#even accounting for the inhumanity they are packed way too close together

[master-gatherer]

I have

So many thoughts

On the Master's blood harvesting plant

[everything-withered]

Despite what other people might think, literature major Kurosaki Ichigo and law student Kuchiki Rukia were not dating . . . or were they? -- prompt: ichiruki through the eyes of nosy college classmates.

Okay. So. I tried to write them as students. But. They ended up being professors (in Ichigo's case) instead? Yikes. Outsider POV is really not my wheelhouse and I found it really hard to make college students care about each other's drama so I hope this is alright.

When classes have to be shifted online, students around the country who've witnessed their professors struggle with power point on a daily basis, collectively shudder.

But those under the tutelage of Professor Kurosaki are spared the dismay for his classes.

Professor Kurosaki Ichigo is not like other lecturers. He's young, he's good looking, and thank every god above, Professor Kurosaki is also good with technology.

With him, classes aren't all that different to real life lectures which is a relief, but some students bemoan the lack of his physical presence. Though that has less to do with the quality of education as much as it does the purveyor himself.

Professor Kurosaki has a bit of a reputation.

He's one of the youngest educators on campus, and practically inhuman given his meteoric rise to academic stardom especially since, as the rumors go, Professor Kurosaki isn't some prodigy, he's simply a workhorse who's too stubborn to quit.

It's a work ethic he pushes onto his students, and they shoulder it admirably.

Though, not for nothing.

Besides being the youngest professor, he also happens to be the most good looking, a feat that isn't just attributed to youth but also to pure magnetism. There's something very. Attractive. About Professor Kurosaki.

It's obvious even through a pixelated screen.

He's confident, but quiet about it. Serious, and sharp. He's always direct and doesn't dance around a topic, and he has a way of making you feel important when his attention is on you -- which is perhaps one of the best things about having lectures through a screen, it feels like you are.

Until, of course, you realize you aren't.

That day is today: pausing for a moment to take a sip of water, Professor Kurosaki glances just above the camera and smiles.

And the private group chat collectively loses its mind, and it spills out into the group chat accompanying the stream for the lecture itself.

Pausing to glance down at the screen again, Professor Kurosaki's eyes narrow, his expression shifting to his more familiar scowl as he dismissed the deluge of question marks (and some braver "What are you smiling at??") with "That's enough, you know better by now than to ask about my personal life."

Which is perhaps, the only caveat to Professor Kurosaki: him being intensely private that the only thing anyone in the student body knows about him that isn't shrouded in rumor is what's on his profile on the university website. The bare bones. The minimum. It's agonizing.

Not even the most advanced of internet stalkers among them can get anything more than that, and if not for an incredibly locked down Instagram account, they'd think their beloved professor simply appeared one day fully formed from the ether.

As it stands Professor Kurosaki is standing before the camera looking unimpressed, and the class' curiousity is punished with another load of essays due.

This doesn't stop the more persistent of the class from trying to gather intel from wherever they can get it: starting with what can be gleaned from Professor Kurosaki's home. While he usually shares his screen when he lectures, there's the in between moments when he's just sitting before the camera or pacing in front of it as he talks, or simply setting up or shutting down the stream. It's a goldmine of moments.

One person in the private group chat reports framed photographs on the shelf. The light always hits the glass so they can't make out the faces, but they're sure a later or earlier lecture could yield results if someone looks. It's on the left corner, is the instruction . If you've got a morning or late afternoon lecture, keep an eye out!

Another says, "I saw some kind of pet bed in the corner once too, when he was still setting up. Does Prof have a dog??"

Then, "I saw a lady's shoes on the ground when he was still setting up. Did you see them?? AM lecture yesterday??? Is Prof married???" which is followed by vehement denies because of course not and we would've noticed a ring by now and then, "women in the photographs are his sisters, maybe one of them is staying with him during quarantine?" And yes. Yes, that's feasible.

Except the next time, thanks to a student who'd read the time wrong and arrived too early to the stream, spends it listening to Professor Kurosaki set up for the lecture with the screen tilted onto the keys; they catch snatches of conversation between the professor and someone who very clearly isn't one of his sisters:

"You look tired."

"Thanks, that's exactly what a woman wants to hear," a female voice says, sarcastic and fond. And while there isn't much of a view, lacking in faces for one, the student can see the two bodies standing close enough to touch without actually doing any touching, a gravitational pull that's being resisted by sheer force of will. Then, voice softer than they've heard it ever, Professor Kurosaki tells her, "Go back to bed, the court documents can wait."

"My name's on the door," is the response that sounds like a whine which makes Professor Kurosaki chuckle. "It's Byakuya's too, he can sort it out. I'll make you breakfast when I'm done with class."

There's a sigh, dramatic and long suffering. "Promises, promises, Ichigo."

By then, there's more people in the stream logged in and listening, the private group chat is a mess of epic proportions: Professor Kurosaki has a woman in his life. He cooks her breakfast. She works with court documents, is she a lawyer? Who's Byakuya? We need answers people!

Whoever Byakuya is ends up being the key, though this is only realized later because the class is side tracked by the momentary affection on Professor Kurosaki's face, a tenderness so breathtaking no one says anything for awhile. Which is all well and good because Professor Kurosaki is not pleased with the direction of the conversation in the steam's chat. To the questions of "is that your wife?" He scowls and says, "That's none of your business."

And in his defense, it's not.

Until it is.

The quarantine is getting to everyone, Professor Kurosaki included. The woman doesn't appear again, though there have been reports of a woman's shoes in the background and a cardigan that looks too small to be Professor Kurosaki's, and if his class is disappointed, so must he. Except, "They must be in quarantine together...did they have a fight?"

Which thus begins the great advice giving of May 2020 wherein everyone throws in some casual dating wisdom about apologizing for whatever dumb thing you did, and how to compromise, and what to do to get out of the dog house and stop sleeping on your couch.

Professor Kurosaki must think it's some kind of late April fool's joke or something because he's kind of pissed about it for awhile.

Right until he forgets to end the stream, and few stragglers witness him resting his head on his arms and moaning as he mutters, "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

The audio picks up a growl, and Professor Kurosaki dismisses this with a, "I know, Kon, I know."

When he starts to bang his head on his desk, the students still on the stream start to worry, though thankfully the woman appears.

No one had really known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't her.

Where Professor Kurosaki has cut a famous figure in his jeans and a leather jacket, this woman is soft as a watercolour painting: she is a sunrise in a sweet, misty yellow sundress, what remains of the night sky clinging to her black hair and space blue eyes. Her voice is alarmed, but grounding, "Ichigo, what the hell?"

Professor Kurosaki is so startled he vaults up from his seat behind the desk, completely missing that the livestream is still on his screen. "What? No, I'm fine."

There's a scoff. "You've been acting weird for days, don't lie to me."

"Rukia..."

"Is this because of Saturday?" Is the question. "We were drunk, and ridiculous, and."

"Rukia -"

"Other people sleep together all the time" she says affecting a calm tone though there's a hint of desperation beneath it, "It doesn't have to mean anything."

The private group chat buzzes. The chat on the stream stays mercifully silent.

"We're not other people, at least not to each other," he finally says.

A sigh. "No, we're not."

Almost like a reflex, Professor Kurosaki absently reaches out to his laptop screen, and says quietly, just before they're all shut out, "And I want it to mean something so. What now, Rukia?"

The search for who Rukia is ends twenty minutes later: Kuchiki Rukia, lawyer, philanthropist and university alumni; she's the shining star of Sereitei's highest social circles, the only daughter of the Kuchiki family and the proud dog mom to a pitbull named Kon.

The intrigue continues.

By the time classes resume in person, Professor Kurosaki has revealed nothing. Rukia does not appear in the following streams.

There's a temptation to ask, but there's no doubt the professor will deny it.

Which is why when a student spots Rukia on campus, the group chat lights up.

A student still in Professor Kurosaki's lecture hall slows in packing away their things as Rukia enters, and it feels like Professor Kurosaki's entire class is holding their breathes.

Rukia and Professor Kurosaki, however, don't notice, and with an exchanged kiss in greeting as natural as a breath exhaled, the group chat lights up again.

The student is sufficiently embarrassed when, called forth by Professor Kurosaki about what they think they're doing, and show me your phone if it's nothing, then the last message insists: pics or it didn't happen!

Rukia laughs so hard, her happiness all but lights her up, and oh, the student can see how Professor Kurosaki could be in love. And from his expression to the one Rukia returns to him, amused and fond and tender in one, the student wonders why no one's seen it before at all.

[all-hallows-evie]

Athenaeum: 7

Warnings: Canon typical Violence is coming into play this chapter, mentions of blood, capture and WORST OF ALL:...I cant write fight scenes for crap. LOL

A/N:...so yeah...shit’s hitting the fan this chapter...not sorry about it, lol

***

Two months come and go and every time a ship lands near the outskirts you feel your heart clench. You did him rotten, what you did was unfair. He was trying to be kind but just like you always do, you ruin it.

You fall back into your daily routine: sorting, mindlessly storing away information that may never be needed again, but the kid is always at the back of your mind no matter how hard you try to push him away.

You hope he is okay.

You hope he is managing to slip through the Empire's grip as whispers begin to turn to murmurs. The Empire is rising from the ashes, attempting to be reborn, but this time it is darker. You can feel it in the atmosphere, the darkness that had clouded the sky during the reign of Darth Vader was starting to clog everything again.

You are terrified for the kid. Maker knows why the Empire wants him, but it is never a good thing to be wanted by the Empire in a way like that; a need so fierce they would be willing to burn down entire towns to find you.

The sun has just set on the horizon and the lamps all around are warming up their golden glow. You sit on an all too familiar duracrete wall, a cup of steaming tea in your hands.

The small girl from the pack of children approaches you with caution, she pushes a long strand of straight auburn hair behind her ear, "When will the baby be back?" She asks fearlessly. 

Your lips press into a line, "I don't know."

"Do you think it will be soon? We miss him."

"I hope so." You respond before you bring the cup to your lips, the hot water burns your tongue. 

The little girl seems satisfied, but disappointed with your answer and sighs before returning to the group. Her little shoulders dropping low, the chorus of “awwww” comes from the other children a few feet away.

You spend the night watching them play in the streets and making polite conversation with anyone who approaches you. You congratulate a newly wed couple as they uncomfortably ask if you might know of anything in your collection that might help them with their first child. You smile and ask them to come see you tomorrow afternoon, you'll be sure to get them what they need. "A gift." You respond when they look at each other nervously, unsure of what they could offer in trade, "We need more innocence in this world."

The moon is high in the sky by the time you wander back to your home. You catch yourself holding the spot on your chest where the child would lay his head when he was here, wrapped tightly against your body, tuckered out after a long night of play.

Sleep evades you that night. 

Something about tonight was bringing out the worst in you. Something about the way everyone around you was starting to carve their way into the universe made you feel...lonely. 

Inadequate. 

Lost. 

Again and again, you feel the urgency that only loss brings out in you, like you want to reach out into the universe and grab a hold of something - anything - to keep you from falling into the void but there is nothing. 

You need to stay busy. 

You don't remember when you pull yourself from the warmth of your covers and pad softly downstairs. The lights of your private archives hum loudly in the silence of the early morning. You slide into your helmet, the cold sticks to the inside spaces making little puffs with every breath you take. 

You start your search, finding files with old wives tales and home remedies, scanning them for anything you can think of that the new nervous parents could need. And when you can't think of anything else, you read past accounts of births in this tiny little town, taking notes on your data pad as you go.

You don't feel your eyes start to slip closed halfway through your research, you don't feel your head drop forward suddenly heavy with exhaustion, you don't feel your entire body curl up to the desk as sleep completely overtakes you, and most of all you don't feel the Mandalorian pull you from your awkward sleeping position on the table to bring you upstairs. You don’t feel him lay you on your own bed, helmet still firmly attached over your shoulders. 

You sleep through the tiny claws pulling themselves up beside you, but when the little warm body curls up under your chin your eyes finally flutter open.

Your hand comes up, landing with a soft plop between the kids ears. "Hey buddy, I've missed you." Your voice is raspy and thick with sleep.

He gurgles, little claws digging into the collar of your shirt. 

"Where's your big beskar friend?" You sigh as you sit up slightly, you hold the child tight against you with one hand while pulling the helmet from your head with your other. It bounces on your mattress as you let it slide off. You look around, running the sleep from your eyes and trying to piece together how you even got back here.

The kid reaches up and touches your chin, a shiver runs down your spine as he shares more memories with you. 

Sand and heat. Double suns high in the brilliant blue sky. 

There was a nice woman there with wild curly hair, you can feel how much she makes him happy. She's fun because she lets me get in trouble. It's not words you exchange but feelings. 

Holding the child in your arms and staring into the inky black of his eyes you can feel your resolve melting away. 

If Mando asks again, you won't say no. You'll leave this all behind...but you've got to tell him the truth first. You hide your worry behind a smirk as you turn to the child, your hand curled into a C shape as you run it down the front of your chest, “Hungry?” 

His little arms immediately spring up as he squeals.

“Not surprising.” You smirk as you inch out of bed, slowly standing with him still held carefully in your arms. 

“I told him to let you sleep.”

You almost jump out of your skin at his sudden appearance, you aren’t sure how long the Mandalorian has been standing in your doorway watching you. “Mother of a mudscupper, I didn’t think you could be so quiet!” You shout, your heart racing up your throat. 

This time he does chuckle at you before disappearing into your living area. You walk out behind him, still holding the child tight. He leans against a side wall, seemingly looking out of your window into the street below. 

“I didn’t think you’d be back.” You say as you place the child down on the thick carpet, he wobbles over to the closest data pad, tucked into your usual place between one of the cushions of the couch. 

“He likes it here. He’s safe here”

“You have a bounty nearby?” You ask instead.  

“No.” he replies, “My offer-” 

“To come with - wait.” You stop before you can finish the thought. 

You hear it before you even see it break atmo, your eyes train on the sky. Mando looks up as well, following your gaze. You murmur it as you see it land in the outskirts. “T-4a shuttle.”

The Empire.

"Fuck, you have to go Mando, and you have to go now!" You scramble away from the window, you snatch the kid from the ground and hand him roughly to the Mandalorian as you both move as far away from the window as you can. Your data pad falls from his little claws, shattering against the floor. The Mandalorian tucks the child safely away in his canvas bag, trying to keep him calm as he starts to cry and squirm. 

"Come with us."

"You won't make it out of atmo alone." You grit, "Go, I can buy you time."

He hesitates, "Why? Why does the Empire want you?!"

"Dank ferrik Mando, we don't have time for this!"

"Tell me why, tell me what they want."

You roll your eyes, your hands card through your hair harshly, annoyed doesn't even begin to describe the sensation that blooms in your chest, "For fucks sake Mando, it's because I belong to them!"

He takes a step back. If you could see his face you would put money on a look of betrayal probably etching itself into his gaze as you spoke.

You rip yourself out of your thin jacket and toss it on the ground and show your arm to the Mandalorian, the red of the ink even brighter than you remember in the daylight. This is not the way you were hoping to have this conversation. 

"You're a deserter."

You huff, "No, life would be much easier if I was. A blaster bolt to the brain and that's the end of that. I am a creation, a monster born and bred for the Empire, they are inclined to bring me back."

He is frozen solid, the only sign of life is his chest which keeps rapidly rising and falling.

You clench your fist, he's running out of time and all he can do is stand there and be shocked by the inhumanity of the Empire, "Please Mando, you need to go."

"They want the kid, something about his blood-"

"Gods damn it, will you please go?!" You were so riled up that you felt the tears starting to blur out your vision.

"Are they making Jedi? Are they making more of you?!"

He was downright impossible. "I was force sensitive when they snatched me di'kut!" You growl, "They can't make us, but they can do other things."

Chaos is breaking out on the streets outside, you can hear screams and the sound of blaster fire. Panic rises up in your throat like acrid bile.

"Look, I don't know what they want from the kid, but please don't let them get him. If he survives whatever it is that they want him for or if he survives whatever they do to him, he won't like himself afterwards."

The Mandalorian is still and you wonder how long it will take for your words to bounce around his helmet before they sink into his head. The kid cries and he finally nods, "How do I get out?"

***

You can hear them coming closer. The sounds of doors being ripped off their hinges as imperial troopers in their white plastoid armor lay waste to the houses of the people you call friends and neighbors grows louder and louder. You are scared, your heart hammers under your ribs and if you don't keep reminding yourself to breathe you are sure you are going to keel over dead. 

The Imperials drag out the men and women from their homes, shouting at them for information.

“Where is the bounty hunter?!” 

“The one covered in beskar!” 

There is no death, there is the force. The words appear in your mind like a message from some nearby god.

You close your eyes and open your door and step out onto the main road, your long handled electro-axe dragging lines into the dirt of the road beside you. You stop in the middle of the road and turn to face the small squad of troopers, a few lieutenants scattered between them, the silver emblems of their caps shine in the sun. 

"The Mandalorian was with me." You call over, your voice cuts through the chaos.

The chaos quiets down for a moment as eyes land on you. Your own gaze lands on two lieutenants in the center of the fray, you can see their eyes flicker down, as they take in the brands on your skin. You grip your weapon a little tighter under their gazes.

"Deserter!" One of them growls before the other holds him back, a tight and sudden grip on his shoulder that stops him between steps. 

The dark haired lieutenant approaches warily. "What is a Praetorian doing in these quadrants?"

You smirk as there is a noticeable nervous shuffle in the group, "You're outside your jurisdiction boys. There is no Empire or New Republic presence here, but if you insist on asking questions about the Mandalorian, you are going to have to deal with me."

"I repeat, Praetorian," The lieutenant shouts as he visibly gathers his courage and shuffles closer, "Why are you here?"

