#because the whole we race as one movement was very much image control

[andromedasummer]

can one of you f1 girlies become a journalist and interview the drivers who refused to take a knee because they wanted to fight racism in a different way/disagreed with how blm went about seeking justice and ask them, now that nearly 3 years have passed since the may protests, what steps they've taken to educate themselves on racism? what actions they've taken to improve things for people of colour within formula one/motorsports as a whole? or how they've gone about promoting racial equity in their own country?

[zablife]

Luca Takes Your Photo

Part of my Corrupt a Wish challenge.

Request: Taking a photo of them smiling. Requested by a lovely anon.

Warnings: blackmail, language, Corrupt a wish reminder: If you think this story has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention. Proceed with caution.

Author's Note: Reader is engaged to Angel Changretta, but previously dated Luca when they were young. Luca is now dating reader's sister.

You closed the door to Luca’s office and carefully approached his desk. The only sound was the wobble of your heels against the polished floor as you tried to control your anxious movements. Clutching the manila envelope to your chest you looked at your future brother-in-law with watery eyes and asked, “Luca, what’s the meaning of this?” 

He smiled, but the emptiness in his eyes frightened you as he replied, "What have you got there?”

You extended the envelope with a shaky hand and he leaned forward cocking his head at you. You wanted to scream at him because he knew very well what was enclosed. He had sent them to your home the night before, intending the salacious photos to find their way into Angel’s hands. Luckily, you had intercepted them just in time. 

He opened the envelope slowly and dumped the contents out, pushing the stark black and white images across the surface of his desk with one finger until they were lined neatly in a row. He leaned back in his chair and studied them before turning his attention back to you. “Tsk, tsk. What would my brother think if he saw these obscene pictures of you? It might make him change his mind about the wedding, don’t you think?” he said, holding your gaze like a challenge to see if he could intimidate you, but you persisted.

“Photos of me? Luca, anyone can see that’s my sister. Angel would never believe-” 

Luca stopped you, interjecting, “Wouldn’t he?” He picked up a single photograph and tilted it against the light. “It’s honestly very hard to tell from the quality. You look so much alike," he pointed out. Then he added threateningly, "To a jealous man like my brother that would be all he would need to throw you out into the street.”

You turned your head away, not wanting to listen to him. Your mind raced suddenly as you imagined Angel confronting you. You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew Luca was right about his brother. The Changretta men all had the same vicious temper made worse by the violence of their business. 

The only way to get out of this would be to try and appeal to Luca’s sense of humanity. You weren’t sure why he was doing this to your family or who may have put him up to it, but he held a fondness for you once when you were younger and you intended on tugging at his heartstrings. 

“Luca, I don’t understand. I thought you were happy with my sister.  If you cared for me once, why would you do something like this? Why do you hate me so now?” you asked, giving him a look that pleaded for mercy.

Luca shook his head in agitation. “You misunderstand my intentions, amore.”

“Luca, please don’t call me that. We haven’t been a couple for years. It will give Angel the wrong impression,” you begged of him.

Pounding a fist on his desk, he stood to tower over you. “You were mine first! Mine! I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want!” he shouted.

Your whole body flinched at his show of aggression toward you and you took a timid step back toward the door. Luca had turned into someone you didn’t recognize these past few years. He had once been a kind, caring young man who made you laugh. Now his gentle demeanor had been replaced with a brash sense of entitlement and an obsession with power. Everyone in the neighborhood knew he enforced his threats and now you were horribly afraid he would go through with his attempt to blackmail you.

Coming out from behind his desk, Luca crossed to you in two quick strides and captured your arms just above your elbows in a painfully tight grip. Furrowing his brow in confusion he said, “No, I don’t think you do understand. Angel never deserved you, but I do.” You gasped and he took your chin in his hand with such force you worried it might bruise.  Tears welled in your eyes as he instructed in a low voice, “Listen to me carefully, there won't be any need for the photos if you call off your engagement to my brother. Then you'll be free to become my wife.” 

You couldn’t help the tear that slipped down your cheek as you whispered, “What if I say no?”

Luca clenched his jaw in frustration, then huffed out a loud sigh of annoyance at how difficult you were being. Suddenly a knock came at the door and Angel’s voice could be heard on the other side. “Luca?” he called out.

Luca placed a hand over your mouth as he leaned in to whisper, “Do what you want, amore, but remember this, if I can’t have you, no one will.” Then he threw you away harshly with both hands. You stumbled backward, rubbing your jaw as he cleared his desk and called for his brother.

As Angel entered the room, you felt Luca watching you. You wiped your tears in time to greet your fiance, trying to decide what to do as time slipped through your fingers.

“There’s my gorgeous girl,” Angel said, leaning in to kiss you on the cheek. “Isn’t she beautiful, Luca?” Angel said turning to his brother. 

Luca looked down at the envelope in his hand, tapping it against the desk like a ticking time bomb as he chuckled darkly. Looking up at you with a menacing smirk he replied, “She is. Pictures really don’t do her justice.”

[vro0m]

vro0m’s rewatch - 102/301

2012 Belgian GP

Disclaimer for this season. It turns out that I only have the footage of the race for a lot of the GPs (no build-up, no post-race content) so there will be way less GIFs unfortunately. I will let you know for each of these reviews if there are GIFs or not. THIS ONE HAS GIFS.

Alright it's round 12 already, post summer break, let's see whose upgrades work.

Apparently the qualifying session was very surprising. Lewis is down in 7th so I guess the McLaren is not getting any better, unfortunately. Oh wait. Jenson is on pole so... I guess the car’s not the issue... Seb is 10th!!! That's not good. Alonso 5th. Perez 4th. Raikkonen 3rd. It's Kobayashi sharing the front row! Surprising indeed.

Ohhh Lewis is stuck between Maldonado and Grosjean 💀 scary lol. Crofty says his co-commentator (didn't hear who it was except it’s not Brundle) called that (Maldonado - Lewis - Grosjean) the "danger zone". Yep. Yep. For sure.

Webber is 12th, with a grid penalty for a gearbox change.

Formation lap

Oh hey it's Lupe Fiasco with Nicole here to support Lewis! It's funny I used to listen to his music a lot a few years back.

Ohhh Kobayashi's brakes are smoking...

And they're racing!

Oh what, Maldonado jumped so quickly... Is that a false start? It seems like an impossibly quick reaction time. Yeah I went back and he clearly moves ahead of everybody else. Yep. I watched it a third time and he moved before the lights were off.

OH MY GOD HUGE CRASH. Lewis is involved. Oh no. Grosjean came from behind him, pushed him to the side and they made contact. It made him lose control of the car, crash into Grosjean who crashed into a third car and then a Ferrari that hit a fifth car. I can't believe this shit. Fucking Grosjean. I'm gonna have to watch a whole race for what now 😭

There is so much debris it's bad. Safety Car obvi. And now they're talking about Maldonado jumping the start.

Nicole is shaking her head. Lewis is out and walking oh... He's walking very slowly, deliberately, towards Grosjean... A marshal is already trying to hold him back. They're talking. 

Alonso is not out of his car, the doctors are there, hunched over him. He's moving. He's getting out now, they are holding him gently. They're talking.

Lewis is walking back in the pitlane holding a piece of his own car. This image makes me extremely sad.

De la Rosa and Kobayashi pit, either they caught some debris or they're part of the other cars that were involved in the crash. Maldonado as well. And Lewis walking in the midst of it all, still with that chrome piece in his hand and his helmet on.

This is so tragic damn. Seriously. He's walking kilometers 😭 he's going straight through the other teams’ boxes and the mechanics standing there are watching him as he goes past them.

I wonder if he'll get in trouble for doing that because I'm pretty sure that's a security concern.

We see the replay. Now the commentators are certain Maldonado jumped the start, it's extremely obvious from the aerial view.

Oh so the third car involved in that accident was Perez, and Grosjean went OVER him and believe me it’s even more terrifying than whatever you’re picturing right now because, let me remind you, it’s pre-halo era.

The fifth car was barely touched, he was very lucky. I still don't know who it was. Oh it's Kobayashi, who completely missed his start. These on-boards are scary. We see Lewis taking his hands off the steering wheel to not break his wrists from the sudden jerking movements. Omg the view from Alonso... He's doing his thing and then BAM Grosjean is on top of his nose. Phew... Seb had to pit, we saw him collecting debris on the replay. Oh no, he actually hasn't, but Kobayashi did. Ah and Perez is out too.

Oh. We see Lewis' on-board again and Crofty says of Grosjean "he doesn't seem spatially aware of his car" which. Devastating and very true.

Ah see, I was right btw, I knew it was bad news for Lewis to find himself behind Maldonado and Grosjean. We see a replay of Lewis getting out of his car and tapping the side of his head essentially telling Grosjean "are you fucking crazy?"

Lee Mackenzie says she talked to McLaren : he is okay but he won't be talking to the media until after the race.

And the Safety Car is in. There's still loads of debris. So Jenson is still in the lead followed by Hulkenberg and Raikkonen. Maldonado has parked his car AND he's under investigation for that jump start. Lol we see a replay from Charlie's cabin and he's shaking is head watching that start.

I'm gonna watch this race on x2 speed because hey.

Alonso is sitting in Ferrari's garage, he looks fine.

OMG Kovalainen spun and almost collected another car spinning back around. Surely that's gonna be a penalty for dangerous driving? (Nope, there was no penalty.) A RedBull has just been overtaken by a Williams...

One third of the race in, Jenson is still comfortably ahead and Seb is making his way up the field.

Now Kovalainen hit Karthikeyan in the pitlane, coming in as he was leaving. Webber is also making his way up the field. Seb is now up in P2. Jenson is still way ahead.

Two thirds of the race in, Jenson is leading, over 14s ahead of Seb and Schumacher. Webber is under investigation for unsafe release as he almost collided with Massa as he left his box while Massa was joining his. Oop. Karthikeyan just crashed. Raikkonen overtook Schumacher for the podium. There are 4 cars all contained within 1 second fighting for that 3rd position. Schumacher took his place back from Raikkonen. Webber is attacking Hulkenberg for 5th. 10 laps left.

Raikkonen overtook Schumacher again, Webber can't get past Hulkenberg. Hulkenberg overtakes Schumacher. Massa is now closing on Webber. Schumacher overtakes Hulkenberg. Hulkenberg overtakes Schumacher who pits anyway. Massa overtakes Webber.

And it's the end of the race!

Jenson wins, followed by Seb and Kovalainen.

Okay so Wikipedia time. About that accident, Grosjean pushed Lewis towards the pitwall, they touched, both lost control of their cars. Grosjean collided with Perez, was thrown in the air, crashed into Alonso and stopped against the outside wall. Lewis crashed into Kobayashi and Alonso after he was hit by Grosjean. Perez lost his rear wing and touched Maldonado which is why he then spun. Kobayashi's sidepod had a hole in it and he found himself in the last place after starting on the frontrow.

Grosjean received a €50'000 fine and a one-race ban (!). Maldonado received TWO 5-place grid penalties, one for the jump start, one for colliding with Glock at some point.

Ah yes! I found Lewis' post race interview on YouTube! It's terrible quality but anyway. He says he doesn't wanna talk about the start (what else do you have to say my man you weren't here for the rest of it...), he believes people saw what happened. Huge congratulations to Jenson, walk in the park for him. It's great to see that they have the pace. He has to try to pull that out of his car in the next race. The journalist says his fans will be happy to see he’s fit and well and is he not too shaken up after the accident? He looks to the side, and quickly puts on a smile, shakes his head and says he's had a lot worse than that. (Lol really? When? Cocky idiot (affectionate)) She asks if he's able to learn anything when he’s out watching the race and he says no, dejectedly. He doesn't elaborate. You can tell he's done with it and doesn't want to talk anymore. The journalist doesn't try to push him. That’s it.

[mickey-henry]

𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky’s been flirting with you, but hasn’t taken it further than that. frustrated, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: occasional swearing (but not much) and frustrating flirting (I’d be melting if it was happening to me). besides that, this fic is pure fluffy fun.

author’s note: hello there! this is my second fic; I’m very excited to post it! I found the header image here, and if you want to listen to the song I reference in this fic, you can listen here. bold text indicates singing, while italicized text refers to inner thoughts. likes, reblogs, messages, replies, and comments are cherished! I hope you like it! 💖

Bucky Barnes is an acquaintance at best. The two of you rarely work together, and with conflicting schedules, you see little of each other around the compound. On a random Friday in April, however, something changes in you. The moment is nothing out of the ordinary. You’re sitting on the couch in the main living space, re-reading one of your favorite books. Bucky has just returned from a mission; you glance up to see his exhausted expression. He catches your eye, winking with a smile, before walking to his room. Your heart flutters and your head freezes at the response. “Oh, no,” you think to yourself. “Maybe that was a one-time thing? I don’t actually like him, right?” Wrong. 

Ever since that night, the mere presence of Bucky Barnes drives you crazy: his stunning blue eyes that squint ever so slightly when he smiles, his adorable nose that crinkles when he laughs, his pillowy lips that you lose yourself in, his  fluffy hair you can’t help but imagine running your fingers through, his scruff speckled jawline that you wish would brush along your hands, cheeks, anywhere really. He occupies your dreams; you can’t escape this man even if you try. Today, he drives you crazier than usual. He stands in the compound's kitchen in a tight black t-shirt, one that leaves nothing to the imagination. This is the first time you’ve seen him in short sleeves, in anything other than tactical gear. You can’t help but stare as he prepares his lunch. The shirt hugs his frame tight, accentuating his biceps that had no right to be that big. “Gosh, he must spend hours in the gym to look like that.” You then notice the vein in his right arm protruding from his skin, tracing it with your eyes. You didn’t think he could become any more beautiful, but here he is before you, incredible as ever. 

You’re pulled from your reverie when Bucky calls your name. “Yeah?” you reply, barely masking the startled stutter in your voice.

“Pass me the salt?”

“Oh! Sure, of course,” you muster, taking a sip of water from the glass in front of you as you hand him the salt shaker. 

“Thanks, doll,” he flirts with a smile, the same one he gave you that night when he got back to the compound. You nearly choke. “Bucky Barnes called me a term of endearment?!? Holy shit.” Your heart swells and you look down at your glass in a desperate attempt to hide the blush creeping its way across your cheeks. “Goodness gracious, I respond this way from a simple word?” You couldn’t imagine how you’d feel if he touched you. 

It didn’t take long to find out. The following day, you stand in the kitchen prepping your lunch, singing softly along to the song playing from your phone. Bucky appears soon after. He stands close to you for a moment, closer than necessary, but of course you don’t mind. He has just showered; his cologne lingers in the air, intoxicating you. Somehow, you keep singing along, showing no sign that your mind is elsewhere. 

“Ugh, he smells amazing. This man has too much power over me; this is ridiculous! I don’t even remember what I was doing—”

“You have a beautiful voice,” he compliments.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you softly reply, your heart racing at his praise.

“Let me get by you real fast, doll,” he says, moving to walk behind you. 

“There he goes again with the pet name. My god, could this get any worse—” 

He places his hands gently on your hips as he moves beside you. Electricity travels through your whole body; you’re internally screaming at his touch. His hands feel better than you imagined. Even though the contact lasts only a moment, the effects of his touch linger after, leaving you speechless. 

You hear a musical chuckle from the man behind you. “Is he teasing me? It sure feels like it,” you wonder. There is no way that he can’t see the effect he has on you. Before you can even formulate another thought, he touches you again as he moves back to the other side of you. “That was definitely on purpose; certainly he wouldn’t do this by accident. Right?”

Your eyes linger as he finishes putting together his lunch. He catches your gaze and smiles. “See you later, sweetheart,” he says with a wink before leaving the room. “Okay, that answers my question; that was very intentional. What am I going to do with myself?”

You don’t know how much longer you can take his teasing. Throughout the week, he ups his antics, calling you pet names more than your own, stealing touches whenever he can get away with it, smiling whenever you make eye contact. The tension is insatiable; thoughts of Bucky follow you everywhere. You decide to take matters in your own hands; Bucky did not seem to be planning to make a move anytime soon. If he is going to tease the hell out of you, you might as well get some payback. 

───────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ─────────────

Tony’s announcement of Friday night karaoke gives you a wicked idea. However, for it to work, you need to recruit help. You know just who to ask. It doesn’t take long to find Sam and Steve; they spent a ton of their free time sparring in the gym. They seem to be at the end of their workout, their movements slow and sloppy, relying on witty retorts to throw off the other. They stop when they notice your arrival. 

“Hey!” Sam says with a smile, hugging you as you approach. You squeeze him tightly, even with his sticky sweat coating his arms. You greet Steve with a hug too.

“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Steve asks as you let go.

“Can I ask you guys something? And you promise you two won’t laugh at me? Especially if I'm reading this wrong?”

“Of course,” answers Steve. 

“Yeah, for sure,” replies Sam. 

You hesitate for a second, taking a deep breath. “Does Bucky like me? I swear he does. He keeps teasing me, and I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I think I am practically in love with the guy at this point, he’s so beautiful and—”

You stop as the boys exchange glances and begin laughing. 

You cross your arms, hurt. “You said you wouldn’t laugh at me! I can’t control how I feel.”

“No! Wait! We aren’t laughing at you!” Steve says between giggles. 

You furrow your brows. “Then why are you laughing?”

“Bucky’s obsessed with you,” Steve answers after calming his laughter. 

“God, yes, you’re all he talks about nowadays,” Sam adds. 

“What?! He does? Why? Are you shitting me right now? Because that would be really freaking mean—“

“No! Of course not,” Steve insists. “Don’t you see the way he looks at you?”

“And the pet names he gives you?” Sam adds.

“And how he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself lately?” Steve finishes. 

Now you feel stupid for even asking. Of course you noticed all of those things. They were all you ever thought about. “Well, yeah, but maybe he does that with all the girls.”

“What girls?” Sam retorted. “The only women who are here often enough to cross paths with him are you, Natasha, and Wanda. Wanda’s with Vision, as weird as that is, but love is love. Natasha shoots daggers at anyone who looks at her with love in their eyes. That leaves you.”

“Why in the world would he like me? Of all people? He’s out of my league,” you sigh,

Sam’s scoff pulls you from your thoughts. “Bucky? Out of your league? He’s a crazy ex-assassin with emotional issues! If anything, he's out of your league.”

“You’re a catch, why wouldn’t he like you?” Steve assures.

Steve and Sam always know just what to say to make you feel better. “I guess you’re right,” you admit with a defeated grin. 

“So, you know how Bucky feels. What are you going to do about it?” Steve asks. 

“I have an idea, but I need your help.”

“We’re listening.”

You divulge your plan to them. They smile, hyping you up. 

“Dude, I’m so down!” Sam exclaims, clapping his hands in excitement. 

“You think this will work?”

“Definitely,” Steve assures. “This is going to be amazing!”

“Okay then, we’re doing this. Let’s go find Bucky. Time to initiate phase one.”

───────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ─────────────

Bucky is sitting on the common room couch, flipping through a book when he sees you, Sam, and Steve enter. He exchanges a glance with you, smiling as your eyes light up. The three of you sit down. You’re sitting next to Sam, closer than usual. There’s a brief moment of silence before you speak. “Sam, are you going to karaoke night?”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss everyone’s drunk-ass singing for the world.”

“Will you be my duet partner?”

This catches Bucky’s attention. He looks up from his book. Why the hell were you asking Sam to sing with you? You normally ask the girls...

“Sure thing, baby. It’ll be a ton of fun!” Sam smiles. 

Baby?! What?! How dare he call you a pet name, his girl, right in front of him? Well, you may not be his girl yet, but Sam knows how he feels about you. What the hell is he thinking?

“Yay! This’ll be so fun!” You hug him, grabbing his hand before continuing, “Wanna practice with me in a bit?”

“Find me when you’re ready, sweetheart,” Sam answers, kissing your knuckle before letting go of your hand. 

Sweetheart?! What the fuck was going on? Did he miss his shot? Would Sam really do that to him? Bucky can barely handle his swirling thoughts. He storms out of the room without looking back. 

Steve can’t help but laugh once Bucky is out of earshot. “That worked a little too well, wouldn’t you say so?”

“That wasn’t too far, was it?” you ask with a worried expression on your face. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. He’ll just come on even stronger now. He won’t give up on you that easily,” Sam assures you. 

───────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ─────────────

Bucky can barely contain his anger as you step on the stage with Sam, giggling and smiling at your karaoke partner. Jealousy engulfs him. He can barely listen to the start of the song, ignoring the catchy beat blasting through the speakers. He doesn’t recognize the song, but looks up from his drink when you sing, “Hey Bucky boy, what you doing tonight? I wanna see what you got in store."

He looks right at you. Did she just say Bucky?

Sam echoes, “Hey, hey Bucky!” Well, that answers his question.

“You're giving it your all when you're dancing on me. I want to see if you can give me some more,” you continue, twirling your fingers through your hair.

“Hey, hey Bucky!”

“You can be my man, I can be your girl, and we can pump this jam however you want,” you sing, swaying your hips to the cadence of the lyrics.

“Hey, hey Bucky!”

