena, if you really loved me you’d want what’s best for me.”

“How is this good for you?!” Deena hissed. “It’s a lie!”

“It’s an improvement.”

Another bitter chuckle from Deena came. “Nice.” As conflicted as she felt, she couldn’t take her eyes off Sam. The blonde girl was visibly furious, standing painfully straight, her hands tightened into fists, taking deep breaths to hold on to her anger. But she looked beautiful. And Deena knew her, and knew she wouldn’t be able to hold on for longer, and knew, too, that part of her needed Sam to break too.

“In Sunnyvale, there’s hope, Deena,” Sam explained slowly through gritted teeth, “I could have a better future there.”

“A future without me,” Deena added. All at once, without even her expecting it, her voice took a sad and resigned tone, instead of the blazing anger from before.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s what you’ll have.”

“It doesn’t have to be!” Sam’s voice was trembling worse than before, “Deena… I still love you.”

Deena roughly wiped tears off her cheeks and clenched her jaw. “Well, that’s inconvenient for you,” she said, “You’re a Sunnyvaler now, aren’t you?”

“Deena!” Sam yelled. She covered her face with her hands.

“How could you not tell me, Sam?!” Deena yelled too. And she got exactly what she had been waiting for.

“I was avoiding this!” Sam replied, face flushed with rage. “I knew you would freak out, I knew you wouldn't understand, I knew you would blame me!”

“What?” Deena breathed out.

“Deena! Look around you!” Sam continued to yell, moving her arms around her now. “Your life is a mess, and you want to keep it that way! You are way too damn comfortable at your rock bottom you refuse to see any other option. Even worse, you want to drag me down with you! You drag everyone down with you, Deena. Your chaos, your anger, your hate. It doesn’t help you, it doesn’t help anybody, and it’ll get you nowhere! And I’m tired of that!”

There was a tear falling over Deena’s cheek, and her lips were parted in surprise, but an incredulous smile was tugging at her lips. She was trembling as much as Sam, they were both breathing heavily, and they hadn’t felt pain like that ever before.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Deena whispered.

“No…” Sam weakly shook her head, but she couldn’t meet Deena’s eyes as she replied.

That earned the worst laugh from Deena so far. Sam took a couple of steps forward. But when she reached out for Deena, the brunette flinched away. That was one of the worst parts for Sam, because it made her feel like there was really no turning back from this now.

“It’s not the end of the world, you know?” Sam sniffled, looking as sad as she ever did, but trying her hardest to hold on to her anger. “I’m only thirty minutes away.”

Deena thought about it for a moment, she was looking down, lightly kicking the ground with the tip of her boot.

“Hey, if I’m not worth staying for, then you’re not chasing. Are you, Sam?”

Sam pretty much gasped when she heard those words. In the blink of an eye, Deena pictured what would happen if Sam burst into tears again and she wouldn’t be able to not reach out and comfort her, so they would cry together, and kiss, and make up, and solve it all. But, of course, that wasn’t what happened. Because Deena had hurt Sam just as badly. 

In the end, Sam only frowned, gritted her teeth, and yelled, “Fine!”

Which, Deena thought, was sort of okay. Because as she started walking away, if she was being honest with herself, this was the only way this could have ended up like. “Have fun living your fake ass life, Sam,” she said, before turning away completely and slowly walking toward her badly parked car.

“Deena!” Sam called out her name one last time.

Sam was frozen and crying in the spot where Deena left her, while Deena drove away heartbroken in the cursed town where Sam left her.

[hylaven]

anything for you

Haikyuu!!

Relationship:

Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi

Sakusa Kiyoomi

Tags

Murder

vaguely described death

Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen

technically canon compliant

Fluffy Ending

Pre-Relationship

no beta we die like men

Aftermath of Violence

I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping

Blood and Injury

Personality Swapnot

the actual magical trope for it

How Do I Tag

Slightly Out Of Character

crossposted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446720

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kinda terrible but i did like it so im posting it now, send me your thoughts, twitter: wolfBLIX

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“FUCK! Just DIE already, you bitch.” The final crack of the spinal cord as the target’s back hits the floor. He reached for his phone and dialed a number from memory. “Omi, I need you.” Click.

He knew this was going to be a pain in the ass to clean up. The job was supposed to be simple and easy. What the agency failed to tell him was that the target was trained to avoid assassinations for very obvious reasons. He almost felt sorry for who had to pick the room up after the agency’s cleaner finished. There was blood splattered onto his cheek and across one of the walls of the room. A small bedside table was completely across from where it should be, plus it was missing a few legs. Atsumu was splattered with blood, similar to a piece of abstract art. Red dripped down the side of his face, it was from when the target swung at him with bloody knuckles, but now it mixed with his sweat from the fight.

The only good thing about this issue was that he was able to see Kiyoomi. 

Kiyoomi Sakusa was the cleaner for the hitmen agency for when jobs became a little messier than they were supposed  to be. He was a confusing person but damn good at his job. Confusing for the same reason that Atsumu worked for the agency.  Kiyoomi hated germs and always wore a mask and sometimes even gloves outside of doing his job. He hated people, kept to himself unless he knew the person well, and was painfully agoraphobic, yet he thrived in high school as a star volleyball player. This had been where Atsumu first laid eyes on him, in high school at a volleyball match. Atsumu is sort of the antithesis of Kiyoomi: loves attention, people, is loud and ‘obnoxious’ (as said by Kiyoomi the first time they met mid-match). 

Years had passed since those moments. The world has spun on its head and the reality they lived in felt similar to a fever dream or an alternate timeline. Maybe it was; there had been a war in 2020 and a few years later any sports teams had turned barbaric and now assassination, executive protection, and hitmen agencies had taken the place of any sort of police or law enforcement. Sure there was a military company, but they were more of a front for just a really big government-lead assassination group.

 Now they both were roughly 26 and had seemingly flipped personalities. Kiyoomi gave presentations and orders as one of the Captains at the agency; he cleaned up the worst of the worst scenes of guts, blood, and everything else; he even went as far as to seek out the newer recruits to help them learn the tactics and routes (though Atsumu still thinks this is to make his job easier). Atsumu inverted himself, on the other hand. He rarely spoke to anyone other than his commanding officer and boss Kita, his twin Osamu, Osamu’s partner and their childhood friend Suna, and Kiyoomi, even if he didn’t see Kiyoomi outside of jobs very often, Atsumu still considered him a friend. 

7 minutes and 10 seconds. This is how long it takes Kiyoomi to walk in the door of the now trashed suite of the hotel. Atsumu is frankly shocked that no one came to tell them to be quiet with the number of times they threw each other into walls. 

“Miya.” Kiyoomi looks at the disheveled mess of Atsumu in front of him. His blonde hair was sticking to his forehead and sweaty from the clear struggle the target put up with. He had a still bleeding split lip and blood was smeared in his cheek, otherwise his face wasn’t too beat up. Kiyoomi knows Atsumu is one of the quickest on his feet and hates to get his face hit, so the mere fact of the split lip and blood smear kind of worries him, though he would rather drink the chemicals he brought than admit it. His clothes were intact, well sort of. There were clear slash marks in his shirt and it was barely hanging on his body. The kevlar vest he wore underneath was showing through and had a couple bullets embedded into it. “At least you lived.” Kiyoomi heard concern laced in his tone of voice, but Atsumu was too far into his own head to pick it out. The assassin was barely standing on his own, Kiyoomi was surprised he hadn’t fallen over yet. 

Kiyoomi started cleaning up the scene while Atsumu just stood there blankly staring at the wall. It was times like this that he remembered the contrast to the change in their personalities. He could remember the times in high school that Atsumu used to harass Kiyoomi during training camps and at tournaments in the hallways or on court. It made him miss the loud and egocentric Atsumu that he fell in love with on the court all those years ago, but at the same time, he knew he loved the broken Atsumu just the same if not more. He relished in the moments that he was able to see him. Even if it was only during really bad assignments or on an off chance he saw him in the hallways of the agency. 

“Jesus, Miya, what did ya do to him.” Kiyoomi had started moving the semi-mutilated body to the body bag he brought with him. Atsumu managed to break one of the target’s hands, their nose, and a forearm plus a plethora of various bruises and cuts. “You wrecked his hand and face up, I’m surprised you don’t look worse.” That was just the visible marks on the body, but as soon as Kiyoomi picked up the body to move it, he could hear the cracking of the already ruined spinal cord. Motioning to the body bag, “Unzip that for me, Miya.” There was no response for a moment. “Atsumu.” He stagnantly snapped his head towards Kiyoomi with wide eyes. “Can you unzip the bag for me?” Kiyoomi softened his tone. 

“Yeah. Sorry.” Atsumu relaxed slightly out of the state he was in, clearly still coming down from the adrenaline of the kill. “Thanks, Omi Omi.” 

“Anything for you,” quietly slips out of Kiyoomi’s mouth before he can react. Shit, he thinks, hope he didn’t register that. 

Atsumu stares at the cleaner for a minute. He definitely heard it, Kiyoomi thinks while internally cursing the dead body into its grave. 

The silence hung in the air similar to the icicles. Kiyoomi finished moving the body and laying down chemicals and Atsumu sitting on the floor. 

Kiyoomi moved to kneel in front of the man he wanted to be okay. “Atsumu? What do you need me to wrap up?” He gestured with the piece of antiseptic and gauze in his hands. 

After a second of him seeming to lag in real time, Atsumu looked up into Kiyoomi’s eyes. “Omi?” Kiyoomi nodded in response. The blond shook his head as if to clear it, “I think it’s just my arm. Fix me up. He managed to slice me with the rock by bed. I think I’m alright, all things considering. Just tired.” While Atsumu talked on and on 

Between the dazed look and how messy the hit was, Kiyoomi could tell Atsumu was exhausted. So he did the next best thing to kissing him and hoped Atsumu would forget about it in the morning. Kiyoomi moved his hands from where they were finished tying the gauze around his arm and took a deep breath, pulling off his gloves. He set his bare hands to rest on the sides of Atsumu’s neck. He fought the urge to look away from the eye contact they were maintaining, though he could see the surprise clear as day across Atsumu’s face. “Tell me what you need,” Kiyoomi spoke barely above a whisper as if he were scared of startling the other man. “I’ll do anything for you, if you just tell me what it is.” 

More silence. Normally the silence would be comforting to both of them, but not right now. The tension was thick enough to blanket the atmosphere. It was suffocating; Kiyoomi could feel his legs slowly lacking more and more blood flow. For what felt like hours, couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. 

“Come home with me.” Kiyoomi blinked. Atsumu rambled on, “I mean look at me. I can barely stand, I’m asleep on my feet. Take me home and crash in the guestroom or something. I know you’ll harass me about making sure I clean this tomorrow, might as well just do it for me, Omi Omi,” he motions to the 2 inch wide section of his bicep now covered in a gauze wrap.

It was Kiyoomi’s turn to be shocked. “Okay.”

They stared at each other at the ease of the whole experience. 

“I mean, you are right, I don’t trust you to take care of that properly.” Kiyoomi raised his eyebrows at the man on the floor. He was thankful that he had the face mask on so Atsumu couldn’t see the soft smile dancing on his lips.

There was a small spark back into Atsumu’s eyes at the slight jab, and Kiyoomi knew he would be alright. 

Hey, Kiyoomi might not have had to kill a man for Atsumu, but he could at least dispose of a body for him.

[serahsanguine]

Christmas on The Run

Rating; Nc-17

For The Secret Santa Christmas Exchange. for Laia aka  @AweburnPhoenix

#XFSecretSanta2019        Ao3

Prompt; M&S Xmas after her abduction OR M&S first Xmas together on the run (sharing memories of their childhood, maybe?) I'd love to see some Hanukkah included somehow. 

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Notes; I did extensive research on the Jewish side of this fic, I do apologise if the hymn is wrong. Also a massive thank you to @graciedane for Beta reading for me.

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                             Christmas On The Run.

Early December

This was their first Christmas on the run, they were stopping in a cabin over the Kicking Horse Kabins just over the Canadian border on the outskirts of British Columbia. Mulder had a very, very old college friend who owned a cabin up here and knew he would be spending the holidays with his family back in Britain. They were safe for a little while, so they made the place feel like home. They had placed a 5ft tree in the corner of the room, with ornaments, lights the whole shabang. Twinkling light shattering the walls.

The Christmas music was on low in the background as Mulder was placing the stockings on the mantelpiece making sure the embers would not set them alight.  He was placing the last stocking when Scully walked up behind him wrapping her arms around his waist, her head softly placed on his winter jumper.