Your eyes scan his face, the small smirk growing into a toothy grin on your lips, "Let me repeat, lieutenant: you have no jurisdiction here, and if you think you rank above me...you are in for a harsh reminder." Your heart feels like it’s ready to burst from your chest, but you swallow down harshly and refuse to let it show. 

His lip quivers and fear rolls off him in tidal waves, he turns to his partner, "Kill them." 

The heat from the blasters is immediate as every blaster attempts to take you out, you ignite your vibro axe, it’s blue arcs of electricity snapping to life. You dodge a couple of shots, blocking the rest with a quick push from the force, snapping it back before regathering your focus and sending another wave before the troopers can get another shot in. 

Your wave tackles the first row of troopers, causing havoc down the next two lines of troopers. Shots ring out in all directions as troopers go flying into each other, you take this moment to jump into the fray, slicing at the splayed out troopers who are still attempting to stand. 

You try to keep tabs on the snarky lieutenant as he melts into the crowd, Imperial troopers pouring down the street en force. A blaster bolt rips through your shoulder, sending a searing flash of pain down your side. You see red as you throw your hand out and catch the trooper responsible by the throat. You fling him bonelessly into the closest hard surface, the sidewall of your own home.

 Before he hits the ground you're already preparing to lash out at the next wave, quickly flipping your axe to your good arm, but you are not fast enough. A trooper charges under your outstretched hand, knocking you over. 

The air leaves your lungs as you hit the road hard on your back. 

The troops lunge forward and you hear distant shouts:

"Bring the e-net!"

"Clear the field!"

The crowd of white and black troopers part and you see the sky darkening as the electric net fills the sky.

"Fuck." You manage to gasp before it lands against your body and pins you to the ground. You hear it hum for a moment before it cracks to life like a lightning strike. Thick arcs of blue electricity fill the air and every muscle in your body spasms. 

Your screams fill your ears, eyes brimming with angry tears as white hot pain tears through you. The pain stops for a moment, just enough time for you to see the silver shine of the Razor Crest break out of atmo at the corner of your vision. Electricity arcs again and your vision is gone behind a wall of tears and a tidal wave of pain. 

You hear the boots around you surge forward in rhythm and then darkness. 

Sweet, sweet, painless darkness.

Taglist: @prettyboyskywalker, @sunshinepascal, @perropascal, @pascalisthepunkest, @bigdickdindjarin, @kyjoraven

<<Back to Master List  II  Chapter 6  II  Chapter 8 (In Progress)>>

[daydreambouquet]

Zack never survived the Nibel Reactor and therefore couldn't rescue Cloud from Hojo's clutches. From this single point of divergence, the story unfolds.

Armillaria is a type of fungus that can cause the exposed bark of infected trees to appear luminescent.

Preview of Chapter 24 - The Sleeping Forest

Cloud hasn't been the same since the ancient temple. Tifa's noticed the subdued nature of his behavior, the quiet resonance of his voice, as if he's disconnected from the present. The collapse of the temple and the acquisition of the Black Materia remains a mystery. Cloud claims he doesn't know what happened, nor can he explain how he and Aerith were the only ones to navigate the ancient maze.

Barret cites Aerith's lineage as the obvious reason. "And she pulled Cloud along for the ride," he says, satisfied with the unknown.

It tugs at Tifa, this alteration in him. Cait Sith's betrayal and then losing Aerith has everyone rattled, and maybe it got to Cloud more because he'd brought them all together. The responsibility of their current circumstances must weigh heavy.

Even though Aerith survived the temple, going off alone doesn't make sense. Cloud told them of the strange way Aerith had communicated this to him, and that, too, leaves Tifa uneasy. But at least they have the Black Materia, which means they are one step ahead of Sephiroth and Shinra.

The Sleeping Forest, as Vincent said, is a chilling landscape of endless ivory tree trunks. The density of branches filters any sunlight into a timeless dreary pallor. There are no animals, at least none they can see, and patches of tough grass grow through the barren earth.

Yuffie praises her great foresight to buy a jacket in Nibelheim because it is cold here. The crinkle of Cid's cigarette pack sounds harsh in the quiet.

"Sleeping, huh?" Barret says. "Great name, for whoever named it."

"Shinra, perhaps," Vincent replies. "Professor Gast and Simon Hojo pioneered much Cetra research before the focus shifted to the Jenova Project."

"Whoa, wait a minute. You were on a first-name basis with that creep Hojo?" Barret asks.

"...Not exactly."

The group stays close. Their boots crunch on dead twigs.

"Tell us about the Jenova project," Tifa says.

There isn't much to tell because Vincent was an Administrative Research associate supervising the scientists in Nibelheim. He wasn't directly involved in the work.

"And by Administrative Research you mean the Turks," Barret clarifies, "And by supervisin’ you mean protecting."

Vincent nods. Shinra kept their research under tight wraps, and the Jenova project was classified above all else. During his assignment, he'd taken a liking to one particular scientist—a beautiful woman producing results beyond expectations. Lucrecia.

The relationship should never have happened, he admits. He was unprofessional, but she was enchanting.

"A woman, huh," Cid says. "Ain't that always the trouble."

But this woman was more concerned with her experiments than Vincent. When their relationship became serious, she threw herself into the Project, spending all her time in the labs. Shinra was close to a breakthrough, she kept saying. He thought maybe it was an excuse to spend time apart.

Then, Professor Gast left the Project, abandoning Shinra in light of a discovery that Vincent gleaned had serious implications on the origins of the recovered specimen, which was the basis of all Jenova cell experiments.

"Bugenhagen mentioned that Gast thought Jenova was not a Cetra," Tifa says. "We learned this in Cosmo Canyon."

That may be true, Vincent corroborates, but he doesn't know for certain. At the time, all he cared about was redeeming Lucrecia's favor. The Project then passed to Simon, who pushed for advancements that, from Vincent's perspective, seemed to exclusively involve Lucrecia. Hojo and Lucrecia became inseparable, and ultimately, Vincent gave up on her though his feelings lingered. She wanted an intellectual, someone on her level, not some trained gunman. Their romance was over.

The news coming from the labs, however, was troubling. This Jenova Project was claiming lives. There was human experimentation, unwilling test subjects. It never sat well with Vincent. He petitioned for reassignment, but his request was denied.

Then he found out Lucrecia was pregnant. She was planning to offer the child to the Project. Vincent urged her not to. The timing implied this was not his offspring, yet he felt it wrong nevertheless. She told him he would never understand its importance.

So Vincent confronted Hojo.

The story pauses.

"...And?!" Yuffie prompts.

"And…" Vincent says. "Hojo shot me in the chest. I blacked-out."

"Blacked-out?" Cid hoots. "If someone shot me in the chest, I'd be dead!"

Nanaki picks up the tale. "You mentioned before that Hojo was responsible for your transformations. Is this how it happened?"

Vincent does not meet anyone's gaze. "Yes. When I awoke, it was on one of Hojo's slabs. I don't know what he did exactly. This type of mutation…" He examines his gold claw. "This was not part of the Jenova Project."

That confirms Nanaki's senses. Inhuman, but not alien.

"Lucrecia had gone on with the experiment," Vincent continues. "She implanted Jenova cells into her fetus. This is how Sephiroth was born."

The group stops cold. Cloud practically walks right into Tifa.

"What?" Tifa says. "Does that mean…?"

"Hojo is Sephiroth's daddy?" Yuffie blurts out.

Vincent shrugs. Evidently, yes.

Tifa exchanges horrified glances with Barret, Cid, Nanaki. But when she looks at Cloud, he doesn't seem to be paying any attention.

"What happened to Lucrecia?" Barret says. "An' how the hell anyone have a relationship with that monster Hojo?"

Vincent doesn't know on both accounts. He'd failed, in all respects, and he couldn't bear what he'd become. His body no longer felt like his own. He fell into despair and locked himself in the Nibelheim basement, only to be disturbed by Cloud and Nanaki bringing news of Sephiroth and Hojo.

"That madman is still spreading harm, irreparable," Vincent says. "I intend to stop him. I have slept long enough."

If only he'd tried to stop Hojo after his first gruesome awakening, Tifa wants to add, this whole mess could have been averted. But she maintains her silence. The shocking news has everyone stunned.

"I am grateful to be on this path with you all," Vincent says, concluding his tale.

"That is some crazy shit," Cid says. "Damn, I don't know if I'm glad I met you all or terrified!"

[m2jay]

True Self [Genos x OC]

Ch.1 | ~The Task~ (pt. 1)

There  haven’t been any recent attacks lately within the city. There’s been a suspicious amount of time of peace. This didn’t sit well with Genos as he had thought that something would soon emerge out of the ground, or some unknown species from another planet would attempt to take over. The cities A-Z not being under attack seemed more concerning to him. ‘Is there some sort of invasion coming up ahead?’ he thought to himself as he let his thoughts wonder.

Saitama had been watching tv longer than usual. He didn’t bother doing any so-called “hero” work as no monsters or villains have shown up. To him, the small crimes like stealing purses and shoplifting weren’t much of a challenge or worth his time. Plus, he knew the struggle of meeting weekly report deadlines for C-Class Superheroes. It was especially harder for them to meet that cut off point during these times since there weren’t as much high stakes. 

The two of them have been in the apartment together more lately due to their circumstances. Aside from lazing around, Saitama would always keep up his work out regimen. Genos would follow along with it in hopes of becoming as strong as him, even though he still thought it was full of crap, but he believed his master was wise and knew best. 

Aside from working out, Genos would take account of the bald man’s habit of reading manga. With his excessive amount, he assumed that his master had learned many things from there. His workout routine didn’t explain much about his impeccable strength for just a punch. Perhaps that was it. Maybe the mangas were the answer. It made sense for him since that’s all Saitama ever did in the apartment. He either watched or read, and he had an abundant amount of manga in the bookshelf. He stared at the manga as he rested his face on the palm of his hand, elbow supporting the weight as it was on the table.

Not long after, Saitama got up from watching to grab one of his manga. He looked within his bookshelf and grabbed one that caught his eye. An amused smile came across his face as he pulled it out then sat down across from Genos. He hummed as he got into the story. He flipped through the pages and made inhumane noises at some points, rooting for the characters, or being amused by actions. At some point, he looked up and caught Genos staring intensely at him. He then lifted the manga up higher to cover his face as the cyborg made him uncomfortable. He didn’t understand why he was being looked at that way, and sweat began to drip off his head excessively. Saitama took one quick peek at Genos one more time and quickly averted his eyes after realizing he was still staring.

Minutes had passed and Saitama had enough. He closed his manga and slammed it onto the table, giving the cyborg his full attention. “So Genos..” he awkwardly initiated, “..what are you thinking about now?”

“Master! I now understand how you’ve attained your immense strength!” Genos exclaimed with confidence.

Saitama squinted in disbelief. He had told the young man what he did many times. 100 pushups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats, and a 10km everyday should do the trick. He had stated that that was all he did for a few years, but it seemed the cyborg still believed that there was more to it. He blew out some air with a whistle and replied, “Do you now, Genos? What might that be?”

He pointed at his manga shelf behind him. “It’s your mangas!” he insisted. “There’s surely plenty of things in them that you learn from.” 

Internally, the man felt dumbfounded, but he went with it. Though he regretted taking him in as a disciple, he did enjoy the blonde cyborg’s company. However, he never really knew what to teach him because he truly didn’t have anything to teach, so he often made something up. “Oh, of course, Genos!” he went along with it. “There’s many things to learn from them.” The bald man then proceeded to skim through pages of his book for action scenes to show his disciple.

Genos nodded in agreement as he tried analyzing each image in depth. “May I use this as study material?” 

Saitama froze as he slowly looked behind him to look at his manga with concern. Knowing his disciple, he knew he would take them all too seriously, some of which weren’t even action too. He had a selection of various genres, but they mainly consisted of action and slice of life. “Sure..” he allowed Genos to go through his mangas as he slid the one he was reading to him. 

One by one, Genos went through his mangas. At times, when he finished, he would go outside to practice some of the moves he had seen. He’d often successfully do these skills after trying it once or a few times. It didn’t take long for him to finish reading all of Saitama’s action-based mangas. All there was left now were the others, including the slice of life ones. He had often seen his master read them when he was relaxed, but it seemed like there was more to it. Perhaps other than strength, he gained wisdom from these ones specifically?

The cyborg was determined to learn from these slice of life manga, but he couldn’t fully understand what the point was for them and asked the bald man for guidance. “Master, I don’t really see why you read these.” he commented.

At last, something for Saitama to give bullshit advice about, normal life. He lifted his fists up with confidence and exclaimed, “You see, Genos, that’s what you’re lacking! Knowing how to live normally on a day to day kind of lifestyle is good for the mind!” He internally happily cried as he finally found something he could genuinely try to teach his disciple. He then lowered his tone to sound more calm yet seemingly serious and said, “There’s more to life than training, you know.” He thought that surely this task would be easy.

Genos placed his cold, metal hand on his chin and looked down on the table, just thinking. “Doctor Kuseno had built my body to be able to function for a normal life though--” he was then interrupted by his master’s complaints.

“Ahh! No!! That’s not what I meant!” Saitama whined as he placed his hands on his cheeks and tightly drooped them down out of frustration. He then pointed at him fiercely. “I mean you need to live like your age! Yeah! Something like that!” 

The cyborg quickly wrote down what his master had said, but didn’t write as much as he usually did. He looked back up at him to hear more, only to find him shaking his head. “And?” he asked as he anticipated more words of wisdom.

Saitama’s eyes widened but still stared at Genos blankly, thinking how dense he could possibly be with social related things. “Genos!” He got up from the table and grabbed him by the arm to drag him out of the apartment. “Out! You idiot! Go!” he kicked him out the door and slammed it shut. With a sigh of, he smiled and raised his arms ecstatically. A day without dealing with Genos’ questions sounded relieving. As he walked back to the living room, he noticed one of his beloved books were missing. Bending over to check under the table, it wasn’t there. A vein popped out of his forehead out of irritation as he made his way back to the front door. As he opened it swiftly, he looked down and noticed Genos sitting down reading. He took it out of his hands immediately and glared muttering, “I thought I told you to go..”

Genos’ eyes averted from his master’s as he awkwardly got up and went away to roam around the city. He pondered and found himself deep in thought. “Shoujo manga..” he muttered to himself. Not long after, he himself got irritated as he placed both hands behind his head and bent back a bit to look up and get a deep breath but not let out a big sigh. 

After walking aimlessly, Genos had found himself at the udon shop that he and his idiotic yet wise master had went to after their first training session together. A sense of relief went through him as he entered. The familiarity the place gave him allowed him to expect whatever could’ve possibly come. When he entered, he noticed that it was more packed than usual, which was odd. 

The only seat that was left had luggage by the table. The owner of the place insisted that no one was sitting there at all and assured Genos it was alright for him to sit there. He nodded in agreement as he trusted the man’s words and sat down. Soon after, he was greeted by a new staff member. They caught his attention since he’s never seen them before. He kept an eye on her. She looked quite frantic, probably because of all the customers that were there that day. “Hi there! What can I get you?” she kindly asked him.

Genos raised his hand up and said, “I can eat somewhere else.” he insisted.

“Do you not like the food here?” she awkwardly asked.

He shook his head and replied, “It seems too busy here. I’d be causing more trouble for the staff.”

She waved her hands. “No, no. It’s really okay. Trust me.” the girl urged with her brows furrowing with concern.

“Miyu!” the owner called out to her. “We have more of the orders ready to give out!” 

“Coming!” she looked at Genos and lifted a finger, then briefly apologized, “I’m sorry, but I’ll be right back with you.” Miyu quickly made her way to pick up the finished orders to bring them to their tables. She then returned back to Genos’ table and smiled. “Sorry if that took a while. What was it that you would like to order?”

“I’ll take the Super Spicy Mega-Monster Udon Challenge, please.” he requested.

Across the room, the owner spotted Miyu taking Genos’ order. “Oi, it’s Demon Cyborg again! Miyu, did he order our special udon challenge?”

‘Demon Cyborg?’ she thought as she looked down at Genos, a bit confused, then at her owner. Miyu stared at her boss, not understanding what he meant, and awkwardly nodded. “Yes.” she responded bluntly.

Her boss sighed as he placed his hands on the sides of his head and shook it. “Get over here, Miyu!”

Miyu went up to him in a hurry as she could tell that he was stressed out. “What is i--?”

He shoved the bucket of udon and reward money into her hands. “Someone else ordered it but wussed out. Go give it to Demon Cyborg, and here’s the money too. He always finishes it.” he said. As he watched her walk away to give the cyborg his food, he said one more thing. “Your shift ends after you give it to him. You’ve had a lot of commissions today, so you’re all set to go.

Her eyes lit up and her mood seemed to change. If someone paid attention, they would’ve noticed the difference. She let out a sigh of relief and happily gave the cyborg his food and reward money. “Here you go!” she said as she placed his items on the table. For a second she eyed at his reward money but shook her head. “Must be nice..” she said to herself. Right after doing that she asked, “Is it.. Alright if I sit in this seat right here?”

Genos shrugged. “I see no problem with it.” he answered.

“Thank you.” Miyu then plopped herself down onto the seat and began to open the luggage. She pulled out a manga and began reading intently, feeling relaxed. 

When Genos finished, he felt more energized since he gave himself more biofuel. He was about to leave until he noticed what the girl was reading in front of him. “Is that a.. Shoujo manga?” he asked in awe.

Miyu looked up at him as she raised a brow. “Yeah, why?”

“I would like to read it.” Genos looked at her with confidence and waited for an answer as he gave her his full attention. Since his master had taken back the one he was reading, maybe he could possibly read from someone else.

She moved her book to the side a bit. “Why would you wanna read it?” Miyu was in disbelief that a boy was actually eager to read a shoujo manga. To her, he seemed like the serious type that didn’t really pay attention to such things.