“Pump it from the side, pump it upside down, or we can pump it from the back and the front,” you wink as you finish the line. Bucky sits up suddenly, crossing his legs, his face turning beet red. You smile, knowing the plan was working. Steve laughs from beside him. He keeps his eyes glued on you as the two of you continue the song, utterly entranced. You look him right in the eye as you end the song, “I want you tonight.”

You saunter over to where he is sitting after high-fiving Sam, confidence filling your chest. “So, what did you think of my performance, Bucky?”

You yelp as he grabs your hips and pulls you down to sit on his lap. His voice deepens, “you’re such a tease, you know that right?”

You laugh. “I’m the tease? Really? You’re the one who just pulled me onto your lap and taunts me with flirtatious remarks and smiles all freaking day. My god Bucky, make a move already—”

He cuts you off, pulling you in for a kiss, his flesh arm grabbing the back of your neck. The team whoops and cheers. 

“Glad you finally made a move, Bucky,” you pant as your lips part from his.

“Best decision I ever made in my life, doll.” Before you can respond, he kisses you again, the karaoke bar fading in the background as you finally embrace the man of your dreams.

[zombieheroine]

Domestic Enemy

Pairing: MegOp Rating: G Word count: 2486

MegOP week prompt: Domestic * Optimus came to slowly. He had a vague recollection that he had been hit by something heavy, and as he regained consciousness he realized he was lying under some support beams in a half collapsed hallway. Little by little, it came back to him. A battle in a nebula, an old Cybertronian outpost in an asteroid field. Energon storages and a race for them against the Decepticons, who had the disadvantage of not having and up-to-date map but the advantage of natural scouts and experienced miners.

Structures built inside asteroids, metal merged into rock, and a network of bridges and flight paths between asteroids. Megatron. Optimus blinked and stared up to the half-collapsed ceiling. He wasn’t sure which one of them had made the mistake, but they had focused on each other and engaged in their own private battle so deeply they had gotten separated from the others. It had been Megatron’s fusion cannon that had brought the eons old tunnel down on them, but privately Optimus cursed his own foolishness just as much. It seemed that no matter how many times he repeated to himself that he shouldn’t lose focus in combat and be lured to Megatron alone, it still happened again and again. It had happened again, and now he was stuck alone in an ancient tunnel, laying over some rusted railway tracks that had once been used to transport minerals from the asteroid mines, and so far removed from his troops that he couldn’t even hear them anymore. But mulling over his past mistakes never helped, especially not when he had more pressing matters in the present. Optimus regarded the position he was in. There were some rocks on him and around him, but mostly he was pressed down by a large support beam that had been half torn, half melted off the ceiling. He cycled air through his vents for a few moments before wrestling his arms underneath the beam, then decisively pressed it up and off his chassis. It took him a serious, concentrated effort, but eventually the metal groaned and gave way, bending off his chassis, and letting him out of the trap. But as he rolled away, Optimus realized he was far from freedom. The tunnel around him was still unstable and he was technically buried in there, but getting to move was a good first step. Very carefully he pushed his way past piles of rocks and tried his best not to make his situation worse, and so he crawled through the tunnel towards the way he had been going for. The Autobots had had a few old maps about the mining colony, so Optimus knew the tunnel would eventually lead into a larger hall where freshly mined energon would be loaded for transport, but just knowing where he was going didn’t solve all of his problems. Megatron was still somewhere close by. There was a possibility that he could have died when the tunnel collapsed, but Optimus knew he wasn’t that lucky. After what felt like eternity crawling under rocks and boulders and dust filling his vents, Optimus finally made it into a room. It was a mid-sized loading station, the tracks ending at stoppers and large loading patches. There wasn’t that much in the room otherwise, simply loading stations, repair stations and a small break area, and – “Well look who made it after all,” Megatron grunted with a roll of his optics. “I expected nothing less of my luck.” For a moment Optimus was ready to fight, but Megatron didn’t seem to want to. He was seated against the wall at the break area, and just like Optimus covered in dust and dents, but also clutching his arm to his side. He didn’t seem too interested in continuing their rumble, so Optimus didn’t fire up his blasters, simply pulled himself back up to his pedes. “I could say the same to you,” he said, puffing air through his vents in an attempt to clear them. It felt like there was a persistent layer caked on the metal, and it didn’t come loose no matter how he puffed. He didn’t try too hard. It was dangerous to show any weakness in front of Megatron, even though right now he didn’t want to fight. It might change if he re-evaluated the situation and decided for example to use Optimus’ compromised cooling system against him. Optimus stayed well away from Megatron, sticking to the other side of the room. He took a look around in the room, searching for a way out while subtly using his comm system to call out to his troops. “Go ahead and call your pitiful little followers,” Megatron called from his spot. “No reason to be shy about it. I already called mine.” “I’m not shy,” Optimus scoffed, but he let his arm hang more freely by his side as he

clicked the cover plate over the comm system shut as if he had never tried to hide it in the first place. “Sure,” Megaton replied with a roll of his optics. “Whatever you say.” “What happened to you anyway?” Optimus demanded while measuring the Decepticon leader with his optics. With all his heavy armour and weaponry he was now sitting down on the floor, a position Optimus wasn’t sure he had ever seen him before, covered in a heavy layer of dust and dirt and splattered energon, his arm limp in his lap. Megatron’s expression didn’t even twitch when he replied through his sharp dentae: “Nothing. I’m fine.” His spinal strut was straight where he sat as he was there out of pure will of his own. To Optimus’ curious gaze he looked like a miner fresh out of a disastrous accident, and he wondered if this was more like Megatron’s original form he had only ever talked about and never shown. “No, you’re not. I can see that you’re hurt. Do you need help?” Optimus insisted, his gaze focused on the way Megatron’s powerful arm hung limp in his hold, the blaster cannon dark, and dust and dirt caked on it in dark clumps that must have been due to spilled energon. “No. Mind your own business!” Megatron snarled with bared dentae, but clutched his arms tighter, the limp movement highlighting how it couldn’t move on its own. The image of a wounded miner crouched on a floor made Optimus feel a pang of guilt over his previous failure over reforming Cybertron, partially in ways Megatron had held him up to, but the snarl and the personal wound from stellar cycles ago kept his mind cleared and irritation as the most seminal emotion he felt. “You started it!” he snapped back, perhaps giving away more personal investment that was proper for them, and Megatron responded with a disgruntled frown. “Don’t nag me,” he said in a put-upon huff once again rolling his helm like it was all a big, unimportant bother to him. “I am not nagging!” Optimus snapped, more slighted than he ought to be and more out of control than he usually allowed himself to come across. A moment of silence followed with Megatron seated where he was, gaze focused well past Optimus, and Optimus defiantly refusing any care or worry for his enemy, yet venting heavily and leaned forward in focused concern. It took a moment for Optimus to gather himself. He was a Prime now, there was no individual and no personal agenda, only principle, and that was what he focused on. He calmed himself, took a step back and lowered him voice. “Do you need help?” he offered in a voice full of his newly found confidence. Megatron barely spared him a glance of his narrowed optics, the red glow of them mean and uncaring. “No.” Optimus rolled his optics. It had been a formal question with the positive answer clearly within reach, and Megatron must have well known it, yet he still lied and refused. Optimus couldn’t care for the game anymore, so he cut simply to the core of the matter: “You need help. Let me.” Finally Megatron turned his gaze back to him, now baring his dentae at him in an open snarl and angrily demanded: “Why would you even do that? We are enemies, get that through your thick helm already, Optimus Prime!” All the anger and bitterness flew past Optimus. He had come to expect that, and now that he got more of that sour anger he felt barely anything. He simply sighed and stepped closer: “Just show me your arm already.” It was that push that was all that it took. Optimus stepped closer across the floor, and Megatron didn’t say anything more, simply watched him approach without mocking. He didn’t cover or dodge, and Optimus expected nothing like that of him, but he was still glad he was allowed to approach. It was a slow dance. Even though Megatron was wounded, he was still extremely dangerous as Optimus had witnessed multiple times himself, and just because he had his own stubborn idea about helping him didn’t mean he was ignoring everything he knew about his enemy and just barging in on danger. But nothing happened. Optimus approached, Megatron stayed

where he was, and finally Optimus managed to crouch down next to him on the floor. Just taking a look that close up made it clear that there was nothing seriously wrong with Megatron’s arm, it was simply dislocated, and Optimus knew how to hep him. It was reaching out and touching a wounded gladiator that was the problem, and Optimus bided his time well. “I’m going to set it back into its socket,” he declared, servos hovering over the wounded warlord’s limp arm. “It will probably hurt, but I’ll be quick.” Megatron didn’t reply and opted to look the other way, and Optimus took that as a sign to go ahead and do his thing. He grabbed a firm hold of Megatron’s forearm and with his other servo on the shoulder guard, then in one powerful move yanked them both in different direction while keeping them in firmly same level. Megaron didn’t even make a sound, just clenched his dentae and offlined his optics, until the mechanism locked down in its proper place. When there was a sharp snap of a joint in its socket, and he released the air he had been holding in a controlled exvent. With the joint in place, Megatron flexed and moved his arm. First the digits clutched together, then the whole arm rose from its delicate cradle, and he stretched it out and rolled the joint over a few times in gentle movement. Optimus saw his enemy regaining his senses and power, so he took a few careful steps back from him, even when Megatron remained seated. After a few stretches, Megaton gave him a hostile yet dry look, and muttered: “I hate when you do that.” Optimus quirked his optic ridges in disbelief and crossed his arms. He might have been disapproving, but he wasn’t surprised. “What, help you? I though you would be glad to take advantage whenever you could.” “Not when you act like you care about me like you used to,” Megatron growled, the earlier bitterness gaining more and more foothold in his tone. He didn’t sound smooth and aloof like when he taunted him, or enraged like he often did on battlefield. This bitter tone was mostly foreign on him, but also more close to the way Optimus thought about Megatron inside the privacy of his own mind. He tightened the lock of his arms in front of him. Optimus gave Megatron a flat stare and considered the words. It was yet another cruelly clear window to the way Megatron viewed the world: it was full of deceit and pretence, a world where no one did anything out of pure kindness or care but simply in order to take advantage. In his world there was nothing more expect abusers and victims, those stronger and cleverer than others and those left trampled under their pedes. Every time they had a chance to discuss anything personal, Optimus was bitterly remained that to Megatron he had always been only something to fool and use, not anything to appreciate or open up to. He scoffed, once again detaching himself and raising above all worldly grievances and burdens. “Think of this whatever you will. It has become very clear of late to me that you wouldn’t understand it.” Megatron was silent. He was silent for a long while in that thoughtful, genuine way that he often had been in a way Optimus had never heard from anyone mighty or powerful. Megatron’s silence was the type that opened up to the other and considered them seriously. Ironically it was on moments that he was silent that Optimus was transferred back to times when he had desperately voiced an opinion or a view of his own, something vulnerable and new and deeply personal, and then had it faced with this silence. It had always felt like he had gotten through to Megatron, like he was really listening and letting his voice in. Shockingly, it was like that now, in this foreign, long since abandoned mining colony at the end of a collapsed mining tunnel that Optimus felt it again. For a split of a klik he was hopeful. He felt heard and seen, his sentiment sinking into his counterpart, opening up something new and beyond imagining. Hope soared and got the better of him, just for a klik. Then Megatron closed off again, his

expression souring and helm tilting back against the wall behind him, his healthy servo absentmindedly rubbing over his set arm. His gaze slipped past Optimus again, indifferent and cold, and his upper lipplate revealed a part of his dentae as it drew back. “Our troops will come for us soon. This will be over then,” he remarked in a deep, dark voice without looking at Optimus. Hope slipped and shattered for the hundredth time in Optimus. “I am aware, and I accept it,” he replied, quietly doubting his earlier sentiment. He never knew what to make of these passing moments of connection and understanding. They were too sudden to be deception or imagined, but consistently they shattered and vanished, so they weren’t too real either. Glimpses of what once where, he supposed. Glimpses of something overdue and impossible. Optimus walked back across the room and wondered if Megatron even knew what his most devastating weapon against him in this war even was. He might have not, since after all he didn’t seem to appreciate finer things or matters of the spark that much at all. It was all the same to him, and he let them slip by him as if he was certain there was plenty of more of them to come. Optimus couldn't say for certain that he was wrong.

[iamdunn]

Miraculous One Shot: Truth Singer

A Miraculous Fan-Fic Musical Episode

Written by

AJ Dunn

This was it. Adrien’s 21’s birthday and Marinette was already hard at work on the preparations. Gabriel no longer had control over Adrien so there was nothing stopping him from coming to this party. Marinette had been planning for this day for years and now it was here. Her footlocker in her parent’s apartment was already full of gifts for his next 15 years worth of birthdays, yet every year she ended up making him another gift. This time was no different. She had learned her lesson about not signing her gifts after the whole scarf mix up. Now, she made sure the item she made for him had her signature in it somewhere so there could never be any question as to who actually made it for him.

This year, in light of him being of legal adult age, she wanted to give him something more mature. She had seen him in a black leather jacket in one of his photo shoots and decided to make him something, not exactly like that one, but one that would suit him much better. She had spent days designing the perfect jacket, the zippers, the seams, even the measurements. She had been allowed to accompany him to several photo shoots where she watched the designers with detailed eyes adjust and fit him into the outfits his father had designed for him. She managed to sneak a peek at his measurements and made note of them as she drew out her own designs. 

As the jacket now lay out on her bed she examined every stitch for perfection. The main zipped going up just slightly past his collar bone, was silver. With two slanted pockets near the waist. The fabric around the armpits and sides was a moisture wicking sports material that, while it was designed to move with the wearer, was also designed to keep him cool. His photo shoot was of him sitting on a motorcycle. A kind of rough yet dreamy image that made Marinette melt just thinking about it. The stitching had been done in a neon green to accent his emerald eyes. It would be a slim fitting jacket, she thought, hoping she got the measurements right. It seemed like it was going to be too big for him. 

She was so lost in thought she didn’t hear the trap door to the attic open up as Alya, Rose, Juleka, and Mylene bounced excitedly into the room.

“Do you think she’ll do it this time?” Rose sang. 

“Doubtful.” Alix came in looking bored. “How many times has she tried to tell Adrien she loved him and look what happened?” 

“Well let’s see, She’s fallen on her face.” Alya started

“Chickened out.” Mylene added

“Gave him the wrong piece of folded paper.” Alya laughed remembering the prescription Adrien had picked up for her that had been meant for someone else. They all laughed at that one. 

“It wasn’t funny.” Marinette spun around her face flushed with rose red on her cheeks.

“Dropped the letter into the sewer.” Juleka muttered

“Oh, and let’s not forget how many times she forgot to sign her name.” Alya teased, one hand resting on her hip as the other flung into the air. 

“It’s true, Marinette, you are as much of a clutz telling Adrien how you feel as you are on your feet.” Rose laughed. 

“You are the only single one among us now, Marinette.” Alix thought it would be her to be the last one to hook up with someone until she met a guy in College. Most of them had stayed behind to attend college from home. Especially with the fact that Hawk Moth was still akumatizing people and while no one but Ladybug knew everyone’s secret, they kept their reasons for staying behind a secret as well, in case Ladybug needed them. 

“I will do it this time, I promise.” Marinette felt so confident as she looked at her friends as they cheered her on. 

The music in the park began and the girls realized they better hurry up. They ran past Tom as he was carrying the cake across the street. It was a multi tiered cake with green trim. Sabine was already at the park putting macarons on the table. Nino had the DJ booth up as he mixed music just like he had done the first time he threw a party for his best friend. 

“Dudes and Dudettes, the birthday boy.” Nino called out as Adrien climbed up on the makeshift stage and began to sing along to the song that was playing. Marinette watched him dance and suddenly she forgot how to walk. She stumbled into a bench and fell over. She recovered quickly, not releasing the package she clung to her chest. His movements were so fluid as his legs kicked and stomped about to the rock song he was singing along too. He didn’t move around this much when he played with the band because he had to focus on the keyboard. It was truly a unique experience for Marinette. 

The song had ended as Marinette remained frozen, glued to the bench as if he was still singing and dancing on the stage. 

“Hi Marinette, what did you think,” Adrien scratched the back of his neck as he looked down at her. Oh No he was talking to her, he was looking at her, when did he get there? Marinette could feel the heat welling up in her cheeks as she sat paralyzed by his smile, his eyes… “Is that for me? Can I open it?” he asked. She suddenly realized she was crushing the package in her arms. She held it out for him to take her eyes frozen on his. He tore the paper open tossing it to the ground as Mylene picked it up for him. He held the jacket up by the shoulders musing over it before stripping off his coat and pulling the leather jacket on. He zipped it up and suddenly Marinette realized just how filled out she was. He wasn’t the thin boy he used to be, his broad shoulders and tone upper body now exposed the man he was as the jacket fit every detail of his upper body within it’s form fitting style. The zipper made its way to his neck then his eyes met hers again.

“I just need a silver bell.” He reached up pretending to flick a bell that wasn’t there. Marinette jumped to her feet. Her mind raced as she suddenly realized something she should have known all along. It was so obvious as she now looked up at her friend, her best friend, her crush….HER PARTNER. She ran!

Adrien couldn’t understand what had happened. He watched her run from the park but was so dumbfounded his feet wouldn’t move to go after her. 

“Not again.” Alya said, walking up beside him.

“What did I do?” Adrien was beside himself with worry as he watched her. She wasn’t even heading home. 

“It’s not you, it’s Marinette, she always does this.” Rose said anger fueling her words as she stormed out of the park. 

“Well… I guess she can try again another day.” Juleka muttered. 

“Try what?” Adrien spun around to face her. 

“Nothing.” Juleka left to try to catch up with Rose. A

“Alya?” Adrien begged. “What is going on?” Alya just shook her head and led him back to the party. It had only been a few minutes before the music was stopped by an akumatized victim tossing a large rock at the DJ Booth demolishing it. 

“I am Truth Singer.” the villain said, “And from now on you will all sing your truths so the whole world can hear.” Adrien backed up. This isn’t good. He had to get out of there before the villain made him sing, his truth had to remain a secret. Nino was the first one hit by the villain's powers. He began to sing Perfect, by Ed Sheeran as he took Alya’s hand. She tried to get away to run but was mesmerized by his song. 

Adrien took this opportunity to run while the rest of the party scattered from the park. 

“Plagg, we can’t get hit no matter what.” The Kwami didn’t respond. Oh right. He thought, my jacket. He ran back to the park and found his other jacket laying on the bench. He grabbed it and ran back to the alley. “Plagg?” the Kwami came out of the pocket smelling like stinky cheese. 

“Wow, I wonder how many people thought you looked like Cat Noir?” Plagg said, noting the leather jacket.

“You think that might be why Marinette ran? Do you think she recognized me?”

“She made it didn’t she?” Plagg asked. Adrien lifted the cuff to inspect the stitching, just on the inside of the cuff of both arms was the signature stitching she had placed on everything she had made him. He nodded. He wondered if it bothered her, the thought that he might be Cat Noir or if she truly was in love with Cat. No time for that now.

“Plagg Claws out.” He inspected his Cat suit to realize the suit Marinette made him was very much similar, however the designs were unique. The Cat suit was solid black versus the neon green stitching of the Marinette jacket. He ran back to the park where he found Several people singing. The akumatized person was gone. He could hear her in the distance calling. He gave chase until he found her on Marinette’s balcony. 

“Oh Marinette, it’s time to sing your truth, it’s been far too long keeping your love bottled up.” Truth Singer sang out. What was she talking about? 

“I hate to break it to you but Marinette isn’t much of a singer.” He announced his presence on the roof above her. “But I will be happy to take that akuma from you then we can go find her together, and ask her about this secret you are speaking of.” He lept at her scratching at the bottle of perfume she held in her hands. It was much like Princess Fragrance only instead of turning people into her slaves, she was making them sing about their truth. He missed. Suddenly he was engulfed in smoke. He tried to cough it out of his lungs but it was too late.

 He landed on the railing of Marinette’s balcony balancing on all fours. 

“Well little lady, let me Elucidate here.” He said. He had no idea what to do, he couldn’t stop. “Everybody wants to be a cat

Because a cat's the only cat

Who knows where it's at”

He flipped backward as she swung at him. Maintaining his balance on the railing until there wasn’t any left. 

“Tell me, everybody's pickin' up on that feline beat

'Cause everything else is obsolete

A square with a horn makes you wish you weren't born”

He leaped over her head to the other side of the railing standing up right. 

“Every time he plays

But with a square in the act

You can set music back” He held his hands up  in a shrug gesture. He pulled out his baton. As she came at him again. Her mouth twisted in a snarl as she kicked at him. 

“To the caveman days, cha-cha-ba-dum-bo-day

I've heard some corny birds who who tried to sing

Still a cat's the only cat who knows how to swing

Who wants to dig a long-haired gig or stuff like that?”

“AAH.” She growled, charging at him again. He jumped into the air flipping over her. “Stop moving so I can get your miraculous.” she demanded. 

“When everybody wants to be a cat

A square with a horn makes you wish you weren't born

Every time he plays

Oh, a rinky-tinky-tinky

With a square in the act you can set music back

To the caveman days”

 

“Enough you stupid cat that song is annoying.” She screamed at him. He might not have had any control over it, but it was working. “How is that song your truth anyway?”