“Are you celebrating Hanukkah this year?” she asked in a soft voice.

“I wasn’t planning too, why?”

Mulder turned around to let the warmth of the fire engulf them both but she let go intending on walking off.

“I…. Just …. Never mind Mulder it doesn’t matter”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him holding her close.

“Do you want to celebrate it with me?” he placed his finger underneath his chin lifting her face up to his so they could look each other in the eyes. His hazel eyes burning holes into her crystal blue ones.

“No, it doesn’t matter” she felt a single tear prickle the back of her eyelids. She didn’t want to tell him how she wanted to celebrate it with him because it would be there the first one together as a couple. The first time they were together he was abducted, the second time she wanted to celebrate he had to run to keep her and William safe. She looked away and tried not to let the cold tear fall down her warm cheek.

“You promised no more lies, we tell the truth and speak our feelings.”

She turned to look at him again her hand reaching around to the back of his neck and her fingers sliding through his soft hair. It was a bit longer now than she was used to.

“It would be our first one together Mulder, every time we have tried something has happened, I want you to know that I respect your faith as much as you do mine.”

“Ok then we celebrate it together it’s a little later this year, and it begins on the 22nd.”

“What do you expect when Christmas day is on a Wednesday this year?”

They made them both giggle. she snuggled in his chest. his body wash invading her senses his soft jumper frizzling against her skin. They swayed to Band Aid 1984 reduction of Do They Know It's Christmas.  

The song had ended and Scully stood in front over the mantle noticing there were 4 stockings and not two. And that’s when the tears were no longer held back and she let the free fall.

“There are four but….”

“Emily even though she was not with us for long will always be ours. She lives through our hearts and be with us always. And one is for Will because even though he may not be here right now, again he will always be loved and he will never be forgotten.”

She looked at him with sadness and joy she placed her lips on to his and whispered, “I love you,” to which he replied ‘I know, and I love you to the moon and back.”

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Night of Sunday 22nd December.

Mulder had gone down to the ‘Local Store’ which in reality wasn’t that local at all. 30 minutes by car, down the mountain.  He bought a new Menorah and 9 different candles each representing the miracle that a one-day supply of oil lasted for eight days. Scully laughed that the candles were all different colours his simple reply was the shop only had rainbow colours.

“Scully, what is that amazing smell?”

“Potato latkes.”   He picked one up and it was still extremely hot. “That’s what you get for touching too early.” he stuck his tongue out at her and scrunched up his face. He blew it hard and she smiled.

“When did you learn to make them?” he said finishing his mouthful.

“When you were on the run, me and mom practised and I mastered the technique. I think mom was just trying to keep my mind occupied”

He felt her sorrow for the missing time they had spent apart, he knew it well as he had the matching feelings.

“It’s nearly time Scully.”

“It’s 8 o’clock already”

He nodded

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she was unsure of his answer even though they had bought and baked everything for the occasion.

“Yes for me, for you, for us.”

The room was dark the crackle of the fire roaring and burning in the background. The snow falling outside the cabin windows. The wind slightly rattling the window and echoing around the room. Mulder found the lighter and placed the first candle in the menorah and lit it and recited the first blessing.

“ Ba-ruch A-tah Ado-nai E-lo-he-nu Me-lech ha-olam a-sher ki-de-sha-nu be-mitz-vo-tav ve-tzi-va-nu le-had-lik ner ha-nu-kah.”

“In English, Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Hanukkah light.”

They both stood there in silence watching a flicker of the flame bouncing from left to right after 5 minutes Scully finally spoke.

“The prayer was beautiful,” she said calmly.

“I just hope I said it right it’s been a while,”  he replied truthfully.

“Even if you didn’t it sounded ok, plus there is always time to practice,” she said lightheartedly.

“Yes I suppose there is,”  he laughed and she joined in.  she wrapped his arms around his waist her head snuggled into his chest.

“I love you, Mulder,” she muffled into his shirt.

“I love you too Scully”

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Christmas Day 2 am

Mulder woke up looked at the crack underneath the curtain, the sky was still green like every night the moon bounced off the snow. He felt Scully's' warmth against his stomach her strawberry smelling hair ticking the tip of his nose. He buried his head further into her hair taking and deep breath in and letting her whole essence overfill him.

He stayed like this for a little while until Scully wiggled against his pelvis making some cute noise in her sleep. He flaccid penis went rock hard within seconds. He placed his lips against the crook of her neck trailing kisses up and down nibbling her ear every time he reached the top. His hand slid down her side of her body.  Her rounded perky breast with perfect rose nipples, standing to attention. He slid it further down her slim silky smooth stomach that once held their child. He hit the curls of the pubic bone and his hand slithered through her wet folds.

He heard her moan which only excited him more his erection full pressing itself on the small expanse of her back.

She opened her legs slightly to give him access this only encouraged him to carry on. His finger slid and slipped with ease around and through her folds and to her clit. She threw her head back into his chest, her body warm and succulent against his hot a feverish skin. She moved her body up slightly to allow him to enter her with ease. Her fingers around his waist helping him thrust inside her.  They soon become one body, one soul, one eternity moving in unison with each other he felt her body heighten in the desire for release. He was also so close to his bliss that when he felt her body convulse around his member he joined her in a euphoric pleasure.

When they came back to the real world he kissed her on the cheek and whispered,  

“Merry Christmas Scully”

“Merry Christmas Mulder, ” she hushed back before falling back to sleep for hours.  

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Christmas Day

They had woke up a little over an hour ago he made her blueberry pancakes in bed with fresh-squeezed orange juice. The fire crackling and warming the whole cabin up before Scully stepped off the bed. Mulder had laid her presents under the tree and she had placed his presents by the chair that had claimed as his.

“Mulder, when did you put up more decorations?”

“Why it wasn't me, it was Father Christmas.”

“Oh shut up,” she laughed and pushed him towards the chair and she sat next to the tree on the cream shag rug.  

She opened the smallest first it was wrapped scruffy in blue wrapping paper with small red presents on it with a small red bow and a sticker in his scruffy penmanship it read,  

‘To Scully, always and forever. Merry  Christmas love from your dearest Fox”

She opened it and what she saw brought silent tears to her eyes but instead of sadness, they were full of joy. With the box open she looked upon it and opened it up. He had gotten her a locket with Will’s picture in it. She had never before seen this photo of William and it made even more special.

The thought of William still hurt them both and they both often thought of him.

“Mulder it’s beautiful you shouldn’t have.”

“Something just as beautiful as you,” he hugged her and she placed her head on his chest and enjoyed his comfort. There were times she wouldn't let him all those years ago.  

She gestured for him to open one and he did picking an overly square one in red wrapping paper with a perfect bow and perfect note.

‘To Mulder Merry Christmas with all my love Dana’

He opened it tossing the paper aside and what sat on his lap was a photo album of William he open the black velvet book with the embroidered name of William on the front to find the first page was of him holding William in the hospital in his little alien onesie saying ‘I still want to believe’. The second page was full of when they first bought him home from the hospital in his small blue and yellow outfit. The next couple of pages were of Scully family holding Will in different locations as well as at home, he always smiling unless he was asleep.  

Mulder looked at Scully and in the moment with both their eyes glistening, the love and adoration for each other. They may have not have been married (yet) but in the quiet moments in the cabin, they felt like it.

They spent the next couple of hours going back and forth opening gifts with dinner somewhere in between. The night was closing in and they both sat on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around them in front of the roaring fire.

“Do you remember that first time we spent Christmas together?” he asked.  

“Of course, it was just after my abduction Mom had invited you without my knowledge at you turned up bright and early and Melissa was also there and she also knew.”

“We had turkey with all the trimmings and your mom made me help with the cranberry sauce.”

“Yes she did,” Scully replied laughing.

“I didn’t know what to get you so I bought you the first edition of Moby Dick.”

“It was a beautiful gift, Mom and Melissa kept calling you Fox.”

“And you kept correcting them every single time without fault telling them it was Mulder.”

They both started laughing and he moved closer to her and whispered sultry in her ear causing goosebumps forming on her skin.

“Now you know you can only call my Fox in the bedroom”

She took his lips with her own, the kiss sweet and sensual full of passionate desire and everything in between she let his lips go and he sat back where he was sitting.

“Do you have any of the best memories from your childhood you want to reminisce about while we drink the really expensive wine?”

“Yeah hell why not,” she replied as she took a sip of the red merlot. “There was this one time I was about 7, Charlie must have been five or six Melissa was 9 and Bill was ten”

Mulder sat closer to her his hand wrapped in hers.

“We were meant to be sitting at the table after getting everything prepared. We were all sat at the table and Missy was last and when she came down her face was full of makeup she had ‘borrowed’ from mom. And let me tell you mom and Ahab's face was in complete utter shock with what she looked like. She looked a mess and it was so funny we all laughed and she got an utter bollocking from both mom and Ahab. By the time they had cleaned her up dinner was cold but we teased her about it for the whole year”

“Oh my God, I can't believe she did that,”  he said in hysterics and trying to breathe in between.

“Now it's your turn,” she said smirking and taking another sip of wine.

“There was this one year where Samantha was about 5 and mom and dad got her the beautiful red border collie and Sam named her Ruby, she was completely in love with the puppy watching her bounce through the snow, throwing her the ball and playing fetch until about ten months later she ran away.”  

“This is meant to be happy Mulder,” she said, raising her eyebrow.  

“Wait for it I haven’t finished yet. A couple of days later she came back with a male companion scruffy looking thing. But you could tell this dogs were smitten for each other. 3 months later Ruby gave birth to a whole litter of puppies on Christmas day and Sams' face lit up all over again. But mom and dad won't be very happy about it and sold most of the litter apart from Sams favourite one. Which was red white and black proper runt of the litter but Sam loved it”

“So it was a Lady and the Tramp scenario,” She said smiling.

“Completely she even called the male dog Tramp.”

“That’s really sweet Mulder.”

“It was unless you had to shout Tramp when on a walk that got me some funny looks.”

“Oh, I bet it did,” she said laughing “But it is a really sweet story thank you for telling me”

Again she instigated the kiss by placing her lips on his. Wine forgotten about, clothed shed. Fire crackling. They spent the rest of Christmas the same way they had entered it entwining the minds, bodies and souls.

As they lay their weary heads on the pillow, wrapped up in an oversized blanket the snow fell outside the fire down to its last orange and yellow amber glow. Before falling asleep Mulder placed his lips on her red hair and whispered.

“Merry Christmas Scully.”

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Thank You for reading please leave me feedback whether it's good or bad I really appreciate it. Merry Christmas Everyone, I hope you have a wonderful new year

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Tagging @skullsmuldon @today-in-fic

[loubuggins]

Friends

Summary:  Everyone needs a friend and Raven will do whatever it takes to keep hers. 

Young Justice Universe 

Ships: BBRae, Supermartian 

Please reblog and review! :D

“Few there are that will endure a true friend.”  - Henry George Bohn

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Stop the convoy before it reached its intended destination. She had help too, her team members - a Martian, a Kryptonian, and a Changeling. All of who far surpassed her in experience and skill. She was still very new to the team and the mastery of her powers was less than satisfactory, according to certain members of the team. She was inclined to believe them too. While she has made noticeable progress in learning to harness her emotions and make them work for her, rather than the other way around, she was still a novice compared to the young heroes she compared herself to.

But this was supposed to be simple. Though she supposed, nothing was ever simple.

“Beast Boy!”

M’gann’s frightened shout rang through the forest and Raven’s head snapped in the direction the sound came from. Though all she could see were trees that towered over her. She spun on her heels as her eyes desperately searched for the boy who owned the name. He was her teammate, but more importantly, he was her friend. Perhaps her only one. Not just on the team, but in her life. At least, he was the only one who trusted her, a compliment she couldn’t even give herself.

She needed to find him. To land her eyes on him. She just needed to be sure he was safe. Even if he had taken a hit, she just wanted reassurance that he wasn’t down. She had come to depend on this boy. He had rescued her from the hands of the evil men who wished to use her powers for great destruction. He had brought her into his home and allowed her the honor of calling it hers. He had introduced her to his friends and to his loved ones, and while they were still hesitant to accept her into their group, he never gave it a second thought. She didn’t know why he was so trusting of her and when she had questioned it, he shrugged it off with nothing more than the mere obscure comment of “if you were a danger to me, I’d know.”

She was half-inclined to call him a fool.

The truth of the matter was - she was dangerous. She was born into the world for one purpose and one alone...to open the door for demon warlord who would bring the end to this world. She was not meant to be stopping criminals and protecting the innocent alongside Earth’s most beloved heroes in the name of justice. Yet here she was, doing just that. A privilege she owed to the boy who became her first and closest friend.