“I wish to learn about life from it.” he told her.

A small smile came across her face from his answer. To her, he sounded determined yet genuine too. Miyu lifted the manga up to show him the cover. “This is a shoujo manga, but there’s also shounen aspects in it. There’s a lot of action in it where the characters fight these monsters and demons.” She explains some of the things that may interest him.

“Shounen in shoujo?” Genos asked puzzled. “That’s quite new.. But I don’t see why it can’t be a thing. He gently swatted his hand showing a dismissing manner. “I understand fighting and skills, but I want to learn about the other things in shoujo.”

“Demon Cyborg!” the shop owner called out to him.

“Yes?” he turned to look at him. When he did so, he noticed everyone else had already left. ‘Strange.. I wasn’t paying attention to my sensors. I shouldn’t be letting my guard down so easily.’ he thought to himself internally with shame.

“I respect all that you do, but we’re closing soon. I mean- you can stay all you want, but I would think you would prefer going home, yeah? A hero like you deserves the luxury of comfort.”

‘Hero?’ Miyu thought as she squinted her eyes as she looked at him. She did take note of his features, but she didn’t fully understand the whole thing. Doing awkward jazz hands, she made an offer, “If you want to continue this conversation, I can stay to talk and I’ll close up the shop.”

The blonde cyborg raised his hand. “No need for that. I’m sure you all need the luxury of your homes as well.” Genos got up from his seat and pushed it back to the table properly. He turned his head to look down at Miyu. “You can call me Genos.”

“I’m Miyu.” she properly introduced herself. “Genos, do you come here often?” Miyu asked curiously.

He looked to the side to think for a minute. “I guess you can say that. Why, Miyu?”

She rummaged through her luggage to pull out the other volumes. “Here.” she insisted on giving them. “Just promise to return them after you’re done reading, learning, or whatever.”

Genos slightly bowed and gratefully took them off her hands.”Thank you, I appreciate it.” He then dug into the pockets of his pants for the reward money and gave it to her in return. “Take this. I noticed that you glanced at them at some point. I assume you need it?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s your reward! Really, it’s okay!” she persisted, feeling guilty.

He placed it on the table. “I insist. You need it more than me.” he said. “Plus, you’re entrusting me with your knowledge. That’s fair.”

Miyu’s jaw dropped but she smiled and internally felt teary because it was true. “Thank you, Genos. I’m thankful.” She waved as she noticed him about to take off his leave. “Bye, see you soon!” 

“Of course. You were quite nice if I might say.” He waved and gave her a small reassuring smile as he walked out. “By the way, you should keep smiling happily. I thought you looked nice.”

“I’m honestly really awkwa--!” Miyu paused after being caught off by his word. ‘Does he know social cues? Or is he really just that straightforward?’ She shook her head and placed her hand on her cheeks, feeling it tinge as it was slightly warm. She could tell she was somewhat pink, but it wasn’t noticeable unless someone went up to her face.

“That’s strange of him.” her boss commented.

She turned to look at him as she grabbed her luggage’s handle, ready to go. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I don’t really see S-Class heroes from the Hero Association really socialize during their free time.” he answered, baffled.

Miyu shrugged and said, “I don’t know.” as she walked out of the shop with her stuff. She looked up at the udon shop’s sign then down at the money in her hands, which she held to her chest. She sighed and had a saddened look on her face. Without wasting any more time, she walked off.

Meanwhile, Genos walked back to his master’s apartment. He felt quite ecstatic since he had more material to study and learn from. If it wasn’t for Miyu’s kindness, he wouldn’t have gotten them. He was surprised by her generosity, but he surely wasn’t going to let it go to waste. When he arrived at his master’s place, he carefully knocked on the door and waited for him to open it.

Saitama soon opened the door looking like a bum. When he opened the door, he had this dull expression as he picked his nose with his pinky. He flicked his fingers to the side, making sure nothing was sticking to it. Before actually acknowledging his own disciple’s return, he noticed the mangas he was holding. “Ohh!” he gushed with amusement. “You got the Sakurahime The Legend of Princess Sakura volumes?! Where?!” 

Genos walked in and made his way to the living room. “I got them at the udon shop we often go to.” he answered respectfully as he sat himself down to begin reading.

“Wow!” he gasped in surprise. “The udon shop sells manga now?”

“No, Master, you misunderstood.” he corrected him and said, “I borrowed them from one of the workers there.”

The bald man closed the door and made his way to the cyborg, crossing his arms. “A worker?”

“Yes, they had it in a luggage.”

Saitama spat a bit. “What a weird dude.”

“No, Master. They were actually quite kind.” he added, “She was new.”

“Oh, in her purse.” he commented bluntly. “She has taste.” he referred to her manga choice.

“No, Master, luggage.” he persisted.

“Shut up! You’re talking about purses! I know what I’m talking about.” he exclaimed stubbornly, believing he knew. 

Genos rolled his eyes as he continued to read. With his sensors, he sensed his master not moving. He looked up from the book and noticed him looking at him with excitement. Feeling unsettled, he questioned him. “Yes?”

“I want to read!” Saitama shouted excitedly. “You have the physical copies right here, and I’m too lazy to search them up online.” 

The cyborg glared a bit at the man’s laziness. “I must study first.” he told him.

Saitama’s shoulders drooped as he looked up at his ceiling, giving a heavy sigh, “Agh!” he then complained, “You’re gonna write a bunch of stuff into a journal though and take a long time!” He internally screamed as he knew Genos would analyze every single small detail to precision. He’ll take an image, action, or word and go into a deep depth with it. His intense analyses didn’t seem necessary to him, but he knew he couldn’t stop him. “Genos! Hey, Genos!” The bald man continued to persist. “Genos..”

[mirohed]

park seonghwa | the trouble with twenty

pairing: park seonghwa + fem!reader (theres ONE mention of the reader being female im kinda mad i thought this was gender neutral the whole time)

wc: 3.0k

genre: fluff and angst (but the fluff wins)

warning: mentions of death

concept: when you fall in love with someone that isn’t your soulmate, you give a piece of your soul to them; failure to find your soulmate before running out of soul to give results in one’s death + you stop physically aging when you hit the age of twenty.

a/n: ok holy shit i ,, never finish my wips 99% of the time so im glad this could b the 1% !! s/o to @akokj @cheelix @lvryeol @trulyjaehyuk & finally a big big thank you to one of my irls who’s been w it since its beginnings in early january SDHJS

The universe, you find, seems to work in mysterious ways; you meet your first boyfriend in high school. The both of you are wide-eyed teenagers with no sense of how love works, but it's fine as long as you're together. It's Jongho that sits across from you at the diner and sips from your shared milkshake. It's Jongho that takes you to drive-in theaters and plants a nervous kiss to your lips on the ride home.

It's a sweet love that blooms in the summer, a whirlwind sweeping you higher and higher, and you relish the view. Being with him comes with this sweet, bubbling feeling ("Like soda?" he had joked one afternoon) that begins in the pit of your stomach, spreading outward until you sport matching carefree grins and aching cheeks.

The year is 1939, and you're on the cusp of your nineteenth birthday when all that has gone up begins to come crashing down.

You're about to fall asleep one night when you sit up, a sharp pain shooting through your whole body. You know what this feeling is; you've had to help Jongho through it when he went through the same thing.

Everyone says losing a part of one's soul is both a tragedy and an expected outcome. You've always maintained the opinion that the universe enacts its own cruel, unusual punishment on those who love anyone besides their fated partner. Those you love more than life itself are the ones who end up killing you.

Loving Jongho burns. It sears your whole body with an inhuman heat, and your mouth opens in a silent, pained scream.

And just as quickly as it had come, the pain vanishes, leaving a faint heat under your skin.

You turn nineteen. You still live in the same town you were born in. You reexamine your life.

Growing old isn't for you; too much to do, too much to see. You're meant for things greater than wasting away as his housewife and nursing his children.

A few nights later, you disappear with nothing but a few bags, whatever fuel remains in your car, and the road ahead to keep you company.

You wish you could say you lose track of time from there, but you don't. Time passes, and the world patches itself from years of war and anger. You return to what could be considered the new normal a little hardened from harrowing times, but otherwise no worse for wear.

You spend time with others — enough to break a few hearts. The feeling of new life, pieces of other people’s souls, being breathed into skin that grows older is a high unlike any other. You push down any thoughts of love, running from town to town the second things feel too real for you. Your body stops aging, and it’s a little jarring at first, but you grow used to seeing a twenty-year-old you in the mirror, even as you age far past it.

Your friends and family are still alive and well. You write to them sometimes, letters with no return address. You know your family wants you back, wants you to find the one your soul aches for, wants you tied down. You tried to understand it, you really did, but all it got you were sympathetic looks and a divide that wedges itself deeper and deeper and deeper.

At some point you realize that the letters you wrote, once full of emotion, have become monotonous, mere updates with no real commentary. You stop writing them.

The transition from summer's vivid green to autumn's dusty orange marks your arrival in a new town. You're idly swirling a drink in your hands when you lock eyes with a leather-clad young man from across the bar.

It's 1953 when you meet Mingi. He's exhilaration, speeding down empty land on a motorcycle he keeps pristine. He's everything your parents might have frowned at, bruised and bloody knuckles that have seen one too many bar fights. You come to find that he keeps a surprisingly soft heart locked behind it, one that opens easily to you.

The two of you are on a road trip when you feel that familiar rush, and you help him pull over. He grips your hands, bites into the blanket in the backseat, until it's over. He lets you take the wheel until you reach a rest stop.

You remember the night you gave the second piece of your soul away. It's a chilly autumn night — your anniversary. You hadn't listened to him when he had told you to dress for cold weather, and you were paying the price. Shivering, you run your hands up and down your arms in an attempt to warm up as you get off his motorcycle. It doesn't work, and Mingi notices, doing his best to hide a grin.

"What did I tell you?" he teases. You're about to open your mouth for a retort when he shrugs his jacket off (that same worn leather piece you saw a year ago) and helps you fit your arms in the sleeves. It's an action he's used to, but there's something about the atmosphere tonight that makes your breath hitch. You look up at him, and he grins before leaning in.

The kiss is slow, his mouth moving languidly against yours as the city sleeps below. He pulls away first, biting back a chuckle when your lips try to follow. “I love you,” he whispers as he pulls you into his embrace.

And again, the pain that makes your blood boil. Somewhere in the haze of pain, between bunching your hands in his shirt and loud curses into the night, you tell yourself this is the last time you give your soul to another.

You feel a subtle pain in your chest as you head to the next town, leaving Mingi and the memories in the rearview mirror.

Time passes, and you see enough winters to make you sick of snow. You become the longest-lived person in known history, and it makes you famous.

You're contacted to speak about your accounts from major historical events (none of which are particularly useful), and find yourself in movies and documentaries, on talk shows, and more than once as a speaker for a new museum. There was a point where you could turn a corner and someone would recognize you as the only living "immortal."

It's one of those corners turned, on one of those countless winters, that you run into a young man. You don’t miss the way he swallows lightly before clearing his throat to apologize.

You've long since lost track of time when you meet Hongjoong. (But if you had to give an estimate, you'd put it around the 21st century.) You don't think it matters when he takes you for coffee, pulling you into a cozy corner cafe. He draws you in, little by little, and you pretend to not notice.

Where he is open, you are closed — on your fifth date, he tells you that he doesn't think he'll find his soulmate anytime soon.

("The world is too big," he says, bumping shoulders as you walk side by side. "I'm too old to keep going."

"How old?" you ask. He hums, takes a preparatory sip from his drink.

"Almost forty by now, I think."

You wonder if he's forgotten that you must be more than twice his age. Instead you say, "Really? You don't look a day over twenty." He grins at that, a beautiful thing that leads to a laugh you could never tire of hearing.)

You stay with him for much longer than you need to, long after he's given one of the last pieces of his soul to you. You wait for the "right time" to leave, but the right time never comes. Time passes. Seasons change. The two of you stay together for many winters before you finally come to your senses.

It happens one morning when you wake up shivering because he's hogged the blanket (again). As you try to reclaim it, you feel the familiar heat threaten to boil over.

You barely manage to get to the bathroom before the pain begins to crash over you in full force. After it's over, you remove your hand from your mouth, refusing to look at the tooth marks left behind.

There’s no more waiting for the right time, you think over the klaxon that blares in your head. It’s here and now.

Leaving Hongjoong is a terrifying thought, and somehow even harder to follow through with. His love isn't like Jongho's, sweet and awkward; it isn't like Mingi's, a fast-paced adrenaline rush; it's different. Softer. He reminds you of home — or at least, as home as a person can get for someone like you.

And unlike with Jongho and Mingi, the thought of staying with Hongjoong is very realistic. You've caught yourself picturing it more than once, and had to chastise yourself each time.

You pack your things for the millionth time, but as you glance back at your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, you realize you can't just leave him without an explanation. The years you’ve spent together mean more to you than that.

Hongjoong wakes up hours later to a tear-stained letter. (By the time he finishes it, the ink is smudged and barely legible. His tears have mixed with yours in a sort of last kiss between them, and the thought causes him to sob once more.)

Joong,

If you’re reading this, I guess I must have already left. I wish things could be different I know you, and I already know that you’re gonna take this personally and blame yourself for not being enough. You are enough. You’re more than enough. I think I’m just selfish

Anyway I just want to thank you for...everything. The past few years have been better than I can express, and I think that’s what scares me. You’re the You’ll find your soulmate soon, whether they’re your meant to be or not. I’m sorry it couldn’t be me.

I love you.

Goodbye.

You definitely keep your guard up after that. Through every date you go on and every significant other you burn through, your walls stay up.

You've grown nostalgic over the past decade. Using the wildly advanced technology of who-knows-when, you track down a list of death sites.

You visit your family first. Your heart breaks a bit seeing the empty space in the shared family headstone. This was where you were supposed to be laid to rest. You turn away from the dilapidated cemetery, pulling up the coordinates to your next destination.

You find yourself staring at the fountain in the middle of a shopping mall. According to your holotech, this is where Jongho is buried. Your lips form a disapproving line as you close your eyes and try not to think about how he would have loved this place. You try not to think about him taking you here and nudging you in the direction of the arcade or food court as you rush out the doors.

They've gone and built a neighborhood over the cemetery where you would have found Mingi. From the looks of it, it looks like its residents are particularly affluent, and you can hear him snort in your ear. Even after years apart, you swear you can still smell the strong scent of cigarettes that followed him like a lost puppy. He would have hated his fate, and you offer a morbid chuckle in his memory.

You're crouched beside Hongjoong's tombstone, running a thumb over the warm stone. The birds chirp amongst themselves in a nearby tree, and you're thankful for the distraction. He wasn't buried with another person; you hope he managed to find someone regardless. You read the inscription — To you, forever and always — and swallow the lump of guilt that’s lodged itself in your throat.

It's on a calm spring morning that your holo rings. The centennial edition of a documentary you were in is currently being filmed, and the staff is requesting you interview with them again. You were going to accept anyway, but the producer piques your interest when she mentions another similarly...long-lived person. The trepidation in her voice is obvious, but you ignore it. Instead, you ask for the name of this immortal and to be interviewed with them. ("I thought I was the only one around," you had laughed into the phone. "It'd be good to make a new friend." The producer gave a pitying hum before agreeing.)

You try to search for any evidence of this new immortal, but come up with virtually nothing. You're more than a little disappointed that this person isn't milking their age for all it's worth, but you suppose they’re just more private than you are; after all, their existence is a relatively recent discovery.

When you first meet Seonghwa, you find it difficult to breathe. He's handsome, with a tall frame and a cute smile that would have caught your eye regardless.

Seeing him also hits you with a feeling you've dreaded for hundreds of years that makes your chest tighten. (In hindsight, you should have known exactly who he had to be, considering his similarly long life.) When you make eye contact, you can tell he feels the same immediate attraction. He has the audacity to smile.

"Finally," he murmurs. It's reverent, as if he's finally fulfilled his life's purpose. Your clench your jaw, ball your hands into fists so tight your knuckles go white, and narrow your eyes. Your heart's going a mile a minute, and you're choosing to interpret it as anger.

You've spent centuries building your fame on a foundation of nothing but broken hearts and your own ambition, and for what?

You're not sure how old you are when you find yourself on the downswing. You know that your body will start to physically age, and in about sixty years, you will have met the same fate as everyone you've left behind. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but you swallow it, at least for the time being.

The interview goes off without a hitch, and you make to leave after thanking the staff when —

"Wait!" Biting back a curse, you continue moving (and make an effort to go faster). Unfortunately, Seonghwa's more than capable of keeping up with you.

"Look," he begins, running a hand through his hair, "I don't claim to know your relationship situation, but I'd at least like it if we were friends." He focuses on the polished toe of his shoe and gives an anxious chuckle that seems to be more for himself than you. "After all, we're soulmates. You might not believe in them, but I've imagined what it would be like to finally meet my soulmate since I was young."

You don't know how (you blame the universe), but you go out for lunch with him after that. Much of the meal is spent in silence (although you've got to take the blame for this one), and it's not until you're almost done that he strikes up a conversation.

"Were you hiding?" He twists the straw of his drink between two fingers before making eye contact.

"I don't hide. You've probably seen me around in some ad or another on the holo. Maybe even before that, when people still used computers and printed newspapers." He narrows his eyes a bit, trying to remember, but comes up with nothing. "I always thought it was you that hid. I've been all over the world, but this was the first time I've ever heard news of another immortal."

"I believe in fate. I've taken things as they came because I knew that in the end, it would be you and me. Turns out I was right."

You don't know how (you're still blaming the universe), but you exchange contact information. You go on more...friendly excursions with Seonghwa.

("Why not cut out the middleman and call them dates?" he asks, settling down on the couch next to you.