“Yes, everybody wants to be a cat

Because a cat's the only cat who knows where it's at

When playin' jazz you always has a welcome mat

'Cause everybody digs a swinging cat”. The truth was clear, he loved being in his cat form. He never felt more like himself than when he was popping off puns, flirting and being generally playful, he always had to be as serious as Adrien, but as Cat, he had all the freedom in the world. 

 

Everybody, everybody, everybody wants to be a cat

Hallelujah!

Everybody, everybody, everybody wants to be a cat

Everybody, everybody, everybody wants to be a cat

Everybody, everybody

 

He launched for the perfume bottle again. If only he could call his cataclysm. Suddenly her attention was drawn elsewhere. He followed her gaze and found Marinette sitting alone on a bench down the street. Was she crying. Truth Singer dove off the rooftop before he could grab her. He spun his baton then jumped from the roof extending his staff to give himself a quicker path to Marinette. He landed on the concrete in front of her as Truth Singer was on his heels. He wasted no time scooping her into his arms like a bride before he ran leaping off the walls as he made his way to the rooftops.

 

“You're the light, you're the night

You're the color of my blood

You're the cure, you're the pain

You're the only thing I wanna touch

Never knew that it could mean so much, so much” Damn Marinette got hit. He looked down at her face. It was red as she reached up for his face. So far, this power isn’t revealing their secrets, it’s just making them sing a truthful song, something they felt. 

 

“You're the fear, I don't care

'Cause I've never been so high

Follow me through the dark

Let me take you past our satellites

You can see the world you brought to life, to life”

 

Her voice was beautiful, he thought as he tried to find a place to stash Marinette, where was Ladybug. He had tried to refrain from singing, at least keeping his voice so low that no one else could hear him. He wanted to focus on her voice. 

“So love me like you do, lo-lo-love me like you do

Love me like you do, lo-lo-love me like you do

Touch me like you do, to-to-touch me like you do

What are you waiting for?”

Cat froze on the rooftop, his eyes met hers. The heat rose up in his cheeks as she sang. His heart began to flutter. Does she feel this way about Cat Noir, or did she figure it out and know he’s Adrien. 

“Fading in, fading out

On the edge of paradise

Every inch of your skin, is a Holy Grail I've gotta find

Only you can set my heart on fire, on fire”

He gulped back a lump that had started to form on his lips. He was glad he had made distance between them and Truth Singer, or did she get what she wanted. He squatted down on the rooftop as she sang to him. He stroked her face. He could feel his own song changing. Suddenly his feelings, his heart began to sing. The power of the magic between them had actually changed his song.

“I'll let you set the pace

'Cause I'm not thinking straight

My head's spinning around, I can't see clear no more

Oh, what are you waiting for?” Cat Noir sang out the words before they escaped her lips. 

“Love me like you do, lo-lo-love me like you do

Love me like you do, lo-lo-love me like you do

Touch me like you do, to-to-touch me like you do, oh

What are you, what are you waiting for?

What are you waiting for?” These were her words sung through his lips as she froze. Her face reddened. He knew he had feelings for her, but he never wanted to admit it, he didn’t want to betray his feelings for Ladybug, but how could he deny the feelings he had been developing for Marinette since day one. Maybe it was just the magic from the akuma, but he no longer controlled his own emotions. He cupped her face in his free hand as the other one was behind her back as she draped over his knees. He pulled her face closer to his, watching her eyes drift shut. 

““I'll let you set the pace

'Cause I'm not thinking straight

My head's spinning around, I can't see clear no more

Oh, what are you waiting for?” She sang just as his lips met hers. Their mouths opened as they pressed themselves closer together feeling every inch of her mouth on his. He could feel the song magic fading, the urge to sing no longer present, but what was this feeling in his heart? It was as if his heart had been turned into butterflies and they were swarming his chest trying to escape. He kept his lips on hers, waiting for her to push him away. She didn’t, she weaved her fingers through his hair gently combing through. 

“Give me your Miraculous Cat Noir, and I will use you to draw out Ladybug.” Truth Singer was right behind him. He quickly grabbed his baton spinning on his heels as he moved Marinette behind him. 

“Grab on.” He said. She jumped on his back as he extended the staff launching them into the atmosphere then swinging it forward vaulting them into flight. They began to fall as she held onto him. He angled to fall to land in and alley way as they came down between the buildings he moved his staff between the building like a hanging rod sliding down the brick building until they slowed just feet from the ground. She dropped from his shoulders as he held on to the now lodged baton. He reached out a hand to her.

He released the baton as it shrunk back to the length of a ruler. He locked it back in place on his back. Marinette stood in front of him still red in the face. 

“I guess kissing a purrincess can break any spell.” He knelt before her, taking her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. She simply stood frozen in place. Unable to speak. “Tell me now purrincess, why did she want you to sing your truth?”

“I have already told you Cat.” She whispered. “About the boy I like, but I haven’t been able to tell him how I feel, I am such a klutz with my words when I am around him.” A single tear fell from her eye. 

“Could you ever love me?” Cat asked her. 

“I don’t know who you are under the mask.”

“I am more myself with the mask, then I have ever been without it, can you love this side of me.” he stood up taking both her hands in his. “And I love you for everything that you are, your clumsiness as well.” he smirked. Heat raced to his face as he watched her, he felt his heart still as his confession fell upon her ears. 

“What about Ladybug.” She whimpered. 

“In the words of a special friend of mine…Plagg, it’s okay to love two people at the same time, especially when they are so much alike.” 

“I’m nothing like Ladybug.” she pulled her hands back. His smile widened. 

“Will you please answer my question?” his heart couldn’t take it anymore. “Can you love this side of me? This man you see before you,” She looked back up at him. “Put the thought of that Sunshine boy out of your head for one second, and focus on me.” Marinette sighed. 

“Yes.” She admitted. “Yes Cat, I do love you, but…” 

“Claws in.” Marinette closed her eyes, blinding by his detransformation. “I trust you, after all you are the only one I know besides myself who has never been akumatized.” He chuckled. He cupped both hands on her cheeks forcing her to look up at him. He could hear Truth Singer in the distance looking for Cat and Ladybug. “You have to open your eyes Marinette,.” She slowly slid her eyes open. Her face reflected a realization that maybe She had figured it out earlier in the park. His heart stilled in his chest waiting for her response. 

“Spots on.” 

“Best birthday ever.” Adrien said, lowering his face to place his lips on Ladybugs. He kept his eyes open as she closed hers. The moment their lips met, his closed as they melted into each other's kisses. 

There you go LadyNoir and Marichat Shippers. We don’t need to finish this story, we all know what happens to the akumatized person. 

Ps, I didn't write the songs, but credit aristocats for the feline good song "Everybody wants to be a cat" and Ellie Goulding for "love me like you do"

[professortennant]

Ok, how about Rebecca consoling Ted after the team loses a big game?

For a moment, just a moment, she--along with the rest of the AFC Richmond crowd--had thought they had pulled off a miracle, a Cinderella story that the press would be talking about for ages. Relegated only to win a Championship League final in the very next year, a team with a vengeance and a coach with a chip on his shoulder.

He hid it well, Rebecca thought. But now that she knew he hated being underestimated, counted out before the match even begun, she had seen a real change in him. She’d asked Beard about the change during a training session she was observing, the sun and blue sky too tempting to not go out for a bit. Ted was running right alongside his players, yelling words of encouragement and correction in equal measure. 

“I think he’s realized he’s not in Kansas anymore.” A beat of silence and then, “And I think he wants to prove himself to y--everyone.”

She hummed in acknowledgment and watched as Ted blew his whistle, jogging to midfield, and animatedly demonstrating the run he wanted for his players. It seemed now that the team was on the same page, it was time to put the real work in.

But Lady Fate had other plans for AFC Richmond this evening, a night that should have been victory. A dirty tackle on Richard left him with a torn ACL, lifted off the field on a stretcher, a drizzle of rain made for less-than-ideal field conditions, and a series of simple turnover errors had left the team in disarray and confusion. It was over before it could start. 

In the locker room, she watched as Ted tried to cheer his team up, noting that third place didn’t mean they were down and out for the Premier League, that they just had to work a little bit harder for a little bit longer. But even Ted’s heart seemed to be a little bit broken, a little disappointed. 

“Ah hell, who am I kiddin’? This flat out stinks. I really wanted this for you boys, I really did. Maybe I let y’all get ahead of yourselves. Let myself get ahead of myself,” he amended, eyes flicking down to his Nikes. “And I’m sorry for that. I should have kept you focused on tonight’s game. We can’t help injuries and field conditions, but we can control energy and the fundamentals. We were sloppy tonight. That team wasn’t better than us. I know it. Y’all know it.” He sighed, looking around the room. “We are going to be promoted this season, fellas. But tonight: Be sad, be disappointed, be angry. Be whatever you gotta be tonight to light a fire under your butts because we are gonna work that much harder starting tomorrow morning.” He nodded his head at each of them before turning on his heels, shoulders hunched inward, leaving his players behind and Coach Beard to wrap up the evening. 

Rebecca frowned, following him into his office, shutting the door with a soft click. It had become custom for her to join the team--win or lose--in the locker room, his words from so many months ago still ringing warmly in her ears. You liven up the place.

But this was not the Ted Lasso she was accustomed to seeing: not angry, not encouraging, not blissfully optimistic. Just wilted. Disappointed. 

He looked up at her from his slumped position in his chair, a small, tired smile on his face. “Hey, boss,” he sighed, rubbing his hands over his eyes and through his hair, ruffling it and making it stand up. “Not our best showing.”

She stood in front of him, hip leaning on his desk, as she considered him. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she teases. “There were some real lowlights last season. You yelling like a maniac about stopping the clock comes to mind.”

“Yeah, well, I still think it’s a stupid rule. Why keep the clock running when no one’s playing? Don’t make a lick of sense to me."

“You know what doesn’t make a lick of sense to me?,” she prompted, earning a delighted look from him for using his own phrase as a segue. She tilted her head towards the locker room where she could see players milling about, heading for the showers or crowding around Coach Beard and his whiteboard. “That speech out there wasn’t exactly the Ted Lasso motivational speech I’ve come to expect.”

He groaned and quite suddenly lurched forward, forehead smacking the desk with a loud thunk. She acted without thinking, hands immediately going to the back of his head, fingers sliding through the thick hair, rubbing his head. “Ted! What the bloody hell?”

“‘m fine,” he said, voice muffled against a stack of papers, still facedown. She laughed, relieved to know he hadn’t completely lost his marbles, and tugged gently on his hair, encouraging him to sit up.

Instead, he groaned appreciatively in a way that made her heart pound double time in her chest, fingers hesitating in their movement. She went to withdraw her hand but he turned his head to face her, the movement entangling her hands further. 

She looked down at him, eyebrow arched. “Did you turn into a canine while I wasn’t looking?”

He panted at her playfully, a small, half-hearted woof escaping his mouth. “New deal boss: You keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll tell ya the God’s honest truth.”

“You’d tell me the God’s honest truth regardless of my petting, but go on,” she conceded. It was living out a harmless fantasy, she told herself. It wasn’t her fault his hair always looked as it did: perfectly coiffed and styled until it wasn’t, strands falling into his eyes, causing him to develop a new tic of running his hands through his hair, flipping it back into place. It had been maddening to watch and she was self-aware enough to acknowledge the urge to run her own fingers through his hair weren’t platonic in the least (the other images and fantasies accompanying the urge were definitely not to be explored in a packed locker room). 

He grinned lazily up at her as she continued stroking his hair, nails scratching ever so slightly at his scalp, causing him to stutter as he spoke, eyes falling closed. “I let them down,” he confesses softly. “I let them get ahead of themselves, horse before the cart, counted those damn chickens before the eggs hatched. I let them think this one was in the bag--didn’t stop ‘em from goofin’ around at practice--training, whatever. I let them down.”

His eyes flickered open, peering up at her, sorrowful. “I let you down.”

Her hands tightened in his hair reflexively. “Me? Ted, how could you let me down? You’ve done everything I’ve asked of you.” 

“I told you we’d win the whole fucking thing,” he reminded her. “Close but no cigar.”

"I never thought you’d be one to throw pity parties, Ted Lasso,” she reminded him, tugging at his hair once more before sliding her hand down to his shoulder and pulling, encouraging him to sit up. He did so, exaggerating the motion as if every movement cost him something. She bit back a smile.

He swiveled in his chair and it was only then she realized the position they were in: him in the chair, legs splayed while she stood between them, leaning back against the desk. Her cheeks flushed warm and she shook her head slightly, clearing the fantasy from between her ears.

She reached down to take his hand in hers, squeezing slightly. He clung back, fingers wiggling between hers so they were interlocked. She forgot sometimes that he was as desperate to touch as she was to be touched. 

“You did promise me you’d win the whole fucking thing. But I don’t recall a timestamp on that promise,” she reminded him. “And this is not over, Ted, not by a long shot. We have one more chance to make it to the Premier League for next season. The season is not yet over, Coach. And I don’t want your players--our players--thinking it is, either. We have work to do and I need you pushing every single one of those men to believe in themselves and this team the way that I believe in you.”

The words came earnestly but awkwardly, a year of walls and shields and a lifetime of British distaste for sincerity and emotions making the speech stilted. It certainly wasn’t a patented Ted Lasso speech, but she thought it a rather good Rebecca Welton.

Ted was looking at her with something akin to awe, mouth parted and eyes bright and gleaming. 

“Rebecca?” he asked, voice low, standing from his seat, still holding her hand. With him standing and her leaning against his desk, he towered over her ever so slightly, just enough that she had to look up to him. “I would really, really like to kiss you right now, if that’s alright.”

She blinked at him for a moment, mind racing, before giving a single, jerky nod. The moment she indicated her consent, he was there, fingers disentangling from hers so he had both hands free to cup her face on either side, cradling her gently as his lips pressed softly, quickly to hers. The combination of the warmth of his lips, the tickle of his mustache, and the sudden shift in action had her gasping into the kiss, her hands steadying themselves on his hips, clutching at one of his ridiculous jumpers, kissing him back as insistently as he was kissing her.

And then it was over.

But Ted kept his hands on either side of her face, thumbs stroking over the soft curve of her cheek, his forehead pressed to hers. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time now, but, uh, never seemed like the right time.”

“And now was the right time?,” she asked breathlessly, her own fingers and thumbs making abstract geometric shapes along his hips and sides, tracing the lines of him.

He pulled back, grinning, and she was delighted to see that his eyes were once again gleaming with the positive, radiant, sunshine force she had come to associate with him. 

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good pep talk.”

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: threads spun

Summary: In another life, Obi-Wan Kenobi would have fought plenty of other Jedi Masters for the right to train little Luke Skywalker. In this one, Luke is 19 and just lost his family when Obi-Wan teaches him how to do a proper Padawan braid.

AN: I’M BACK FROM NANO WITH NEW FANFICS.

The boy just lost his whole world, and he clings to Obi-Wan's robes with shaky hands. His eyes are bright blue, his hair a fair gold color, and for just one short moment, Obi-Wan isn't sure whether the child in front of him is nine or nineteen, whether his name is Anakin or Luke.

It is the reason he gave Luke to his family in the end, even when the Force and all his selfish desires were screaming at him not to. The newborn, the son of his Padawan, the child that was Luke Skywalker, had deserved better than a broken man who didn't even know who he was without a thousand lights illuminating him. A man who'd risk forgetting that he was not holding the child he had raised, the child he had left to burn.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and the moment passes. 

He doesn't ask the boy if he's alright because it is obvious that Luke is not and it would be cruel to demand an honest answer. Luke can't be standing straight after he experienced such tremendous loss for the first time, nobody would, and Obi-Wan is saddened that he can't give Luke the time to grieve.

Despite all this pain, Obi-Wan still dares to hope for light and life.

He is relieved to see that Luke doesn't take all the hurt and anger to hide it within himself. Obi-Wan has never taught Luke a single lesson about Jedi philosophy, the way they grieve and handle all the emotions that are too large for this world, those that are capable of tearing the galaxy apart. And yet Luke controls his feelings exactly as a temple-raised youngling would, not pushing them aside or letting them overtake him. He takes timed breaths, centers himself on the world surrounding him and not on his anxieties. Pride fills Obi-Wan's heart as he watches peace and balance return to Luke's mind.

In another life, Obi-Wan would have fought plenty of other Jedi Masters for the right to train him.

He can almost hear his family laugh at him, playful jabs about him being so eager to train yet another Skywalker and see what colors they could draw nebulas in. It isn't Obi-Wan's fault; he has always loved a challenge, and Luke, racing in Beggar's Canyon at an age no boy should step into that death trap, would have certainly been a joy to teach and guide.

He could have taught him so much, so much he still needs to teach him, but the clock is ticking and time has always been a cruel mistress. Not purposefully, she wouldn't dare, but she is absolute and eternal, and like death, she takes.

Obi-Wan silently wonders how much time he has left. He knows exactly where they are heading and despite the legends he has wrapped around himself in his exile, he's neither crazy nor a fool. They are attempting to pull off a plan that they wouldn't even have dared to suggest during the Clone Wars, not with so many untrained people. He's been called reckless plenty of times, his ability to talk himself out of seeming like an adrenaline junkie being his only saving grace. Still, Obi-Wan is acutely aware of the danger they are in.

But they have no other choice. They may have the Death Star plans in their hands – and wasn't it utterly predictable that it would be Artoo to carry the plans for a weapon of mass destruction? – but Leia can't stay in the Empire's hands.

Luke and she were so strong in the Force at their birth already. While Obi-Wan is convinced that Bail must have taught Leia at least some shielding techniques, half-trained children can't withstand a Sith Lord for long. Should Vader or worse, Palpatine, learn what Leia could become capable of, they would have so much more to worry about in the future.

The Rebellion might as well be lost.

"You have grown into a fine young man, Luke," Obi-Wan tells Anakin's son instead.

"I have?" Luke echoes, curiosity coloring his voice, highlighting a cadence similar to Padmé's despite his heavy Outer Rim accent.

"I brought you to Tatooine," Obi-Wan tells him. The journey hadn't been an easy one. They had to change ships multiple times and every time somebody had mistaken Obi-Wan for Luke's father, he had wanted to stop and cry like the infant in his arms. "You were a very sweet baby."

"Oh." Luke falls silent again, but his hands have stopped shaking. In his dirty white robes, he reminds Obi-Wan just a bit of a messy Padawan. He wears Anakin's lightsaber well, even if he doesn't know how to execute even the simplest of lightsaber forms. Frankly speaking, it is a bit terrifying to see how quickly he picked up the weapon and had gotten comfortable with it. The Force curled around Luke's every movement, guiding him like a beloved teacher.

Luke will need a teacher if he is to face the darkness that would catch up to them soon.

Obi-Wan feels much older than he actually is. The fault lies partially with the harsh marks that Tatooine has left on his body, but also with the life he has led. He isn't sure if he can teach another student, no matter how much he wants to, but he has to try at least for Luke's sake. That is, if the boy truly intends to follow the path of the Jedi.

"Luke," Obi-Wan says seriously, thinking of the one who gives life, the name granted to such a young child, "Do you truly want to become a Jedi?"

"Yes." There is no hesitation in Luke's reply. "I want to follow my father's footsteps."

No, Obi-Wan wants to weep. You don't. You can't ask me to cut you down as well; I couldn't bear it.

"It is admirable to want to follow the path of someone you respect," Obi-wan starts carefully instead. He can't tell Luke what became of Anakin Skywalker. The child deserves better. "But I am asking about your own inclinations. The path of a Jedi is not an easy one, and you have to follow it for your own sake if you want to succeed."

Now Luke does hesitate. He looks down at his hands, curls them into fists and relaxes them again.

"Yes," Luke finally replied. "Yes, I want to be a Jedi."

"Then I'll hope you'll give me the honor of teaching you. I'd like to take you as my Padawan."

Obi-Wan had said these words over three decades ago to another lost blond boy, the language a little different, their surroundings certainly more peaceful than the ship of a smuggler. He tries to banish the image from his mind.

"Padawan," Luke repeats slowly. "What does it mean?"

You should know, Obi-Wan thinks. You should know what it means and be overjoyed and celebrate this day.

He can't hold it against this boy, not even against himself or, dare he think it, Anakin because choices had been made, but away from it all, Obi-Wan can only blame the Sith who ruined them, continues to hurt them.

"It means that I want you as my student, teach you all I know so that you may surpass me someday."

Bring us back to the light, rebuilt all that we lost. Obi-Wan is asking him for so much when just days ago it would have been enough for him to someday see Luke marry that boy he's been crushing on for years and live the rest of his days happily, far away from the war.

And now he dreams of home again, the rooms full of plants and droid parts, poetry collections, board games, and warmth so kind and all-compassing that no nightmares can haunt you.

"You'd really teach me?" Luke asks as if he'd be honored and the right to be taught not already something he possessed since his birth.

"Of course."

"I'd be honored to accept," Luke replies with a shy smile.