He was the reason she was even allowed on this mission. His instance that she was ready to handle the pressures of a real-life crime-fighting operation and his logical explanation of this situation being the perfect opportunity for her to put her skills to the test was enough to convince Kaldur’ahm (their leader) to give her permission to go. She herself had been hesitant. Unwilling to put the lives of her fellow teammates in jeopardy due to her inexperience, but the boy had been right about one thing.

“Everyone has to start somewhere.”

She was naive enough to take that advice to heart. Now that their easy “stop the convoy” mission had been blown up into an ambush that had them separated and trapped in the dense rainforest of Venezuela, she began to regret ever listening to him. Her magical powers were not fit for short range combat and without the guidance of her superiors or the aid of her friend, she was completely alone.

Her fear began to take control as a group of men dressed all in black chased her through the forest with guns pointed at her head. She tried to turn and shoot out a stream of her obsidian magic, but all it did was hit a tree and sent it collapsing onto the ground. It was enough to slow them down, but not enough to get them off her trail.

“Let me out!” A demonic voice growled in her mind. “Let me kill them!”

The temptation to give in to the voice’s command was strong during the heat of the moment, but she fought down her instinct to fight. A method she knew all too well. Instead of succumbing to her rageful side, she gave in to her fear and fled the scene by opening a portal and gliding through it.

The portal spit her out far enough away that she could safely catch her breath, but she apparently wasn’t as far away from the danger as she would have liked. She was close enough to hear the alias of her friend being called out by his adoptive sister. Not through the telepathic link, but out in the open. Her eyes darted around the understory of the forest, searching in between the trees for the familiar, green-skinned boy. In a split second her head flung back as she searched the sky, some mysterious force she hadn’t the time to stop and comprehend had fueled her actions. Sure enough, she saw a large, emerald eagle flying through the sky, but not in any natural way. Its wings were bound in a net and the force from whatever shot the said net had sent the bird falling in the opposite direction.

Without a thought, the demoness launched herself into the sky and flew straight for the projectile of feathers aiming for a nearby waterfall. She zig-zagged past the numerous trees that blocked her path, slowing her down by a second longer than she could afford. Leaves and tree limbs blurred together as she weaved her way through the forest as quickly as she was able to push herself. Her heart pounded against her chest and her breath quickened its pace.

She had to get to him, but she was running out of time. With each twist she had to make around a tree, his body came closer and closer to crashing into the forest floor. The voices of her teammates rang in her mind causing her head to throb, but she had to ignore their screams and wails. Her friend was plummeting to his death and if she took even a millisecond too long, he would be nothing but a pile of broken bones and plumage.

She had to make it.

She had to make it.

She had. To. Make it.

“Garfield!” She cried out as her body burst through the canopy and she flung her arm out, sending a stream of black fluid right at the unconscious body. The magic wrapped around his unmoving form, just inches above the matching green grass.

She stayed frozen in her spot above the ground, floating in the air just a few meters away from the knocked out bird of prey. She could still hear the voices in her head as they continued with their battle, but they faded into the background as the sound of her heart beating against her chest took the forefront of her hearing.

She simply stared at the bundle wrapped in her protective layer of magic. A dark glow illuminated from the animal, a maroon color blending with his jade features. As time came crashing back into her, she let out a gasp and gently lowered the body to the ground, laying it upon the soft grass. Once his body was safe on the Earth, she retracted her spell and floated over to him.

He was still trapped in the thick wires of the net, designed to let out an electric shock once activated. It must have been what had made him lose consciousness. Had it been a regular net, he would have easily changed his form into something capable of breaking it. That information didn’t matter now though. She just needed to be sure he was still alive, then she would find a way to remove the netting.

Slowly, her body lowered itself to the ground, her blue boots crunching the grass below her. She bent down to her exposed knees and wiggled her fingers through the holes of the net. His feathers felt like silk though they were sturdy and hard to move. His large wings were blocking his chest, so she had to dig her fingers around strategically. She didn’t want to cause him any more pain than he was already in, while simultaneously attempting to reach his chest to check for his heartbeat. When she finally reached the short fluff that covered his breasts, she let out a relieved sigh. His heart thumped against her touch in a sign of life.

“He’s alive.” Her mind whispered in awe.

“Who’s alive Raven?” She heard a familiar feminine voice answer her thought.

“Garfield-I mean, Beast Boy.” She quickly corrected herself, remembering the rules they had in regards to maintaining everyone’s secret identities while on the job. “I found him. He’s still in his bird form unconscious and tangled in the net that struck him, but otherwise, he appears stable.”

As she finished relaying her observations to M’gann, her fingers gently stroke circles around the plush, light green down. She had never come this close to a bird before. Despite her name, the masters of the sky rarely paid her much head and certainly never stopped their daily routines long enough for her to pet them. Though she had felt the odd feather here and there, feeling the softest part of a bird, in perhaps its most vulnerable spot, was truly a first for her. Like many of her experiences since she first met this carefree young man before her. Something else to note was how intimate the gesture felt, having her hand resting upon his beating heart. Feeling the heat beneath her palm and the slight rise of his breast bone with every beat. It made her feel just as exposed as he must have been, and yet she found the sensation oddly...comforting.

“Thank goodness.” M’gann sighed with relief evident in her voice. Through the telepathic link they shared, Raven could sense the Martian’s anxiety wane ever so slightly. The special concern the woman had for the younger shape-shifter always stood out to the empath. It was not unlike the sense of responsibility she felt toward her teammates, but amplified to an unforeseeable degree.

“Use your equipment to cut the net, then inform me when he’s free and I’ll use the link to hopefully wake him.”

The demoness agreed before slowly slipping her hand out of the net and reaching for the belt strapped around her hips. The Justice League had given her the belt to hold emergency equipment and some first-aid type products. She had refused the high-tech suit they had offered her, not wishing to wear such a bulky and restricting outfit, but they had insisted on the yellow belt. At least it had large, round crimson gems that gave it some appeal.

She tried to bite back the nagging “I told you so” feeling as she unclipped the small knife from the belt. She began to tremble as she brought the razor sharp blade close to his trapped form. She knew this was just a tool and that only in the wrong hands could it be made into a weapon, but she had never known such a tool to be used for anything other than violence. Bloodshed was everything she had been raised against. The monks of her homeland had preached peace above all else. Violence came from anger and anger fueled evil. So to escape from her demonic heritage, she had sworn off all forms of violent acts. Only until she had come to Earth, did she realize just how naive her attempt had been. Refusing to use her powers for destruction also kept her from using them for defense and she soon found herself captured by people who wanted to force out the demon within her. To use her as a weapon that would bring what she had stood against.

It was after she was rescued by Garfield and the others, that she had reached her great epiphany. Peace must be defended. Which is the new philosophy that had convinced her to join this young group of heroes. However, the feel of a weapon in her hand still felt foreign and strange.

“Just cut the wire.” She mumbled under her breath as she used her free hand to grip the net and extend it, giving her plenty of room to slide the knife under it without accidentally cutting into her friend’s flesh. She sucked in a deep breath, then in a quick and fluid motion, she sliced into the wire. She repeated the action multiple times until it created a big enough hole for the rest of the netting to lay around the bird. She checked over him one last time to make sure he was free of any external injuries, then carefully clipped the knife back on to her person.

“He’s free Miss Martian.”

As she gave the all clear, she could sense M’gann in his mind, no doubt stirring him back into consciousness. The sorceress sat down on the back of her legs as she waited patiently for something to happen, though she didn’t know quite what. It only took a few moments before she watched his form change shape, his feathers melting into his jade skin and his talon growing into human feet until the bird completely vanished and all that was left was a boy.

He was lanky in build, but his muscles still showed through the tight fabric of his black and purple suit. His face was chiseled out, his shoulders were beginning to broaden, and chest was thick. All signs of his coming of age. His hair was shaved down from his sideburns to around the back of his neck, but the top still remained long and messy from the battle.

He laid still for a few heartbeats, with only the slight rise and fall of his chest indicating life. Raven watched on, not stopping herself from letting his quiet breathing slowly lull her into a peaceful trance. There was always something about this boy that had captivated her senses. As if she were a moth drawn to a flame, she always found herself growing nearer to him whenever he was close by. He brought her a strange sense of tranquility, which she desperately would cling to. It was a nice change in pace, from having to be filled with a constant rage that sat in her belly like a rock. It was part of her demon heritage. Rage spawned violence and she was a weapon made to commit that violence.

Except when she was with him. Ever since their first meeting, she could feel his mere presence alone calm the storm inside of her. He put her demon at ease. She couldn’t explain why or describe how, but he did and it because of that he gave her something she had always longed for - hope.

“GAHHH!”

Raven jumped out of her skin at the sound of his shout as he quickly shot up from the ground. His head started spinning as he frantically checked his surroundings, his bright emerald eyes wide with fear. He began patting his torso as if he was checking that he had indeed lost his feathers. Raven sat quietly as she caught her own breath, coming down from the surge of adrenaline that had come from his sudden awakening. She had her own hand over her heart as she willed herself to relax, but was caught off guard when his eyes finally fell on her.

“Raven?” He questioned with furrowed brows, his mind racing to catch up. “What happened? Where am I? Where are the others?”

His questions flew out of his one by one as he continued to search his new surroundings. The young girl felt overwhelmed by the onslaught of inquiries, but she mentally repeated her mantra in her head to calm herself.

“You were encased in a net.” She began in a small voice. “It was made with electric wire and shocked you into unconsciousness.”

The green lad dropped his gaze and carefully rubbed the tips of his fingers over the thin gray wires that laid at his sides and underneath him. Then the wire netting fell from his hand as he brought his gloved appendage up to his head and cradled his forehead.

“Ugh...my head is killing me.” He groaned in pain.

“Probably because M’gann had to force you awake. The others are still in battle.” She relayed the information in a monotone drawl, purposefully pushing back her emotions in order to keep her powers in check. The truth was she was extremely anxious. Anxious to make sure he was okay. Anxious to get back to their team. But she swallowed down her racing heart and forced herself to remain calm.

Garfield peaked around his hand to meet her large, round amethyst gaze. While he heard very little feeling coming from her voice, he could always see every wave of emotion through the violet sea of her eyes. He didn’t think she knew, but her eyes gave away every emotion she tried to hide. It made her an easier book to read than many would have thought upon first glance.

Judging by the worry pooling in her eyes, he knew he should shake off his pounding headache and play it off as alright. He didn’t want her to fret over him, especially in the middle of a mission. They were both needed back in the fray and sitting here nursing a headache wouldn’t help anyone. He forced himself to drop his hand, then he attempted to push himself up, but as he began to lift himself off the ground his surroundings started to blur and he felt as if the world were spinning out of control. He fell back down on his bottom with a thump and held his head in his hands again, a loud groan escaping his lips. So maybe he wasn’t going back to the battle just yet.

He felt a pair of small, grey-ish hands wrap around him, one on his shoulder and the other on his chest, supporting some of his weight. Then he heard her soft mellow voice carry toward him over the sounds of the forest.

“Please, I can take away your pain.”

Casting her a sideways glance, he saw the seriousness in her eyes and the slight quiver of her lips. She didn’t wait for his answer as she slowly slid her hands up his neck to his cheeks. With a quick reflex, he covered her hands with his, stopping them in their tracks.

“No.” He said firmly, but not unkindly. “My pain becomes yours. It’s not a fix, it’s a trade-off and I’m not willing to make that trade.”

His emerald eyes locked with her amethyst gaze and this time neither looked away.

“How many times must I explain my healing abilities to you?” She asked him rhetorically as her brows furrowed and her nose crinkled in frustration. “I take your pain, yes, but then my powers instantly heal it. For a headache, I’ll only feel it for a heartbeat.” She tried to reason with him, but the stubborn boy only hardened his gaze.

“But you’ll feel it and that’s not fair.” He countered

“It’s not a matter of being fair. I want to heal you. You need to be healed. Just let me do so.”

They continued their hard stare for a pregnant pause until Gar finally closed his eyes and released her hands. Without another word, Raven snaked her fingers through his thick hair and rested the pads of her thumbs on his temples.

“Azarath, metrion, zinthos.” She breathed out her mantra, sounding out every syllable. Her dark eyes became shrouded with a baby blue glow and soon the light traveled to her fingertips. It seeped into the boy’s green skin and instinctively he leaned into her cooling touch. Fortunately, he didn’t see her slight flinch as she began to feel the same throbbing he had experienced only moments before, but as quick as it had come, it had left, true to her word.