"They're not dates. We're not together, are we?" You turn the movie on, marking the end of the conversation.

When you fall asleep latched onto his arm, your head on his shoulder, he plants a soft kiss on your forehead. You wake up that morning wrapped in a blanket that wasn't there last night.)

You don't know how (actually, you do), but "friendly excursions" eventually turn into dates.

(The two of you sit at a park bench, listening to rustling leaves and the distant noise of cars passing.

"Is this a date?" you ask, taking a spoonful of his ice cream, your own sitting empty on your lap.

"They're not dates," Seonghwa parrots. "We're not together, are we?"

"Let's change that. Date me?"

"I thought you'd never ask.")

Dating Seonghwa is much like being wrapped in a warm blanket. He's caring and sweet and so thoughtful that it makes your head spin. You realize that somewhere along the way, you had lost the joy and wonder that came with life. Luckily for you, each date (whether it's a shared pizza in his apartment or a hike somewhere new) restores an optimism that you didn’t know you missed.

Decades pass, and the two of you are on your daily walk. Your bodies start to show their age, but when you look in the mirror, you still see youth alight in your eyes.

("When we first met, I thought that it was all downhill from there, but I was proven wrong."

"It's been a long time since I've heard you say you were wrong."

"And each time, I tell you to not get used to it.")

When the life slips away from you both, you promise to meet each other in the next life and every one that follows.

The universe, as mysteriously as it may work, hears this request and tucks it away, ready to see it through.

[rigel126]

Lance the Winter Mage

A Shance one-shot for Shance Secret Santa 2018 (unused pinch-hitter fic)

You can also read it on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316854

A belated Xmas prezzie for my fellow Shance hoes @keirdark and @rigb0ner

Check out my other fics on Tumblr here on my Master List.

*

Lance the Winter Mage

by Rigel126

It was the Tenth of December, and a sheet of snow fell gently over the kingdom of Altea. Lance, the Winter Mage, had closed his tower and ventured out to a quiet spot deep in the West Forest as was his habit on the days of the full moon. He was heavily bundled in fur coats, and grumbled bitterly into his muffler, “By God, was I a fool to specialize in ice magic. Of course the Mages’ Senate would send me to the coldest town in the land! Quiznak!”

A strong gust picked up and Lance pulled his overcoat more tightly to his body. “Brr! I’m too gay for this crap! Ugh!”

A noise came from the left, off the pathway. Lance turned his head to scan the trees. He could not see anything, but he felt the unmistakeable resonance of magic being used. Sensing something amiss, Lance dashed into the tree-line, his right hand clenching around the stock of a magically conjured crossbow made of pure ice.

The noises grew louder, and Lance heard people shouting and chains rattling violently. Lance burst out into a clearing and found a pack of poachers in Galran attire attempting to restrain a full-grown, fully-transformed werewolf with a chain snare, long pikes and low-level fire spells. The mixed stench of blood-iron and burnt fur was stomach-churning, and red stained the snow on the ground like macabre winter flowers.

“What do you think you’re doing?” roared Lance, firing his crossbow skywards: the bolt transformed into a flare that exploded high above them, an emergency signal that would summon the Altean Rangers. “Werewolf-hunting is forbidden in Altea without a Senate De- whoa!” Lance dodged a fireball that flew past his head and set a tree on fire.

“Kill that bastard!” shouted the Galran fire mage. Of the six poachers holding down the werewolf, three rushed at Lance, brandishing their weapons.

“Now you’ve done it,” growled Lance, his blue eyes glowing brightly with magic-infused rage.

*

The first Rangers to arrive on the scene were Coran and Keith, and they found Lance in the middle of a circle made from seven towers of ice, littered with broken weapons, blood and a torn metal snare. Lance was on his knees, gently stroking the head of a black-and-white-haired werewolf who was covered in blood, to the astonishment of the Rangers.

“What happened here, Lance? Are you alright?” asked Coran, prudently keeping his distance when he saw Lance’s eyes glowing.

Lance turned his face to Coran, but his shining blue eyes were unfocused like those of a blind man. “Ah, Coran, you’re here. I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“I apologize for being a tad bit late, but we of the Ranger always come when we are needed to defend the peace of the realm.” Coran grabbed Keith’s arm firmly before he could do anything that might provoke Lance while the Winter Mage was in one of his ‘episodes’.

“Excuses, excuses,” retorted Lance airily. “But since you’re here, then all is well.” Lance closed his eyes and tilted his head back, breathed in and let out a long, throaty sigh before sinking onto his back in the blood-stained snow. When he opened his eyes, they looked normal again. Human.

“Sorry about that, Coran, Keith.” Lance turned his head and nodded weakly at the two Rangers, who visibly relaxed and came closer. “I need your help to arrest these criminals.”

With a snap of his fingers, the seven towers of ice crumbled, revealing the Galran poachers and their third-rate mage-for-hire; they all fell on the ground, shivering violently and incapacitated by the biting cold.

“Their offenses include hunting without a permit, inhumane treatment of a Special Rights Beastman, resisting arrest, and especially, attempting to harm the Winter Mage of Altea, the fabulously stylish Lance McClain de la Espada IV!” Lance announced and then burst into tired laughter.

*

Christmas Eve was the busiest time of the year at Lance’s wizard tower. The queue was some thirty yards long with the denizens of Altea clamouring for charms and potions for the festive season.

In the back room where Lance had his laboratory, the Winter Mage himself was in a mad frenzy preparing his wares. Objects flew through the air, propelled by magic, while miniature ice golems manipulated long ladles to stir the contents of eight cauldrons lined against the walls.

“Lance, we’re running low on Sobering Potions and Cold Wards out here!” Pidge stuck his head into Lance’s laboratory and hollered.

Lance stuck his finger into one bubbling cauldron and tasted it. “Tell ‘em that the Sobering Potion is being bottled right now.” He swished his finger at the ice golem stirring the cauldron; the golem leaped off its stool and began dragging a wooden pellet filled with empty glass vials to be filled with the newly-brewed Sobering Potion.

“Shiro, did you finish checking the Cold Wards?”

Shiro, the black-and-white-haired werewolf who Lance rescued two weeks ago, looked up from his work. “Almost done,” he grunted.

“Then will you be a dear and bring the ones you’ve checked out to the front? I don’t want Pidge to be lynched by a bunch of angry housewives.”

Shiro was about to comply when he suddenly let out a vicious growl. There was the evident sound of an Arusian squeak.

Lance sighed. “No outsiders allowed in… oh!”

“Y-your Magnificence.” The tiny Arusian handmaiden gave Lance a nervous curtsey while keeping a watchful eye on Shiro, who towered over her with bared fangs.

“It’s alright, Shiro.” Lance waved at Shiro to calm him down.

“Princess Allura sent me to collect her order.”

“Ah, yes. Take those wards to Pidge, Shiro, and then I’ll need you to help me with some heavy lifting.”

Shiro huffed in quiet annoyance before hauling a crate out while the Arusian handmaiden scampered out of the way before Shiro could trample on her.

Lance worked into the night, long after he closed his shop and sent Pidge and Hunk home, checking his inventory of magical ingredients and balancing his accounts ledgers.

“Lance,” growled Shiro, all stretched out on his cot. Even in his humanoid form, Shiro still had wolf ears at the top of his head, and his long tail bushy tail swished across his muscular thigh.

No response from Lance.

“La-nce,” Shiro whined.

“Go to sleep, Shiro,” said Lance idly, scratching his quill across his ledger.

Shiro started whimpering and whining like a puppy.

Lance’s quill snapped in his fingers, splattering dots of ink on the page. “Quiznak, will you stop that?!”

When he looked up to glare at Shiro, the big, hulking werewolf was looking at Lance with big, sad, puppy eyes. It defied logic how a ferocious werewolf could make himself look so… adorable. The thought of it made Lance’s head hurt and his squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

Lance let out a surprised ‘oof’ when Shiro came and sat on his lap uninvited, like a big untrained dog, and just slumped bodily against Lance.

“Get off me, you dumb mutt!” Lance half-scolded, half-gasped, wriggling under Shiro, but Shiro was just too heavy. “I can’t breathe!”

“Lance,” Shiro said, happily ignoring Lance’s protests while he nuzzled the wizard’s neck to breathe in his scent. “I missed this. Missed you.”

“What are you talking about, you doofus?” grumbled Lance, blushing red. “We were together all day in my tower, weren’t we?”

“But I couldn’t touch you. Couldn’t smell you.”

Lance’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me? Are you saying I, the magnificent Lance McClain de la Espada IV, world-renowned Winter Mage, smell?”

“Mmhm! Like spring water, milk soap and family.” Shiro was oblivious to Lance’s sarcasm and proceeded to happily scent-mark Lance by rubbing his stubbly cheek along Lance’s lower jaw.

Lance’s face was so hot he could combust like the sun. “Alright, alright. Get off me already so that I can go to sleep.”

“Okay! Sleep!” Lance could barely walk to bed with the way that Shiro clung to him, unwilling to be physically separated. It was annoying, but Lance would be lying if he said that he didn’t not find it a tiny bit endearing. Especially since Shiro in his humanoid form was brawny and handsome the way Lance liked his male companions to be.

No, Lance, you can’t! Lance chastised himself internally when his legs finally gave out and Shiro hauled him over to bed like a sack of potatoes. Shiro’s behaviour is so innocent and childlike, he’s almost like a child. I can’t make a move on-

Lance’s internal struggle died when Shiro plopped Lance on the bed and pounced on him. Shiro giggled and sniffed and nuzzled Lance a bit before spooning Lance against him, Shiro’s nose buried in the wizard’s brown hair.

“Good night, Lance.” Shiro yawned and quickly fell silent and still, save for his soft snoring.

Squirming a bit in Shiro’s warm and muscular embrace, Lance wondered if the gods had granted him a boon or were playing a cruel trick on him. Either way, Lance was not going to be able to sleep well that night.

Merry quiznaking Christmas to me, thought Lance.

END

[zecretsanta]

Fic: The 1st Annual First Nonary Game Survivor Snowball Fight

To: @reivolutionary-penguin

From: @morphogenetic

for @reivolutionary-penguin! you can probably guess which prompt I went with based on the title here, haha. happy holidays, and I hope you enjoy!

AO3 LINK

-

“So, let me get this…the four of you are taking an international flight…in the middle of December…to have a snowball fight?”

Akane sighs before answering. “Look, Junpei, we all have to do some stuff for Crash Keys. Aoi especially has some clients that he needs to talk to. The fact that it’s also going to be snowing back in Japan didn’t influence our plans in any way.”

“So the fact that you’re holding ‘The 1st Annual First Nonary Game Survivor’s Snowball Fight’ was just coincidental?”

A smile passes her lips before she answers the voice on the phone with mock seriousness. “First of all, we are absolutely not calling it that. That would draw too much attention from the wrong people. Second of all, it’s not going to be a snowball fight! We’re just going to be enjoying some time walking around in the snow. Aoi and I have been stuck in Nevada for almost three years now, we miss being cold!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Junpei says. “As if you four being competitive as all hell won’t make it turn into a snowball fight.”

“We’ll see on that, Jumpy. Not everything we do is competitive.”

She hears a long breath turn into a short laugh, before the voice on the other end quietly says “Love ya, Kanny,” before hanging up.

—

Well, this had started poorly. Before they’d even started the competition, all of Light’s clothes had been lost in bag check. The loss wasn’t a monetary problem – nothing was ever going to be a monetary problem for them at this point – but Aoi still despised spending (“wasting”) money on doubles of anything, so it was absolutely a ‘wasting five hours on clothes shopping while a grumbling emo man is breathing down our necks’ problem. Once this and the other two problems of ‘damn none of us have gloves’ and ‘Clover, that’s not an appropriately thick coat for the weather’ were solved, though, it was down to business.

“Alright, we all know the rules because we ain’t absolute idiots, but I’m still gonna go through them again, capiche?” Three nods. “Sibling teams, obviously. As long as you can throw the snowball with enough speed that it’s not just fallin’ to the ground, no guidelines on size. The team that hits their opponents the most times in the next fifteen minutes wins. If we somehow tie….I dunno, we’ll figure somethin’ out. Esper mind powers absolutely allowed, especially to coordinate with your teammate. Light, if you need it, feel free to ask for clarification on who you’re throwin’ at—”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” he says with his usual half-smile. “I can tell all of you apart by your footsteps, even in snow.”

“— alright, great, that’s what I figured, didn’t need to interrupt me,” Aoi mutters. “Uhh, anyway, I think that’s it. Any questions?”

“I have one!” Clover pipes up, not waiting to be acknowledged before asking, “Can we make snowmen and do snow angels and have hot chocolate after this?”

“…I guess? Good luck gettin’ anyone else on board, though, and count me out, I’m not covering myself in snow voluntarily.” He doesn’t acknowledge her groan before turning to his left. “Yeah, sis?”

“Did we agree on a reward for the winner?”

“Shoot, no, I don’t think we did. We’ll figure it out later, I s’pose.”

“Gee, not like you to be completely unprepared! What’s this about prepping a few years in advance?”

“Unless you immediately wanna lose a point to the Fields, I suggest shuttin’ up.”

Akane giggles. If you say so, Aoi.

He sighs a bit, only replying to her with a five-second mental groan, and rolls his eyes before continuing. “Alright. Guess we’re good to go. Head to your starting positions.”

With that, the four of them walk through to the corners of the park they’d selected for the fight. (Or, really, the park Akane had picked, after figuring out a location with minimal traffic and maximal space months beforehand, and that everyone else had agreed on, but that was neither here nor there.) They’d managed to arrive on a day where the snow was fresh, too, so the conditions really were ideal, minus all the problems they’d had before.

Ready, everyone?

Three mental nods.

Three, two, one…

—

The next fifteen minutes are a bit of a blur. Akane and Aoi had initially planned to keep track of each other’s movements via the field, and had attempted to make sure that, for the most part, they were behind the head of their current Field opponent. They had also both thought that Aoi, at the very least, would have some amount of camouflage from Clover when trying to hide from her from his white hair. The two of them, however, hadn’t realized that Clover would just mentally scream for five minutes straight, making it difficult for the two of them to actually communicate over the field feedback. (Apparently, her secret agent training had let her hone her skills to the extent that she could at least two-channel the field – not as good as Akane, but somewhat better than Aoi.) They’d also failed to account for the fact that Light could just hold snowballs in his prosthetic hand as long as he wanted without losing feeling from the cold, so no matter how close they got to him, thinking they were being surreptitious, he would turn and pelt them in the face twice each before they could hide and recover.

Five minutes in, and 3 points to the Fields’ 9, the Kurashiki siblings decide to make a tactical retreat to a particularly wooded area of the park. A bit of a waste of a time, maybe, but getting further behind isn’t an option.

Ughhhhh, this is impossible, Aoi groans. Light can just backload the snowballs, and Clover’s got that…weird…screaming thing. I didnt even know that was a thing you could do with the field?

Akane cocks an eyebrow. Really? I’m pretty sure that me mentally screaming made up most of the First Nonary Game.

Can we…not talk about that? We’ve got a snowball fight to win, sis.

Yeah, yeah. We don’t have long, you know.

Unsurprisingly, Akane’s skills at formulating plans under pressure come in handy as the two of them formulate their next idea. Stealth was clearly not going to work, especially since neither Light nor Clover was even remotely going for that approach. Instead, they decide, the solution is to incapacitate their opponents before hurling snowballs as rapid-fire as they can. Akane would take Clover, taking a front-on approach by throwing a giant snowball in her face before slamming small snowballs into her back. Aoi would tackle Light from the back (or, at least, as near his back as he could manage) and push his ears into the snow, making sure to dull his senses, or at least his ears.

With their hasty plan pulled together, they walk back, assured of at least a draw if not success.

—

As it turns out, the two of them shouldn’t have been assured of anything in a battle against two other espers. While the Kurashikis had decided to switch from stealth to aggression, the Fields had decided to switch their own tactics. Or, well, Clover had. Light was still storing snowballs in his left jacket arm – it wasn’t a broken strategy, so why fix it? Clover, on the other hand, had decided to alter her constant screaming tactic to constant silence. Let them communicate, but don’t let them think they aren’t being listened to. And let’s lie down in the snow, for good measure, so they can’t tackle us down.

So, at minute seven, two Fields, face down in a snowy field, try to crash the plans of the Kurashikis, simply by making themselves poor targets.

Keyword: ‘try.’ (In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best plan.)

Hey, Aoi? Isn’t this kind of…weird? They’re both completely silent.

I mean… a little? Akane treads as silently as she can manage through the snow. It’s pretty likely that Clover changed her strategy of ‘just constantly screaming,’ but I can’t see what else they would be doing dif- oh.

What?

She pauses, muffling her laughter with her mittens. I. I think I figured it out.

What? Sis, what are you- oh. Oh my god. pfFTTT he LOOKS LIKE A FREAKIN’ DUMBA -

Akane doesn’t pause to listen – hard to pause when you’re dropping a snowball the size of your arm on a human, after all. She’s already started running when she hears the inhuman shriek that suddenly comes from the now snow-covered Clover.

“Oh, you are SO gonna pay for that!”

—

Clover.

NOT NOW, DUDE!

Clover.

WHAT DO YOU WANT, LIGHT.

I am thinking that this was, perhaps, not the best plan.

CALL ME ‘A BUFFOON OF THE HIGHEST PROPORTIONS’ LATER, NOW IS NOT THE TIME.

I was not going to call you that, I merely wanted to suggest another pl-

YOU AREN’T GETTING ANOTHER PLAN. BRO, YOU’RE A PHYSICS AND MATHEMATICAL GENIUS, FIGURE IT OUT ON YOUR OWN.

But —

Clover forcibly shuts off their field connection.