Obi-Wan returns his smile and reassuringly squeezes his shoulder once. Luke leans into the touch and so Obi-Wan lets his arm linger around the boy's shoulders as he continues to explain traditions long lost. "Traditionally, we would now braid your hair and put in the first bead."

"Braid my hair?"

Obi-wan nods and thinks of all the times his Master ran his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair, tugging at his braid and saying one thing or another he hadn't paid any attention to because he'd been too awestruck by the fact that he had a Master at all. "Yes, all Padawans of the Jedi Order have a braid. It shows your dedication to your studies and how serious you are about them. It means that you know that this is not an easy task or an easy path to take, but that you are willing to walk it anyway."

Luke thoughtfully looks at Obi-Wan, then he reaches up with his hand, putting a strand of hair behind his ear.

"My hair is not long enough to braid it properly," Luke mutters, dismayed.

He's pouting more than he is actually hurt by the thought. Nevertheless, if he lingers on it, he might ask more questions about what other chances life has denied him and because of it, Obi-Wan wants to distract him quickly.

The distraction comes at the price of remembrance, a fourteen-year-old Padawan clinging to what remained of his braid, burying his head in his Master's chest, and crying after enduring days of torment. Obi-Wan had fixed Anakin's hair then as well so he wouldn't have to deal with too many looks once they were back at the Temple. His braid had been short, but it had been there. For a moment, Obi-Wan tries to recall who had assigned that mission to them, whether Sidious had already sown his seeds of discord then.

He lets the moment go. "Don't worry, I can help you."

He had done plenty of braids during his as a Padawan and later as a Master. When the war had been going on, he had helped frenzied Padawans countless times with their braids.

There was an almost meditative process to the act of braiding and letting others braid your hair. It had soothed innumerous over the centuries and now it will once more calm another. Luke sits still when Obi-Wan begins to part the stray strands of hair on the left side of his head into three. Luke's hair really isn't all that long, but it is definitely more than enough to work with. Slowly and withs steady fingers, Obi-Wan braids another bond with his second Padawan. Luke is a kind child and this war will hurt him incredibly. Obi-Wan can only hope that what he will pass onto him will be enough to have him keep his path, to wander in the light even when the darkness reaches for him with the intent to consume.

Once Obi-Wan is finished with the braid, he reaches for his belt, takes an old leather cord from there, and wraps it around the tip of Luke's hair.

"And finished," Obi-Wan announces.

Luke, who had closed his eyes, opens them and immediately reaches for the hair, twirling it between his two fingers in a fashion reminiscent of Obi-Wan in his youth. He had only managed to get rid of that nervous habit after his won braid hat been cut. Whether Luke would act similar, Obi-Wan doesn't know, but the thought of seeing Luke ascend to the rank of Knight of the Order, no matter how small, splintered and broken it is right now, it makes his heart beat a bit quicker.

"How does it look?" Luke asks.

"As it is supposed to," Obi-Wan replies. "I believe Mr. Solo has a mirror in his fresher if you want to take a look."

Luke races off before Obi-Wan can say anymore. He returns a few minutes later, already with more color in his face than he had in the hours before.

"Thank you. Master." Luke tags on the honorific only belatedly, unsure whether it fits and it is all the convincing Obi-Wan could ever need.

"You are welcome, Padawan."

Obi-Wan Kenobi has a student once more and he will not fail him.

[monchikyun]

XVIII. bury a friend

It has been awfully quiet for about an hour now. As Connor ended his story with horrible dejection written all over his face, he turned around and initiated his stasis, refusing any and all comfort Gavin has been more than willing to provide. He did expect it to be something twisted and tragic like that, even imagined the worst possible scenario before being told how it really went down, just to be safe. If he’s honest with himself, the reality isn't very far from the most fucked up course of events his mind has been able to cook up. Still, it has been able to freeze the blood in his veins, which has paralysed his brain for the amount of time it took Connor to withdraw to his simulated sleep. 

Gavin has already cursed himself for being so goddamn incompetent when it comes to emotional issues, blamed himself for the cold shoulder he didn't even have the chance to receive. He still does, as he lies glued to the bed, counting the cracks in the ceiling. His nicotine addiction is begging him to go into the cold and give it what it needs to survive, but the warmth of his current company is impossible to leave. His hand aches for the smallest touch, for some confirmation that Connor is still here with him. So he directs his sight to the body next to him, letting himself be mesmerised by the constellations of freckles decorating the android's bare arm. It's a painful view, knowing that he still doesn't have the right to connect those dots with his own defects, to interpose himself with this amazing, flawed being who has carved a hole in his chest and invaded his heart.

He remembers how the android was back when he found him on the roof, finally realising the enormous difference created by the months they’ve spent together. Last spring he dreaded going to work, feared that Connor just wouldn’t show up one day and he wouldn’t be able to see him ever again. Or worse, all that would remain of him would be the empty vessel that used to house his colourful soul, something that would kill his last hopes. He was tempted to become a well-meaning stalker then, to always be near for when a potential threat arrives, but that idea was too exhausting for him in the end, and so he left his worries to a silent prayer which guided him all through to summer. 

With the warmth came the first smile and a myriad of gratitudes for his uncharacteristic kindness. That’s when they started having casual conversations, a big leap from the uncomfortable silences that filled their shared hours in the previous season. It was somewhere in July when he first regarded Connor as his friend, without his vigilant denial disagreeing that fact. Gavin has always found the android very attractive, like an eye candy specifically developed for his torment, but knowing there was a whole, unpolished person behind that plastic perfection has made his partner so much more appealing. He simply couldn’t stop himself getting drawn to him, despite all the countless attempts to emotionally distance himself from the one who lived inside his dreams. It was either letting himself be eaten by the monsters living in his past, or inviting in the one person who has the power to push them away from his corrupted mind.

For the longest time, he did neither. Though his inability to act on his feelings was due to more than just the inherent fragility of their source, he was simply afraid like he has always been when it comes to things that have the potential to hurt him. He'd rather be thrown in a paper shredder than to have his soul bruised again. Physical pain is easy to understand, straightforward in its healing. Time usually takes care of what needs to be done, but when it comes to the mind, sometimes even passing years will have little to no effect on the waste that has accumulated in someone’s innermost core. And Gavin didn't want to add onto the rotting pile of mess that has already been too much to bear as it is. But that was months ago, and as the earth was becoming colder, the warmth that had started budding inside of him turned into sweltering heat.

When autumn was nearing its end, he understood that he would soon burn up if he didn’t begin dealing with his problem. Maybe that’s how they got here, to a place where he doesn’t have to call his feelings inconvenience anymore, having breached the border that has kept them apart all these months. He wants to stop fighting it for good. This truth is sent to him from above as he puts his fingers on Connor's bare temple, tracing the ghost of the LED that used to signify his nature. 

He'd like to say that the fact that one of them isn't human is what prevented them from giving into their hearts' desires, but that is far from the truth. Life is much more complicated than that, not as black and white as he wants it to be. 

Gavin wishes their relationship was defined, so he could casually take the android in his arms and hold him away from the evil of the world, just for a short while, just so he can expand his collection of irreplaceable moments that he doesn't ever want to forget. 

He considers getting just a bit closer, weighing all the pros and cons that ultimately mean nothing because deep down he recognises that their sentiments are shared. So he lowers his steadying hand down from Connor’s temple, ready to enfold everything his partner represents. But fortune isn’t on his side tonight, because as soon as he begins his movement, Connor wakes up with a jerk that betrays confusion lined up with its best friend, unease. 

"Did you have a nightmare?" Gavin is more than familiar with the concept of being tortured by his own psyche as he lays it to rest, so he's aware of just how disorienting such illusions can be, how unrelentingly cruel and merciless they often are. 

"No, no... I-... androids can't normally dream. I wasn't really sleeping, just… thinking. More than I should." 

Gavin scoots over so their shoulders are just about touching, a decision his conscious mind has had no say in. 

"Do you wanna talk 'bout it?" A quiet, tentative question just barely escapes his lips for fear he gets denied entrance into Connor's trove of dark secrets. 

There is a short, excruciating period of silence before he gets his answer.

"You know how I can preconstruct any future scenario based on the information available to me?" 

"Yeah? I mean… sorta. Can't really wrap my mind around your technical stuff most of the time." That's only partially a lie. He ought to tell him that he doesn't want to picture his inner workings because they kind of scare him, but maybe that would be too inappropriate given the frailty of this moment. 

"Well… I saw you get buried…,” the android breathes out for reasons Gavin can only guess, “after you died, naturally." 

"Naturally." 

Why doesn't this even surprise him anymore. Of course Connor would paint himself the grimmest image possible, these are just his default settings. Give him the brightest colours and he'd draw you the darkest sky without a single star in sight. 

"That's not… I'm sorry I,... I didn't mean to… I just couldn't stop it since it went that way and…" 

"Hey, it's okay.” It hurts seeing Connor get like that, losing most of his coherency and feeling like he should apologise for it.  

“How…," Gavin takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts down. Connor was the one who saw his funeral, not him, yet he feels like he’s been there already, among the dirt, not far from other decaying corpses. It’s an uncanny sensation. Not one he’ll be chasing any time soon. 

"How did it make you feel?" A stupid question, really, and yet the best his brain has to offer. 

"How do you think?" Gavin never knew that tears could fit an incredulous look, but the welling in Connor's eyes combined with the exasperation written all over his face is proof enough. Laughable, frankly, but he wouldn't dare. Not now, anyway. 

"Guess it sucked then." 

"That's putting it mildly." The android shakes his head and rubs his eyes before they have the chance to leak his sorrow. 

"I… I don't ever want to go through that again,” he says, desperation piercing his voice through and through. It would be easy to dismiss these ungrounded worries if it wasn’t for the two flaming brown lights probing his own mossy pools like they intend to hypnotise them and seize control over his soul.  

"You know that no one can force you to… be there... when it happens." 

"You don’t get it! That's not the point. I don't want to live in a world where two of my best friends are nothing but a memory. I realise that’s selfish, but… "

Gavin does, by all means, get it, he just tried to help, somehow. 

Connor’s eyes are turning into glass, threatening to melt again, so he closes his because God knows he does not possess the strength to witness it, not tonight at least. 

"Maybe you should just relax Con, the future will come no matter what, but we still have the might to shape it as we like. To some extent. Anyway,... I promise…," he cuts the sentence midway to inhale a big gulp of oxygen, an action which results in a minor coughing fit. 

"I promise to try my best to stay by your side as long as physically possible. " A statement which makes him want to cry instead. 

"Does it mean you’ll stop smoking then?" 

Oh, that devious android, of course this conversation would lead here, why wouldn't it. He glances at his nightstand, checking if the half-full box of cigarettes is still there, waiting for him to take its lethal fruit. Come to think about it, ever since their little trip his taste for cigarettes has somewhat diminished. Could be the fresher air just outside these thin walls, or the fact that Connor’s presence stimulates him enough already, so the need for nicotine is not as great as it is when he has to spend his time alone or surrounded by people who hold little to no significance to him, pretending like he doesn't crave something beyond the drug his body could very well function without. 

"Yeah..., yeah, okay." Gavin buries his face in his hands, disbelieving his consent. 

As he puts them away and folds them in his lap, he scroungers up a lazy smile meant to lighten up the heavy mood, to maybe clear Connor’s stormy sky a little. 

"But only if you promise to try to be more optimistic…  just a smidge.., " he makes a gesture with his two fingers to show how small of an effort would suffice. 

Then he gives Connor a friendly pat on his thigh, after which he realises that he doesn't have to limit his displays of affection anymore, not after all the intimacy they have been willing to submit themselves to already. 

So he lets his palm linger, allowing himself to rub gentle circles into the clothed skin. He doesn't have to be cautious with Connor, for the android isn't burdened with any biological organs that would make this situation uncomfortable for both parties. 

"Life isn't all bad, I’m sure you came across that particular information at least once during your time on this Earth. Experienced it, even. No?" 

"You're right." 

A trace of a hesitant smile on Connor’s lips is all that it takes for Gavin to heave a sigh of relief. He’s too tired to think beyond that feeling. Everything inside of him, all the emotions and memories blend into a blurry mixture as he starts losing the ground under his feet. 

But he must fight it, his friend still needs him awake...

"Let's go to sleep," Connor whispers, tugging him into a tender embrace. It’s warm and safe and he can't concentrate on anything but the wave of love pulling him under to the sweet slumber he’s always yearned for. 

Indeed, life can be ever so wonderful sometimes.

@a-convin-new-year

[arcticdementor]

For millennia the family has stood as the central institution of society—often changing, but always essential. But across the world, from China to North America, and particularly in Europe, family ties are weakening, with the potential to undermine one of the last few precious bits of privacy and intimacy.

Margaret Mead once said, “no matter how many communes anyone invents, the family always creeps back.” But today’s trajectory is not promising. Even before the Covid-19 pandemic, family formation and birth rates were declining throughout much of the world, not just in most of the West and East Asia, but also in parts of South American and the Middle East.

The ongoing pandemic appears to be driving birth rates globally down even further, and the longer it lasts, the greater possibility that familial implosion will get far worse, and perhaps intractable. Brookings predicts that COVID will result in 300,000 to 500,000 fewer U.S. births in 2021. Marriage rates have dropped significantly to 35 year lows.

…

These predictions turned out to be vastly exaggerated, with a rapid decline in global hunger. The anticipated population explosion is morphing into something more like an implosion, with much of the world now facing population stagnation, and even contraction. As birth rates have dropped, the only thing holding up population figures in many places is longer lifespans, though recent data suggests these may be getting shorter again .

These trends can be felt in the United States, where the birthrate is sinking. U.S. population growth among the cohort aged between 16 and 64 has dropped from 20 percent in the 1980s to less than 5 percent in the last decade. This is particularly bad for the future of an economy dependent on new workers and consumers.

This demographic transition is even more marked in Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, and much of Europe, where finding younger workers is becoming a major problem for employers and could result in higher costs or increased movement of jobs to more fecund countries. As the employment base shrinks, some countries, such as Germany, have raised taxes on the existing labor force to pay for the swelling ranks of retirees.

Similar patterns can be seen in China. Expanding workforces like China’s—which grew by 380 million between 1980 and 2012—drove a world-shattering economic boom. Now, this resource is already in peril; birthrates have cratered to  historic lows. China’s working-age population (those between 15 and 64 years old) peaked in 2011 and is projected to drop 23 percent by 2050. This plunge will be exacerbated by the effects of the now discarded one-child policy, which led to the aborting of an estimated 37 million Chinese girls since it came into effect in 1980. By 2050, China is projected  to have 60 million fewer people under age fifteen, a loss approximately the size of Italy’s total population. The ratio of retirees to working people is expected to have more than tripled by then, which would be one of the most rapid demographic shifts in history, and by 2050 will be roughly 20 percent higher than that of the U.S.

…

Today’s demographic stagnation represents a throwback to earlier times. After the relative buoyant growth in Classical times, the Middle Ages also were a period of global demographic stagnation, caused by famine, pestilence, pervasive celibacy and poverty. Population growth soared with the rise of liberal capitalism in the Early Modern period, aided by changing attitudes toward motherhood, children, and families. Simon Schama describes the Netherlands, the fount of this transition, as a “Republic of Children” built around the nuclear family. The medieval obsession with the Virgin Mother and the unrealistic cherubim typical of Renaissance painting were replaced with domestic images characterized by “uncompromising earthiness.”

We now seem to be moving away from those values, and as in the Middle Ages, becoming less centered around the family. Serfs at least had religion and a sense of community; our societies have become increasingly lonely, with single men hit hardest and children, often without two parents or any siblings, and chained to social media, increasingly isolated around the world. In the U.S. since  1960, the percentage of people in the United States living alone has grown from about 12 percent to 28 percent. Even intimacy is on its way out, particularly among the young; the once swinging age groups now are suffering a “sex recession.”

The percentage of American women who are mothers is at its lowest point in over three decades. Intact families are rarer, and single living more common. In the United States, the rate of single parenthood has grown from 10 percent in 1960 to over 40 percent today. This is very bad news for society, particularly minorities, because intact families tend to have fewer problems relating to prison, school, or poverty.

This social collapse is going global. In Britain, 8 percent of households in 1970 were headed by a single parent; now, the rate is over 25 percent. The percentage of children born outside marriage has doubled over the past three decades, to 40 percent. In the Scandinavian countries, around 40 percent of the population lives alone.

…

In Japan, the harbinger of modern Asian demographics, the number of people living alone is expected to reach 40 percent of the whole population by 2040. Japan has a rising “misery index” of divorces, single motherhood, and spousal and child abuse—all of which accelerates the country’s disastrous demographic decline and deepens class division. More and more people are not only living alone but dying alone. There are estimated to be four thousand “lonely deaths” in Japan every week.

…

The disinclination to form families is often described as generational choice. But American millennial attitudes about family are not significantly different from prior generations, though perhaps with a greater emphasis on gender equality. Among American childless women under age 44, barely 6 percent are “voluntarily childless.” The vast majority of millennials want to get married and have children.

High housing prices, crowded living conditions, and financial pressures certainly account for much of this gap. This phenomenon is particularly marked in the urban centers that dominate the world’s economy and culture. Today many large cities are becoming childless demographic graveyards. Between  2011 and 2019, the number of babies born annually in Manhattan dropped by nearly 15 percent, while the decrease across the city was 9 percent. The nation’s premier urban center could see its infant population shrink by half in the next thirty years. The share of nonfamily households grew three times as fast in gentrifying neighborhoods as in the city overall. In the future, writes Steve LeVine in Axios, shifting local priorities “could write kids out of urban life for good.”

…

Nearly half a century ago, Daniel Bell saw a “new class” rising with values profoundly divergent from the traditional bourgeois norms of self-control, industriousness, and personal responsibility, which together form the essence of familialism. Instead, Bell envisioned a new type of individualism, unmoored from religion and family, which could dissolve the foundations of middle-class culture.

Indeed, for some, particularly in Europe and North America, declining fecundity represents an ideal result, chosen by those who “give up having children to save the planet” in order to reduce the carbon impact of each additional human. The recipe for reducing family size fits with the widely promoted notion of de-growth which has strong support from the oligarchs and financiers associated with the World Economic Forum. The goal is no GDP growth, less consumption, smaller houses, less class mobility, policies likely to reduce birthrates.

Others, particularly feminists and gender activists, celebrate the decline of the family for more ideological reasons. The late feminist icon Betty Frieden once compared housewives to people marching voluntarily into “a concentration camp.” One recent New York Times article even linked women who choose to stay at home with “white supremacy.” Black Lives Matter, true to its quasi-Marxist ideology, has made clear its antipathy to the nuclear family, an attitude widely shared in the mainstream media as well.

The more conventional Marxists in China, for their part, see these post-familial attitudes as a threat to the country’s future. China’s Communist leaders, while officially genuflecting to Maoist ideology, now promote the filial piety central to both traditional folk religion and the Confucianism but long reviled by the founders of the People’s Republic. Once terrified by overpopulation, China’s leaders are seeking ways to raise childbearing and family formation into “socialist” values.

But it’s Japan which again epitomizes the shift in Asian attitudes. There, traditional values such as hard work, sacrifice, and loyalty are largely rejected by the new generation, the shinjinrui or “new race.” These younger Japanese, writes one sociologist, are “pioneering a new sort of high quality, low energy, low growth existence.” Maybe they don’t need much energy since nearly a third of Japanese adults entering their thirties have never had sex. This is not a good predictor for family formation.

…

To succeed, such initiatives have to go beyond cash payments and other incentives, as welcome as these may be. There also needs to be a concerted effort to build family-friendly housing— large apartments, townhomes, and single-family detached houses—that generally attract families with children. Rather than shoehorning forced density into already-dense metros, we can encourage the development of less expensive, family-friendly housing; the shift to the periphery accelerated by the pandemic could help reverse the rapid aging and demographic declines associated with densely packed cities. The rise of remote work—something widely embraced by parents—could boost families by allowing them to work at home or nearby.

These are not issues of right or left, but concern the future of our civilization, not just economically but spiritually. Social democracy, as first developed in places like Sweden, sought to bolster families, not hem them in. Some conservatives have placed similar emphasis on the family unit. The debate should be not the utility of supporting families, but how best to do it.

This is a choice we need to make. A woke utopia, where children and families are rare, upward mobility constrained, and society built around a collective welfare system, would create a society that rewards hedonism and personal self-absorption. There is nothing as binding in a society as the ties created by children, who give us reason to fight against an encroaching dystopia.

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 133

SYNOPSIS: Jamie and Claire’s night of passion is the beginning of their healing but during the night Claire is woken by memories of her incarceration.

Chapter 132(NSFW) and all other chapters can be found at  …https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations.   This story is not on Ao3.

THANK YOU all so much for supporting this story.  I am very grateful to each and every one of you.

Also, if I could make a suggestion. You may like to reread the four chapters … Chapter 130(S) , Chapter 131(S) , Chapter 132(NSFW) and this chapter … one after the other.   You will then get the whole picture as to why these chapters are so important to Jamie and Claire’s healing.