Once she could no longer sense any discomfort from him, the blue-ish glow began to fade and her eyes returned to their normal violet hue. Gar slowly blinked open his eyes as felt her icy healing touch disappear and again their eyes met. Raven’s breath hitched under the intensity of his gaze, both remorseful and grateful. She knew he did not approve of her healing, only because of the method she had to use, and while she did not regret what she had done, she loathed the guilt she felt while under his pointed stare.

“Did it hurt?” He finally asked and it was then that she realized she had yet to stop touching him.

“No.” She lied as she jerked back her hands as if she had touched a flame. She brought her hands back to her lap and folded them neatly as she dropped her gaze to them. She heard Gar hum and knew by his tone that he did not believe her, but he let the issue be for now.

“Well um…” He began awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. “Thanks for saving me, I guess.”

Raven felt her cheeks warm at his compliment, but she kept her attention on her fingers as she absentmindedly twiddled them. “You would have done the same for me.”

She spoke so softly he almost couldn’t hear her, but her words made it to his ears and his own blush dusted his face. Another long silence fell between them until Gar worked up the nerve to speak again.

“We should, um, get back to the mission?”

At the mention of the fight happening behind them, Raven’s eyes snapped up and she gave him a small nod. Abruptly, she stood back on her feet, her navy blue cloak billowing out behind her. Without a word, she offered her hand to the changeling and after giving it a questioning look, he accepted it. She gave a weak tug, but his push did the rest and soon he was back on his own two feet. She released his hand afterward and he took the opportunity to brush himself off, his uniform dirty and wrinkled from his endeavor.

“Cleaning up for the enemy?” Raven quipped with a slight sound of amusement laced in her voice.

Gar looked up at her with mild surprise at first, then flashed her a toothy grin. “Gotta look aster for my big comeback.”

The sorceress rolled her eyes at his slang and began floating off the ground and leaving him behind.  “Just don’t get yourself killed on my first mission.” She deadpanned as she gave him her back.

Suddenly, a flash of green caught the corner of her eye and she heard him call out “no promises,” before shifting into a gorilla and swinging through the trees.

As she followed after him, she heard the female voice return to her mind. “Is he alright?”

She watched him jump from tree to tree until they reached a squadron of guys with guns and dressed all in black. He flung himself at the nearest man and crushed him under his weight before throwing punches at the other men. “He is now.” She replied as she flew in to join him. She surrounded them in a magical, protective shield as the bullets of their enemies began to fly.

“Always got my back, huh Rae?” He sent her through the mind link, his humorous tone evident even in her mind and she could imagine him giving her a wink. Despite his annoying antics, she still remembered seeing his body lying still on the forest floor and the sincere smile he had given her on the day he had freed her from her captives. She owed so much to this reckless jokester that even though his statement was meant to be silly, it was still true. So with a devilish smirk and a spark in her eyes, she extended her arms and pushed her shield out, catching all the bad guys in her wake and sending them either to the ground or slamming them into the trees.

Gar’s massive gorilla head spun toward her and his amazement shone through his eyes. She looked down upon him, her smirk never leaving her face as she replied through their link.

“Always, my friend.”

[voulezvous-rpg]

Congratulations, Ash! You’ve been accepted as The White Swan — Evangeline Giroux, with a face claim of Candice Patton!

You’ve brought Evangeline to life with such wonderful depth, I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t very close to tears here. Thanks for knocking me straight in the heart. That incredibly emotional backstory aside, I’m so drawn to this amazingly complex person you’ve painted. Haughty and insecure all at once, she’s a tightly-wound delight, and I can’t wait to see what direction this club pulls her in — or what direction she pulls the club in. So excited to see you both on the dash!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name/Alias: Ash

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Timezone & Activity: EST, I work so my activity will be mainly during the night time when I get home, and weekends.

IN CHARACTER

Desired Skeleton: The White Swan

Name: Evangeline Olivia Giroux (Stage Name - Angel)

FC: Candice Patton

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 25

Occupation: Dancer

How long has your character been around the Moulin Rouge? She’s been around the Moulin Rouge for a little over a year, before the fire occurred, performing and making a place for herself among the more seasoned dancers. Not too long that she could be considered a veteran, but there just long enough to feel the need to make change. The first month or so she allows herself to be dubbed a “patron,” still very much in denial that this could be a suitable place for her to dance. Still dragging her feet and turning up her nose, but she was told to just “give the place a try,” despite the initial and firm opinion she’d formed of it. So she frequented the club, arms crossed over her chest, lips in an unamused pout. But sooner or later, she found the place beginning to grow on her, finds herself recalling the choreo when a certain melody seeps into her ear, marking the motions with her fingertips. Old dance habits were hard to kick, and she couldn’t help herself when she auditioned to join.

How did the fire impact your character? While the death of Minette was a tragedy, a girl as ambitious as Evangeline saw the opportunity  in the embers. She was sure that the loss of a star would make room for a new one. The only thing she should have anticipated was The Diamond sliding into the spotlight instead. Why would the universe let her have this, after letting opportunity after opportunity slip through her fingers? It only made sense that she was solely meant to occupy the space directly outside of the spotlight. The aftermath of the fire breeds jealousy. But it also breeds relief. Seeing the ashes meant that once more her dream had crumbled to nothingness. But the renovations were quick, a fire much larger unable to be stubbed out – and that was the passion of the Moulin Rouge. But Evangeline knew now that she didn’t have to wait for her third chance, that she wouldn’t have to pick up and start all over again. She doesn’t think she could handle that kind of devastation again.  

Biography:

She slips her arms through her beaded dress. Delicate laces of her corset pulled taut. Her world was silks and organza, chiffon and charmeuse. Piles and piles of it filling their tiny living room, and she’d leap into them like a pile of leaves, letting their softness cradle her, cushioning her now from the blows life would soon throw at her. Needle and thread had long ago made a home between the nimble fingers of her mother, and it is with this art form that she shines, capturing the attention of the Parisian upper echelon with her pieces, with her gowns, with her charming creativity. One socialite in particular calls upon her to become her personal seamstress, commissioning dress after dress for every gala and tea and charity event she had scheduled throughout her social calendar. Evangeline is allowed to come along, shyly holding onto the tail of her mothers’s dress, a plush little duckling tucked under her arm. “Hi,” she greets quietly, waving as she hides, to the blonde little girl who stares back at her from behind her own mother’s skirt. Her front teeth are missing as she smiles, and Evangeline smiles too, for hers were missing as well. To her, they were the same. But in the end…they would never truly be.

She swipes rogue across the apples of her cheeks, lashes fluttering, and it reminds her of an innocence long gone. A time when things were simple. Her days were spent waiting for the post to come, requesting her mother to make another dress, schedule another fitting, because it would only bring her to the literal palace of a home that her best friend lived in. It was easy to forget how modest her own lifestyle was the more she spent time there. They’d have the finest tea parties, with real tea, out in the gardens. Sprint through the grass and twirl with bare feet among the rose bushes. Pirouettes and pliés done through the corridors as they dissolved into giggles. It’s how their afternoons went – haphazard ballet lessons as the midday  sun fell over the horizon. They make a pact to become ballerinas, after that, a promise Evangeline takes to heart, an aspiration she grabs onto with both hands. “You should come to class with me.” The suggestion is met with silence as Evangeline perfectly mimics a retiré devant the other had learned in class that day. (It should be said – the movement was met with a pout as it had taken three days for the little blonde to master.)

She scoops her curls into a pile atop her head, pulling taut as she recalls the first time she’d seen a real ballet dancer in motion, her hair the very same way. A sad smile. That’s what she’s met with when she tells her mother just what her friend had suggested. They didn’t have enough money, she learns. Not enough to cover the costs of such an elite dancing school. They wear matching pouts that day, but the girls hold each other’s hands tightly as Evangeline trails along anyways. The little blonde telling her she simply ‘must’ come to see her practice, her tutu bouncing as she bounded into class, moving into fourth position as she crosses the hardwood floors. Evangeline watches from the little box of a window. They were all so regal looking. So straight, so poised, so beautiful. Instantly, she felt herself lengthen her spine, extend her neck too, because it felt simply wrong to slouch in their presence. That’s when she sees her, the instructor – moving with such grace and effortless elegance to Delibes’ Coppélia that she simply couldn’t turn away. She returns, every day at three like clockwork, watching and practicing on her own through the window. “Are you not coming inside, cherie?” She’s asked one day, by the very woman she’d been indirectly learning from all this time. Curls were piled atop her head too, smile warm as she extends a hand back towards her class. “I have noticed you there. Outside.”

She pulls at the thin material of her sheer stockings, sliding them over smooth legs, and she sees the girl of eleven years old feeling more at home in her tights and ballet slippers than anything else. Wearing them as she woke, as she slept, as they felt more like skin than anything else she believed she’d ever wear. Evangeline doesn’t know it is her mother’s employer that had been paying for her lessons, to this day, she doesn’t know. The secret hefty checks and heavy pockets sure to supply their program is what keeps Evangeline in class at first. But with time, they decide to keep her around because she’s good. So good that she moves crowds with her solo stage moments, she wins over parents and talent scouts alike that attend her recitals. It’s this darling sort of charm, this visible passion that gains her admittance into The Royal Ballet School in London.

She balances a leg on the edge of her vanity, arms coming to encircle her leg, head bowed towards her knee as she stretches. A swan curling it’s feathers around itself for protection. Because she’d never been more devastated in her life until that moment. She graduates after four enduring years, looking only at one company to house her talent, in the heart of her very hometown. Ballet de l'Opéra national de Paris. The most distinguished and unsurpassed in all of France, in all of the world. And she was going to get in, it was the sole reason she returned. Her dress is white, feathers and jewels embedded into her hair as she steps on stage to audition. Tchaikovsky begins to play as she channels the swan-like Odette in spirit. She will claim it’s nerves that didn’t allow her to notice she was the only woman of darker complexion in the room. And she’ll claim it’s just silly to think that the committee’s decision was based solely on the amount of melanin in her skin. But when that spotlight shifts to the left, highlighting a red-head with shining green eyes and the same feathered wreath around her head – Evangeline knew the truth. She was good, but her best would never be enough. A near montage of the countless times she was passed up, preference and favor lingering on her fairer-skinned counterparts zipping through her head. And she’s tired – tired of working so hard, tired of the sleepless nights and ankle sprains, of her father telling her she “had to be twice as good” in order to keep up in a world designed against her. Because unlike them, she had no other choice. They would always see her as inferior, as second class. The moral of the story was: the world wasn’t ready for dancers like her to be center stage. They probably never would be.

She steps from behind a velveteen curtain, the spotlight spreading warmth across her cheeks. It’s feels familiar, yet this is a different kind of limelight. She must share it, but for now that’s okay. She’s convinced to stay in Paris by a familiar face, promising her a stage and the rekindling of the friendship that had momentarily been lost with time. They drape her in furs, cover her in pearls and diamonds, and then she’s pushed out to perform night after night. It’s unorthodox, a bit raunchy, but Evangeline commands the stage in her own way, a class all her own as she turns up her nose with haughty poise. They call her Angel now – once a childhood nickname became a pet name exhaled in lustful brogues, and then, a stage name she reclaimed for herself with what could only be described as sheer pride. Something to do with her seraphic features and penchant for shades of cream. It’s slight – the glimpse she captures once darkness falls. A flash of sequin, the lapels of a tailored suit, steps leading in unison up the stairs. She’s no fool, not blind to the debauchery that goes on here, but she ensures they make no mistake – she’s not, and never will be that kind of girl. To her, this stage is temporary, something that’ll do for now, until she can find one that is truly worthy of her.

Potential Plot Points: What kinds of plot arcs, in terms of character development and overarching group plot, could you foresee for your character?

(1) DEFROSTING – I definitely want to see Evangeline get knocked off her pedestal that she’s built for herself. I imagine her first months there she spent most of her time alone, somewhere in a corner filing her nails, side-eyeing the girls because she didn’t think “these people” were worthy of her time. She was here for her art, and spent time practicing more than anything. She’s very high-strung, as she sits on her high horse.  She thinks of the other girls as beneath her because they lacked professional training, she looks down her nose at those labeled ‘courtesans’ because she finds that sort of thing to be risque and indecent. In truth, while a technical dancer, while trained and having gone to elite dancing schools, all while keeping her legs tightly closed, she can’t hold herself higher than the girls she shares a stage with. She has to learn to loosen up, not be as critical and judgemental and as hard on the others as she is on herself. Moulin Rouge is about liberation, about fun and spontaneity, of which Evangeline is none of those things, so she hardly can relate to her counterparts. There’s definitely a lot to be learned while she works for Moulin Rouge. I would love for Evangeline’s journey of self-discovery to turn in this direction, to learn to relax and have fun and not try to be so perfect at everything, because she’s only destroying herself this way, trying to grapple with her own high expectations, values and integrity at the same time.