—

Light exhales – or, well, as best as he can exhale when he’s currently entombed by snow. To the best of his estimates, it’s been ten minutes now, and, at this rate, the Kurashikis are going to bypass their current score. He’s lost count of how many times Aoi has hit him in the back already, to the point that he barely even feels the next snowball. If it weren’t for the shouts of ‘COME AND GET THIS, EINSTEIN!’ vaguely echoing from above him, he thinks he could simply melt into the snow.

Hah. Melt.

As much as he’s annoyed at his sister shutting off their connection – a wall he would normally try to bypass, if he wasn’t in such irritating circumstances – Light still believes he can regain the advantage. He just has to pull this off, and the Field will be leveled. So to speak.

While the victorious laughter above him continues, he pulls off his prosthetic arm, and digs out a small space for it. (Logically, kind of a bad idea to do that while surrounded by snow, but victory in esper snowball fights supersedes logic.) He then stuffs the loose jacket arm full of snow, packing it as tightly as he can before loosely knotting the end.

“Come — get –!”

And come get he does. Light grabs his prosthetic before stabbing it upwards through the mound of snow above him, and, in one solid motion, springs upward, unties his jacket arm, and swings it towards Aoi’s face.

“What the absolute f-” he starts, before he sputters and chokes on the snow that’s just been swung into his mouth.

Light gives a half smile, before putting his prosthetic back in its proper place and spending the remaining two minutes of the match pelting his opponent with as many snowballs as he can.

—

In the end, they all managed to lose count of their total hit numbers, so Akane is designated the scorekeeper, to her dismay. It makes sense, given the fact that she’s the only one of them who can literally slip through space and time, but still. Not ideal, she groused, but she still does it anyway.

“Well, I got a total of 42 hits. Clover got…28? Aoi, you got 69 –”

“Nice.”

“– Light, you got 87 somehow? Man, I don’t even know how that’s possible. Anyway. That’s, let’s see, Kurashikis 111 points, Fields…”

“That would be 115 points for us.”

“Woohoo, hot chocolate is on you two!”

“I never said I was gonna do that, you pink-haired brat!”

“It would be unwise to discourage Clover from this. Once she’s made up her mind, she never strays from her path.”

“Oh, God, do I know that too well,” Akane groans, remembering the unfortunate end where Clover’s axe met Junpei’s arm. “Homemade, or cafe hot chocolate?”

“Uh, homemade, duh!”

The four of them make their way back to their hotel (which is definitely not conspicuously expensive for a few twenty-somethings, what are you talking about, dear receptionist?), only somewhat dissatisfied with the outcome.

Overall, though? A fair fight

—

Back in Nevada, one man wearing plaid wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

“Aw, crap, I forgot to order the trophy!”

[avengers-nextgen]

Just A Little Bit of Time

As requested #104: “Get that thing away from me!”

— — —

“Get that thing away from me,” Bucky glared, staring angrily at the metal apparatus.

“It was in storage. I didn’t know what you wanted to do with it,” Tony stammered, holding up a severed metal arm.

“I don’t want it. Scrap it.” Bucky set his jaw firmly. Tony nodded and hurried off not eager to upset the man any further.

“Are you okay?” Bianca asked, having seen the interaction from her side of the room.

“Fine.”

“You can’t lie to me. I lie like you do,” Bianca frowned. “What was it?”

“Something from my past,” Bucky explained grudgingly, “something I thought was gone forever.”

“Was it your arm?” Bianca asked carefully, “did the raccoon get it?”

“No,” Bucky chuckled suddenly, seeing her look of concern, “no, the space raccoon didn’t take it.”

“Good.” Bianca sighed in relief.

“It was given to me against my will by Hydra. A device designed to kill. Something meant to enhance me so that one day I could murder the infamous Captain America.” Bianca noticed the muscles in his jaw and neck flex. “I was close to doing it too. More than once.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” Bucky shook his head, “and I’m glad I didn’t. But I was glad when I lost it. It felt like the last part of me-the part molded by Hydra- had disappeared.”

“You know, Sage told me something a while ago when I was upset over my-“ Bianca frowned searching for the correct word.

“I know, it’s okay,” Bucky smiled thinly.

“Well, it sounds cliche, but the parts of a person don’t make up the whole. If that were true then loosing a portion of ourselves made us inhuman. We’d be three quarters of a person and we’d be on our way to dying. To becoming a half and then a quarter. Until we were eights and sixteenths. Until we were nothing but fractions and by that point everybody would be a nobody.” Bianca rested her elbows on her knees looking intently at the man across from her, “if that were true we wouldn’t have a world because even the world is made of parts that don’t always stay together. What we are made of, is a bunch of wholes. It’s like, well, a lizard. We may lose something but we adapt and if may even come back. We grow and change but at the end of the day we’re still a lizard. Still human. So that arm? It’s nothing but a part.”

“You know something kid?” Bucky swallowed feeling his throat tighten, “you’ve got a good brain. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“I have your brains.” Bianca smiled.

“Nah,” Bucky shook his head, “I don’t have half the brain you do. You, you’re twice the person I ever was and I’m proud of it even if I had nothing to do with it.”

“Of course you had something to do with it,” Bianca insisted, “who spent a year toting me around so I could figure out who my mother was? That was you. You could’ve easily shrugged me off but you didn’t. And I know it’s hard on you. That I exist. It’s a moral dilemma you can’t get away from, and I’m sorry for it, but believe it or not... I love you.”

Bucky blinked slowly, trying to process what she’d just said. He wasn’t too sure how to respond. He’d never wanted to be a dad. He’d vowed a long time ago not to bring children into a world like this. Yet, despite this, there was one sitting no more than ten feet away from him.

He hadn’t been there when she was born, he hadn’t raised her, he’d hardly done anything supernatural in the parent department, and she’d just said she loved him. Frankly, he was certain it was undeserved. “Kid, I’ve done nothing for you but make sure you get the mind of life no one wants. You’ll spend decades fighting crime and getting hurt and tortured and you didn’t even get a choice in it,” Bucky sighed, staring intently at his hands.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. It’s hard not to.” Bianca explained. “Whether you wanted it or not I’m your kid. And there’s nothing anyone can do-not even science really-to explain why kids have such an implicit response to love their parents. I can’t help it even if you think you don’t deserve it.”

“You have a knack for talking,” Bucky croaked. With every word Bianca said he felt the urge to retreat grow stronger. He’d felt that way with James and Alex for a long while before forcing his way out of it. Despite his attempts, he had a knack for ruining good things. The last thing he wanted was to ruin someone like Bianca. All it would take was for him not to live up to her expectations.

“About things people wouldn’t want to hear? I know,” Bianca laughed faintly. “I’ve been told that before. I also can tell when I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Bianca smiled kindly and got up from the couch. Before she could leave, Bucky caught her arm. “It’s not that I don’t care-“

“I know. You need time. Maybe a lot of it, maybe a little of it, but either way I’m here. So whenever you feel comfortable being a dad you know where to find me.” Bianca gave his shoulder a squeeze and headed off down the hallway.

Bucky sat staring at the wall for nearly an hour before he moved. He walked aimlessly down the halls until he paused in front of the door. His knuckles rapped on it lightly, “may I come in?”

“Yep!” No more than two seconds later the door was tugged open.

“I may not be good at a lot of things but I am good at one thing in particular.”

“What’s that?” Bianca asked arching a brow.

“Maintenance.”

Two minutes later, Bianca sat with crossed legs on her bed and a blanket pulled up to cover her chest. Bucky sat behind her with a small kit opened up to reveal different tools.

“How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad,” Bucky frowned, studying the mechanics of the spine implant, “there’s a lot of shit in the little crevices.”

“Makes sense.” Bianca nodded.

Bucky mumbled to himself as he collected the needed tools without having to look. He worked with care and precision to scour every detail of the mechanical device and make sure it was in perfect condition.

He’d never seen the scarring on Bianca’s back before and the sight of it made his chest ache. They hadn’t been kind putting the device in. They’d left the surrounding skin mangled and raised. Parts of the skin looked irritated from rubbing too roughly against clothing.

Without thinking much, Bucky touched the worse portions earning a hiss of breath from Bianca.

“Did you know your skin’s raw?” He asked.

“No, I usually forget about it after a second or too,” Bianca explained.

“How tight is your combat vest? Did Nathaniel ever account for the scarring?”

“I don’t know. It fits pretty snug.”

“Huh,” Bucky nodded. He left only for a moment before returning with a new case. Pulling out a small container and unscrewing the lid he applied a gel to the more sensitive areas. “I’ll tell him about it.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded.

When he was finished he collected his things with care and packed them all away. Neither of the two said anything as he left but that was okay. Bianca was starting to think actions were easier for him than words, and she was okay with that. Wearing a muzzle taught one to act not speak.

If that was how he felt comfortable then so be it. She was just happy to have someone around that understood her.

[plaideria]

In Front of You

A/N: I couldn't decide if I wanted a Klance soulmate AU or a Spiderman AU, so I compromised and started this series forever ago on my ao3 account! Figured I would post it here! (Also I couldn't fit the whole story on here so if you like it, heres the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036992 )

Keith Kogane sat at his lunch table, head bowed down as he read from a chemistry book, Katie - or as everyone called her, Pidge - sat across from  him, her own nose buried in a mathematics book. The table they were seated at was small and pushed to the corner of the lunchroom, no one else sitting there except them. People trudged tiredly around the lunchroom, as they did every Monday.

Keith shifted in his seat, neck aching from the awkward angle as he straightened and stretched, raising his arms above his head. Pidge glanced up, staring at her companion from the tops of her glasses.

“What, didn’t get enough sleep last night, Spi -” Before the female could even finish her sentence, Keith reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pink eraser and flinging it to the other. Pidge didn’t even flinch as it bounced off her chin, instead chuckling cheekily at Keith’s reaction.

Groaning, Keith rubbed at his eyes, dark circles could be seen sitting snugly beneath. “Shut up,” There was no heat behind Keith’s words, just tiredness. He yawned and glanced back at his book. “Are you still going to come over tonight to study?”

Pidge nodded, a glint in her eyes that showed she was excited. “Yup. I’m coming for dinner too. Your brother is an amazing cook.”

Of course, Keith knew she wasn’t excited over the food. Well, she was, but she also was excited to work on the tech the two had been slaving over for the past year.

Keith smiled and shrugged, fiddling with his leather, fingerless gloves. “That’s fine with me.What about Hunk’s cooking?”

“What about my cooking?”

Both heads turned upwards to see Hunk standing there, a lunch tray in his hands and a tall, blue eyed boy standing behind him.

Pidge piped up first, adjusting her round glasses. “Just talking about how amazing your cooking is. Especially that new cake recipe you came up with last week.”

The two launched into easy conversation, and Hunk sat down next to Keith, gesturing for the boy with him to sit down next to Pidge. As he sat, Keith felt warmth rise to his face as he observed the newcomer. Blue eyes that reminded Keith of the ocean, tanned and soft looking skin, chocolate brown hair, and a smug grin planted on his face. Keith barely registered that the other had caught him staring.

“See something you like, mullet?”

Scrunching his nose, Keith stared at the other as Hunk and Pidge’s conversation halted, now viewing the exchange that was happening.

The comeback had been teasing, so Keith shrugged and replied easily. “Just an eyesore at the table. Who’re you?”

The blue eyes boy blinked before his mouth and eyes widened, stuttering. “Wha... Eyesore ?”

Pidge snickered and Keith felt a grin grow on his face at the other’s reaction before Hunk coughed awkwardly.

“Ah, sorry I haven’t introduced you all. Guys, this is Lance. He just moved here,” Hunk pointed to everyone as he introduced them. “This is Keith and Pidge.”

Lance turned to Pidge, raising an eyebrow. “Pidge? That’s kind of a weird name.”

She shrugged closing her textbook. “It’s a nickname. My real name is Katie, but everyone calls me Pidge.”

Lance seemed to ponder it for only a few seconds before shrugging. “Alright. Guess I’ll call you Pidge then.”

Keith furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. It would be strange for Lance to call Pidge by her given name since everyone called her Pidge anyways. “Well, why wouldn’t you call her Pidge?”

Once again those blue eyes were on him and Keith swallowed nervously. “Because her name’s Katie.”

“But everyone calls her Pidge anyways. It would be weird for you to call her Katie.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, mullet .”

“Excuse me for pointing out the obvious things you can’t see, blockhead.”

The banter escaped Keith’s mouth naturally as he crossed his arms. Lance mirrored the position, a stubborn look on his flawless face. Hunk and Pidge exchanged looks before Hunk sighed and Pidge began giggling into her hand.

“And what’re you laughing at?” Lance whipped his head to Pidge who just grinned and shook her head.

“Nothing much.. You two only just met but you sound like an old married couple.”

Lance shook his head in disbelief. “A married...”

Keith rolled his eyes but laughed. “Pidge likes to make jokes. You’ll get used to it.”

Hunk nodded in agreement. “She makes a lot of jokes. Though most of the time she doesn’t consider the situation before making a joke.”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “It’s not my fault some people can’t take a joke,” She turned to Lance, placing her chin in her palm as she stared at him curiously. “So, where did you move here from?”

“California,” Lance replied easily. “I lived there most of my life, but I’m adjusting pretty well so far.”

Hunk made a noise of understanding. “Yeah, moving from the place you’re so used to can be hard. Man, you should’ve seen Keith when he first came here in our last middle school year.”

Keith groaned, all too familiar with how he had been then. It was when he had first moved in with Shiro and his parents.

Pidge was obviously amused at his discomfort as she began describing how Keith had acted during middle school. “He hardly talked to anyone. He was a huge loner. He also got into fights a lot.”

Hunk shuddered. “I always felt really bad for the other guys.”

Lance looked to Keith with uncertainty. “You? Fight? No way.” Keith shrugged, looking down at the lunch table instead of having to look at the other.

Hunk laughed and answered for Keith, wrapping a friendly arm around the other. “Yes way. He even got into fights into high school,” Hunk stopped for a second, seeming to ponder a thought. “Though, he hasn’t got into a fight since sometime last year, I think? Right?”

Keith nodded. “Yeah, probably.” Of course, after gaining some concerning amount of strength, Keith refused to start fights with anyone. Not wanting to use his mutant strength to fight some school bully when he could be putting it to better use.

The sound of the lunch bell rang through the lunchroom, and most of the students stood, herding out the doors like zombies. Lance made way to stand as well before Pidge yanked him back down.

“Chill out. There’ll be plenty of time to go to class after the hord leaves.”

Tearing his gaze away from Lance, Keith decided to start packing up, shoving his textbook into his bag as the other three chattered away.

“Oh, we should invite Lance to our Friday movie night this week!” Hunk exclaimed as he stood and pulled on his bag, everyone else doing the same.

Keith risked a glance at the new member of their friend group and shrugged. “If he wants. That’s fine with me,” The four started moving out of the cafeteria.

Pidge nodded in agreement. “Yeah, me too.”

Keith watched as Lance looked on with a curious look. “So this is like a weekly thing?”

Hunk nodded. “Yup. We get together at one of our houses and just watch movies all night.”

Pidge grinned. “And the first one to fall asleep gets their face drawn on.”

“Yeah, last week was me,” Hunk cringed at the memory. “I was in the bathroom trying to wash it off for a good thirty minutes.”

Lance laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Seriously? Well, I’m in. Challenge accepted.”