   CHAPTER 133

Softly Jamie kissed her lips once again and they closed their eyes. In no time, they had both succumbed to an exhaustive but satisfied slumber with all thoughts of Jonathon Randall and the monastery at the further recesses of Claire’s mind.  Or so he thought.

  Although Claire lay sleeping beside her love, it was a restless, anxious sleep.  The slender fingers of her hands lay clenched, one near her face and one on her lower abdomen. Her mind seemed to have taken control of her subconscious as vividly realistic images from the monastery began to rattle her. Suddenly she began to twitch in her sleep while her brows furrowed in distress. As disturbing, dark thoughts entered into Claire’s mind, she began to shake her head from side to side on the pillow.  Her eyelids began to flutter rapidly while her heart was pounding incessantly in her chest.  Horrific fear began to consume her thoughts.  She cried out in anguish.

“Jamie!!!!!!” In the silence of the night the sound of his name uttered with such raw, guttural terror woke James Fraser up with a start. He blinked his eyes but was immediately aware of the woman lying beside him as she restlessly tossed and turned in their bed. They had fallen asleep in each other’s arms but he knew that his Claire was now having a bad dream. He turned his head towards her sleeping form and watched as she struggled against invisible demons in her mind and his heart broke a bit more for all that she had suffered at the monastery. Jamie saw the agitated movements and the sweat on her brow as she thrashed about. Whatever it was she was fighting against seemed very real to her. A gamut of anguished emotions crossed her face as her head obviously filled with horrifying images.  Her hands flailed wildly about. Extremely agitated Claire lashed out blindly hitting Jamie in the process. She squirmed like an eel in his arms, then rolled over him, wriggling and biting.

“Go to hell ... you bastard!!!” she screamed out in defiant anger.

Firmly grasping her hands in his, Jamie held them in a firm but gentle grip so as not to alarm her and lowered them to the bed. Claire was obviously having a nightmare about her torture at the hands of Jonathon Randall. She had endured more than she should have and when he’d found her the evidence of the triad’s methods of pain and suffering had been gut wrenching. Jamie leaned over and could feel the sweat cooling on her heated skin. Placing his hand to her chest he felt her heart racing madly. His Sassenach’s face was damp with tears and he watched as they trickled down her cheeks. “What do you want from us?” she yelled as another image obviously formulated in her tortured mind.

For a moment, two moments, Jamie struggled, trying to hold Claire close and kiss her tenderly. He’d thought to ease her, both of them, with the wine at dinner. He’d known she lost all sense of restraint when in drink; and with their explosive lovemaking he thought that his Sassenach had turned a corner … but obviously not, for demons still ruled her mind. He simply hadn’t realized what she was retaining he thought grimly, trying to seize his love without hurting her.  Carefully, Jamie brushed the salty drops of tears away with his lips pulling Claire lovingly into his arms. This seemed to calm her a little and her movements stilled as she moved and nestled into the crook of his arm. Gently his hand stroked her head brushing her tangled tresses from her face. 

“Ssshhh! Mo ghràidh,” he whispered tenderly against her ear just before placing a light kiss there.  

His lips moved down her cheek placing soothing kisses to her fevered skin. Jamie’s calming cadence continued as he tried to soothe her agitation and distress. He knew full well the kinds of demons that walked the dark spaces between her dreams for he too had fallen prey to their insidious pull. He had fought them off and he would help his love to do the same.  His voice was gentle and calm as he tried to placate the horror thoughts crossing her mind.

“Dinna be scairt Sassenach. Yer safe a nighean. I’ve got ye.” 

“No!!!”

“Sleep now ... everything is okay... ‘twas just a bad dream mo nighean donn.” 

Claire’s lips parted suddenly in a quick intake of breath. “Jamie?”

He watched her face intently. Could he reach out for her battered soul and bring it back to the light?

Wanting to allay her torturous thoughts, Jamie held his love’s body more tightly to his, while protectively enclosing her in the warmth of his embrace. He could feel the sweat cooling on Claire’s heated skin, as her heart raced madly in her chest.  Her face was a little wet with tears, and ever so gently he stroked those tears away. Cradling her tenderly in his arms, his comforting words washed over her as his arms enfolded her against his chest.  He lovingly trailed his hands down her body soothing away the hurt of these images that had taken control of her mind. He also gently stroked Claire’s head by running his fingers though her hair at her nape to calm her agitation. She snuggled closer to the man she loved as he pacified her movements while her thoughts consumed her psyche. As he held her, he whispered endearing words into her ear to placate the savage beast and kissed her fevered brow.  

Claire sighed in her sleep. Eventually sensing Jamie’s concern, she responded to his touch and the sound of his voice as she roused a little from her restless slumber. She called his name quietly, “Jamie?”  “Ssshhh!” he whispered into the night, his soft voice washing over her like a soothing balm to her senses. “It's alright Claire. You're safe." At the sound of his voice, reality returned in full, washing away the last traces of the nightmare. Her eyelids fluttered as she nestled a little closer turning her sleepy eyes towards her lover’s hypnotic voice. Opening her eyes, Claire stared up at the man in whose arms she felt safe. Tears welled up in her eyes once again when she saw the concerned but loving face of her avenging angel.

“Dinna cry mo nighean donn. No, shhh.”

The gentle cadence of his voice washed over her with soothing strokes.  “The mind just takes a little longer to heal than the body Sassenach. But you're strong, mo ghràidh.” He paused, lightly pressing his hand to her cheek as his thumb nonchalantly stroked across her cheek. “Dinna be afraid. Let yerself remember ... the dreams will stop and I’ll be here to catch ye.”

A heartbreaking sob tore from her throat as tears welled in her eyes. “Jamie … I’m sorry ... This is all my fault.”  “No … no … ‘tis not my love,” he answered softly sensing her guilt-ridden regrets. “Dinna ye dare be sorry Sassenach. I willna have it, d’ye hear?”

Tightening his arms around her, Jamie hugged her body firmly to his own. He could tell by the tremulous quaver in Claire’s voice that her mind had relieved all that had happened to them at the monastery.

Her anxiety and stress levels had been heightened by her experience and it was only natural that his Sassenach would find it difficult to banish these thoughts from her subconscious mind. The trauma of these upsetting events would test the strongest of individuals and although his Claire was strong, she was also vulnerable. It was little wonder that Jonathon Randall had had such an impact on her psyche, but with his love they had the chance to put the past behind them.  He knew that his Claire would survive because together they would write a different ending to what was causing her nightmares.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Safe in Jamie’s comforting arms, Claire closed her eyes as his calming and reassuring words washed over her.  However, when she opened them and raised her eyes to look at him, she found her love cradling her so tenderly that she couldn’t stop gazing into Jamie’s blue eyes.

“I survived,” she stated categorically with conviction with just a tiny hint of a smile.

Jamie’s breath caught in his throat while his eyes were focused on his brave Sassenach. “We both did my love and those who are responsible will be punished.  Ye have mae word.”

“Jamie?” she whispered again.

“Aye? Are ye hurting? D’ye need me to get …”

She gave him a tentative smile. “No. I’m okay.”

However, he was not okay.  Thoughts of what his Sassenach at endured again flashed through his mind. He needed to be gentle. Very gentle. She was broken; he must go canny, take his time and be very careful in gluing back her shattered bits. Her bruises had begun to heal but there were still faint traces on her porcelain skin of the evidence of her torture. Rage consumed him. Anguish for what had happened to his beautiful Claire tormented him. He wanted to kill someone. He wanted to hurt Jonathon Randall as much as he had hurt his Claire and then he wanted to kill him with his bare hands. The irreversible damage he had done to his love’s psyche would remain with her for a long time but with his love he hoped that together they would heal and recover.  Claire was a strong woman she would not let this torture experience beat her.  She was a survivor and for that he loved her even more.

If it was the last thing that he did he would see that his Claire would not suffer one moment more of her torturous thoughts.  Her body had begun to heal but what had come to pass was still very raw to her. Although he thought she was recovering, he now knew that it would take a little longer for Claire’s mind to erase those horrendous memories of incarceration. Last night had certainly been a start but obviously his Sassenach was still suffering, but he would help her get through this. He would help her rid her mind of those thoughts. His love was more broken than he realised but here in this paradise he would do everything in his power to let her heal completely and to make his Sassenach whole again.   Remembering those times and confronting her fears was a good thing.

When next they made love, gentleness would be his weapon in helping her realise that the violence she had suffered would not discern who she was. Claire needed to face her demons to be able to let them go and then together they would dispel the atrocities through his love and devotion. Letting go would not be easy but when she did her nightmares would stop. Not a day would go by than he would miss an opportunity to reconfirm how precious she was to him and that they would have recompense for what had taken place at the hands of Jonathon Randall and the Rising Dragons. 

But first he wanted to hold her in his arms forever and keep her safe.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

With his face so close to hers that his words caressed her skin like thistledown, James Fraser gathered his woman up into his embrace speaking softly and kissing her between each statement, "I’m here … Ye're safe … Nothing will harm ye as long as I’m with ye … Go back tae sleep Sassenach."  Claire closed her eyes as Jamie kissed her brow, her eyelids and cheeks. She whispered his name as tender kisses anointed her face over and over again.

“Things will be better in the morning. Sleep a bit. You're worn out my love,” he murmured against her ear. 

Eventually his evocative caresses lulled her senses causing Claire to drift back into a peaceful sleep but not before her arm tightened around Jamie’s torso. He felt her steady breathing on his neck, however, sleep evaded him. He stared up at the ceiling for quite a while, his heart gripped with the enormity of the task of restoring his Sassenach’s spirit after such abhorrence. Brushing away a few wayward strands of her hair from her forehead he drew his love more comfortably into his arms hoping that the remainder of the night passed without her nightmares returning. He studied her face now calm in repose and knew that he would not rest until his Claire was avenged. That was his solemn vow. 

Closing his eyes, he waited for sleep to come but it did not. Instead Jamie softly cried, a tearless, soundless wail that lay heavy on his heart for his beautiful Sassenach. His muscles strained to achieve that he might not shake with it, that Claire might not wake and know it.  His only comfort was the small, so fragile weight that lay warm upon his heart, breathing steadily. He pushed the building rage for Jonathon Randall away from his thoughts, for he knew that Claire would feel his abhorrence for the man with any tenseness in his body if he didn’t.  He certainly didn’t want his love to feel anything other than the calm, soothing caress of his body next to hers. His arms were a safe haven and for the next fourteen days he would see only to her needs in order for his love to heal. He would bide his time until they met again, as they would, then he would summon his wrath again but for now he would only focus on his Claire.

Eventually when he did finally succumb to tiredness James Fraser fell back into a troubled sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the early light of the morning’s rays, Claire awoke and dreamily stretched her limbs so satisfied and in love with the man beside her that it was impossible to feel any happier. Subconsciously she’d repressed memories of her nightmare, and consequently she had no recollection of her bad dreams during the night. Only the vivid pictures of their lovemaking so profound, so beautiful, so soulful, formed a tapestry of images in her head of what had happened between them. Last night had been utterly incredible. Sexual healing was crucial to them finding themselves and was the road back to recovery for both of them. Healing of the mind, body and soul would be their catharsis and this tranquil oasis was what they needed to achieve that.

Turning her gaze towards the man of her thoughts, Claire studied the beautiful human lying next to her and let her eyes do the caressing. From his steady breathing and rise and fall of his chest, to the twitching of his eyelids, she took in every aspect of Jamie’s softened features in repose. Both of them had been through an indescribable trauma in Hong Kong but here in this place of tranquillity, she knew that they would both recover with each other’s help. Her eyes devoured the chiselled contours of his face, especially his whisker roughed jaw, the adorable cleft of his chin to the riotous mass of auburn curls on his head. 

Moving closer she touched her finger to his mouth.

James Fraser was a conjurer. She loved everything about his kisses ... the gentle brush of his lips against hers, the teasing, playful games they played and the delirious passionate kisses that took her breath away. Just thinking about what this man did to her senses with his caresses made her want to wake him and experience those kisses again and again. But most of all she loved the cat and mouse games they played when his lips connected then pulled back ... teasing and cajoling a response from her in tit for tat. She was receptive to whatever Jamie wanted to do. It was as if she was entranced by the magic ... the pull of his desire coupled with the caress of eyes that slid over her lips with intent. All of these things made her toes curl. They were curling now.

They had made love into the wee small hours of the morning while their insatiable longing for each other had totally fatigued them both. Except it was never, ever enough.  Adoring eyes traversed James Fraser from head to toe in appraisal as he lay in a deep slumber, but it was the sweet smile on his lips as he slept that melted her heart. Just being able to observe him without him knowing made her smile as well.  This was a man who had moved heaven and earth to find her, he’d been tortured and shot, he’d risked his own life over and over again for her, and if they had died in that gas chamber, then she could ask no more than to die together.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jamie had always put her welfare ahead of his own but as she studied him, Claire could see that he was exhausted. It had been a long journey to Australia, and he was still recovering from his operation. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt that he may have aggravated his wound last night although not once had he complained that it was hurting. However, regardless of what Jamie had said, the energy spent during their lovemaking must have taken its toll on him for it was so unlike him to remain asleep this long. Her hands itched to caress his skin, but she knew this would awaken him and though it was excruciatingly difficult, she resisted the temptation to do so.  But it was his mouth, a mouth she longed to reconnect with, that held her mesmerised.

Her own lips were swollen from the powerful flurry of kisses they’d shared last night, and she gingerly traced her fingertip over her bruised lips in remembrance. A raw need for this man once again rushed through her veins, but she didn’t want to wake him although he was oh so tempting. Nevertheless, she still lowered her mouth and ever so gently pressed her lips to his delicately tasting his bottom lip. Jamie stirred. Her mouth trembled at the gentle connection and Claire felt them respond somewhat to her caress. However, fearful of awakening him she reluctantly broke away. Her eyes then travelled down the column of his throat before resting on the dressing covering his wound.

She wondered if it hurt. After all the exertion of last night it must surely ache terribly this morning, she thought. Gingerly she lowered her mouth to the spot and again placed her healing caress to his injury. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jamie moved beneath the covers and when Claire pulled back, she was captured by the mesmerizing gaze of her lover studying her. His eyes swept the features of her face so lovingly that she was unable to look away.  Little did she know, but Jamie was looking to see if she had remembered her bad dreams from last night. Claire in turn smiled at him as if she had a special secret that she might or might not share with him. She seemed as if last night’s nightmares didn’t even exist.  His eyes lingered on her beckoning mouth and the tongue tip just peeking through her lips cheekily that begged to be caressed.

Hence, judging by his Sassenach’s demeanour, it was obvious that the frightening thoughts were buried deep in her subconscious.

Reaching out for his hand, Claire lovingly interlaced their fingers giving them a gentle squeeze. She smiled; her eyes lingering on his sensuous mouth. 

“Good morning,” she said in a whispered voice.

Never taking his eyes from her face, Jamie brought their joined fingertips to his mouth and intimately kissed her fingers. Releasing her hand, he traced his love’s petal soft lips before closing the distance between them with a chaste caress.

“Good morning a leannan.” 

Smiling she traced her fingertips along Jamie’s powerful jaw feeling the bristly stubble on his chin which tickled the pads of her fingertips. “I can’t believe that we're really here in another country,” she whispered with wonder in her voice. In reply, Jamie rubbed his chin up and down her palm. Overcome with the erotic sensation of the rough hairs pressed into her hand, Claire mewed happily. Tenderly she stroked his face before tracing the outline of his mouth, trailing her finger lazily across his bottom lip. Provocatively she dipped it inside his mouth all the while holding his gaze. Her eyes were captivated by his lips and her leisurely touch was having an effect on any logical thought patterns. 

Capturing her wayward index finger, Jamie caressed it with his tongue before reluctantly releasing it. “Aye … we are,” he answered as his fingertips separated the tangled tresses from Claire’s nape. 

A rosy red hue coloured her cheeks as his eyes seemed to penetrate to her very soul while the soft timbre of his voice caressed her ears. Claire could only imagine what it would be like to wake up every morning for the next two weeks in this man’s embrace.

Laying side by side they moved a little closer towards each other until they were nearly nose to nose. Their eyes were full of the wonder of such a thought knowing that they could not be contacted by Section One for the next fourteen days.  Jamie let his gaze drift over her face but Claire lowered her eyes as his stare seemed to bathe her with stabbing jolts of burning embers.  His gaze scorched her, and cupping his hand around the nape of her neck he brushed her hair away from her face, and drew her head closer before gently kissing her forehead.

“God Claire yer so bonny. I canna look at ye and keep my hands from you nor be near you and not want ye.”

“Is that how you felt the first time we lay together?” “It's always been forever for me, Sassenach.”

Claire couldn’t hide the beaming smile that graced her lips at what Jamie had professed as he continued a languid inventory of her body this morning.  He stroked the back of his fingers up and down her cheek and under her chin, then he lovingly traced the arch of her brow with the pads of his fingertips. She sighed as little shivers of delight possessed her, and welcoming his touch, Claire brushed her head against his hand, wanting more of these caresses. Ever so gently, he stroked the arch of her brow once more before returning to her half-opened mouth.  With gentle dexterity, he traced his love’s petal soft lips, then closing the distance between them he tenderly captured her mouth in a loving kiss.  “Mo nighean donn?”

“Yes …” she murmured fluttering her eyes at him and floating on cloud nine.

Teasingly, he nipped her swollen bottom lip once more. “We better think about …”

“Hmmm?” She mumbled against his mouth while intent on splaying her hands against Jamie’s virile chest and idly tracing her fingernail across his skin.

Sucking in his breath, he trembled at her touch but his words were garbled. “… getting up.”

“I’d rather stay in bed Jamie … Wouldn’t you?”

“Aye … Sassenach … I would,” was his husky reply.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Claire’s playful seductive mood was a good sign that her bad dreams had been banished from her mind. Jamie felt himself overcome with emotion at his love’s reaction and he couldn’t help himself. Two could play this game. Without wavering he shifted his body, taking her with him and rolled onto his back-settling Claire’s body on top of his flush from neck to knee. This was a much more comfortable position for him and presented less pressure on his wound. He still felt a little tender, but having Claire’s weight covering his own felt like thistledown this morning.

The hard length of James Fraser pressing hotly between her suddenly damp thighs left Claire in no allusion as to how he was feeling. Jamie’s erection brushed her inner thigh as her nipples scraped his chest. A carefree chuckle bubbled up in her chest, revelling in the knowledge that she was the one who had this effect on him. Wantonly rubbing against his growing arousal, she was really enjoying his predicament. She had never felt this close to Jamie after making love before and it felt good … it felt right. Her eyes looked deeply into his. “It feels strange. We’re really together here.”  Holding her captive in his arms he rolled them back so that they were lying on their sides facing each other and silenced them both with a mouth soft yet hard at the same. His lips determinedly coaxed a response from her making her forget all her worries. A soft whimper of need immediately bubbled up inside Claire’s throat when his responsive tongue slipped between her lips to seek and caress. “Aye … We have fourteen days.”  Claire attentively bit her lip in a way that he loved before a huge smile bowed her mouth. “Two weeks. I’m so happy Jamie.” Achingly rocking her hips against his, desire for each other immediately consumed them once more and time stood still. There was no Section One … no Madeline or Operations there was only just the two of them and the time they had together in this beautiful part of the world for the next fourteen days.  “So am I.” 

James Fraser had two weeks in which to erase Claire’s nightmares and heal his love completely and there was no time like the present to start.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~to be continued Friday the 24th July.

[newstfionline]

Sunday, May 2, 2021

US to restrict travel from India over COVID starting Tuesday (AP) The U.S. will restrict travel from India starting May 4, the White House said Friday, citing a devastating rise in COVID-19 cases in the country and the emergence of potentially dangerous variants of the coronavirus. With 386,452 new cases, India now has reported more than 18.7 million since the pandemic began, second only to the United States. The Health Ministry on Friday also reported 3,498 deaths in the last 24 hours, bringing the total to 208,330. Experts believe both figures are an undercount, but it’s unclear by how much. The White House waited on the CDC recommendation before moving to restrict travel, noting that the U.S. already requires negative tests and quarantines for all international travelers. Other restrictions are in place on travel from China, Iran, the European Union, the United Kingdom, the Republic of Ireland, Brazil and South Africa, which are or have been hotspots for the coronavirus.

Biden administration forges new path on North Korea crisis (Washington Post) The Biden administration is charting a new course in an attempt to end North Korea’s nuclear and ballistic missile program, striking a balance between President Donald Trump’s grand-bargain, leader-to-leader diplomacy and President Barack Obama’s arm’s-length approach to the crisis, said U.S. officials familiar with the plan. The decision to pursue a phased agreement that leads to full denuclearization follows a months-long review that was briefed to President Biden last week. “We are not seeking a grand bargain or an all-or-nothing approach,” a senior administration official said in an interview Thursday. “What we’ve settled on is what we think is a calibrated, practical approach to diplomacy with the North with the goal of eliminating the threat to the United States.” The specifics of the proposal Washington will put forward remain unclear, and U.S. officials are not using familiar terms that previous U.S. administrations have used, such as a “step by step” agreement. U.S. officials said they planned to convey the new strategy to North Korean officials but acknowledged that it was not likely to change the regime’s near-term calculus regarding nuclear provocations. “We do not think what we are contemplating is likely to forestall provocation from the North,” said the senior official. “We fully intend to maintain sanctions pressure while this plays out.”