(2) INNOVATING – I would love to see a matchup with her, the Choreographer and the Pianist, to not only create something fresh and brand new for Moulin Rouge but also incorporate the ballet she’s lived and breathed her entire life. (I just want my bby swan to shine, okay!)  I can’t see Evangeline just standing to the side as The Diamond gets their shine on. Sure, she’ll let the girl have her moment, but after a while she’ll be like: “It’s my turn.” And transforming a part of the show to suit her talents, is exactly what she’d do. I’d love to see the effect this new sort of style has on the other girls, if they adapt and accept or want to discard the idea altogether, stubbornly digging their heels in to the characteristically raunchy tradition the Moulin Rouge has.

(3) AWAKENING – Evangeline while seeming quite pleasant, quite charming on the outside, is actually a very detached person. She doesn’t let anyone get too close because she thinks she’s better than they are, only wanting to associate herself with the crème de la crème. Or she believes they won’t understand her, understand what’s important to her, understand her passion and what she values most. But I would love to see someone weasel their way in (bonus points if it IS the Mafia Man himself, that’s so fascinated by her). I would love for them to see that getting to know her and getting close to her is a process, but I want her to come out realizing, it’s okay for her to open up, it’s okay to be vulnerable and let people see that vulnerability. She can’t be a pillar of strength and composure at all times. But also it’s okay and normal to consider more sensual things, to slow down and explore them instead of keeping herself buttoned up to the top. She can’t stay and work every day at Moulin Rouge and not get even the slightest bit curious. ;)

FREESTYLE

You can find my white swan character aesthetic I’ve made HERE !!

CHARACTER ANALYSIS

FULL NAME: Evangeline Olivia Giroux

NICKNAME(S): Angel, Evie, Eva, Evan

AGE: 25

DATE OF BIRTH: September 4th

GENDER: Cis female

NATIONALITY: French

OCCUPATION: Dancer at Moulin Rouge

SEXUALITY: Demisexual

► APPEARANCE

HEIGHT: 5’4”

BUILD: Willowy

HAIR COLOR: Black

EYE COLOR: Brown

DISTINGUISHING FEATURE: Her curly hair

► STANDOUT TRAITS

GRACEFUL

AMBITIOUS

PASSIONATE

COMPOSED

PRIM

FOCUSED

HAUGHTY

NAIVE

STUBBORN

CRITICAL

► EXTRA INFORMATION

JUNG TYPE: ESTJ

ESTJs are hardworking traditionalists, eager to take charge in organizing projects and people. Orderly, rule-abiding, and conscientious, They like to get things done, and tend to go about projects in a systematic, methodical way. ESTJs command a situation, with the sense that they know how things should go and are ready to take charge to make sure that it happens. They are task-oriented and put work before play. Confident and tough-minded, the ESTJ appears almost always to be in control. ESTJs appreciate structure and often begin to organize as soon as they enter a room. They want to establish the ground rules and make sure everyone does what they’re supposed to.

TEMPERAMENT: MELANCHOLIC

Melancholic people are emotionally sensitive, perfection-seeking introverts. The defining feature of a melancholic attitude is perfectionism. They are idealists who wish for things to be a certain way, and they get distressed when they are not. They hold themselves and others to unrealistically high standards, and get distressed when these standards are not met. This leads to them being self-deprecating - because they do not meet their own standards - and critical of others - because those others do not meet their standards.Many melancholics wish to learn and to understand, to know the details of every little thing, because to be ignorant is to stray from perfection. They are very stubborn, because they try very hard to stick to their own carefully considered views and standards of perfection, and are not easily shifted from this path. They do not go with the flow. They are tenacious and cannot let things go, because ‘good enough’ is not good enough. They strive for perfection. They think and plan before they act; they are not the types who will resort to rash, impulsive behaviour, and will panic if they are unable to plan in advance. It’s easier for them to reject and hate things than it is for them to love and embrace them. Their interests and tastes are picked carefully, and they give a lot of attention to each one, and hold them close to their hearts, rather than having many fleeting interests that change quickly and often.

Melancholics are the most introverted of the temperaments in that they crave time alone, and are most at ease in their own company. They can enjoy spending time with others, but this drains their energy, and they need alone time in order to recharge. Much of their introversion comes from their perfectionism. They are picky about the sorts of people that they associate with; people who meet their standards and share their outlook. People that don’t will make them uncomfortable; they do not wish to talk to 'anyone and everyone’.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE: TYPE THREE - THE ACHIEVER

The Success-Oriented, Pragmatic Type: Adaptable, Excelling, Driven, and Image-Conscious

Threes are self-assured, attractive, and charming. Ambitious, competent, and energetic, they can also be status-conscious and highly driven for advancement. They are diplomatic and poised, but can also be overly concerned with their image and what others think of them. They typically have problems with workaholism and competitiveness.

Key Motivations: Want to be affirmed, to distinguish themselves from others, to have attention, to be admired, and to impress others.

MORAL ALIGNMENT: LAWFUL NEUTRAL

A lawful neutral character acts as law, tradition, or a personal code directs her. Order and organization are paramount to her. She may believe in personal order and live by a code or standard, or she may believe in order for all and favor a strong, organized government. Lawful neutral is the best alignment you can be because it means you are reliable and honorable without being a zealot.

TROPES:

Inferiority Superiority Complex, Broken Bird, Always Second Best, Break The Haughty, Girly Girl, Defrosting Ice Queen, Dainty Little Ballet Dancer, Light Feminine, Woman in White, Proper Lady, The Fettered, Not Like Other Girls, Angelic Beauty, Women Are Delicate, Determinator, Hard Work Hardly Works, “Well, Excuse Me, Princess!”, The Perfectionist, Holier Than Thou

MEDIA INSPIRATIONS: Petra Solano, Michaela Pratt, Princess Tiana, Lydia Martin, Aubrey Posen

SIN: Pride.

VIRTUE: Chastity + Diligence

ELEMENT: Earth

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Slytherin

ZODIAC: Virgo

► THINGS DONE:

Broken a bone | Gotten stitches | Had a near-death experience | Invented something | Been hungover | Kissed someone | Slow danced | Been in a long-term relationship | Had sex | Had sex and regretted it | Had a one-night stand | Had a threesome | Experimented with their sexuality | Had a kid | Gotten married | Self-harmed | Been in a play | Received an inheritance | Been in a shipwreck | Lost a loved one | Been dumped | Dumped someone | Smoked | Gotten high | Been slipped something in their food/drink | Won a contest | Won an election | Joined a sports team | Gone skydiving | Gone hunting | Been in a band | Had a job | Been fired | Been in a wedding party | Owned a pet | Seen a ghost | Skipped class/work | Learned an instrument | Gotten a noticeable scar | Sued someone | Been robbed | Been mugged | Been kidnapped | Been sexually assaulted | Been brainwashed/hypnotized | Gone more than one day without eating | Had a recurring nightmare | Been bullied | Bullied someone | Seen someone die | Attempted suicide | Been tied/chained up | Shot someone | Stabbed someone | Saved someone’s life | Cheated on someone | Been cheated on | Been betrayed | Been in a fight | Been arrested | Been to a funeral | Had surgery | Broken someone’s trust | Gotten a tattoo | Used a fake name | Been tortured | Been abused | Been blackmailed | Had an attempt on their life | Gotten away with a crime | Gone on a road trip | Been in love

► HABITS:

nail biting | throat clearing | lying | interrupting | chewing the ends of pens | smoking | swearing | knuckle cracking | thumb sucking | muttering under their breath | talking to themselves | nose picking | binge drinking | oversleeping | snacking between meals | skipping meals | picking at skin | impulse buying | talking with their mouth full | humming/singing to themselves | chewing gum | leg jiggling | foot tapping | hair twirling | whistling | eye rolling | licking lips | sniffing | squinting | rubbing hands together | jaw clenching | gesturing while talking | putting feet up on tables | tucking hair behind ears | chewing lips | crossing arms over chest | putting hands on hips | rubbing the back of their neck | being late | procrastinating | doodling | shredding paper | peeling off bottle labels | forgetfulness | running hands through hair | overreacting | teeth grinding | nostril flaring | slouching | pacing | drumming fingers | fist clenching | pinching bridge of nose | rubbing temples | rolling shoulders

► KNOWS HOW TO:

bake a cake from scratch | ride a horse | drive stick | speak a second language | dance | catch a fish | play an instrument | throw a punch | build a deck | ice skate | unclog a drain | program a computer | change a flat tire | fire a gun | sew | juggle | play poker | paint | fly a kite | draw | write poetry | change a diaper | sing | shoot a bow and arrow | ride a bike | swim | sail a boat | do a back flip | play chess | give CPR | pitch a tent | flirt | stitch a wound | write in cursive | use an electric drill | braid hair | make a campfire | make a mixed drink | wrap a gift | jump-start a car | roll their tongue | do yoga | tie a tie | skip a rock | shuffle a deck of cards | read Morse code | pick a lock

[holytheoristtastemaker]

Technology is moving at an incredible pace. We live in the fascinating era of autonomous cars, computer vision, personalized medicine, and quantum computing. Artificial Intelligence, crypto-currencies, advanced automation, deep learning and concepts like Universal Basic Income are about to reshape our world.  

Our digitized world accelerates innovation in many ways. The unprecedented pace of innovation we experience is powered by a massive digital ecosystem of resources, tools, infrastructure, and advanced capabilities that a few years ago would have been classified as ‘science fiction’. Our social structures and work models are impacted by recent innovations leading to new forms of communication and collaboration.  Movements such as the open-source and open collaboration both drive innovation and benefit from it. The following describes the state of digital technologies and the things to come.  

We generate an astronomical, rapidly growing amount of data. 

The world’s network of humans and machines generates astronomical volumes of data. It is estimated that the digital universe will size about 175 zettabytes by 2025[i]. And this volume is growing exponentially. Of course, a significant percentage of this is just noise or also fake, low quality and unreliable. But subsets of this data describe most types of human activity at a global scale, and at the same time, at an amazing level of detail.  

Along with the events coming from connected devices and the measurements from billions of sensors – this massive, growing data set forms a new type of ‘global memory’: a vast amount of time-series of events and signals, machine states, news, opinions, research findings, discoveries, social interactions, decisions, environmental measurements and more. The historians of the future will be able to look back and reproduce the planet’s activity with a granularity of seconds. The machines of the future will be able to consume and make sense of our reality in ways we cannot even imagine. Of course, there are substantial ethical questions and concerns regarding ownership and usage of this data: how might we use, protect and leverage humanities’ accumulated data in an ethical way and for the greater good? This question could be an excellent theme for innovation on its own as we should not rely on the political will and corporate social responsibility; regulation is only a part of the solution. Technology itself can provide excellent ways of data ownership and ethical use.

  Our data processing capability is impressive; but still limited. 

Current data processing technologies are capable of making sense of the vast amounts of content we produce. Sophisticated algorithms can identify non-obvious patterns in the data and generate insights that make applications and devices smart. Statistical and machine learning algorithms allow optimal, real-time decision-making in complex situations – for example, powering autonomous cars to react in optimal ways, enabling systems to identify cyberattacks or controlling the traffic load of a smart city. Artificial Intelligence empowers computers to see, to listen, to smell[ii] , and soon to infer – to deduce new information from existing knowledge. Machines can already recognize human emotions, and they can communicate verbally at an impressive level. But still, there is massive untapped value in the immense volumes of data and content we produce. The amount, the breadth, and depth of the world’s accumulated data create the need for new ways to summarize, visualize, and present information and insights. To deal with the potential of information overload, companies will soon feel the need to move from regular reports and dashboards to automatically synthesized data stories and smart insights. Executives will soon interact with Business Intelligence agents providing instant answers to business questions instead of multi-page reports and worksheets. The world needs novel methods to experience and make sense of the massive data we generate. Intelligent interactive synopsis, personalized insights, ‘data navigation’ systems, VR and AR experiences to visualize complex ‘data worlds’, voice-driven insights are just some examples of potential innovations in the data space.

  Artificial Intelligence is getting Intelligent.  