The four smiled and talked about what movie they should watch first before the bell rang and they all jumped, saying rushed goodbyes and hurrying to their classroom.

~~~~~

“Keith, there’s two guys in there and one of them has a gun. Be careful.”

Pidge’s voice was hard and slightly laced with worry. Keith grinned as he shot a web from his wrist and swung building to building, on his way to stop a robbery in a little restaurant that had recently opened.

“I’m always careful, Pidge.”

“You mean like that time you got shot last year?” Her voice was unamused as they talked through their coms.

Keith scoffed as he landed in front of the restaurant, finally being able to see the situation. There was a guy with a handgun, pointing said weapon at a small crowd of hostages crowded together. There was another guy at the register, pulling money out and placing it into a black bag.

“I’m going in.”

“Alright. Be back before dinner and don’t get too injured. Shiro will get suspicious.”

Keith resisted the urge to roll his eyes beneath his mask at the warning Pidge gave every time he went into a fight. Sure, it was nice she cared but she said it every single time without fail. He walked up and stepped through the door, which had been shattered with glass bits laying on the ground.

“You know if you’re going to pay for the damage you’ve done here, take it out of your own pockets.” Keith grinned as both perpetrators whipped around to look at him. The gun stayed pointed on the civilians.

“Spiderman!” The guy at the register exclaimed, seemingly baffled. Keith clapped and walked over to him as the criminal started to shake.

“Wow, aren’t you the bright one. I’d say you deserve a reward but,” Keith gestured to the bag filled with money and to the hostages. “It kind of cancels out.” With a grin, Keith launched forward with inhuman speed, punching the criminal in the head and knocking him to the ground. When he didn’t get up, Keith turned to his partner in crime.

“How about you, twig? Wanna go at it or are you gonna make things easier on yourself and surrender?”

The man snarled and the gun in his hand started to shake. “I’ll shoot them! Just give me the money and I’ll get out of here! No one will be hurt!”

Keith sighed. “Guess you’re aiming for the hard way then.” He took a step forward and the unnamed man took a step backward.

“Any sudden movements and I’ll shoot!”

Keith raised his hands and stopped moving, trying to assess what he could do. “Alright, just chill out.”

Pidge’s voice came through the earpiece again. “Keith, be careful. Just hit him with your webs and take the gun.”

Nodding, Keith was about to do just that when a shrill voice interrupted the scene.

“What happened ?”

All heads turned to see the newcomer. Keith’s eyes widened as he realised who it was. Pidge also seemed to realise.

“Shit. Keith, make sure Lance doesn’t do anything!”

Keith was more worried about the criminal at the moment who had turned abruptly and had started raising the gun to Lance. Adrenaline rushed through Keith’s veins as he shot a web out to Lance, pulling the taller boy to his side and grabbing onto the other’s tan arm. Keith kept his grip as he used his other hand to web up the perpetrator's gun before releasing his grip and running up to the man, grabbing onto the collar of his sweatshirt, and slamming his fist into the middle of the man’s forehead, effectively knocking him out.

Keith let the man drop to the floor and looked to the hostages, expecting them to jump up in jubilation, but instead they stayed sitting on the floor. They all seemed to be staring at the same thing. Keith followed their gaze to where Lance stood, holding his arm out as he too stared in disbelief. It was then when Keith took note of the explosion of colors on Lance’s arm, in the form of a hand grip.

“Holy shit… This could be bad. Keith, check your hand!” Pidge’s voice as urgent and Keith nodded, pulling off the glove of his right hand. Sure enough, there was a similar explosion of colors. Reds, blues, purples and pure white stained his skin in a similar way to the galaxy.

Now the crowd was ecstatic, jumping up all at once and speaking loudly.

“We just witnessed Spiderman find his soulmate!”

“People are going to go crazy for this information! I need to post this!”

“Do you think he’ll reveal who he is now?”

“This is so romantic!"

More words followed and Keith looked up to Lance as he pulled his glove back on. The tan boy was staring at him in awe. Keith swallowed thickly as he marched forward.

Those blue eyes he had first seen earlier that day looked him up and down. “So… What’s up with the spandex?” Despite not stuttering, it was still evident that Lance was as nervous as Keith was. The only difference being, Lance had no problem speaking.

Keith just gaped at him like a fish out of water.

Lance laughed and the noise was music to Keith’s ears. “What, cat got your tongue, Spidey?”

There was a camera flash and Keith turned to the observes in panic. Everyone was going to know Lance was the soulmate of Spiderman. Everyone would be looking for a person with their mark on their right hand. People could start targeting Lance. Bad people.

“Keith,” Pidge’s voice showed she had also realised the situation. “This could turn very bad. Get out of there now.”

Keith sighed, and bowed his head, making sure to lower his voice a few octaves so that Lance wouldn’t recognize him. “I have to go.”

Lance blinked. “Wait, go? We just met and-”

“This isn’t a good place, Lance.”

Lance looked at him with surprise and Keith regretted saying his name. “So you know me?”

Groaning, Keith facepalmed, walking to the restaurants door. “Look, I’ll come and find you some other time, okay?”

Disappointment flashed on Lance’s face and Keith felt guilt flare up inside him. Sure, he wanted to talk to Lance about everything, but with everyone’s phones out? It was too dangerous for an identity reveal.

“Promise?” Lance asked quietly.

Keith nodded in response. "Promise."

But then, Lance grinned and winked. “It’s a date then, Spidey. I look forward to it.”

Keith was glad he was wearing his mask then, if only to cover his blush. He nodded curtly instead of giving a verbal reply as sirens sounded from down the street. The cool night air was relieving as he swung away, thoughts weighing heavy on his mind.

[notbecauseofvictories]

Hey so for your prompt thing if you're still doing those have you any thoughts about what might of happened if Jyn had been found by those storm troopers and been captured with Galen?

The expression on Saw Gerrera’s face is hard to read. 

It’s hard to read, and that, more than anything—more than his band of scruffy Partisans, bristling with weapons and grinning like mnira wolves—sets Jyn teeth on edge. She doesn’t like being stared at.

“Is there a dress code I should have been aware of?” she asks narrowing her eyes at Gerrera.

Jedha has turned her Imperial greys to a sunbleached, dusty ash, but it wasn’t as though she’d had time to pack. Papa had woken her in the middle of the night, she’d barely had time to shove on her boots before he was dragging her down the corridor to the docking bay. (It was the only time Bodhi had smiled, the entire nerve-wracking trip from Eadu to Jedha. Your shirt is inside out, he’d said with a tentative smile, and Jyn had laughed herself breathless for the sheer, pressure-relief of it.)

The silence stretches on too long. “Well?” Jyn demands. “At least you could tell me where you took my pilot—”

“You look so much like your mother,” Saw Gerrera says, and it lands like a concussive missile. 

The silence after that is worse, somehow.

Jyn exhales. “Oh,” she finally says. 

She folds her hands together behind her back to keep them from shaking, even though she knows it makes her look like a cadet at parade rest. Krennic told her that once—she’d dropped out of the training program entirely just to spite him for it. (He dragged her back a week later, after he found her holed up in the base’s dense labyrinth of undertunnels, but Jyn had won that round.)

Gerrera is still looking at her. “I—yes, I know,” she adds hurriedly. “My father’s said. I have her eyes.”

Gerrera has a clear crystal on a length of cord around his neck, and he’s turning it over and over in his hand now. There’s something oddly familiar about the gesture, though Jyn can’t quite place what. 

“Lyra was a brave and devoted woman,” Gerrera says. “She served our cause loyally, even—before there was a cause. We were…she was my friend.”

“I have a transmission from my father,” Jyn blurts out, before she does something embarrassing like cry, or demand he turn over the strange crystal to her, or storm through the compound looking for Bodhi. Anything to distract her from the way fearsome Partisan leader Saw Gerrera said ‘friend’ like it carries terrabytes of encoded data.

“Your pilot mentioned that,” Saw says, and there’s a cruel amusement in his expression now. Terror and anger flood through her, and she lunges forward.

“If you’ve hurt him—”

“He’s well enough,” Saw says, warding her off with a hand. “Maybe a little spooked, but the boy’s got nerves like manka cat. I get the sense he’d startle at loud noises.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Jyn says fiercely, even if there’s more than a little guilty agreement curling in her gut. Galen helped Bodhi wean himself off the stimulants the Empire poured into TIE fighter pilots like water, but his hands will always shake, and even behind the console of a freighter he’s skittery, anxious.

But when Galen had asked him to defect, to take his only daughter to Jedha and meet with the dangerous Partisan insurgents, so that they could deliver a crushing blow to the Empire, Bodhi hadn’t hesitated. He’d reached for Jyn with his shaking hands, and clutched her forearm in a grip like durasteel.

I’ll take her, Bodhi had said, and Jyn had been sure of him as the stars over Eadu.

Something thoughtful has taken over Gerrera’s face. He’s watching her—or studying her, maybe. It’s like being put under a scope, only now Jyn feels shy, wrong-footed. She wonder if he’s seeing Lyra standing where she is now.

“Someone go bring Miss Erso’s pilot out,” Gerrera says, and one of the Partisans breaks away from the mob, disappearing into the depths of the complex. Jyn exhales.

“Now,” Gerrera says. “I think you ought to show me Galen’s message.”

Jyn pops the first few buttons on her uniform, and is a little annoyed when Saw doesn’t react, merely raises his eyebrows like Papa did, whenever she was being particularly obnoxious. She feels herself flush, and after she fishes the transmit-chip from its carefully-hidden pocket, thrusts it at him. 

“There,” she says.

He takes it from her gingerly. The chip looks so small, impossibly fragile in his enormous hand. “Have you watched it?” Gerrera asks, and there is gentleness in his voice.

Jyn nods. 

(Jyn, my Stardust, never doubt how much I have loved you, how sorry I am—)

Gerrera passes the chip to another of his Partisans, a xeno in heavy armor and striking purple eyes. Jyn tries not to stare, but she’s never seen so many xenos in her life. She has vague memories of her childhood on Coruscant, one of her little friends having a Twi’lek tutor, another claiming that his father traded with Toydarians, but it was all secondhand stories.

It’s different, standing in a crowd of species she could never hope to identify. 

They pull out an older holo-imager, and the xeno Partisan slips the transmit chip into the drive. Jyn sucks in a sharp breath as her Papa’s image flickers into view, and she braces herself—

Jyn’s almost grateful when Bodhi is frogmarched into the cavern, the sight of him enough to distract her from the holo. The Partisan guard isn’t gentle, and Jyn darts forward to catch him before he falls to his knees. “Hey,” Bodhi mumbles against her shoulder. “Did we do good?”

Jyn holds onto him tighter, until she feels his hand come up and cradle her elbow. And they stay like that, the cavern silent as a tomb except for distant water and the voice of Galen Erso, saying, Saw, if you are watching this—

.

.

The Partisans set out bedrolls for them that night. Bodhi collapses into his with the gratefulness of the half-dead-on-his-feet; Jyn’s response is to scowl and pointedly drag her bedroll from the other side of the room to stretch out beside Bodhi’s. One of the Partisans looks like he’s about to object, but Jyn glares and he backs off.

“Your girlfriend is a territorial creature, pilot,” Saw Gerrera says, and Bodhi’s eyes go wide as he stammers protests. At the same time Jyn snaps, “I’m not.” She can feel her face burning.

Gerrera just chuckles to himself before moving away to speak to one of the Partisans.

“What do you think happens next?” Bodhi whispers. They’re both curled up on the bedrolls with their knees almost-touching, and when Bodhi reaches for her hand in the semi-dark, Jyn interlaces their fingers together. An anchor.

“We can never go back,” Bodhi murmurs. “We’re traitors to the Empire, we can never…” 

Jyn swallows. “I know.”

It takes Bodhi a long while to go to sleep, and Jyn waits until his breathing has even out and his eyes are flickering behind his eyelids before she dares slip her hand from his. She’s stiff and cold from lying still, so standing is a trick—but eventually she chases away the pins and needles and manages to take a few stumbling steps.

Saw Gerrera is standing at the mouth of the cave, staring out across the desert to Jedha City. The holy city lit up like a cruel parody of the Coruscanti skyline, hard blue light and the whir of machines. Above the city crouches an enormous Destroyer, like a brooding bird.

“Mining equipment,” Gerrera says suddenly, and Jyn startles a little. But Gerrera is just smiling faintly “That’s the sound you’re hearing. Jedha is rich in kyber, the Empire wants it to make weapons. They recently expanded production to a full local cycle.” 

Jyn sucks in a breath through her teeth. “But—Jedha has a thirty-two hour cycle!”

“Yes.”

“That’s inhumane.” 

“That’s the Empire,” Gerrera says, and there’s a deep enduing well of bitterness in his voice. Jyn wonders how many times he’s had this conversation. 

Jyn turns back to watch the city. She’s heard stories of Jedha—mostly secondhand, from troopers stationed there, or Papa’s stories of her mother, who stayed in the temple on Jedha for the last months of her pregnancy, as protection against miscarriage. Jyn only knows what the official records have told her, and even those read more like fairytales than historical accounts—the Guardians of the Whills, and Jedi, kyber crystals and the Living Force.

“My mother worshiped the Force, didn’t she?” Jyn asks suddenly, then feels herself go hot. That hadn’t been her question.

But Saw only chuckles.“Your mother….was almost a Jedi. So yes, she believed in the Force.” Saw reached into his breastplate and pulled out the clear crystal Jyn had seen him playing with before. “Do you remember this?”

Jyn is silent, but she can’t take her eyes from it. (Trust the Force—)

“Your mother gave it to you, as the Guardians of the Whills gave it to her. I found it…”

“My hiding spot,” Jyn breathed. She remembered: the troopers dragging her up, out of the dark, even as she kicked and screamed and clawed at the walls. The cord of the crystal had caught on something, a root or a rock, and then snapped. The crystal had fallen back into the darkness.

“I was supposed to find you there, keep you safe,” Saw says. His eyes are wet, Jyn can see the light of Jedha City reflected in them. “But you were gone.”

“I didn’t close the hatch properly. The troopers found me first.”

“Yes.”

They lapse into uneasy silence again. Jyn watches a bright belch of flame rise up over the city walls, and then subside. She wonders what in the nine hells they’re doing, what kind of mining equipment would create a explosions like that. Her training had been in comms; Papa always had to help her with her geo courses, and every time he’d sighed that this was Lyra’s area of expertise, he was just a lowly engineer—  

Jyn shakes her head, trying to clear the stickiness of memories from it. Bodhi was right—Bodhi’s always right—they can’t go back. She’s not a comms officer any more, and she’ll likely never see her father again. That’s simply how it is.

“What are you planning to do next?” Jyn asks. “About the transmit, I mean.”

Saw seems to come, shuddering, back to himself. He looks blank for a moment, then nods. “Ah, yes. Though I hate to lose anything to Senator Mothma, I believe yours is a job for the Alliance. I and mine are needed here, for the time being.”

Jyn exhaled. “You’re sending it to the Alliance?”

“No,” Saw Gerrera says. “I am sending you and your pilot to the Alliance. With the chip.”

Jyn thinks of the journey from Eadu to Jedha, the tense silence between her and Bodhi, how carefully they’d avoided major hyperlanes, relying on short planet-hops and unconventional runs to stay off the Empire’s radar. “Is that safe?” she asks.

“Oh, child,” Saw Gerrera says, and there’s something about his tone that makes Jyn wonder what it would have been like, to be raised by him, and not her father. How different would she be, as a child of Partisans and rebel violence?

Saw is still gazing at her levelly. “Child,” he echoes, and somehow his voice is even softer. “I am sorry to say safety is not a luxury you can afford any longer.”

Jyn turns away, setting her jaw. “Fine. Then—fine.”

She can feel Saw considering her again, with that searching, thoughtful look. She’s tired, too tired to rankle, and so she lets him. The sound of mining is less a sound now, more a vibration she can feel up through her feet.

“Why are you doing this, Miss Erso? Do you long for the Republic and balance to the Force as your mother did? Or is it your father’s guilty conscience you’ve inherited?”

“My father asked me to.”

“Is that all? Sentients do not decide to turn their backs on the Empire because they are asked.”

Jyn looks away.

(When Jyn wakes up the next morning, there is a datapad beside her bedroll. She only has enough time to power it up and memorize the string of galactic coordinates that appear on the screen—then it flashes brightly, and the drive is wiped. 

The kyber crystal is sitting beside it, a small shining thing in the dust of the cave. Jyn can’t tell if it’s an apology or a blessing, and there’s no one to ask—the Partisans and Saw Gerrera are gone.)

[lovelornrocketscientist]

✩

The ultimate relationship tag || accepting

[  D i s a g r e e m e n t s  ]

Who is more likely to raise their voice?I think Fitz might raise his voice in frustration but not in a rage or anything.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does?I don’t think either would threaten to leave.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves?I think if anyone left it would be to cool off and I think Tony would be more likely to need that.

Who trashes the house?Fitz sometimes shoves things on the floor if he gets really upset. I could see Tony doing something similar.

Do either of them get physical?No. Not with each other. Only if someone was trying to hurt them.

How often do they argue/disagree?Not too often and they usually sort it by discussing it.

Who is the first to apologise?I think they both do at different times. If Fitz isn’t the first one, he’d be very agreeable. He can’t hold a grudge at all.

[  S e x  ]

Who is on top?Depends on the mood.

Who is on the bottom?Still depends but Fitz is a fan.

Who has the strangest desires?Fitz certainly thinks his are stranger. 

Any kinks?Maybe a few…

Who’s dominant in bed?I think Tony is a little more.

Is head ever in the equation?Definitely.

If so, who is better at performing it?It’s a tie.

Ever had sex in public?Not public public. Semi-public? Deserted open area, yes.

Who moans the most?Fitz at the beginning.

Who leaves the most marks?Tony. Fitz approves.

Who screams the loudest?Fitz but only a little louder. ;)

Who is the more experienced of the two?Tony.

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?Depends on the day.

Rough or soft?Both depending on mood.

How long do they usually last?It varies but they both like to take their time, in general.

Is protection used?No. They’re monogamous.

Does it ever get boring?Never.

Where is the strangest place they’d have sex?Quinjet on autopilot. Sometimes you just can’t wait.

[  F a m i l y  ]

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children?Yes! So exciting!

If so, how many children do your muses want/have?Fitz would have like four—but two is totally fine.

Who is the favorite parent?Both have their strengths and weaknesses and the kids love them both equally.

Who is the authoritative parent?Fitz does the daily discipline.

Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school?Tony but probably for a trip or outing which he would probably find more educational than what they’d learn anyway.

Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around?Tony but Fitz would very purposefully look the other way.

Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children?Both. They’re both very proud.

Who goes to parent teacher interviews?Both but sometimes just Tony because sometimes Fitz can’t stand the teacher and he’s horrible at hiding it.

Who changes the diapers?Realistically both but more Fitz. He doesn’t mind.

Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby?Fitz unless Tony is already up. Fitz enjoys the time to just observe and cuddle with the baby.

Who spends the most time with the children?They both spend a lot.

Who packs their lunch boxes?Fitz. He’s big on healthy meals.

Who gives their children ‘the talk’?Both. Good lord. Poor kids.

Who cleans up after the kids?Their maid.