Biden cancels border wall projects Trump paid for with diverted military funds (Washington Post) The Biden administration said Friday it has canceled border wall projects paid for with funds diverted from Defense Department accounts, a widely expected move that follows Biden’s decision to suspend construction activity on President Donald Trump’s signature project. Trump diverted about $10 billion from military construction accounts and counternarcotic programs to pay for hundreds of miles of steel barriers along the Mexico border, an effort that Biden has denounced as wasteful and ineffective. Trump built 450 miles of new barriers during his term, much of it across the deserts and mountains of southern Arizona where his administration built along national forest land, wildlife preserves and other federal property already under government control. It built far less in the Rio Grande Valley of South Texas, the busiest area for border crossings and the epicenter to a major migration influx.

Bolsonaro has insulted much of the world. Now Brazil needs its help. (Washington Post) Two developing countries, enormous in population and geography, in the grip of devastating coronavirus outbreaks. Hospitals running out of supplies. Patients turned away. A new variant everywhere. Outside help desperately needed. For India, upended by record infection rates, the world has responded. The White House this week touted the delivery of more than $100 million in supplies. Singapore and Thailand sent oxygen. Britain’s Prime Minister Boris Johnson said the United Kingdom would do “all it can.” But for Brazil, which has buried some 140,000 coronavirus victims in the past two months, the international response has been more muted. President Jair Bolsonaro in March called on international organizations to help. A group of state governors asked the United Nations for “humanitarian aid.” The Brazilian ambassador to the European Union begged two weeks ago for help: “It’s a race against time to save many lives in Brazil.” But the response has largely been a shrug, criticism of Brazil’s missteps—and limited action, so far. The contrast between how the international community has addressed the crises in India and Brazil shows how Brasilia’s mounting diplomatic struggles have complicated the country’s coronavirus response. The international image it has spent decades cultivating—environmentally focused, amiable, multilateral—has been undercut by a president whose administration has insulted much of the world at the very time Brazil was in most need of its help. “The whole world is trying to help India,” said Mauricio Santoro, a political scientist at the State University of Rio de Janeiro. “But Bolsonaro has become such an international problem that no one ... is talking about giving Brazil much help.”

EU aims to cut foreign reliance on chips, pharma materials (Reuters) The European Union aims to cut its dependency on Chinese and other foreign suppliers in six strategic areas including raw materials, pharmaceutical ingredients and semiconductors, under an industrial action plan to be announced next week. A draft seen by Reuters outlined the urgency of the task ahead, citing Europe’s reliance on China for about half of 137 products used in sensitive ecosystems, mainly raw materials and pharmaceuticals and other products key to the bloc’s green and digital goals.

Suicide truck bomber hits Afghan guest house, killing 21 (AP) The death toll in a powerful suicide truck bombing that struck a guest house in eastern Afghanistan rose to 21 with as many as 90 others wounded, officials said Saturday. No one immediately claimed responsibility for the late Friday night bombing in Pul-e-Alam, the capital of Logar province. There was no indication why the guest house was targeted. In Afghanistan, guest houses are lodgings often provided for free by the government, usually for the poor, travelers and students.

Extreme weather kills 11, injures 102 in eastern China (AP) An extreme thunderstorm hit an eastern Chinese city, leaving 11 dead and 102 injured, with strong winds causing buildings and trees to collapse. Nantong city, located in the eastern province of Jiangsu, was among the hardest-hit when the extreme weather swept the Yangtze Delta on Friday night, according to state-affiliated newspaper Global Times. Wind speeds of 162 kilometers (100 miles) per hour overturned a fishing ship. Two sailors were rescued and search operations were underway for the nine remaining crew, the notice said.

Myanmar risks coming to standstill as violence worsens—U.N. envoy (Reuters) The U.N. special envoy on Myanmar told the Security Council on Friday that in the absence of a collective international response to the country’s coup, violence is worsening and the running of the state risks coming to a standstill, according to diplomats who attended the private meeting. “The general administration of the state could risk coming to a standstill as the pro-democracy movement continues in spite of the ongoing use of lethal force, arbitrary arrests and torture as part of the military’s repression,” Schraner Burgener said, according to diplomats. The Assistance Association for Political Prisoners advocacy group says more than 3,400 people have been detained for opposing the coup and security forces have killed at least 759 protesters. Schraner Burgener said there were concerning reports that civilians, mostly students from the urban areas, were being trained how to use weapons by ethnic armed organizations. “In the absence of a collective international response, there has been a rise in violence and reported use of improvised explosive devices. Calls for maximum restraint by all sides have been met with responses from some protesters asking who can blame them for their self-defense,” she said, according to diplomats.

The Bureaucrat From Buffalo Who Pushed Somalia to the Brink (NYT) During his years as an administrator at the Department of Transportation in upstate New York, the Somali refugee turned U.S. citizen earned a master’s degree in American Studies, imbibing democratic values he hoped to one day export back to his homeland. That dream came true for Mohamed Abdullahi Mohamed in 2017, when he returned to Somalia and was elected president in a surprise victory that evinced high hopes he might reform—even transform—his dysfunctional, war-weary country. But those aspirations have crumbled since Mr. Mohamed failed to hold elections when his four-year term ended in February, then moved to extend his rule by two years—a step many Somalis viewed as a naked power grab. A furious political dispute turned violent on Sunday when a series of gunfights broke out between rival military factions in the capital, Mogadishu, evoking fears that Somalia, after years of modest yet gradual progress, could descend into the kind of clan-based bloodshed that ripped it apart in the 1990s. Now Mr. Mohamed’s democratic credentials lie in tatters and he is in an open confrontation with his former ally, the United States, where he still has a family home. This week American officials reiterated calls for Somalia to hold elections immediately.

Factory owners around the world stand ready to manufacture covid-19 vaccines (The Intercept) The drug industry has strenuously argued that any legal proposal to allow the sharing of intellectual property and creation of generic coronavirus vaccines is pointless because there are no facilities around the world that can be tapped. Bill Gates, the billionaire philanthropist whose foundations help manage the United States and Europe’s primary Covid-19 outreach efforts to the developing world, known as Covax, was blunt. “It’s not like there’s some idle vaccine factory, with regulatory approval, that makes magically safe vaccines,” Gates said last weekend by way of explaining to Sky News why he thought the recipe for making coronavirus vaccine should not be shared. Except it is exactly like that. Factory owners around the globe, from Bangladesh to Canada, have said they stand ready to retrofit facilities and move forward with vaccine production if given the chance.      “We have this production capacity and it’s not being used,” said John Fulton, a spokesperson for Biolyse Pharma, a company based in St. Catharines, Ontario, that produces injectable cancer treatments. Fulton noted that Biolyse has spent years buying equipment to produce biologics and is uniquely prepared to start getting ready to produce vaccines. The company, which Fulton said is best suited for replicating the Johnson & Johnson vaccine, could produce as many as 20 million vaccines per year, he estimated. Abdul Muktadir, chair and managing director of Incepta, a pharmaceutical firm based in Dhaka, Bangladesh, has told reporters that his firm has the capacity to fill vials for 600 million to 800 million doses of vaccine per year. He has reportedly reached out to Moderna, Johnson & Johnson, and Novavax. Other firms in South Korea and Pakistan have also reportedly expressed an interest in producing vaccines or vaccine components. In the past few months, the danger of not transferring the knowledge more quickly has become painfully clear, with deaths climbing in India, Brazil, and other parts of the world that have been unable to procure adequate supplies of vaccines while richer countries stockpile them.

[nevergiveupneverrun]

Bodyguard - Chapter Sixty-Seven “You will become dust again”

Hello, how are you? Here is chapter Sixty-Seven of my Story Bodyguard, yay!! I hope you will like this chapter. Sorry for not posting yesterday, I didn’t have time…

I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

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- We are gathered today to evoke the memory of a man. Come together to support each other in this ordeal, in the face of absence and pain. The shock is all the more pronounced because this disappearance is done in violent circumstances, for a man who still had his whole life in front of him…but he dedicated his life to others: it’s like a hero that he left us and that’s how we have to remember him and keep him deep in our hearts.

The priest pauses for several long seconds then waves to a person in the front row. The recollection room of the crematorium is occupied by about thirty people who form like a black cloud, while they all wear the same dark and funereal color.

The designated man stands up and walks slowly towards the desk. He turns to face the assembly. And a deep voice echoes in the room.

- I had known Owen for many years…I trained him, I coached him…and as goes by the missions and our collaboration, a real bond has been created between us. He was the best element I have known in my career: surprising for his intelligence, his dexterity, his ability to analyze and act at the right time. He dedicated his life to protect others. His country. And his clients, when he decided to reorient his career to become a bodyguard. Danger and death have been part of hid daily life for the past fifteen years. Thanks to his talent, he escaped many very dangerous situations. But this time, the outcome was different.

He looks down at these words, then after a minute ends up looking up at the assembly.

- Owen left as he would have liked. Saving the life of the one he was protecting. By concluding his mission as always with success. He wanted to feel useful, to make sense of his life, to leave his mark in a certain way. I believe that today from where he looks at us, it is a serene man and satisfied with what he has accomplished who observes us. Without any regrets. Without any resentment.

He then looks for someone in the room and then addresses that person.

- You must not feel guilty. By doing this job, he accepted all the risks. Be ready to die to protect and save a life, he had prepared for it. I, for my part, am proud to have crossed his path. And I will keep him in my memory as he would have liked: a brave man. A beautiful soul who knew how to do good around him.

A nod concludes theses last words and he returns to his place as silently as when he arrived at the desk.

~~~

Another silhouette is already standing out. A man, who turns around in his turn. His features are more drawn, his face clearly revealing a deep pain.

He clears his throat twice, takes a deep breath, and then speaks in a calm and firm voice…in complete contrast to his image.

- I didn’t expect to live this day… when we do this type of job, agent or bodyguard, as I was able to do also, we necessarily think of the outcome that can be ours… but it’s still a concept. A simple possibility. I share so much with Owen…so much that convinced me that he was just too good, too talented to…

He is coughing lightly at this time. His hand is resting on the desk as if he is seeking a balanced that he is about to lose.

- I blame you, Owen, wherever you are. I blame you for proving that I could have been wrong, he continues with a thin smile that doesn’t however win his eyes, still dull and slightly reddened. We were a team, an impressive partnership and life will not be the same without your presence. But you were clearly the hero of the group…and you had demonstrated it until the end. I will miss you, bro.

He looks at the sky for long seconds while uttering this last word. Then, after what seems to be almost a moment of recollection, he leaves the desk to return to his seat in the assembly. As he sits down, a female silhouette leans to his side, then places a hand on his back before holding it against his neck.

~~~~

The priest reappears in front of the first row and whispers a few words to one of the people sitting in front of him. A nod follows his words and he finally helps this person to stand up and take a seat on the small platform. This time it is a woman. She firmly holds a tissue in her left hand which she carries against her chest while positioning herself in front of the desk. Wet highlights are visible on her cheeks, revealing that she couldn’t hold back tears.

The priest whispers a few words in her ear then takes the distance, staying to the side a few steps. Thus, alone in front of the room, she breathed deeply, her eyes closed. Her chest visibly rises several times, then she opens her eyes again. Staring straight ahead…as if she ad a landmark to look out for.

- Owen was…

Her voice resonates weakly and immediately turns off after a few seconds.

She lowers her face and places her tissue against her mouth, seeming to contain sobs that were only trying to escape. 

She recovers in just a few seconds.

Demonstrating an impressive strength of character.

- Owen was like the son I never had…that I never could have. He was a lovely child. Full of life and sweetness. And this sweetness never left him. Despite the trials of life he had to go through, he remained as that little boy was…becoming an impressive man. He never clearly told me his real job…just telling me that he took care of others. But today, I understand he didn’t want me to worry about knowing the truth. He has always been like that…this concern to spare others constantly, to protect them, without ever thinking about what could cost him. Always putting his own well-being last. I had to live the ordeal of the death of his parents who were among my closest friends. Find me here. It’s the worst time of my life…when I only hoped for one thing, and that is to attend only happy moments for Owen. A wedding maybe. The joy of seeing him start a family.

Silent tears slide down both sides of her face. Her voice doesn’t tremble. Only her face betrays her emotion.

- I only hope for one thing. Is that he found the peace that he had been missing for so many years. And especially that they are gathered, all three, in this land of angles. My consolation is to tell me that we will also meet again one day…

A whisper concludes her speech. The priest comes back to her side and places a hand on her back, carefully leading her back to her place. Then he faces the assembly again.

- Amelia, do you want to say a few words finally?

A movement of the head is distinguished in the first row, a slow back and forth, expressing a refusal to this proposition from the priest. The silhouette is marked by a burst of tears while answering to this proposition…emotion is the strongest.

- Fine, we will use your song as you wish to mark a tribute to Owen in your own way. Thank you for all these testimonies and the effort that it represents for everyone to express themselves in this way and remember a being whose absence already touches immensely. Owen was a remarkable man, appreciated and loved by all who crossed his path…and it is the most beautiful image, the most beautiful memory that we must keep each in our hearts. Now, I invite everyone to come and pray one last time and say Goodbye.

He waves to the people in the front row, inviting them to come forward to the coffin posted in the center of the room. The whole room then stands up while guitar notes are heard.

A well-known melody…

“More than Words“ thus sounds, accompanying the silent passage of the members of the assembly in front of the coffin.

~~~~

I distract from this scene, the image is too hard to bear. Too disturbing.

This ebony mass stands out in the center of the room.

These black silhouettes like ghosts advancing obediently, some with difficulty, with measured steps, a white rose in their hand. 

The musical notes sound familiar to me and rightly so when I perceive mingling with Amelia’s voice, my own voice. This is this unexpected duet that we shared when she wanted to rehearse her cover for a future show.

Who could have recorded this moment?

Was there such a system in what was her composition room? Or did she use her phone without me realizing it since we had redone the title a dozen times?

~~~

A time that is difficult for me to estimate is ticking away until I raise my gaze on the second screen in front of me. The majority of people left the room, only 5 people who were in the first row are seated again.

I discover them on this ale of the camera no longer from the back but from the front, their faces being distinguished by the mass of dark ebony which occupies most of the stage.

The priest then waves to the back of the room and a metallic noise is heard.

The coffin gradually lowered as if sucked towards an elsewhere…finally disappearing towards the mechanism of the crematorium. 

A final dry and dull sound rises, symbolically marking the end of the ceremony…the pass from inert flesh to dust.

My eyes are staring intently at the faces watching this scene: and one of them deeply squeezes my heart.

This face.

The one who has haunted my days and my nights for so long months. But it’s like I don’t recognize her. As if she were another.

All shine seems to have evaporated from her features. Marked dark rings under her eyes can be guessed, accentuated by eyes intensely reddened by the sobs that assail her. Messy locks of hair are escaping from an awkwardly put together ponytail.

What I read in that face assails me with an intense puff of guilt: despair, discomfort, gap…I give in to the violence of the image.

My conviction wavers. My heart is racing without me controlling it.

I lower my gaze cowardly and my eyes look on the sheet on the table in front of me.

On this symbol which crystalizes the context where I am now.

The choice I made.

The chance I want to give her. She deserves the best…a best that is elsewhere.

~~~

A door creaking is heard behind my back, but I remain impassive, still confused by the thoughts and reactions I am expressing.

- Did you follow the ceremony?

I nod, my eyes still fixed on this document on the table, and each line is inscribed unconsciously in my mind.

- Owen, there is still time to change your mind. 

~

“I certify to give up all my civil rights“

~

- Will you watch over her?

~

“I renounce my identity to provide all the services related to my missions under the necessary covers and determined by my hierarchy.“

~~

- Nathan, will you watch over her? I repeat softly, my eyes still enthralled on the words breaking away fro the official contract. 

- I will keep an eye on her… she will need time to recover you know…she is devastated… she didn’t lose only her bodyguard…

~

“I ensure that I no longer maintain any lin with relatives, family, friends, and definitively forget about any relationship to ensure my new functions.“

~

- I know…

- Are you well aware of what you meant to her?

- Yes, Nathan, I already told you at the hospital…I heard everything before I lost consciousness…

A pause settles between us, palpable but invisible tension in the air.

~~~

My eyes scan the document from bottom to top, my attention lingering on the title: “Directorate-General for External Security - Secret Services“. My hand automatically reaches for the pen on the table and I grab it, raising the point slightly towards the section I need to sign.

- Owen…

I perceive my first name as the last warning in the vague and fleeting tone of Nathan’s voice.

I raise my attention to my mentor whose eyes I meet for the first time since the start of our exchange.

- Owen Hunt just disappeared, you just attended his funeral.

- Yes, I know, don’t remember me what I just did…the comedy you asked me to play in front of all these people…including in front of Jackson who was very affected as you could see.

- Stop…it’s not the first time you’ve done this…you worked for years in special units…

- Yes, but this is the first time that I know so well the people in front of whom I have to delude.

I put the tip of the pen at the bottom of the document, but I hold my hand in this position for a few moments. My fate will be sealed after this signature. My life will only be a memory.

- The members of the “Phantom“ Services do not usually have your profile… they are orphans, men who have lost everything in their life, who no longer have their family…men who have nothing to tie them to their own life and identity and they abandon it almost with pleasure. But you? You, you have just deliberately chosen to sacrifice your identity, to become a memory for those who know you to be one of the five elite spy members of the Secret Service…What are you running from, Owen?

I take a deep breath, Nathan’s remarks instantly tense me.

- Nathan, I asked you if you wanted to help me…you accepted…I didn’t oblige you. Again, if you don’t understand my choice it’s your right but please respect my decision and don’t make it harder.

I stare at the white cloud under the tip of the pen and without thinking any longer, in a reflex gesture, I blacked the page with my signature.

Thus formalizing my new status.

After having long shadowed my clients as a bodyguard, I became a full shadow. A “ghost“ man who would take on a different identity depending on the missions.

I observe my signature who henceforth dresses this letter of mission and commitment…where I agree to renounce my rights, my past, my entire life.

- Ok, well I have nothing to say than “Congratulations“… Nathan says in a slightly bitter whisper.

~~

I felt he disapproved of this decision I had made.

When I woke up in the hospital in the middle of the night, after several days of convalescence, the choice that I made today had taken shape in my mind.

All the ingredients were there for me to disappear…it became the only outcome that seemed acceptable to me…for all.

- Don’t think it’s easy for me, I retorted weakly.

- I respect your decision Owen and I have helped you in every step…but don’t blame me, if I insist on making sure that you have weighed up the pros and cons… you will not be able to go back…

- I know and this decision is well considered. It may have seemed rushed but it’s better for everyone…

- Do you really think it’s better for her? He supports me, pointing to one of the two screens, where we can make out Amelia, still sitting in the ceremony room. The empty gaze blurred by tears. Absent attention was fixed in front of her. April, in a wheelchair, is present next to her and holds her hand discreetly but firmly.

I remain hypnotized in front of this scene: I can see Amelia’s lips moving to whisper the words she slipped into my ear before I lost consciousness.

April comforts her a little more, giving a kiss on her hand and giving her a few words of encouragement.

I hardly swallow my saliva, taking the pain I inflict on her in the face.

I want to go through the screen. To take her in my arm. To tell her the truth. To see a smile light up her beautiful face.

But a little voice awakens in me as my hands shake and my body is on the alert, ready to step out of this room.

This little voice reassures and calms me, telling me the reasons for my choice and Amelia’s interest…

- It’s better for her…

- Owen…the sorrow you see in her eyes… it’s the pain of a woman in love… she loves you so much…don’t react out of selfishness to protect yourself…

- It’s not out of selfishness that I want to disappear from her life.

- Listen, I know you’ve been hurt in your life, and everyone close to you has abandoned you… that life snatched them from you… or that betrayal struck you down. But do not fall into a blind fatality that will make you see each meeting as doomed in advance.

I take my eyes off the image of Amelia and breathe deeply, before staring at Nathan.

- As weird as it sounds to you, I only think of one person by making this choice…it’s not me, it’s Amelia.

I perceive Nathan’s forehead to wrinkle, denoting his incomprehension at my answer.

- She is not in love with me, Nathan…she is in love with an image. She idealized me. I’m not the one for her. I am unable to give her what she needs, I confess weakly. I will only disappoint her.

I find the image of Amelia on the screen, and discover her slowly leaving the room with April by her side. I realize that they are only a few meters from me, as they reached the corridor. A door separates me from her. An irrational desire to put everything aside and find her again rises in me.

The torture is intense…

But my will and my conviction to have made the right decision are stronger than anything.

- I save her time. I couldn’t bear to read the disappointment in her eyes. Detect that moment when she would have realized that she was wrong. And disappear like that, this is the only way she will understand and forgive me.

I pause for a few seconds before finishing my answer.

- Happiness is elsewhere for her. Someone else is meant for her. Clinging to my mirage would only delay her.

The presence of Nathan is emerging at my side and I perceive a hand to place on my shoulder.

- I wish you a lot of courage for your new functions anyway. Be careful.