In the field of Artificial Intelligence, Computer vision and Natural Language Processing are characteristic examples of recent advances. Simply put, Computer Vision is the class of algorithms that allow a computer to see – to analyze images and videos and identify entities, objects, and specific instances such as locations, persons, things – or even the situation and the particular occasion visualized in an image. Combined with other technologies such as fast networking, edge computing, Computer Vision, creates opportunities for breakthrough innovations across domains – from transportation (autonomous cars, self-organizing fleets, navigation systems, and smart cities), medical systems (diagnosis), robotics and more. At the same time, Language Understanding is making tremendous progress. Digital assistants become more intelligent, contextual, and proactive – interactive in a conversational mode, able to drive meaningful dialogues instead of just responding to an isolated question. They are able to know who they are talking to by analyzing the voice in real-time, and they will soon be able to offer personalized responses – matching the communication style and information needs of each specific user. By leverage accumulated knowledge about the user, conversational experiences will become more personal, useful, and relevant for the particular user, moment in time, and estimated mood. AI-powered translation is becoming more accurate and faster – recent advances allow speech to speech translation while maintaining the tone of voice and other voice attributes of the original speaker. With the help of Artificial Intelligence, communication with the machines is becoming seamless – hence the term Natural User Interfaces. People are already interacting naturally with smart devices – we can control simple functions of our home via our smart speaker or digital assistant or use voice commands to perform a web search and manage our calendar. Soon, we will be able to use not only voice but also haptic interfaces – a technology recreating the sense of touch by applying force feedback, vibrations, or motions to the user. Voice commands will evolve to conversational interfaces – less structured and more natural.

  Our reality gets augmented.  

Technology is not only changing how we interact with our intelligent machines but also how we see and understand the world. Typically delivered through smart glasses, augmented reality technology (also known as extended or mixed reality) provides an extra layer of information relevant to the particular object a user is looking at or interacting with. It is what we get when physical and digital worlds blend into a single experience. This area will grow rapidly - as the space for innovation is unlimited. New content experiences, data exploration and visualization techniques, dynamic mapping of the physical world, industrial applications for field workers — are just some examples of the applications that are in the way and are about to change the ways we understand the world. Analogous progress and opportunity for innovation exist for Virtual Reality – which allows new digital worlds to be created and helps experience remote situations or settings or join a human activity happening elsewhere. Content creation and new experiences for VR/AR defines a great new stage for innovations across multiple domains and business scenarios, including e-commerce, gaming, social applications, learning and education, and healthcare.

  Humanity’s memory becomes persistent.  

Another significant advance is in the area of Distributed Ledger Technologies (DLTs) such as the Blockchain. Such systems are based on an extensive network of nodes, each running on a different machine and maintaining a complete copy of a database of transactions. Nodes communicate with each other on a peer-to-peer fashion – with no single entity or authority controlling the system. A process of transaction verification and voting among the nodes makes such technologies trustless and decentralized – they are not controlled by isolated entities, and they don’t require trust between transaction participants. Blockchain is considered to be one of the most disruptive technologies of our times. It is already powering cryptocurrencies, and it is expected to drive massive transformation in social, government, and financial sectors – as the solution for distributed, decentralized, and immutable storage of data or code (smart contracts).

  Robots are finally getting smart.  

Either purpose-specific or general-purpose, robots are already here in impressive forms. The discipline of Robotics combines multiple technologies – from sophisticated hardware to advanced software systems and algorithms - to develop smarter, autonomous robots that can perform a widening range of tasks. Robots are powered by advanced Artificial Intelligence and take advantage of the fast connectivity and edge computing, to perform complex cognitive tasks in real-time. They are coming in multiple form factors — humanoids, nano-robots, military, industrial, and so on. New generations of robots are also connected -- they take advantage of the world’s knowledge and digital infrastructure to become smarter and more adaptive. In the near future, general-purpose robots will become more proactive and autonomous with advanced context understanding and the ability to recognize complex situations and adapt. They will have a ‘personality’ individual communication styles, and strategies.

   Biotechnology redefines life.  

At the same time, advances in biotechnology, bio-engineering, bioinformatics are driving massive changes across industries, from medical and pharmaceutical to agriculture and food engineering. Research in Quantum computing presents significant progress – recent announcements of quantum supremacy demonstrate how this new class of systems outperforms the most powerful computing systems we currently have.

———

The years to come will bring impressive technological breakthroughs with a massive impact on our lives, markets, and societies. In our connected world, with the unprecedented level of information, knowledge and ideas exchange, innovation is happening continuously, at scale and in several forms. It is driven by corporations, secret labs, universities, startups, research scientists or simply by thousands of creative individuals across the globe.

[thatgirlonstage]

I am being wildly fucking irresponsible because I am jet-lagged and I have classes tomorrow and I should definitely be asleep two hours ago but I said I would post this chapter before the end of the week if it killed me and GODDAMMIT I MEANT IT. Take this away from me, please.

Summary: Lance wakes up in a hospital on Earth to discover he has been missing for four months, with no memory of Voltron or the Galra. Drawn inexplicably to the desert where they found him, he discovers a hut full of research and notes that may provide the key to his missing memories. With secrets and conspiracies surrounding him, and the Garrison potentially hiding far more than he could ever have imagined, Lance grows to trust the notes in the desert - but he may not believe the person who claims he wrote them.

Chapter Seven:

           Lance felt light-headed. He was acutely, painfully hyperaware of everything he could feel, like his sense of touch had been dialed to eleven. The floor pressed hard and unforgiving through his shoes, his cotton shirt rubbed softly against his skin, and cool air kissed his wrists where his jacket sleeves ended. His pulse pounded harshly against his neck and his lungs felt tight. Every instinct he had screamed RUN RUN RUN. He trembled. Captain Seitz closed the door behind her.

           “Don’t panic, Mr. Sanchez,” she ordered. Lance didn’t dare take his eyes off Lotor long enough to look at her. “Prince Lotor will not hurt you. He is an alien, a species named Galra. He is here working with the Garrison to establish Earth’s first contact with alien species throughout the universe.”

           “You have a lovely planet,” Lotor said politely. Lance felt a chill creep down his spine at the way Lotor’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “An extraordinary amount of water.” Lance struggled to find his voice. It so rarely deserted him that the struggle itself sent another spike of panic through his chest. Finally, with a squeak and a crack, he managed to stutter out:

           “You’re— you’re… an alien.” Lotor looked amused.

           “Indeed,” he said. Lance sucked in massive breaths, trying to slow his racing heart.

           “Okay. I’m talking to an alien. Okay. But why…” He trailed off as the realization hit him. A hysterical laugh bubbled up between his lips. “Oh God. You— you think— that we were abducted by aliens. That’s why no one could find us. You think we were— like telescope man with his conspiracies— what happened, were we beamed up into the sky by little green men? Did they steal some cows too?” The slightest hint of confusion flashed across Lotor’s eyes, but he smoothed it over.

           “Why don’t you take a seat, Lance?” he asked. Lance did not like the way Lotor tasted his name, rolling it around his mouth for just a second too long. The insistent voice in his head cried out RUN RUN RUN. He almost did. He almost turned and bolted, desperate to escape this room, to put as much distance between him and this purple monster as possible. But Hunk and Pidge were still missing. So instead he dropped like a stone into the nearest chair, not sure if he was relieved to be off his shaking legs or just more terrified that he was no longer immediately ready to run.

           “Captain Seitz, perhaps you better explain…? I’ve only recently arrived, after all,” Lotor said, taking his own seat and resting his chin on his fingertips.

           “Very well,” Captain Seitz said. “The Garrison established first contact with aliens almost eighteen years ago when one crash landed here. There had been limited incidents before that, but this was the first time an alien arrived with a translation device that allowed proper communication, and the first time we actually had the technology to jerry-rig something capable of interstellar transmissions.

           “Since that time, the Garrison has been establishing contact with several alien races. We have primarily been in cautious negotiations with Prince Lotor’s people, the Galra Empire.”

           “Empire?” Lance asked, finally tearing his eyes off Lotor to glance at Captain Seitz. She nodded curtly. Lotor spread his hands in an open gesture.

           “Empire is such an ugly word in your history,” he said. “Our goal is unification and peace, not subjugation.”

           “But you’re a prince.” Lance almost jumped at hearing his own voice, surprisingly steady. “Your Empire has monarchs. Meaning you rule by birth, not election.” Lotor smiled and his smile was all teeth.

           “I can give you a lesson in the niceties of Galran politics later, if you really want me to, but trust me that it is not quite that simple.”

           “A year and a half ago, we sent three of our best and brightest to space, ostensibly on a scientific mission to Kerberos,” Captain Seitz continued. “This was only a cover-up for their real mission: to become ambassadors to the Galra. We were hoping, should they be successful, that we might finally be ready to inform the rest of the world of what we knew without fear that we would immediately spark an interstellar war. However, there were complications.” She paused briefly and Lance’s eyes flickered to her. “A race called the Alteans caught wind of our planned negotiations.”

           “The Alteans are a dangerous people,” Lotor said. “They have a natural ability to manipulate quintessence, which gives them immense power. Power which they have used to commit unspeakable horrors. They have meddled in the forces of life and death in ways that other races of the universe find abhorrent and unnatural.”

           “What’s this ‘quintessence’ stuff, exactly?”

           “It is the natural raw energy and life force present in all living things,” Lotor answered. Lance’s eyebrows drew together.

           “So… quintessence is the Force and the Alteans are all Siths?” he asked, glancing at Captain Seitz. She gave him another curt nod.

           “That is much how I understood it, Mr. Sanchez.” She glanced at Lotor and then picked up the story again. “The Alteans also arrived at Kerberos, hoping to interfere. The Galrans fortunately managed to rescue Commander Holt and his son Matt. However, the pilot, Takashi Shirogane, was taken captive. Prince Lotor, why don’t you take it from there?”

           “Hold up,” Lance said, horror sitting in his stomach like a stone. “Shiro was captured by a hostile alien race – and then you faked his death and both of the Holts’ by blaming him for a crash that never even happened? Captain Seitz, what the f— How could the Garrison do something like that?” Captain Seitz looked at him icily.

           “It was necessary to preserve secrecy or risk people all over the Earth trying to get involved in an alien conflict they know nothing about. A pilot error was the most simple and believable explanation.”

           “You could have said the ship malfunctioned,” Lance said, glaring at her.

           “Not if we wanted any chance to send another mission to space within the next five years – and thus have any hope at all of continuing negotiations with the Galra, or bringing the Holts home.”

           “But not Shiro,” Lance said. There was a frenzied energy itching under his skin. Captain Seitz’s cold eyes should have been enough to dry his mouth for a week, but he felt a need to defend Shiro. It was an imperative coming from somewhere inside him. In a jolt of déjà vu, it reminded him of the surge of protectiveness he’d felt for Kent a few days ago. Two people thrown to the wolves by everyone they should have been able to trust with their lives.

           “Wait and hear the whole story,” Lotor said, his voice soothing. Lance turned his glare to the alien, suddenly a bit less afraid. Anger curled in his gut, burning everything else away. If he was still going to run, he’d like to give Lotor a good sock in the jaw first. “There are not many Alteans left. Most of them have been killed in the bloody wars they have waged. The Galra Empire first grew as an alliance of planets who sought to bring down the Alteans and stop them draining planets to harvest quintessence. However, despite their small numbers, they remain a massive threat, because they possess the most powerful weapon the universe has ever seen. It is called Voltron.” Lance felt something jolt down his spine at that word. For the briefest moment, he had vision, all indistinct and dissolving, as if he were seeing it underwater. He saw something massive, colored in red, green, blue, yellow, and black, with glowing eyes that pierced him to the core. It was gone so fast he wasn’t sure he hadn’t just imagined it. His eyes met Lotor’s and something flashed across them, as brief as the vision and probably just as imaginary. After all, there was no explanation for why Lotor should look triumphant.

           “Voltron is a massive robot, made of five combined robot lions,” he continued. Lance’s bewildered disbelief must have shown on his face. “Trust me when I say, it is far more frightening than it sounds. Nothing – no weapon of our own creation, no fleet of ships, no number of planets – can stand against the destruction that Voltron is capable of unleashing. However, Voltron requires five pilots, who must match the quintessence of each lion.”

           “I thought you said quintessence was only present in living things?”

           “The lions are living things.”

           “They’re robots, but they’re alive?”

           “They are robots animated by infused quintessence,” Lotor explained, a hint of impatience in his voice. “They are very much alive, and they choose their pilots carefully. With so few Alteans left, it has become extremely difficult for them to replace pilots when they die. In fact, the last pilots were all killed a number of years ago, and the Alteans have not been able to replace them. The Galra Empire has been able to make some impressive headway against the Alteans in Voltron’s absence. Until, that is the Kerberos mission.