Who worries the most?Fitz. He’s a worrier.

Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from?Fitz thinks it’ll be Tony but it totally ends up being him. XD

[  A f f e c t i o n  ]

Who likes to cuddle?Both do—a lot.

Who is the little spoon?Depends on who needs it most.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?Tony. He just likes to see Fitz blush.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themself?Both. They both find each other irresistible.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?A long time. Hours. Unless they’re discussing something uncomfortable and then it just depends on the conversation.

Who gives the most kisses?They’re about equal. They both like a lot.

What is their favourite non-sexual activity?Science!

Where is their favourite place to cuddle?Bed, the sofa, the lab, car, quinjet on autopilot—who knows where it ends?

Who is more likely to playfully grope the other?Oh, both for sure. Tony would probably be less furtive about it than Fitz.

How often do they get time to themselves?Daily. They both need some alone time.

[  S l e e p i n g  ]

Who snores?Fitz snores lightly but only when he sleeps on his back.

If both do, who snores the loudest?Fitz isn’t that loud.

Do they share a bed or sleep separately?Share!

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?Cozy up for sure!

Who talks in their sleep?Tony does more. Fitz only if he’s having a bad nightmare and then it’s pretty unintelligible. 

What do they wear to bed?Possibly a t-shirt, pajama bottoms, boxers or nada.

Are either of your muses insomniacs?Both to some extent.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?Yes. Are they used? That’s another question entirely.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?Entangled limbs.

Who wakes up with bed hair?Both. Fitz’s is worse because curls.

Who wakes up first?Depends but they usually playfully try to keep the other from getting up.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?Fitz loves to make pancakes and eat them together in bed.

What is their favourite sleeping position?Spooning.

Who hogs the sheets?Not Fitz. He’s super hot.

Do they set an alarm each night?Yes.

Can a television be found in their bedroom?Of course.

Who has nightmares?Both. Fitz’s are not as bad as they used to be, but when he has them, they’re pretty horrible.

Who has ridiculous dreams?Tony, and then he has to tell them in the morning.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?Tony. Fitz curls up.

Who makes the bed?Their maid.

What time is bed time?Late. Usually midnight or later.

Any routines/rituals before bed?Changing, maybe showering, definitely brushing teeth

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?Fitz is super grumpy first thing until he’s had at least one tea.

[  W o r k  ]

Who is the busiest?Both but Tony wins that one easily.

Who rakes in the highest income?Tony easily.

Are any of your muses unemployed?Nope.

Who takes the most sick days?Fitz is very healthy. Tony might play hooky.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work?Tony. And Fitz if Tony tempts him. ;)

Who sucks up to their boss?Neither. Ugh.

What are their jobs?Tony is CEO of Stark Industries. Fitz works with inhumans disabled by terrigenesis and develops biomedical aids for them.

Who stresses the most?Fitz. He tends to spiral. Tony is close behind, though.

Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?Enjoy for the most part.

Are your muses financially stable?Definitely.

[  H o m e  ]

Who does the washing?Their maid.

Who takes out the trash?Their maid. 

Who does the ironing?The dry cleaners. 

Who does the cooking?Both depending on the day or evening.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?Neither.

Who is messier?Fitz.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty?Neither.

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?Both but rarely.

Who forgets to flush the toilet?Neither. (Ew.)

Who is the prankster around the house?If either of them are, it’s Tony. Fitz isn’t much of a prankster unless it’s for revenge purposes. XD

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?Neither.

Who mows the lawn?The gardener.

Who answers the telephone?JARVIS or voicemail.

Who does the vacuuming?Their maid.

Who does the groceries?They’re chosen by both and get delivered.

Who takes the longest to shower?Fitz likes a long shower.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom?Fitz spends a fair amount of time grooming in the morning or before going somewhere special.

[  M i s c e l l a n e o u s  ]

Is money a problem?Nope.

How many cars do they own?Who can say? Maybe JARVIS? Fitz has no idea.

Do they own their home or do they rent?Own.

Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside?Coast. Except their house in Scotland. It’s near Glasgow because that’s closer to Fitz’s mum.

Do they live in the city or in the country?City, usually.

Do they enjoy their surroundings?What a strange question. Yes, I suppose so. If they didn’t, they could just change them.

What’s their song?If I Fell by The Beatles

What do they do when they’re away from each other?Lots of phone calls and video calls. (Possibly NSFW)

Where did they first meet?Depends on the verse. SHIELD or SI, most likely.

How did they first meet?Depends on verse. I have a fondness for their “bumping” into each other. 

Who spends the most money when out shopping?Tony—by a lot. Fitz hates spending a lot.

Who’s more likely to flash their assets?Uh, probably neither, but if it did happen, I’d put my money on Tony mooning someone. X’D

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over?I think Tony would try not to laugh—and fail.

Any mental issues?PTSD for both. Depression.

Who’s terrified of bugs?Fitz. I wouldn’t say “terrified,” maybe horrified. XD

Who kills the spiders around the house?Tony or pest control.

Their favourite place?Wherever the other one is. Second to that, the lab.

Who pays the bills?The accountant.

Do they have any fears for their future?Sure. Everyone does. Fitz’s are varied. Losing Tony now that he’s found him. Losing other people he cares about. I think Tony worries about that too.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?Fitz has a slight edge because he’s such a soppy romantic but I’d still say either might well do.

Who uses up all of the hot water?No such thing. They have a tankless water heater.

Who’s the tallest?Tony by a nose.

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?Probably Tony but it’s not out of the question the other way round. ;)

Who wanders around in their underwear?In the bedroom, either, elsewhere, uh, no.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?Tony. Fitz is a good singer but he’s shy.

What do they tease each other about?Being the most adorable.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?Tony probably cringes at Fitz’s. XD

Do they have mutual friends?Yes. All their friends have become friends with the other to varying degrees of closeness.

Who crushed first?Fitz, probably in most verses.

Any alcohol or substance related problems?Let’s hope not. ANGST! (Or let’s do? XD)

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?Probably Tony. (Wouldn’t that be interesting? O.O)

Who swears the most?Fitz. He is Scottish after all. They slip out sometimes even though he usually tries to keep them in his head.

[theonyxpath]

Rose here, with the latest preview from The Realm, courtesy of lead developers Eric Minton and Robert Vance. May I present… Prasad!

The Empire of Prasad

The Jade Road carries countless talents north toward the Blessed Isle, and just as many adventurers, opportunists, and vacationing Dynasts to the south. Those who complete the journey find a nation at the height of ambition and opulence. The Empire of Prasad crusade across the Dreaming Sea, a conquering heir to the Scarlet Dynasty.

The Dreaming Frontier

The coast of the Dreaming Sea teems with kingdoms and empires, each fighting to hold their homes against strange and aggressive fauna, Fair Folk raiders, and each other. Gods and elementals claim earthly territory with impunity. The region varies from one journey to the next: even when national borders aren’t shifting, Wyld storms roll off the sea and alter the coastal terrain. Scavengers find sites not seen since the First Age, if ever, and lose those sites just as suddenly.

Several grand empires rise above the mayfly kingdoms of the Dreaming Sea. In three hundred years, Prasad has expanded from the city-state of Kamthahar to an empire that rivals its older southern neighbors. Dragon Caste charioteers and elephant-riders lead mortal armies across the flatlands, and fire-cannons gird their holdings against invaders. Where the Dragon Caste goes, they bring order. [REDACTED]

Empire of a Thousand Names

The Prasadi people are many and varied, and for each of them there is a place. Prasadi society is regimented, yet fluid, and it demands the best of each new culture it consumes. Overlapping systems of social stratification have created hundreds of subcultures. For each such subculture, Prasadi cities assign enclaves and duties. Enclaves elect their own ruling councils, which in turn answer to the Dragon Caste.

When Kamthahar stood alone, four castes broadly defined its social hierarchy: the God-Blooded Exemplar Caste, rulers and shepherds of souls; the Sage Caste, advisors and designers of society’s greater order; the Caravaner Caste, masters of battle, travel, and trade; and the Corporal Caste, entrusted with unclean tasks, from construction to sewage to assassination. When the Dragon-Blooded conquered Kamthahar, they claimed and renamed the Exemplar Caste, and cemented their spiritual authority through marriage to the God-Blooded. A few God-Blooded still exist within the Dragon Caste, providing insight into spiritual matters.

Kamthahar’s clans persisted with little change as the empire expanded, for they came natural to the formerly-Dynastic Dragon Caste. Prasadi clans compete ruthlessly for prestige and advantageous marriages, and rigorously track their bloodlines. The Dragon Caste consists of two sprawling clans, Burano and Ophris. Mortal members of Clans Burano and Ophris serve as members of the Sage Caste, and receive constant courtship from mortal clans seeking advantageous marriage.

The Empire of Prasad claims a hundred cultures, each with its own jati. A jati is a tribe of people, either subsumed by the empire or broken off from another jati over time. Jatis build reputations for particular skills and virtues, reputations which affect their social standing and even their caste. Some jatis straddle castes, while others may change from one caste to another if their contributions to the empire demand it. When a jati’s place is improved (or worsened), each member is affected, and so each is accountable for the whole. Most members of the Dragon Caste descend from high-caste Realm-born jatis. Once they Exalt, they swear a greater allegiance to their superhuman peers than to any mortal community, though some favoritism is common and expected.

The Indispensable Chef

Some societal duties are too important to leave to members of a single caste, and so are practiced in some form by members of each caste. The Caravaner Caste has its teachers, some Sages learn esoteric arts of self-defense, and every caste needs cooks. Lower castes may not cook for their betters for fear of spiritual contamination, and likewise may not handle or gather ingredients beyond their station.

Corporal citizens subsist mostly on curry, rice, root vegetables, fish, fowl, beer, and “lesser” fruits like breadfruit and coconuts. They pay well for goat meat and superior fruits (like kiwi) prepared by a Caravaner. Many dream of being honored with Dragon Caste delicacies such as chocolate, cherries, tiger meat, and above all, peafowl.

A Vision of Purity

The Pure Way of Prasad is a syncretic religion born from the Immaculate Order’s influence over ancient Kamthahari traditions. Adherents believe in a natural place and order for all, judged and controlled by the Elemental Dragons, but they do not limit the natural hierarchy as Immaculate canon demands. Gods and elementals have their place in the cycle of reincarnation, and greed and hubris can drag them down to mere humanity. According to the Pure Way, two paths to transubstantiation exist: the way of divinity, in which mortals reincarnate into godhood; and the way of royalty, in which mortals reincarnate as spiritually-advanced humans, such as God-Blooded or Dragon-Blooded.

Monks of the Pure Way proselytize, train, and enforce the social order as zealously as their Immaculate cousins. They do not guard mortal worship as strictly, but they quickly strike down spirits who extort worship or mislead the mortal flock. God-Blooded and Exigents easily find a place in the Pure monkhood. A dozen or so Immaculate monks journey to Prasad each year to prove the hypocrisy of the Pure Way, by debate or by duel. By request of the rani-satrap, most Immaculate monks visit only for a season. A few stay, wishing to become Pure. A few others stay in secret, developing underground cults to disrupt Prasad’s heresy.

The central temple of the Pure Way is the Most Pristine Sanctuary of the Spirit, in the heart of Kamthahar. Their recruitment and training practices closely align with the wisdom of the Immaculate Order, though many of their instructors are gods or elementals capable of sharing particular insight into the Essence of Creation. A week’s ride from Kamthahar, a valley conceals the Inner Crucible Monastery. Here the Wyld Hunt houses its forces, and here it returns when the hunt is complete. Sometimes it returns with captives: tainted souls, Wyld mutants, Anathema, and even inhuman monsters such as demons and Fair Folk may surrender to the shikari and seek the wisdom of the Pure Way. Through hard work, obedience, and purifying rituals, unclean creatures seek a cleaner death, and a place in the cycle of reincarnation.

The Winding Road to Enlightenment

Prasadi society discourages isolation and encourages insularity. Even in tight-packed cities, caravans, and military camps, citizens mostly interact with and marry within their own caste and jati. Prasadi often believe that they will reincarnate among their peers and loved ones repeatedly, perfecting familial bonds across lifetimes. Paragons of enlightenment are mourned for the certainty that they have left for a superior incarnation.

Though the Dragon Caste commands members of every caste, common beliefs still center around within-caste relationships. Many Kinships swear loyalty across lifetimes, and launch quests to find young Exalts worthy of claiming reincarnation from a lost Oathsibling. Legendary Dragon-Blooded leave bequests to their reincarnations, prompting great competitions to prove that the fallen hero has returned to resume her destiny.

Twin Dragons Circling

Once, Kamthahar was a lone city-state and rebellious satrapy, and Burano and Ophris were [REDACTED] seeking to elevate their names. They were rivals with opposite temperaments, chosen for the task because the Empress expected each to undercut the other. Yet in Kamthahar the two houses found victory, camaraderie, and opportunity that they would never find on the Blessed Isle. They embraced their differences, and claimed the satrapy together.

Clan Burano hews closely to traditions inherited in centuries past from both the Scarlet Empress and the old Exemplar Caste. They work tirelessly to create a more perfect empire, and make countless adjustments to social planning so that Prasad’s many cultures can work in harmony. It was Burano that first saw the promise of the budding syncretic cult that would become the Pure Way, and propped up its order to lend legitimacy to the Dragon-Blooded. In peace, they are contemplative and aloof. In battle, Burano knights are impossible to miss, clad in heavy armor, with siege weapons trailing behind them.

Clan Ophris forever seeks new pleasures and adventures, evolving along with the changing landscape of the Dreaming Sea. They are performers and demagogues, ready to take chances and clever enough to tilt the odds in their favor. In the aftermath of the conquest of Kamthahar, Ophris dared to negotiate with the Scarlet Empress for the city’s future, and secured her mercy for only a century of doubled tribute. Sensual and hedonistic, members of Clan Ophris delight in finding new frontiers to explore and new enemies to duel with words and weapons.

The two halves of the Dragon Caste compete in many things, but they are true partners in the expansion of their empire. They practice a system of imperial inheritance known as tanistry: while a member of one clan rules as rani- or raja-satrap, the ruler’s heir is elected from the other clan. Every member of the Dragon Caste, all across the empire, has the right to a vote, as long as all votes are tallied by the final night of Calibration on an election year. Once an heir is elected, she retains the position until the current ruler either dies or demands a new election. Unless the heir dies, the rani-satrap can only call for a new election every five years. Repeated elections can bankrupt an heir through campaigning costs, but risk outraging her clan.

The Shining Coast

For most of Creation, Prasad’s claim to fame lies in the so-called Jade Road, a trade route painstakingly mapped out by Dynastic explorers early in the reign of the Scarlet Empress. Desert-weary travelers and escaped slaves of the Fair Folk spoke of mountains made of multicolored jade in the distant southeast. Though no Jade Mountain has ever been found, the young Realm’s explorers did find quarries filled with great veins of multihued jade. The city of Kamthahar had claimed many of these fruitful quarries, and they quickly bent knee to the distant Empress for the promise of Imperial garrisons to protect their lands. The Immaculate Order was an unwelcome addition to the arrangement, but the Kamthahari had assumed they would be no more than a nuisance. Heavy religious suppression, backed by the very Realm garrisons that Kamthahar had desired, brought about rebellion and a more lasting conquest.

Today, Kamthahar provides more raw jade to the Blessed Isle than any other two satrapies. Imperial Tax Assessors assume that it could provide much more, for Kamthahar is now the capital of an empire that stretches hundreds of abundant miles. The Empress only increased Prasad’s expected tribute incrementally, for the journey would have been a waste of her legions and a temptation for any Great House she sent. In her absence, many Dynasts who have visited Prasad and seen its wealth find intolerable that so much jade should be wasted on a mere satrapy, however grand.

Jade is far from the only commodity available through trade with Prasad. Uncanny creatures run wild across the plains beyond the Dreaming Sea, many carrying some mix of divine blood and Wyld influence. Massive sea creatures circle in the Dreaming depths, overflowing with oils treasured for occult perfumes. Scavengers have found medicinal herbs that were thought lost in the Second Age, relegated to historical accounts of their wondrous effects. Strange manses and artifacts await the fortunate or skilled explorer, many of them alien-seeming—evidence of Wyld taint, perhaps, or wonders that predate any age of humankind.

The Sea Primeval

According to ancient Kamthahari myth, the Dreaming Sea was strange and wondrous long before the Fair Folk invaded and twisted vast stretches of seascape. Sages debate whether the Dreaming Sea was the birthplace of humans, or of elementals, or of all natural life, but most agree that it is a sacred, lifegiving font. This myth serves as one of the driving forces behind Prasad’s expansion, for the faithful cannot allow the region’s backward, debased empires to foul the Dreaming Sea’s waters unchallenged.

Jewels on the Diadem

The Empire of Prasad stretches from the deserts west of Kamthahar to the tip of the Dreaming Sea, and it’s still expanding. Each territory adds to Prasad’s glory, and contributes its skills and culture to the whole as a new jati. [REDACTED]

Auk’s Roost has been held by several regional powers over the two centuries since its founding on the ruins of another coastal city. Prasad’s in-depth social control is proving difficult to apply to locals used to weathering one conquerer while waiting for the next, but Auk’s Roost is one of Prasad’s rare coastal holdings, and the empire will not surrender it easily. Nearby lumber mills work feverishly so the empire can establish a naval presence.

The small city of Reverie began as a campsite around a monument to some forgotten god, then grew in concert with the monument’s legend. Those who enter its great doorways and sleep beneath its towering minarets dream of those they love the most, and these dreams always carry the ring of truth. Reverie has a reputation for hospitality and relaxation. Spirits view Reverie with respect, and visit its ancient monument to negotiate with each other, or with stranger creatures.

The bluntly-named Rockship is an industrious city known for its mining and metalwork. It’s built around and within its namesake, an enormous, many-masted ship. The dreadnought is partially buried in the earth, made of an imperishable ochre stone, and far from the sea. The Dragon Caste has stepped up excavation efforts, for if the Rockship actually floats it will dwarf any vessel of the Fair Folk or the Gigantes of Dis.