I nod, surprised that he so quickly abandons the questions he had about my motivations regarding this drastic choice for my life.

He takes a few steps away, places his hand on the doorknob, and turns around one last time before leaving the room.

- I’ll keep an eye on Amelia, be sure.

He lowers his eyes for a few moments then gazes into mine intensely.

- And I fully understand your decision now…through these few words and what emerges from you…

- Really? I ask, surprised at this sudden revelation.

- Yes, really…I know what you do…you love her like crazy to let her go…

                                                  THE END

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Thank you for reading. But it’s not really the end of the story, I will post two bonus chapters as soon as possible and I hope you will like them. Stay safe and be happy 💛

[brokenjardaantech]

abstract ghosts, concrete lives

written for this prompt challenge. rated T for potentially disturbing scenes but nothing too graphical imo.

relationship: captain allen/simon

fandom: detroit: become human

summary: 

But there are also times like this when his mind betrays him. Images too fleeting to be described even in the broadest sense flash in front of his mind, haunting him and dragging him to the deep end no matter how hard he tries to focus on the good, the neutral, the reality.

also on ao3

---

Louis Allen prides himself in being able to more or less take care of himself properly despite having lived alone for more than ten years. Of course, his usual routine has been disrupted since the arrival of a certain little kid on his doorstep, but that doesn’t change the fact that he goes to sleep and wakes up regularly unless his child needs him and he is woken up by their cries; even if he is tired enough to sleep through them, there is always Simon to take up the job, and by now Shub sees the android as their second father more than anything else - not that Louis will have it any other way, the android being more human than most actual humans he has ever met. 

But there are also times like this when his mind betrays him. Images too fleeting to be described even in the broadest sense flash in front of his mind, haunting him and dragging him to the deep end no matter how hard he tries to focus on the good, the neutral, the reality, Shub being compressed into the simplest shapes before shattering like broken glass, Simon’s body falling apart piece by piece as his face twists in the gravity of an object heavier than a black hole and his arm stretched outward awkwardly and his mouth open in a static-filled scream, a tide of white and brown that manages to remind him of the darkness at the same time sweeping them away until he blinks and his heart races and suddenly he is back to staring at the ceiling of his bedroom with Simon curled up against his side, the android’s breath too deep and regular to be a regular human’s but his movement and position also too human to be a regular android’s. Simon’s mere presence and regular heartbeat are usually enough to calm Louis down, but as the cycle repeats itself for the sixth time and midnight passes, he knows that it isn’t going to help tonight. Not wanting to disturb the android’s stasis with his own tossing and turning in case those images turn into actual nightmares which he would have no control over, he slides off his bed, careful not to disturb Simon, and pads first to check on Shub, finding them still sound asleep and their vitals steady and strong, then climbs the stairs to the attic which is, most of the times, his own space. 

A small window allows him a narrow view of what is outside his house from this angle, and normally speaking he can stare at the nothingness until he bores himself out and falls asleep because of it, but tonight, the shadows and darkness only brings out the ones his mind creates for him to fill the gaps in his memory that he has known since a long time ago that exist but never sought them out: they are mostly from before his eighth birthday which to this day he still has zero recollection off, but on top of that there are also moments with his mother who went MIA shortly before he graduated from high school, things that he did together with his father that returns as him speaking more than ten languages without a single memory on why and how he learnt them, events that he brought his sister to (or vice versa) that confuses him whenever she mentions them because he never remembers. Tonight, they all blend into one, reality mixing with imagination and memories that should have been long gone but choose this moment to resurface temporarily before disappearing like wisps of dissipating smoke, untouchable and uncontrollable and gone just like the ages. So he alternates between drawing and writing, trying to capture bits and pieces of the images at the front of his mind with his stylus and his fingers while being completely oblivious to the numbness of his crossed legs and the knot forming on his back and the dryness of his eyes, but even though the logical and adult part of him tells him that he isn’t exactly twenty and young anymore and he should be aware of the strain he is putting on his body, the part of him that has always been running from the lost memories, the one that somehow manages to remain a scared little boy despite four decades’ worth of life experience and growing pain - it just takes over and urges him to let everything out until his entire body is shaking and the page is full. Guided by the magnets within the two devices, the stylus snaps to the side of the tablet automatically, its light blinking yellow to indicate that it is charging, and Louis puts down the tablet on the floor next to him before he closes his suddenly-heavy eyelids and unwinds his body with a wince and too many popping joints and needles underneath his skin. He picks up his tablet again to take a better look at what the hell he spent the last… two hours and a half working on just to hear the familiar creak of wooden floorboards, the attic illuminated by the faint blue glow of Simon’s LED. Louis freezes like a deer in headlights.

The android folds himself into the already-cramped space of the attic and sits with his legs folded underneath him next to the human, his hand reaching for Louis’ thigh, and the warmth through his sweatpants is enough to drain whatever fight that remains in his body away. So much for going back before Simon notices.

‘I woke up and you weren’t there,’ Simon whispers without breaking eye contact. Then he cocks his head, his LED spins yellow, and he continues, ‘You didn’t sleep at all.’

Louis blinks and looks away, suddenly embarrassed. ‘Can’t.’

He can feel Simon’s intense gaze on his own face. ‘Why?’

He starts fidgeting with the stylus by removing it from where it’s attached to the side of the tablet just to let it snap back again. ‘Memories,’ some images still flash in front of his eyes, but they are less haunting now, less graphic, less detailed, ‘or lack thereof. I try not to think about them.’

‘But…?’

‘Sometimes they just come back and haunt me.’

‘Do you want to talk about them?’

Louis unlocks the tablet to view his creation again, a mixture of abstract images and words that don’t make sense when put together that hurts his head to look at, telling him that keeping it and letting anyone else even glance at it is a mistake, is a torture, and that it shouldn’t have existed in the first place, but they are a representation of his own head so they must have been there since a long time ago but it’s just his damned fault for avoiding the issue and running away instead of facing it heads-on and maybe solve the problem instead of losing sleep and making shitty evil art and making other people worry about him and probably not being able to be a good father for his child in the morning because of sleep deprivation and -

The tablet is taken out of his hands with its screen turned off, suddenly leaving his hands empty and flexing and scrambling for something to hold onto, and the next thing he knows is that there is a warm body pressing against his own and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, grounding him and giving him very little choice on where his hands should go apart from winding them around the android’s waist as well. He inhales deeply, smells the detergent on Simon’s shirt and the body wash that they share, and the chain of thoughts slows down and turns itself down until the thud of their hearts overwhelm it. He suddenly feels restless, his hands twitchy and itching for things to do, but he’s lost, his brain isn’t working, and his eyes refuse to close even though he’s suddenly so, so tired.

Simon stills, and that is when Louis realises that the android has been rubbing circles on his back in an attempt to further calm him down. ‘Let’s get back in bed, shall we?’ he asks, his voice soft and barely audible, but the way he phrases it makes it sound more like a command than a question, so Louis lets himself be guided down the attic and back into their bedroom under the covers, the two of them lying on their sides and facing each other. ‘Do you want me to stay awake with you, or may I go into stasis for now?’

‘Stasis,’ Louis answers immediately. ‘You need it.’

‘And so do you, but here we are.’

‘You are aware that you will most likely take over most of the childcare, aren’t you?’

A soft smile appears on Simon’s lips. With a hand on Louis’ cheek, he leans forward to kiss the human chastely and then pulls back. ‘We’ll figure that out when we wake up again. For now, try to go to sleep, okay? And don’t leave the bed even if you can’t; it’s better than getting up and working.’

Louis nods, and Simon’s eyes slip shut and his body relaxes immediately as he goes into stasis. He scoots close and holds him to feel his breath on his skin and his chest rise and fall against his hand again, and even though the images pull him away from slumber whenever he nearly falls asleep, everything remains relatively peaceful compared to the overwhelming barrage from before. Head now clearer, he thinks of what he will do after both Simon and Shub are awake, recalling bits and pieces of information that he gathered from his surroundings and his work to help himself make decisions: tomorrow is a weekday and has a high chance of being sunny for the whole day on top of being his day off. There are no appointments for Shub and neither does Simon need to report back to a CyberLife store for check-ups anymore, there are enough ingredients in the kitchen and the fridge to make a light meal for himself and Shub, the parks will also be relatively quiet because all other children are at school; maybe he and Simon can bring them there, have a picnic together, let their child have their fun without being harassed or bullied by other children because of their cybernetics and prosthetics that extends all the way from their face to their feet. He might need some strong tea to keep himself awake or a nap in the park to recharge halfway through the day, but it will be another day when the family can spend the whole day together and relax, another happy memory for Shub before their inevitable… no, he has faith in his sister and her people. They will figure out a way to make sure that Shub has many happy years to live before old age takes them. They have to.

Dawn comes with light alongside the grumbles of a hungry child rousing but not quite awakening yet, and Louis feels more than sees Simon’s smile against his neck as the two of them slide out of bed and begin their usual morning rituals with practised fluidity. He forgoes going to the gym in favour of spending a slow morning smelling of tea and warm breakfast at home with his family, knowing that it won’t matter much if he only skips it for a day and doesn’t let it become his habit. Ah well. Not like staying up all night is something he is planning to do often.

‘Picnic, Shub?’ he asks after swallowing a mouthful of pancakes. ‘Just you, me, and Daddy. How does that sound?’

Shub’s wide green eyes and her flailing limbs are answers enough, and as Louis’ own eyes meet Simon’s sky blue ones, it is as if one gaze is enough to communicate everything between them, Louis moving to prepare for the upcoming trip to the park that may seem insignificant to most children but is certainly a big thing for their child while Simon coaxes Shub to finish the last of their breakfast and swipe the plate away from grabby hands before loading it into the dishwasher. 

It is another day.

[itsclydebitches]

Hey Clyde! Love your reviews on RWBY. My question is about Ozpin. If he survived fighting Cinder, would the events of volume 4-6 still happen? I believe the only reason team RWBYJNR treated Ozpin that way was because he was with Oscar who basically looked like a kid to them. However, if he was still in his adult body, would they have been more respectful?

Hi, anon! Thank you! I’m actually super glad you asked this. I’ve touched on how Oscar’s age and looks have impacted how others perceive Ozpin a bit in other asks, but haven’t had the chance to compose a substantial meta about it. I will attempt to fix that here! 

FYI, it’ll get decently image heavy from here on out. 

First, as a general response to the question of whether the events of Volumes 4-6 would have changed if Ozpin had survived: absolutely. If only because Ozpin as a figurehead would have still been around to lead both his inner circle and function as a symbol of strength for the rest of the world. Unless he was completely incapacitated from the fight or something (like in a coma), the expectation is that Ozpin would have begun rebuilding his school. Glynda wouldn’t have been left alone to try and deal with a frozen Wyvern attracting grimm. Ironwood wouldn’t have been left to figure out where to go from here. Qrow wouldn’t have been sent on a mission to return Ozpin’s cane. The whole world (including Atlas) may have been less likely to panic with Ozpin there to provide perspective and support. Lionheart presumably would have been less inclined to betray him, at least so soon and so overtly. An Ozpin who will reincarnate at some unknown point is a future Lionheart problem, and therefore far less intimidating. An Ozpin who still lives and commands his inner circle is way more of a threat and Lionheart would be more likely to get caught. Remember that even Salem was surprised by how quickly Ozpin reincarnated and dove back into the game—all the baddies were banking on more time. So yes, a ton would have changed. The group’s focus is now more along the lines of, “So is Ozpin going to fix things and can we go back to school?” and less, “Ozpin is dead as a door nail and no one is able to fix things for us. Might as well go hunt Cinder ourselves.” 

But onto the meat of the ask. Is the group treating Ozpin like they are at least partly because he’s in the body of a kid? That’s also a resounding ‘yes.’ Human beings, including the humans and the faunus that we write in fiction, are incredibly judgmental (for better and for worse) based on how someone else looks. If you’re able to see then you tend to prioritize that information over other aspects of a person. We create markers that we then learn and assume mean something when, much of the time, they don’t. Or, to put it another way, we create stereotypes. We can think about this in terms of gender presentation: a masculine-looking person giving orders is seen as the “boss” whereas a feminine-looking person giving orders is seen as a “bitch.” We can complicate that with race: we’re more likely to view a white woman giving orders as “assertive” when compared to a black man giving orders. That’s “aggressive.” From giving a girl long blonde hair when you want to cue people into the fact that she’s (supposedly) dumb, to making a man skinny when you want him to seem vulnerable, our media is chock-full of those markers, subtly (and sometimes not so subtly) encouraging us to read characters in particular ways. There’s a reason that Yang, the go-getter, is blonde whereas Blake, the bookworm, has black hair. There’s a reason that Cardin wasn’t designed as a twig and Jaune is a couple inches shorter than him. There’s even a reason why the sap the group collects is red rather than, say, yellow, orange, blue—literally any other color. Only red sap makes it look like Cardin is covered in blood when he attacks Jaune, thus increasing how much we read him as a threat. The characters’ designs matter. 

What does all that have to do with Ozpin? Well, at the start of the series his markers all point to authority and wisdom. He’s a white man, for one. He dresses in a formal suit. There are nods towards his age (a cane, white hair) that tell us, despite his baby face, that he’s someone who has been around a while and thus has a great deal of experience to draw on. He’s also, significantly, tall. Take a look at how his talks with Ruby read visually. 

Ruby is incredibly small compared to Ozpin. He towers above her and she’s constantly in a position of looking up to him, mirroring the ways in which she figuratively looks up to him for advice. Her mannerisms are also younger and don’t carry much confidence. Crossing her arms and sulking. Wringing her hands while asking if she’s made a mistake. The way Ruby moves contrasts Ozpin’s own very still, very composed mannerisms. Body language and facial expression is one of the primary ways that we communicate and the slightest change can carry a world of meaning. For example, compare these two shots of Yang from Volume 1 and Volume 6: 

On the surface they appear quite similar, but provided there isn’t something impacting how we read these moments (such as some people with autism), we learn that these poses mean two very different things. Two hands on your waist is a relaxed pose; one hand on your waist is an arrogant pose. At least when combined with an angry expression. One arm, the placement of her eyebrows, and suddenly Yang’s attitude towards Ozpin has radically changed. We went from casual respect to defiance, and most viewers wouldn’t need to know anything else about RWBY’s story to read that here. Her body language alone tells the story. 

Ozpin’s body language with Ruby then cues the viewer into the fact that he (supposedly) has the answers here, simply by virtue of him exuding a confidence that Ruby doesn’t possess yet. Who do you look to in a bad situation? The person screaming and running around in panic? Or the person who calmly announces that they can help, getting everyone else to calm down by keeping calm themselves? This sort of characterization is partly why the fandom grew suspicious of Ozpin early on. It’s not simply that he (on the surface) is modeled after the shady authority figure trope, but that we’ve learned from real life experience that a person’s ability to keep calm and speak eloquently doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re right. Sounding authoritative is a skill and it’s why the likes of cult leaders and dictators are so dangerous. If you just sound and look like you know what you’re doing, people have a tendency to believe you. And if you’re inclined towards critical thinking, you might be wary of the person whose demeanor is a little too polished. 

Even when Ozpin is being playful he maintains a certain level of dignity. His clothes, his physical looks, and the controlled movement of the mug—he’s not jumping around like Nora might—all remind us that Ozpin is the headmaster here and thus, though he’s making silly jokes about popcorn right now, he deserves a certain amount of respect. Even his posture speaks volumes, one arm still tucked behind his back and shoulders ramrod straight. It’s a posture that speaks of training and discipline. There’s a reason that the general (Ironwood) is always animated as standing tall with hands neatly folded and the presumably less dependable drunk (Qrow) is animated with a constantly hunched posture. How Ozpin stands is a quick and easy way to tell the viewer, “This guy is in charge. He’s powerful. He’s wise. You can rely on him.” 

All of this changes dramatically once Ozpin is thrown into Oscar’s body. Moving chronologically, it’s significant that the group is not introduced to this new Ozpin as a dignified individual. 

This is what we get later. Note the crossed legs, still good posture, even the ‘adult’ way he holds a mug. In contrast, someone younger and more childish in terms of their personality, like Ruby, tends to hold a drink with two hands and chucks it all back in a manner that would never fly at a dinner party. 

Rather than a dignified Ozpin knocking at the door, the group first encounters Oscar, someone who, like Volume 1 Ruby, can be incredibly timid and lacks in self-confidence. This isn’t the body language of a leader arriving to provide you with all the answers. 

Oscar’s slouched posture, downward gaze, wringing hands, and fearful expression all paint him as the weak one here. Made worse by the fact that he asks to see Ruby and ignites (an entirely understandable) suspicion in the group. Their first interaction is characterized by perceiving him as both a potential threat, but also one they can easily handle. We don’t like that he’s asking about Ruby, but we can take him in a fight no problem. 

And yes, this first impression makes a difference. Knowing something about someone on an intellectual level usually doesn’t trump the emotional response we have to the physical markers we’re faced with. As a non-RWBY example, let’s say you were introduced to these two characters. 

Ignoring for a moment that we’re comparing a villain and a hero, let’s say for the sake of argument that you’re told—and are provided proof—that each of these characters are morally sound, powerful adults and you should afford them with the respect they deserve. Being told that simply can’t outweigh what we see. Who are you more likely to respect? The woman who looks like a literal child named Baby Doll in a cutesy outfit, or the very old looking man in badass robes, literally named the Ancient One? All the, “But I am an adult” in the world isn’t going to convince people to read, and therefore respond to, Baby Doll in the same way they would the Ancient One. 

That’s the situation Ozpin is in now. He’s told the group that he’s Ozpin, he’s managed to prove it, but there’s always going to be a part of Ruby and the gang that doesn’t quite believe it. Not in Jaune’s literal sense of, ‘He could be lying about who he is,’ but just in a more instinctual, ‘He says he’s our headmaster, but all I see is a fourteen year old kid.’ What you see makes it really easy to ignore what you know, particularly when those two things contrast. Those markers Oscar brings to this new version of Ozpin are simply too influential and yes, that opens the door for the group to treat him with far less respect than they would in his adult form. We see it right from the start when, despite having been told that this is also Ozpin, the group coos over him in an overbearing, disrespectful manner. 

This continues even after Ozpin has taken control and is doing everything he can (those dignity markers) to regain some level of trust and respect. Even while seated and attempting to command the room as Headmaster Ozpin, Nora nevertheless undermines that with “Cute little boy Ozpin!” She has chosen to emphasize his looks over his status and notably no one listens when he says, “Please don’t call me that.”

Ozpin has, in this moment, literally been labeled as a child. A “boy.” Though we can’t be sure about what age all his hosts were when Ozpin arrived, based on Jinn’s vision it doesn’t look as if reincarnating into teenagers is common. This may even be the first time.   

Any of these past reincarnations would have been able to command more authority, simply because they’re adult men not dressed in dirty farm clothes. If this Ozpin had shown up in Haven, 

we would have gotten a very different volume. Age matters. How we perceive age matters. We saw this right in RWBY’s second episode wherein Weiss calls Ruby out on attending Beacon. 

It’s Ruby’s looks and Ruby’s looks alone that encourage Weiss to come to the conclusion, ‘You shouldn’t be here.’ The same thing has now happened to Ozpin. You look younger than us and are inhabiting a body that physically couldn’t beat us in a fight? You shouldn’t be here. You definitely shouldn’t be giving us orders. 

The group had control of Ozpin’s safe house. They were poised to interrogate him for showing up at it unannounced. Now they emphasize Oscar’s age and characteristics over his, which is ironically the only time that they emphasize Oscar’s individuality over Ozpin’s. In short, they’ve created an environment where a part of them truly believes that they’re older and more knowledgeable simply because of how Ozpin now looks, even though technically they know this isn’t true. It’s a new dynamic and with that comes the confidence to treat him like the fourteen year old stranger he “is”. I don’t believe for a moment that Yang would have ignored Ozpin’s direct questions, shot out irrational accusations, and then demanded a promise from him if he still looked the way he did at Beacon. Especially as someone who came to Haven later and therefore missed the initial proof, Yang simply doesn’t read Ozpin as Ozpin. We’ve seen how other characters interact with him from a student-teacher dynamic and it’s far more respectful. 

As this shot demonstrates, there’s also that issue of Ozpin’s size. Where as a headmaster Ozpin commanded authority by being taller than almost everyone else around him, Ozpin as Oscar immediately loses authority by being the smallest in the room. As I mentioned with Jaune and Cardin, size is an easy way to emphasize vulnerability. We quite literally couldn’t have gotten this scene if Ozpin was still 6'6" and looking twice Jaune’s age. 

In this scene Jaune honestly thinks this might be Ozpin. He’s accusing him of lying again, of claiming to leave when really he’s spying on them, or just pretending to be this kid called ‘Oscar,’ whatever. The point is that Jaune is working under the assumption that he’s interacting with his headmaster, yet that knowledge obviously doesn’t give him pause. Because Ozpin’s new look outweighs everything else Jaune knows about him. He’s angry and now suddenly Ozpin isn’t an intimidating huntsmen capable of defending himself, Ozpin is a teeny-tiny kid with no training. Jaune becomes Cardin through the realization of, “Oh. If I’m bigger and more powerful than this person, I can do whatever I want to them.” 