           “The witch-queen Allura and her royal advisor, Coran, kidnapped Takashi Shirogane – Shiro – and made an extraordinary discovery: humans have the correct sort of quintessence to pilot Voltron. Not every species can, you see.” One of Lotor’s ears flicked like a cat, drawing Lance’s eyes to it, fascinated despite himself. “A few Galra have the potential – but very few. Most of the other races that can do not exist anymore. The Alteans wiped them out to prevent any chance that another people could steal their weapon away from them. But now they are desperate. They made Shiro the pilot of the black lion.

           “Then, about five months ago, Shiro briefly escaped. He managed to steal a ship, and return to Earth, where he crashed—”

           “The meteor,” Lance said. As soon as the words left his mouth he knew, without a single doubt in his head, that it was true. “That was the meteor. The telescope man was right. It was a crashing ship.” Lotor inclined his head in agreement.

           “Unfortunately, the Alteans followed him, and while retrieving him they took the opportunity to kidnap four more humans that matched the quintessence of various lions. You and your friends were three of them.” Lance just stared at Lotor. He’d half-guessed where this was heading, but hearing it said out loud just made it sound beyond absurd.

           “So I’ve been fighting an intergalactic space war for a bunch of evil Sith aliens,” he said.

           “Yes.”

           “I wouldn’t do that, though. And – and neither would Hunk or Pidge, and definitely not Shiro.” Lotor shrugged.

           “One of the Altean quintessence arts is mind control. The witch-queen happens to be particularly skilled in that area. Why do you think you cannot remember anything that happened in the past four months? You were brainwashed.” Lance was shaking his head almost involuntarily.

           “No, no, no, this is crazy. This is crazy. How would I have gotten away? I can’t possibly have gotten caught up in something like that and not remember any of it.”

           “We’re not sure how you got away – we’re only happy that you have,” Captain Seitz said brusquely. “In fact, we’re hoping that you can help us.”

           “Voltron is not inherently evil,” Lotor said. “If we could manage to steal the blue lion – your lion – from the Alteans, you could pilot it for us. Even better, if we manage to break the witch-queen’s hold on all of your friends, we could have all of Voltron on our side.”

           “Who was the fifth pilot?” Lance asked, scrambling for something concrete and understandable, any question he could ask that would make the world turn right side up again.

           “Keith Kogane,” Captain Seitz answered, and the world spun like a tilt-a-whirl. Lance felt another hysterical laugh burst out.

           “You have to be fucking joking,” he gasped. He knew it was true, with the same certainty that he’d had about the meteor crashing. That dream had not been a dream. Captain Seitz’s eyes were cold again.

           “I assure you, I would not joke about any of this,” she said. Lance buried his head in his hands.

           “This is insane,” he moaned.

           “Insane it may be, Mr. Sanchez, but it is still happening. Prince Lotor and his entourage arrived shortly after the Alteans abducted you and your friends. He informed us that it was likely that the Alteans would be back, harvesting potential future pilots and draining the rest of the planet of its– quintessence.” She fumbled the word slightly, the only break Lance had yet seen in her composure. “With your escape, it is likely they will arrive at any moment. If you want the planet to survive, you will help us.” Lance’s fingers curled, digging against his temples. Lost memories pounded his skull, trying to escape. This whole situation was wrong, horribly wrong.

           Something warm and soft brushed against his hand, gently tugging it away from his head. Lance looked up to discover Lotor had somehow stood up and crossed over to him silently, and was crouching down beside him, one hand wrapped around Lance’s own. Lance yelped in fear, ripping his hand away from Lotor and springing out of the chair and away so fast he almost toppled over. Lotor stayed where he was, a look of sympathy on his face.

           “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said softly. “I know this may seem overwhelming. But I am here – the Galra are here – to try and help. Earth does not need to face this danger alone.” Lance clutched the hand Lotor had grabbed to his chest, staring wide-eyed. Lotor stood back up, keeping his distance. “For whatever comfort it may offer, if you broke free of the witch-queen’s control, I have high hopes that your friends can do the same.” He glanced at Captain Seitz, who remained a stiff, impersonal presence. “It is a lot of responsibility, but you have an opportunity to save your friends, to protect your family, to rescue the entire planet. That is a gift.”

           Lance pressed his clutched hands closer to his chest, trying to steady his breathing. His instincts still screamed at the sight of Lotor, adrenaline spiking and pushing him to run, run, run. But however mad the story, the evidence was standing in front of him, purple and impossibly tall, with its head tilted slightly as if in curiosity. Aliens were real, and at least some of them were already on Earth.

           He couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t go home and look Cal in the face if in a week’s time he might be dead and Lance hadn’t tried to stop it. He couldn’t conscience the idea of tiny little Max being beamed up into some spaceship and wiped of thought and agency. No matter how much it felt like his heart was trying to claw its way out of his throat, he couldn’t walk out and leave Hunk and Pidge behind. Shiro, captive for almost a year and a half now, could not be doomed to oblivion, and Lance owed him whatever meager help he could possibly offer. Even Keith, as abrasive and infuriating as he was, deserved better than to live a warrior with no free will. So Lance asked the only question he could, swallowing past the tremor in his voice.

           “What do you need me to do?”

           “For the moment, nothing much,” Captain Seitz said, her voice neutral. “You will go home and you will keep all of this secret – from everyone, including your family. You will set up regular appointments with Dr. Ito so that we may continue to talk. It would be best to cancel your appointments with your current therapist. Now that you know the truth about what happened, you would only be lying to her.”

           “I will be happy to continue to answer any questions you have about Voltron or the Galra,” Lotor said. The smile that didn’t touch his eyes was back. “I am also interested in getting to know you better, Lance. Before the wars began, there was a time when the pilots of Voltron were revered across the universe. I never thought I’d have the chance to meet one that wasn’t trying to kill me.” Lance didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded. After a moment of silence, Captain Seitz turned and opened the door.

           “I’ll walk you out,” she said. Lance turned to follow her. As the door swung shut behind him, he heard Lotor call after him.

           “I’ll see you soon. Lance.” The door closed before Lotor could see the shiver that ran down his spine.

           He and Captain Seitz trudged back up the hallway in mutual silence. She nodded to Dr. Ito as they reemerged into his office. He glanced up, smiling at Lance.

           “Same time on Thursday?” he asked. The part of his mind that had finally stopped screaming RUN when he’d gotten away from Lotor screamed TOO SOON, but he nodded anyway, his mouth dry. Captain Seitz continued to follow him, all the way back to the front door. She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder before he left.

           “One question, Mr. Sanchez,” she said. Lance turned back. “You mentioned ‘the telescope man’ a couple times in there – who exactly were you referring to?”

           “Oh,” Lance said, a feeling of relief spreading across his chest. “That. It was some conspiracy nut I ran into in Bluff Park. He recognized me from the news. He was babbling on about me getting abducted by aliens, had all these blurry photos of the meteor and everything.” He shrugged. “I mean, I guess he was right, but he didn’t actually know anything. He’s just some guy with a tinfoil hat who got lucky.”

           “What was his name?” Captain Seitz asked. Lance frowned.

           “I have no idea. The guy was kind of freaking me out so I ran away as fast as possible.” Captain Seitz nodded.

           “Alright. Thank you for coming, Mr. Sanchez. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

           “Right,” Lance said.

           His first breath of fresh air felt like such a relief after the claustrophobic underground tunnel and conference room that Lance thought his knees might give out from under him. He stumbled his way almost in a daze to the bullet train, climbing aboard and sinking into a seat. A Garrison lieutenant working his tablet gave him a brief glance from across the aisle but otherwise ignored him. The train pulled out of the station, speeding across the desert. By the time Lance finally caught his breath, they were halfway back to town. He glanced up. The sun was still high and blazing. He had time. His brain was screaming so loud he could barely think. He needed to be somewhere quiet, far quieter than Cal’s apartment in the middle of the city.

           Kent’s shack was always as quiet as death.

*

           Louisa ran her thumb idly along the edge of her tablet, scanning the cafeteria. Lance should stick out like a sore thumb without his Garrison uniform on. An endless parade of cadets in white and orange rolled by, chattering with each other, moaning about homework and simulator drills. The officers and higher ranked members created a wall of gray on the opposite side of the room, many of them working through their lunch, fingers swiping across tablets and tapping on phones. Iverson was standing near the door, she saw, glaring at cadets as they came in. She felt a brief wave of trepidation that he might be waiting for Lance too – her little brother did not need Iverson shaking him down on his plans to return to the Garrison right now.

           Her fears were allayed when Iverson straightened up at the entrance of a young blonde captain that Louisa didn’t recognize. The woman paused, saying a few words to Iverson, and the two of them walked into the cafeteria together. Louisa sighed, sitting back in her chair and checking her watch in annoyance. She only had an hour-long lunch break. Surely Lance couldn’t still be in his meeting with Dr. Ito. Had he run into another friend?

           She shot off a text, and then, impatient, called him. His phone went straight to voicemail.

           “Lance, you empty-headed schmuck, where are you? I’m going to be late for class if you don’t show up soon.” She stabbed the hang up button with her thumb, sighing. With a last glance around the cafeteria, she stood up and got in line for food, chewing her lip. “If I have to sneak off campus to go check on that kid…” she muttered to herself. “Cal better be keeping an eye on him.”

*

           Lance sank into the couch in Kent’s shack in relief. There was no sound here but the desert wind. His eyes raked across the piles of paper strewn about the room, more orderly than when Lance had gotten here but still helplessly haphazard. There was only so much organizing he could do.

           His gaze drifted to the map pinned to the conspiracy board, the thick Sharpie lines circling and pointing to the caves that Kent had found. Caves full of drawings of a blue lion. A blue lion, just like what Lance had supposedly piloted.

           The connection had sparked in his brain the moment Lotor had mentioned ‘robot lions’ – but he hadn’t said anything. He’d barely been able to speak from shock and fear anyway, except when he’d gotten angry about Shiro. There wasn’t much he could have said anyway, not without giving away the existence of the shack and his own many definitely unlawful visits to it. But if the lions belonged to a bloodthirsty race from among the stars, why were there drawings of it on Earth?

           REMEMBER THE GARRISON LIES.

           “Well, you were right about that, Kent,” Lance told the air. “You were sure as fuck right about that.” He breathed slowly – in through his nose, out through his mouth, counting to five each time. “The question is… how much are they lying?” In and out. “How much are they being tricked?” In and out. “How many different stories are there? How many people think they know the truth but have been fed a lie?” In and out, in and out, in and out.

           He pushed himself up from the couch and walked over to the map, running his fingers over the words ENERGY SOURCE. “I guess I knew I’d eventually have to go out there myself,” he mumbled. “I’ll try not to repeat your late night freezing cold desert adventure,” he added, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He glanced at the window. “Not today,” he decided. “Tomorrow I’ve got to go to the police station, and find out what that detective wanted to talk to me about. I’ll go on Wednesday, when I’ve got the whole day free.”

           He retreated from the board, reaching into his pocket to turn his phone back on. It beeped with a slew of messages from Louisa. “Shit,” he mumbled. “I totally forgot I was supposed to have lunch with her. I’ll make it up to her on Thursday. If that Lotor dude doesn’t scare me half to death again.” He looked up, staring around the shack. He hadn’t turned the light on, so it was illuminated only by the sun, beginning to sink toward the horizon. Streams of light filtered through sheets and dust, slowly fading the words off paper. “Have you ever been terrified without having the slightest idea why, Kent?” he asked. “Have you ever felt like you’re going to burst at the seams, and you can barely breathe, and your pounding heart is the only thing you can hear, but the worst part of it all is that you just have no idea why you’re so very, very scared?”

*

           Chuck sucked in the chilly night air, pulling the blanket close around his shoulders. Three days straight in front of a computer had done nothing but tell him that after breaking a teacher’s arm and getting expelled from the Garrison, Keith Kogane had, to all appearances, vanished into thin air. He had not returned to his foster family, he had not registered at any school that Chuck could find, and he had not done anything obvious like use his email. He didn’t even have any social media that Chuck could find. Even if he did, Chuck was willing to bet it would be completely blank after his expulsion anyway.

           That left the more intense and difficult hacking as his only recourse. Getting into security cameras, trying to track him down with facial recognition and the like – all of that was well beyond him. So he’d gone into one of his forums and DM’ed one of the newer members, one of the slew that had joined after the Kerberos mission. Their username was just ‘pigeon.’ They didn’t post much – and seemed to be disdainful of a number of the threads on the forum, calling the commenters “delusional” on more than one occasion – but what they did post, they’d hacked straight off an actual Garrison computer. They rapidly got a reputation in the forum. pigeon was one of those people that was almost frighteningly good with computers. The joke was that if you asked pigeon to hack the Pentagon, their only comment would be “give me half an hour.”