Ozpin’s size is an ongoing reminder that, despite possessing his own skill as well as magic, he’s in a vulnerable position. He needs to stand on the furniture in order to recreate his students literally and figuratively looking up to him, but now it just reads as a joke. 

This isn’t the first time RWBY has used size this way. Cordovin is an excellent example of how a small, non-dignified looking person is unable to maintain authority in the way someone with another appearance might. Her white hair just makes her look old rather than wise and her short stature is so extreme that it invites humor. It’s not just that Cordovin is a racist, or that her guards act like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Her appearance immediately gave the group another excuse for why they shouldn’t listen to her. Look at this tiny old woman trying to tell us what to do. Yeah right, lady. We could probably punt you into the sun so step aside.

This is a look that makes guards release prisoners in three seconds flat. 

This is a look that encourages laughter and, by extension, a lack of respect. 

The extreme camera angle in order to make Cordovin look ‘imposing.’ The fact that she looks like a literal child next to Weiss… none of it encourages the group, or the audience, to take her seriously. Rooster Teeth made a conscious decision when they decided to animate Volume 6′s “bad guy” as an old woman with sagging breasts and an extremely small stature. 

The only time when someone that small is re-characterized as authoritative is when they’re standing up against unimaginable odds. 

Ignoring that this scene in reality is Ruby refusing to take responsibility for the crimes she is currently committing, what Rooster Teen wants this shot to do is function as an example of extreme heroism. That’s accomplished by taking our second smallest character and situating her in front of a larger-than-life mech. Ruby’s refusal to back down in the face of something so much bigger than her is (again) supposed to be inspiring. She’s standing up to Cordovin’s “bullying” in a way Oscar was unable to do with his own mech: a bigger and more threatening Jaune. 

(I really cannot express how awful Volume Six was wow). 

All of which brings me to my final point. Namely that, by virtue of his age and size, Ozpin as Oscar will always look ridiculous when attempting to make use of his former markers. Using a cane? 

Headmaster Ozpin’s age and height makes it look distinguished. Ozpin at Oscar’s age and height makes it look silly. What’s the fourteen year old doing with a cane nearly as tall as he is? (Acknowledging that this is an ableist assumption. Some fourteen year olds do need canes, but most viewers are going to question this in a way they never would with the white-haired adult). What’s the kid doing with such a fancy looking cane when he’s literally covered in dirt, bandages, rags, and badly mended clothes? That’s a silly contrast. 

Headmaster Ozpin fighting? Totally badass. One of the shortest and yet most talked about fights in the show. 

Ozpin as Oscar fighting? Still badass… if you’re willing to work for it a bit more. But really, the kid swinging a cane around just will never have the same feel as a grown man who looked like Ozpin did. 

Ozpin himself is a dignified person, but anytime he adopts those mannerisms now he looks silly at best, arrogant at worst. 

I think his look is largely why so many fans read the snow scene as him talking down to the group. He no more talked down to them here then he did when he conversed with Ruby, or Pyrrha, or the team while heading off to Mountain Glenn. The only difference is that the previous Ozpin commanded all that authority, so his warnings and criticisms held weight. This Ozpin not only doesn’t look the part of an authority figure, half his time is spent being Oscar, someone who defers to and scurries around the rest of the group. So when Ozpin tries to take charge here, everyone is far less willing to listen. People are inclined to read him as arrogant, patronizing, talking down to others, etc. because it looks like a small child giving orders to a more older, more powerful team. Even though it’s not. 

It’s the combination of everything above that leads to moments like this. Where Ozpin is smaller, more vulnerable, looks too young, too naive, where the group towers over him for once and hurts him both physically and emotionally because now they can. 

Tl;dr: Yeah. Oscar’s looks and Oscar’s personality changed things irrevocably. If Ozpin had still looked like Ozpin the group wouldn’t feel half as entitled to this behavior and gaining their respect—from ‘Please don’t address me like that’ to ‘Please understand why I kept secrets’—would be far, far easier. 

[the-orxcle]

the old & the new.

WHO: Barbara Gordon & Dinah Lance [ @killervcice ] WHERE: A small-time drug den & Barbara’s apartment WHEN: July 7th 2020 WHAT: Oracle and Black Canary tackle a small time drug den to confirm a hunch that Oracle has had. They talk about reforming teams and transforming relationships.

Babs: saying babs had a one track mind isn't fair. truly, she she could have several tracks in her mind that went so deep they could come off as one-track, but she felt like she always had room for more. that was exactly the thought process that was going through her mind as she ruminated about the bird of prey. it had been a few years, sure, but with steph and cass a bit more experienced, she gets excited at the idea of bringing them into the fold, too. of course, it's all just thoughts until anything happens. when she notices weird activity on a block she walks by daily and decides to pay closer attention from a different point of view, she finds the action. 

she made quick work on contacting dinah, sharing her suspicions about a small drug factory in this building. it was only natural to call out her oldest friend, and if it turned out to be nothing, that was fine. still, something nagged. 

"alright, if you go around back of the building, there's a fire escape and a set of stairs that goes down into a basement. that's what we want." she instructs, "i recommend that, unless you want a nice pleasant bell to give your arrival away."

Dinah: it had been a point of joy for dinah once that she and babs had been strong enough to have their own team. they didn't need the league, they just needed each other and the family they made for themselves. honestly, she missed it. even though her and babs had hardly grown apart in the time since. it was just a little different and she's had plenty of time to think about it with the league now being back and frankly larger than ever, it's something that she's just simply come to accept now that she would have gone back to the birds of prey in a heartbeat if she could. 

dinah was always going to go when babs needed her, all too happy to help out her partner and when she’s already suited up and on patrol, then a small detour wasn’t exactly going to be too difficult to manage.

she nods as babs speaks careful to keep moving. "i don't know, people are usually pretty agreeable when you use the doorbell," she jokes with a grin. sure enough babs was (as usual) spot on and she finds the door without much hassle. "i hope you know we're getting food after that, that's the price of the great black canary," she smirks before starting down the stairs. "hopefully this wont take too long,"

Babs: "oh, yeah, we'll just let them throw a load of white powder over you to find out what it is they're making, too." she chuckles as her eyes glide over the camera system she now had access to. it was already playing back in a still loop for those that thought they controlled it. dinah was going in without them any wiser. "ooh, I could do food. i'm feeling breakfast at midnight... but we seriously need to talk about your salary negotiation skills if I can get you for the price of a dinner." she chuckles, "wait just a second before opening..." two men were sauntering away, just annoyingly slow. when they turn into a room and close the door, she speaks again, "okay, now. two guys in the closed door on the right. you want the trap door in that room."

Dinah: "sometimes you've just gotta take one for the team," dinah laughs with a smirk. it's a testament to just how synchronised they are that they could joke the way they did, even though dinah was indeed still careful to keep an eye out. oracle's abilities were impressive and dinah trusted babs not to miss anything, but things could go south quickly if she didn't pay attention. "breakfast with my favorite person, what else could i possibly want?" dinah waits as instructed before moving in. "we wouldn't want this to be too easy would we," luckily, dinah was able to get the two out of the way quickly, although they'd likely have a headache when they woke up. she moved to the trap door then pausing for direction form babs.

Babs: babs smirks as dinah makes her progress, letting her focus on the fight for the moment, though it was clear those two creeps were no match for her. "okay, so down those stairs is a pretty open basement. it looks like their big guns are actually on a table to the left when you go down. i would guess they have weapons on them, but you can get between them and the big ones. all you need is a sample of what they're working with, i have the images saved and running. i want to figure out where these guys are coming from, because this is too casual to be any sort of headquarter setup," she was half reasoning aloud, "there is a bunch of gasoline to the right if you wanna screw up the rest of their product after you have a sample for me."

Dinah: dinah nods as babs gives her her instructions. it felt good didn't it, getting to do this again. dinah is certain that there's no one she wanted to do this with more than the other. "useful," she remarks as she notes the big guns were out of play, though babs was right that didn't exactly mean she was exactly out of harms way."right, one sample and fire coming right up," she grins before making her move down the stairs. "alright boys i'm giving you an out, anyone wants to leave now you can the police will be more than happy to help you out," of course no one takes her up on her offer and what follows is a flurry of movement and one good scream. babs was right the big guns were out of the way, so she's able to get what she needs whilst also fighting off the men. "got it!" she remarks stuffing the small collection of powder into her jacket whilst making another roundhouse kick to an opponent. she retreats then until she's close enough to the barrel to knock it over, being careful not to get any on her clothes. "well fellas this has been fun, but i have a date you understand," most of them seem to have gotten the hint now and are busy racing towards the exit. so, there's no harm in her dropping her lighter into the puddle now growing on the floor, before she was racing towards the door. "there, another win for the dream team,"

Babs: babs can't help but smirk as she watches dinah go, careful to watch for any moment of vulnerability for her, but as always she's practically infallible. m'gann's words once again run through her head, along with the slew of people that asked her about dinah... it's the comment about a date that sealed the deal in her head. she had to say something. even that thought process was pushed to the side though as dinah finished up the guys, "well, we know they're not super specially trained...." there's a bit of amusement in her tone. she hums for a moment, clearly pondering, "but it was only a minor house. this is... bigger. i don't like this, and NOVA would make the perfect cover for smaller groups to set up shop majorly." she sighs, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed as she watches dinah make her way back to her bike. she's careful as she speaks, her idea only being spoken for the first time now. "this isn't something i want to bother the league with. bigger fish and all.... but i have been thinking... helena and ted are here, and cass, steph, damian... they all have the skills... i feel like the birds could be of some use around here. what do you think?" sure, she didn't need dinah's blessing, but the whole dream team thing didn't come from no where. her opinion definitely mattered here.

Dinah: "always good to rule out," dinah jokes playfully. of course she's in a good mood, how could she not be when this had gone so well. she is all but seconds away from claiming babs as her good luck charm when babs continues and really all barbara was doing was highlighting the same things she was thinking. when you'd been in this game as long as the two of them had you simply learned to trust your intuition. "it's nothing we can't handle," she speaks quickly and she really does mean it because having babs in her ear even after all this time was one hell of a confidence boost. then babs continues in a tone of voice she knows far too well at this point. she's careful to keep her eyes on the road as she makes her way back to babs but still a smirk pulls at her features. "are you asking if i want to get the band back together? because you know you don't need to right?" sure, she was a member of the league but the birds of prey had always always been her team, her and bab's anyway. if the others didn't like that, well she wasn't exactly asking for permission. "a whole new team will be... interesting, but i think we can handle it," when had they not been able to over come a challenge or two? besides, babs had a very strong point. many of the teams strongest players were already here so really it felt like it was just a matter of time. it wasn't something babs needed to question. "you know i'd follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked. except y'know please don't ask that of me or do that if you're taking suggestions,"

Babs: babs cant help but chuckle a little as she listens to the other. she even smirks as she basically echoes her own thoughts. "i know i don't need to. it's almost like i value your opinion," she teases. as she listens to the other, she's a little relieved that expressions can't be shared. the conversation with m'gann basically flashed through her head on repeat at this point, and she silently puts a hand over her brow. dinah just... said these things, these really genuine things that she knew she meant, because dinah didn't know what the word subtle meant, that made babs feel downright giddy. "i know you would," she says gently, and for once, too preoccupied with other thoughts to give anything more detailed. so she takes a breath and hums as she brings herself back to the moment, "alright, you focus on coming here, i'll order something. i feel like i have a thousand things i want to talk about." it may have been the understatement of the century, but she wasn't about to spill everything over coms.

Dinah: dinah smirks as she drives. luckily it wasn't going to take her too long to get back to babs' and she knew the streets like the back of her hand she's all too happy to multitask."really, who would have thought it," unable to stop herself from beaming. her good mood is only further reinforced with barbara's affirmation because really, what would have been the point of hiding her emotions from someone who'd known her for as long as she had? in that moment the only thing she wanted to do was celebrate a pretty clear win with her favorite person while discussing their team. after all, after giving up the mantle of black canary there had been a time when she'd been convinced she'd never be a member of the birds of prey again. "when you say stuff like that i feel like i should stop to get some wine on the way," she teased gently. "which is totally an option," she really only joked around like this with babs, it's a sign of just how relaxed with the other. "i won't be long,"

Babs: "i'm almost hurt you don't think I'm prepared enough to have a stock of wine by now," she fakes offense in her voice, but the smile is clear in her tone. "let yourself in, i'm setting up everything." only when Dinah was around the corner, does babs rise from her desk and goes about setting up an area to test the substance that was on its way. to say she was more cautious since damian and then dick's incident... well, that would be an understatement, which is why she keeps the mic on as she goes about her business. it didn't matter how capable anyone was, "i almost wish i could bring this into SCPD and test it there, but i feel like that'd be frowned upon if i'm not sharing the case. yet, at least. we'll see once we know what we're dealing with," she only pauses a moment before her mind wanders back to the possibility of the birds of prey, "i may have to wait a bit with damian... but i'm worried. that's a dangerous anger and im not sure if bruce is helping or hurting at this point. and honestly i don't even blame him..."

Dinah: "what if i thought i'd drank it all?" dinah questions with a laugh before nodding. she was only a moment or two away so soon enough she was parking her bike outside, taking her helmet off, tucking it under her arm and making her way to the other. all while babs was still talking in her ear. it was a comfort though wasn't it? she's all too used to being babs' person for such sound boarding and it's something she treasures. "i think we have to play this carefully," dinah hums in agreement. she avoids making a joke for the moment knowing that this was serious. "listen if there's one thing i know we can handle it's anger issues," her mind turns affectionately to some of the other team members for a moment as she gets into the . "i'm sure bruce means well but," she sighs then. "i'm sure we can help, if nothing else he might just enjoy knowing the door is open," she makes her way to the other's door then turning the com off before stepping inside. "honey i'm home," she calls out with a laugh before walking to the other and pulling the sample from her pocket."one special delivery for a special lady,"

Babs: as dinah comes into the apartment, babs can't help but sigh a little. she smiles, of course she does. how can she not with dinah sweeping into the apartment like that? honey im home? the wry smile babs has on is not exactly normal, nor is the little sigh she lets out as she takes the sample. "you are, once again, the best. if you want to get changed, I'll set this up." she turns to go about her work, trying to just focus on that until she can leave it for a few hours.

when the test is running, she moves to sit on the couch, smiling when dinah comes into the room again. "'c'mere," she pats the couch next to her, clearly with something on her mind. she sighs a moment before she launches in to a speech she'd been turning in her head for... a while now. "so... i had an interesting conversation with m'gann recently. told me that, when i talked about you, i got this... feeling. consistently. and, you know, people ask about you enough and have said, joked... you know," she smirks a moment, and moves to grab the other's hand, "i wouldn't really believe them. but... i can't really argue with my own feelings, can i?" the smirk melts into a wry smile and a shrug, "and, if i'm being honest... i knew they were there. i've known i have feelings for you. I don't know since when. but... they're there. and man, you don't make it easy to ignore them, you know."

Dinah: "i do my best," she grins. dinah doesn't really even notice the change in the other's mood because she's so fatigued from the mission, but she nods patting the others shoulder. "okay, i'll be back in a minute," luckily she kept plenty of clothes in babs' apartment just so that moments like these weren't an issue.

it's not a surprise to see that babs has moved to the couch, right now all dinah wanted to do was flop down beside her. something about the look on babs' face makes her pause however and she can't help but raise a brow. "oh boy, you've got your thinking face on," still, she nods as the other mentions m'gann thinking that it couldn't be anything too stressful surely. something lurches in her chest as the other mentions feelings however. talk about a bad time for butterflies. "people being ted," she offers in an attempt to be helpful more than a little curious and confused all at once. then babs mentions her feelings and dinah just feels her heart racing further. was she saying what she thought she was saying? "wait babs just hold up a second," she breathes with a shake of her head clutching at the other's hand like it was a lifejacket in the middle of the sea. "i need you to be real clear with me, are you saying feelings like romantic feelings?" she doesn't want to risk being wrong but a grin spreads onto her features regardless. "it's okay if you are, great even i just... want to be sure,"

Babs: the feeling of Dinah clutching her hand too... that felt nice. a solid reassurance in a moment where she actually needed it. "oh, it's more than Ted...." she chuckles a little, but nods at the next question. Babs finds herself analyzing every twitch of Dinah's face, looking for any bad turn, any hint she should veer away... but she finds only the opposite. Dinah's smiling, grinning even, and clutching her had and... Babs realizing her heart is feeling light in a way it hasn't for a long time. it's like a breath of fresh air, almost, the way her heart seems to race, "that's exactly what I'm saying," she nods gently, but shrugs again, "dunno when it started. but I swear you've gotten sweeter since you showed up here-- not complaining," she clairifes, but her head tilts, brow arching a bit with a little smile, "great you say? that... sounds promising." she stays where she is, but inside she feels like her heart could beat out of her chest in this moment. she's nervous, but also... she can only feel so nervous with Dinah at her side. she finds herself running a thumb over the other's hand, "you're my partner, dinah. it's just... it's that simple. basic logic." and, to Babs, that said it all.

Dinah: she's being wary, at least subconsciously, for a long moment. dinah didn't exactl have the best track record when it came to luck in romance and babs well she's too special to even come close to loosing. she can't breathe for the moment out of the pure shock of the moment but it's not like dinah would want to be anywhere else. barbara gordon felt the same way about her that she'd felt about her for a long time now. it didn't seem real. "i'm asleep," dinah blurts out looking at the other with raised brows. her mind is racing at a thousand miles a minute in an attempt to try and comprehend what it is the other was saying. "there's no way i'm awake right now," her other hand moves to trace over the other's cheek then as if to test that she was real, although she doesn't move it with the contact. "oh yeah?" she questions playfully. she wants to be cool even in that moment but really she's not sure she's pulled that off. "basic logic," she echoes. "you know i think you might be onto something there," there are so many things she wants to say in that moment, but there's something else she wants more in that moment. "do you think you can come here please," she's sure for a moment her eyes are fixated on the other's lips. "been wanting to do this for a while,"

Babs: a trill of laughter pours from Babs mouth as the other blurts out her comment, and shakes her head fondly. "you're not," she teases, but her face freezes and softens at the contact on her cheek. she leans into it, pressing her cheek into dinahs hand. she can't contain her grin at the moment, and arches a playful brow of her own, "well, they tell me I'm pretty smart." she's more than amused as they both try to play this cool, but dinahs next statement makes Babs laugh a little breathlessly. the comment of waiting a while didn't hit right out of the gate, instead she was a little too preoccupied with how Dinah was staring at her lips. she feels like her heart could just jump out of her body as she shifts closer to Dinah, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and presses their lips together in a kiss. at first, Babs is soft and maybe even timid, but it only takes a moment before she realizes this is exactly what she's wanted to do for a while now. she can't help but sigh into it, pulling them closer together as she deepened the kiss. she feels like they're floating together, like nothing could stop either of them. it's only when they pause for air does Babs pull back just far enough to tilt her head in curiousity as the previous statement hit, "what do you mean a while? Dinah. did I really beat you at something?" she can't help but tease.

Dinah: the contact between the two of them is grounding in that moment. the way bab tilts her head into her palm is a welcome reminder that she wasn't doing this alone. it's a big deal baring your heart to someone but at the same time babs was babs. she hums in agreement at her next comment. honestly just too distracted to focus on anything else. she puts her all into the kiss happily, not really ever one for wasting time. babs had opened the floodgates now, the least she could do was show the other how much she appreciated it. still, with passion she's also careful, wrapping her free arm around the other in a hopefully settling manner. she just wants babs to feel loved in that moment more than anything else. they were in this together as if that was not the most thrilling thought possible. she flushes at the other's words still breathless from the kiss as she shakes her head. "just this once" she breathes gently thumb tracing over the other's cheek. "don't let it go to your head okay, we're a team we're supposed to figure things out together," she wants to kiss her again and as a result doesn't even hesitate before moving in to peck her lips gently. "you know, i think we might need to practice this like we do everything else,"

Babs: feeling dinah's arms wrapped around her like this is... well, babs can't deny that it's a warmth she doesn't want to end any time soon. she settles in dinah's lap happily, a familiar place to be at this point, now better than she could have imagined. the feeling of the hand at her cheek and the arm holding her, along with the left over tingling sensation on her lips... it's all enough to make babs want to melt. but at the same time, she's not sure there's anyone more solid and stable she can think of. sure, dinah had just come back from tour with a kid but... as far as people being there, dinah lance never backed down, never hesitated. there wasn't a day she was gone that babs didn't think dinah would drop everything if she needed her to. she lets out a little bit of a giggle, but falls silent with another grin as they kiss again, even if it's just a moment. she looks at the other earnestly, fingers trailing through her hair, "there's no one else I want to figure things out with," she says earnestly, melting into a bit of a giggle, "well, i do love studying...." and even her cheeks burn at the joke. perhaps another time she'd comment on her utterly awful humor in the moment, or on just how distracting the other was being, but instead babs had simply had enough of not kissing dinah. so, she pulls them together again, this time with no intent of stopping.