Hey pigeon— I need a favor, if you’re willing to help me out. I’m trying to track down a former Garrison student, Keith Kogane. He got expelled not long after the Kerberos mission and seems to have vanished. Think you could find him for me? We can negotiate a price.

           There hadn’t been a single peep from pigeon in response, though. They hadn’t even seen the message. Frustrated, he scrolled back to try and find pigeon’s most recent activity, and it seemed they hadn’t posted anything in almost half a year. Their last message had only been one sentence:

Does the word ‘Voltron’ mean anything to anyone?

            There were no replies.

           Out of options, Chuck had come out to Bluff Park to try and clear his head. He gazed up at the stars, tracing the constellations. It took someone truly absurd, he thought, to believe they were alone in the universe. He could respect people who thought that they just hadn’t made contact with any aliens yet – but even that made little sense to him. In the vast and infinite universe, shouldn’t there be at least one species that had evolved far enough to figure out wormholes and pocket dimensions and how to jump through space? Shouldn’t that species have sent out its ships across the universe, exploring far and wide, seeking all other signs of life? He had believed this, wholeheartedly, from the time he was a child. He’d grown up watching alien movies and had accepted as fact that humans had run into aliens over the course of history. It had sent him reeling to discover that most people in the world didn’t share his assumptions.

           “Excuse me.” Chuck turned with a sigh, the blanket twisting with him. He’d long since learned to recognize the false politeness of a police officer about to kick him out of the park.

           “I’m just stargazing,” he said, talking before he’d even laid eyes on the man. “I have the blanket because I’m cold, not because I’m trying to sleep here. I’m not homeless.” He finally got himself turned to face the cop. It wasn’t one of the ones he recognized. The man had dark hair and shockingly white teeth. He was smiling.

           “Are you Charles Kennet?” he asked. Chuck frowned.

           “I am,” he said cautiously.

           “You’re the administrator of those discussion boards about the Garrison – all the ones about how they’re hiding aliens from us and the Kerberos mission was a cover-up, right?”

           “Officer, am I in trouble?” Chuck asked. He loosened the blanket, shifting his legs to make sure they weren’t asleep.

           “Did you meet Lance Sanchez the other day?” the man asked, advancing closer. Chuck jumped to his feet.

           “Sir, who are you?” he demanded. The man paused. He had not stopped smiling.

           “Don’t worry about a thing,” he said. His tone was soothing, as if he were speaking to a spooked animal. “This might pinch a bit.”

           Something sharp pricked Chuck’s neck, and then all he knew was blackness.

[sheikah]

Jon needing to be saved tim and time again Stannis, Crasters wife, Sansa and LF, Sandy, Benjen is too just overdone. Basically like a damsel in distress because it were a woman, people would have been saying exactly this. They always put him in these situations, same as Jon will die or won't die?

I don’t mind the moments when Jon needs other people to help him. I think that he does so much good for others that when people help him it’s just fine. And I couldn’t think of anyone less a damsel than my boy Jon Snow. 

So here we go, you didn’t ask for this but you’re going to get it. All of the times Jon Snow either shows he is a strong ass dude who can take care of himself and/or the times Jon does genuine good for others that earn him a little good karma and assistance.

This will strictly refer to the show!Jon since anon is bringing up some examples of Jon being “saved” that we don’t know will take place in book!universe (Sansa/LF, Benjen, etc).

Jon grows up in a household full of people he can nevertruly feel a sense of belonging with. He loves his father and siblings so muchbut Catelyn and (we are to assume based on her insistent apology in 6.04) Sansa make sure he is aware that he is one apart from them. So one would understand if maybe Jon turned out to be weak or bitter. But he’s not.

He is driven from his home as a teenager,sent to live in one of the most inhospitable—and we later learn, dangerous—placesin the world. Yes, he’s a bit of a shithead at first when he’s there but he quicklylearns his place and makes friends with his brothers. The real reason I bringup his early time at the The Wall is because we get to see the strength of Jon’scharacter very quickly when he defies Alistair Thorne, putting his own statusthere in jeopardy, just to defend his friend, Sam. That takes its own sort ofbravery.

At the end of the first season after Ned is killed Jonalmost deserts The Wall so he can fight at Robb’s side. He knows theconsequences of being a deserter. Our first scene with Jon shows him watching abeheading of a deserter. He knows that he will be on the run forever and willhave to hide his identity, but he is perfectly willing to ruin his own life totry to help his brother.

In season 2 when he ranges north of The Wall with hisbrothers he is separated from them with Qhorin Halfhand and falls upon thegroup of wildlings. Jon is expected to execute Ygritte but he doesn’t, becausehe thinks for himself and sticks to his own ideals. He knows early on that itisn’t right to kill someone just because they were unlucky enough to be born northof The Wall. He defies his superiors again, again to help someone else.

When he is taken prisoner by the wildlings he followsthrough with Qhorin’s plan to stage a fight, and as Qhorin orders, Jon killshim. This is a man Jon admires, his ally. This was likely incredibly difficult buthe does it to keep them both from dying as wildling prisoners so that someonecan get back to the Watch and deliver news of what they’ve discovered.

Then Jon manages to ingratiate himself to the wildlings andbecome one of them. And while to some extent it’s an act so he can get back toCastle Black alive, he also genuinely likes the wildlings and develops realrelationships with them and a real appreciation for their spirit and way oflife. Even so, he never forgets his duty and almost dies getting back to TheWall to report back to his Brothers.

He doesn’t lie about breaking his vows and sleeping withYgritte. He could. There aren’t any wildlings at Castle Black to contradict isstory. But he is open and honest with Thorne, Maester Aemon, and the othersbecause Jon is an honest person and someone who always takes responsibility.

He takes some men with him back north of The Wall after hisreturn to avenge the mutiny at Craster’s Keep. He is under no obligation toundertake such a task and the party of men to go with him is small. Doing thisagain signifies Jon’s principles and sense of justice. He does not leave theresponsibility to someone else but takes it on himself at great personal risk,and he is successful.

When the wildlings assault Castle Black Jon fights peoplewho were his friends, and he fights bravely. If it wasn’t for his warnings tohis Brothers, his battle strategy, and his own fighting prowess, one couldargue that Castle Black would have fallen to the wildlings’ greater numbersthat day.

He then travels north of The Wall again to face Mance man-to-man and try to treat with him, knowing that to do so is likely suicide. I can’tstress this enough. In what way is this kind of courage indicative of a “damsel”character? 

When Stannis’s men apprehend the wildling forces and attempt to burnMance at the stake, Jon Last of the Mohicans their sadistic asses and shootsMance to end his suffering. Once again, what a badass. He has just witnessedfirsthand what Stannis and Melisandre are capable of, and still put himself onthe line to save his friend from a tortuous death. I mean???

Also in season 5, Jon is elected Lord Commander. He hasrisen through the ranks from being a simple bastard, barely more than a child,to the leader of a force of men that protects the entire realm from thegreatest threat it has ever known. He of course, like literally ANY human, hadhelp along the way from others, but no one gavethis to him. He earned it, and did the job well—though not well enough toplease all of his Brothers (but more on that later).

While serving as Lord Commander Jon brought about the mostradical reform in the history of the Night’s Watch. He travelled north of TheWall to Hardhome with Tormund to treat with the last of the wildling forces.This scene shows us the depth of Jon’s courage when he killed a White Walker insingle combat and evacuated thousands of wildlings to safety so that the NightKing didn’t have a total victory that day.

He actually brought wildlings through the gates and intosafety despite intense protest from his Brothers. Once again, Jon put himselfin harm’s way to help other people. And of course, as we know, this cost himhis life. Literally. Thorne and the others murder Jon for what they considertreason to The Watch.

When he is brought back, Jon is given literally no time tograpple with what has happened to him. He has died and seen that there is noafterlife. He is visibly extraordinarily shaken by this incident and wantsnothing more than to leave The Wall and find peace somewhere else. But thenSansa arrives and we get another example of Jon putting his personal wellbeingsecond to assisting others.

He even tells Sansa that he has spent his entire lifefighting and is tired. But he agrees to help her take Winterfell back from theBoltons and in doing so takes part in an extremely dangerous battle where theodds are stacked soundly against them. This, as we know, starts off with Ramsay’ssick game in which he murders Rickon right before Jon’s eyes. This causes Jonto abandon the battle plan and the pincer maneuver as he rushes headlong into acolumn of armed cavalry.

Is it ill advised? Yes. Is it an emotional decision on hispart? Yes. But is it cowardly, inept, or something that makes him a “damsel”who needs saving? No. I believe strongly after having watched 6.09 severaltimes now that even if Ramsay had not pulled his stunt with Rickon and Jon’smen had followed their original battle plan verbatim, they still would have lost to Ramsay’s superior numbers and clearlyvery well-trained army without the assistance of The Vale.

So I guess you could make the argument here that the men ofThe Vale had to “rescue” Jon like a damsel in distress character. But Idisagree. This is one of the big issues that I have with season 6 and with therelationship the writers created between Jon and Sansa. Sansa knew that she hadLF on her side and the Vale’s army at her disposal, but she chose to hide thisfrom Jon. So I feel this is a matterof viewer perspective. You say Jon needed to be rescued because he is a damsel.I say Jon would not have needed any help and thousands of men could have livedinstead of died on that battlefield if only Sansa had been honest with him. Iknow that Sansa has been hardwired not to trust anyone after all that hashappened to her throughout the series, but we even heard that she trusts Jonwhen Brienne asks her about it. In the now famous scene where Briennehilariously calls Jon “brooding.”

And she had plenty of opportunity to put that trust inJon and tell him about LF. The writing in this part of the season was verystrange to me. We saw scenes, such as the one where Jon receives the letterfrom Ramsay, where Sansa was treated with respect and allowed to speak freelyand say her piece among his men and advisors. When they went around the Northasking the Stark bannermen for assistance, Sansa was by Jon’s side, treated asan equal, freely allowed to speak with these lords and try to win their favor.At no point do we see Sansa silenced by Jon or Davos or Tormund, etc. Yet onthe eve of battle, their dialogue suggests that Sansa has been given no chanceto warn Jon of Ramsay’s trickery or to tell Jon that she’s got an ace up hersleeve, that if they wait just one day, the numbers will be on their side andtheir chances of victory will be far better with LF’s army.

Instead they have a yelling match in the tent during whichSansa cryptically tells Jon not to do what Ramsay expects him to do, and leavesit at that. If she had told him that she has this other force coming their way,then things could have been different and no one would have needed saving inthe first place. I don’t feel that the events of 6.09 are the result of Jon’sown failings or something that required him to be saved as if he is a helpless,damsel character. What I think actually happened in that instance was thewriter’s doing a huge disservice to Sansa’s character–one of the smartest women and most adept survivors in the show–by making her withhold importantinformation with no real good reason that we can see, resulting in anear-disaster that simply made better suspense and good TV for the viewer because it caused the battle to be more dire for our heroes.

And as far as Benjen is concerned, the wight hunt in general seems, from what we know, to be a very foolhardy endeavor but a necessary one nonetheless. It is just another instance of Jon walking into danger to do what MUST be done. It is conceivable for not only Dany but the rest of the southron lords to need proof in order to be invested in the Great War, and someone needs to get that proof. We have seen at Hardhome just how devastatingly powerful the WW army is, and Jon faces their horde with only a handful of men. That is incredibly brave and yes, I am glad that Benjen intervenes to help him in this crucial moment.

But overall, for every person who has ever come to Jon’said, he has helped more people. He is a physically and mentally strongcharacter who still maintains his conscience and kindness in a cruel and twistedworld. Jon Snow is by far my favorite character and I will continue to love himforever, and hope that people save and help him, as he saves and helps others.Because he is the glue holding all of our favorite characters together, andwithout him, we would be watching a very different, and frankly not asinteresting show.

I think what would be boring and unwatchable would be if Jonnever needed help. If he was this impossibly perfect hero figure who not onlyalways saves the day, but is always moral and good, always does the rightthing, always looks fuckable, is a sex god who goes down on women unprompted,always treats his family right …  doyou see what I’m saying? He has to mess up sometimes to be human We all needhelp sometimes, even Jon Snow. And I don’t think that makes him like a weak character as you suggest. I don’t think that at all. If anything I thinkit is more progressive in terms of gender tropes for Jon to need savingsometimes. So I don’t really know what prompted this ask, anon.