Screeward was built on a mountainside by several fractious clans of goatfolk. They fought against the empire bravely, then accepted their new rulers quickly. The Screeward jati now serves across the empire as hardy members of the Caravaner and Corporal castes. As many humans now live in Screeward as goatfolk, with rope-and-pulley elevators for citizens incapable of climbing sheer rock faces. Screeward’s patron deity serves as an honored advisor when Dragon Caste generals must deal with challenging or unnatural terrain, or when lovers navigate complicated romantic tangles.

[spectrumscribe]

Halcyon Days

For @tmntflashfic’s wonderful Spring prompt, a fic that is sort of a sequel to my ‘April-joins-the-Foot-clan-post-season-4′ fic, but can be read as a standalone.

Have some soft family fluff and mutual grieving between the murder lady trifecta and the four chaos brothers + Casey. Main focus is on Karai and Leo, enjoy them being adults and (mostly) stable individuals together.

---------------------------------

Karai leans her head back against her seat, idly watching the country side rush past her window. She blinks slowly, eyes feeling tired from the abrupt time change she’s experienced coming back to America. The sounds of April and Shinigami in the front seats chatting quietly further soothes her nerves, because their familiar voices have long since become staples in her life, and she can always depend on them to anchor her.

Karai feels their car turn, and shifts her weight as they begin the journey up the farm house driveway. April’s voice picks up a note of excitement, and Karai smiles to herself at the red head’s eagerness to see the other half of their family.

As they keep driving, Karai sees the car following them suddenly stop and then park in the middle of the road. It’s one of four in the area, with three or two Foot soldiers in each. Extra protection, just to ensure they aren’t interrupted during the celebration.

Karai’s men and women are good soldiers, now that they’ve served a solid ten years under her reign as clan leader. She made sure that none of them were anything less than perfect, and knows she can trust her chosen subordinates to guard the perimeter. She can let go of her constant vigilance, at least for tonight.

Karai eases the last of her leaderly stress from her mind, and finds herself grinning as the farm house comes into view at last. Just a fourteen hour flight from Japan, and then four hour drive from New York, and they’re finally here.

The hulking, nightmarishly sized bipedal crocodile and similarly giant, but still much smaller, bipedal gecko in the front yard are welcome sights. Even more so as they raise the alarm that Karai, Shini, and April have arrived, and a flood of impossible beings pours out of the house.

Before Shini has even parked the car fully, April is unbuckling herself and flying out the passenger door. Karai chuckles as her third in command runs across the lawn like she’s fifteen and not nearly thirty, and flings herself at the collection of turtle brothers and the lone human in their odd group. It’s always a sight to see, the six of them reuniting. And the obvious affection the boys have for April is always clear in the way they hug her, and in how they, very often, sweep her off her feet to be passed around for even more hugs.

Karai knows she’ll be getting a similar treatment, the moment she gets out of the car, and she smiles as her brothers catch sight of her setting foot on the grass.

She shuts the car door behind her, and catches Mikey as he barrels towards her. He’s always the first, because despite having grown taller than her, he kept the lightning speed he’d had as a teen. Followed quickly is Leo, then Raph, and finally Donnie, who is so tall these days, he has to stoop to hug her properly.

The Mutanimals, an even odder collection than Karai’s siblings are, begin to encroach on the reunion. Now that Karai is here, with April returned to her boys, and Shini’s arm winding around Karai’s waist, everyone is accounted for.

“Welcome back,” Leo says over the clamor of everyone talking, smiling wide enough his left eye’s scar crinkles.

“Good to be back,” Karai replies truthfully, returning a smile just as wide.

Mikey then exclaims loudly over the group’s noise “THE PIZZA-BURGERS!” and makes a mad dash back towards the house. Karai guesses that whatever ‘pizza-burgers’ are, it’s what she’s having for dinner. After spending months without tasting Mikey’s… curious cooking style, Karai figures she can handle whatever abomination her brother has created this time. If only for him to be happy.

Leatherhead lumbers after Mikey first, Mondo trailing along with him, and then their group disbands completely. Karai follows Leo back into the house, keeping her fingers laced with Shini as Shini chats with- or more accurately- teases Casey.

The house is loud, and too full of moving bodies, and smells like grit and dampness; courtesy of all the less than human inhabitants. Karai winds her way through the crowd, minding Slash’s spiky shell, and stepping over the ever growing, pit-bull sized Chompy who gallops between the legs of everyone. Shini’s hand doesn’t leave her’s, and when they finally make it to the couch for a breather, the farm house has returned to being packed to the gills with guests, and there is barely a chance of being able to hear one’s self think.

Karai drinks in the dissonant chaos of it all, relaxes with Shini as Leo goes to get them tea, and enjoys being with her strange family once more.

Later, when things have become a bit more organized, and Karai drifts from the party. She opens the backdoor of the house, leaving behind the lights and warmth of friends and family, and goes out into the late spring evening.

She approaches the gravestone, set in front of a shady tree, and kneels quietly in the grass. No moss or discoloration has grown on its surface, mostly likely due to upkeep and care from Karai’s younger brothers.

It’s been a full decade now, and Karai sighs as an old hurt rises once again. She bows her head for a moment, and closes her eyes as she kneels at her father’s grave.

After a soft, unspoken prayer, Karai lifts her head to look at the words carved into the stone before her. They still read the same as they had when she’d first seen it, but she reads them again regardless. There is always a chance she won’t be able to see it again for herself, living the life she does. It’s best to make the most of this moment while it’s here.

Quiet wind blows through the grass, rustling it as the world cools towards night. Fresh spring life fills Karai’s senses, and because she has spent the last months smelling only city grit, she darts out her forked tongue to properly taste the sweet air. A moment of inhumanity, accepted and welcome in the current company she’s keeping.

She hears purposefully made footsteps come up behind her, and Karai turns her head.

Leo stands in the low evening light, holding plates of food for himself and Karai, and he smiles down at her.

“Feeling hungry?” He asks, offering a plate to her.

Karai smiles, brushing away her years old sadness, and takes the plate of dubious food. “I think the better term would be ‘feeling adventurous?’”

Leo winces and then laughs, because Karai is right. There is always a fifty-fifty chance whatever Mikey has made will be near poisonous, and why they keep letting him cook is a mystery to Karai.

Of course, as she bites into the meaty, cheesy, saucy patty on bun, she remembers why they do, and enjoys her supper.

There are already offerings placed around their father’s grave, flowers and wreaths, and a lone picture frame with the single family photo they ever managed to take. Among all the chaos of wars and fighting, there had been an evening, once, where Karai had deigned to stay in the lair for more than a few minutes. Someone had found a camera, that someone being April, and had taken a photo of Karai, her brothers, and their father all together.

It’s a messy photo. Raph’s arms are half blurred as he wrestles with Mikey, and Leo’s face is a priceless look of panic as he dodges the sudden quarrel. Karai and Donnie, standing together to the side of the fight, have matching looks of unimpressed condescension, and she figures it’s an obvious sign of their relation.

Their father, in a rare moment outside his stoic nature, is smiling at them all in a warm, amused manner. It’s the only photo they have of him smiling so freely in, with Karai in the shot as well. It goes on the grave every year, when they all gather to celebrate Splinter’s life, and is taken home again when they part ways once more.

Karai has a copy of it, in her main sleeping quarters, in her main base, and she smiles every time she sees it. That doesn’t change now; looking at the original print, set against the grave of the father she never got to know.

Karai finishes eating with Leo on the grass in front of the grave, and they talk about their lives recently. How many dimensions Leo and his brothers have traveled to lately, how many misadventures they’ve had in those dimensions, how many clans have attempted to challenge Karai’s power hold of Japan, and how many of those she’s destroyed or taken into the Foot’s territory. Normal things, for them at least.

“So how has Pimiko been doing lately?” Leo asks, leaning back comfortably on his hands. “Last I heard, she’d caused a full scale revolt in one of your training camps.”

Karai rolls her eyes at the mention of her potential successor. “She didn’t succeed with that one, as hard as she tried. We managed to get her and her preteen army when they tried to capture the kitchens. And she’s actually been behaving really well lately. Though, I’m also suspicious of whether or not she’s planning another coup.” Karai grimaces to herself. “Who knew twelve year olds were such a handful?”

Leo laughs at that, voice filled with humor and just a hint of roughness. The scars on his neck and chest still stand out, even after time has dulled them. Similar scars had once crossed Karai’s chest as well, from the same blades, the same enemy, but she’s long since shed that skin. Literally. The perks, she supposes, of being a mutant snake woman.

“One of these days, she might actually succeed in overthrowing you,” Leo says, teasing quirk to his smile.

“She can try,” Karai says with a hint of dry humor. When she’d picked Pimiko up off the streets, brought her into the folds of an ancient ninja clan in hopes she’d become more than a street fighter, Karai hadn’t been expecting just how difficult or strong-willed she’d turn out to be.

One of these days, Pimiko likely would overthrow Karai’s reign of the Foot clan. And when that day came, Karai would lower the kabuto onto her head willingly, and feel utterly proud of the spit-fire she’d raised.

But, that is not a day coming soon, because Pimiko is small and reckless still, and Karai can beat her six different ways in as many seconds.

“How’s your side of things been, then?” Karai asks, shifting the subject.

“Oh you know, same old same old,” Leo says with a shrug. “Three brothers to keep track of, plus Casey, dimension hopping every second day, negotiation of non-terran supplies with our space duplicates. The usual. Space Casey and Donnie blew up a small moon the other day. It nearly caused the destruction of a whole ecosystem.”

“Sounds hectic,” Karai comments in an amused tone. She leans onto her knees as she draws them up, and tilts her head. “You five planning on going up again any time soon? I have some material requests for space Donnie.”

“I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to provide,” Leo says, closing his eyes and sighing. “Sometimes, I wonder about those six up there. I can’t imagine what led them to being space pirates of all things, as interesting as that sounds.” Leo pauses for a moment, and then says, “Maybe I can get space me to switch places again. I want a vacation.”

Karai scoffs a laugh. “You’re nearly thirty, and yet, still such a space nerd.”

Leo tilts his chin upwards in a haughty motion, and replies, “I’ll have you know I’m a very serious leader fifty percent of the time. I’m allowed to use the other fifty percent for space enthusiasm.”

Karai elbows Leo, and he elbows her back. It’s a nice exchange, since skype calls will only communicate so much of the back and forth affection they want to express. You can’t elbow your brother through a screen, after all.

Leo notices then, the ring on Karai’s finger, and his eye ridges move upwards behind his ever present blue mask. “That’s new. When did that happen, exactly?”

Karai puts her hand over the smooth metal on her ring finger, and smiles fondly. “Two days ago. Shini wanted to wait for our anniversary, but Pimiko… might’ve gotten into things she wasn’t supposed to, and spoiled the surprise.”

“Congratulations!” Leo says happily, moving over enough to put an arm around Karai’s shoulders. He gives her a tight squeeze as he holds up her hand to see the ring better. “You promised you tell us right away when it happened, though. I’m disappointed in you. Mikey will be disappointed in you.”

Karai rolls her eyes, and gives Leo’s side another elbow. “It was two days, you nosy busybody. I was going to tell you all tonight.”

“I’m surprised April didn’t spill to Donnie and Casey,” Leo remarks, releasing Karai’s hand again. “It’s hard for them to keep anything from each other.”

“April is a full kunoichi, she can keep a secret for at least a few days.”

“And yet, everyone always knows what they’re getting for Christmas anyways.”

“Touché.”

There’s a comfortable pause after that, during which the muted sounds from their family inside is all that’s heard. It’s a nice sort of pause, though. Familiar because of how long it’s been since they were children, and how long they’ve now known one another.

A gentle grief wells in Karai suddenly, and she sighs as she looks at the photo of their family. “I wish I’d gotten to spend more time with him. I only knew him for a year and a half maybe, and I only got a handful of days with him, really.”

Leo’s arm tightens again, and Karai puts her own across his shell.

“I know,” He says, quiet and tinged with grief. “I wish that too. I think you two would have had a lot in common.”

“Oh yeah?” Karai asks dubiously, looking at the rat man in the photos. “How so?”

“Well. You’re both terrible about confiding your fears in others, and about asking for help, and about being stubborn, and-”

“Oh shut up,” Karai groans, shoving Leo off of her. He falls sideways, laughing, and she responds to his mockery by getting larger than him.

Her second form, sleek and powerful as always, glides over her human body to elongate it. In a mere second, Karai is twice Leo’s size, and can comfortably flop over him so he can’t escape.

“You always do this,” Leo grumbles from under Karai’s coils, sounding like his younger self had whenever Karai would beat him at something.

Karai hisses a laugh, and shifts her long body enough for Leo to sit up again. She stays coiled around him though, comfortable to have the security of the position. There are so many mixed and crossed wires in her brain, courtesy of her mutation, and somehow, even in this reptilian form, she feels even more protective of those close to her.

Karai tastes the sweet air of the evening again, and lowers her head- heads- to lie on her top most coils. Leo settles, apparently resigned to being captured, and pats the closest snake head/hand to him. Karai shuts her eyes, and enjoys his company while she has it.

With sea and continents between them, it’s rare for her to see her brothers more than a few times each year. Running an empire requires so much attention; Karai can’t afford to take many vacations. When she does though, they’re always either to France, because her fiancée is a huge fashion fanatic, or back here. To her first real home, with her first real family.

“So when’s the date?” Leo asks after a while, still absently stroking Karai’s scales. “I’d like to know when I have to corral everyone and drug them long enough to ship overseas.”

Karai hums, thinking happily of the event coming soon. “In a few months. It’ll be quiet thing, on the Hamato estate. No fuss, probably no assassination attempts. I’ll send tranq darts and the times for a private jet flight when I get back.”

“I’m happy for you two,” Leo says, a warm smile in his voice. “It’s good to see you getting to be happy, Karai.”

Karai hums again, and thinks the same. “You’re happy too, Leo. Gallivanting across space and time with your brothers and friends still. Obviously a very satisfying career of heroics.”

“I’d like to think so,” Leo replies. “I’m not sure what else I’d do with my life if we weren’t.”

“You’d find something.”

“Probably, yeah.”

They sit in silence for a while after that, enjoying the spring air and nighttime sky. Enjoying being able to let down their guards completely for a night, and be close to someone who won’t potentially stab them in the back. And, the chance to share mutual grief and love for someone they’ve lost.

Karai opens her eyes for a second, to look at Leo, who is slouched in a relaxed manner against her coils. His eyes closed and breathing even. She looks at the scars he’s gained over the years, and though some carry hardships, most carry assurance that they’re all still alive.

After Splinter had passed, and especially after April had chosen to join the Foot clan, Leo had become withdrawn. It’d been a hard fight to bring him back to himself, but now, years after that fight, Leo’s complexion no longer has sallow grief, and he carries himself strong and proud.

They’d had their fights during his darkest period, during which Karai wasn’t sure how to help him, and it had been a few years before they found easy ground again. But, they had, and now they are here. Content with how their lives have gone, and content with being close to one another once more.

Karai closes her eyes, and smiles at how well they’ve both grown up. The first months of running over rooftops together seem far off now, and yet like they’d only happened yesterday. Karai thinks she might be getting a bit old and sentimental, but here, with her brother, she thinks that’s just fine by her.

The cooling evening air isn’t cold enough to drive them inside yet, so Karai settles back into a pleasant drowse. At peace beside her father’s grave, and more than comfortable with her younger brother.

Then, in a complete disruption of the quiet atmosphere, something goes crashing out the backdoor of the house, and causes both Karai and Leo to startle out of their comfy pile.

Raph and April shriek at one another as they spar across the lawn, and Casey plus Donnie are hot on their tail as they encourage the brawl. More spectators follow them out; Slash and Leatherhead carefully extricating themselves out the door, with Mondo, Pigeon Pete, Dr Rockwell, and Chompy tagging along behind. Shini and Mikey rush out after them, both of them looking all too pleased with themselves, and likely being the original culprits of the erupting chaos. Mr. O’Neil wanders out last, after the group of insanity clears the way, and watches the procession from the porch step with a resigned and mildly anxious expression.

There are throwing stars and flying cutlery being tossed through the air, bets being placed on which red colored fighter will win, and an air of excitement and good-natured fun. Also hollering for blood and gore, from Casey, Mikey, and Shini, but that’s beside the point.

Karai huffs softly, watching her fiancée and commanding officer make fools of themselves, and thinks that this is why they should come home more often.

“We should probably break that up,” Leo says calmly, watching his brother and April attempt to beat each other into paste.

“Probably,” Karai says equally as calm, as April starts to get the advantage, and flips Raph off his feet in a sweep of psychic power. Bets are yelled over the ruckus of Raph’s cussing, and it seems the favor of the crowd has turned to April.

“I’m putting ten on April,” Karai says.

“I have five on Raph.”

“What, no equal bet?”

“He’s Raph, and she’s April. I’m not losing money I don’t have, because he’s definitely going to lose.”

April flips up into the air, eliciting a wave of cheers from the crowd, and narrowly misses driving her heel into Raph’s chest as he rolls away.

“That’s fair,” Karai says, smiling with her thin silver lips. “I’ll call her off when he knows he’s been beaten.”

“Raph never knows when he’s beaten, though,” Leo points out.

“Exactly,” Karai chuckles.

Leo laughs, and stands up slowly from their pile. Karai unwinds herself, and follows him towards the jostling crowd of mutants and humans. She shifts from slithering to walking as she does, and wraps her arms around Shini’s midriff when she reaches her. There’s barely a pause to quickly kiss Karai’s cheek, and Shini goes right back to encouraging April to demolish Raph. Karai rolls her eyes, and grins as April and Raph keep fighting.

The fury of two trained ninjas, and the cheering of too many over-enthused observers, fills the air of what most would consider a somber event. But ever since the first time Karai visited her father’s grave, none have been that. With her family, there is always life, always insanity. Never a dull moment, and hardly a pause for real sadness.

It’s a warm and familiar feeling, being with them, and with her fiancée held close, Karai wouldn’t have it any other way.

[paullassiterca]

Will Raw Milk Save Dairy Farmers?

As corporations continue to take control of the food supply, small family farms are giving way to concentrated animal feeding operations (CAFOs) mass producing a surplus of poor-quality food. Conventional milk is a prime example. Milk surpluses have led the price of milk to plummet.

In Wisconsin, farmers are getting nearly 40 percent less for their milk than they were in 2014. Nearly 700 dairy farms closed in the state in 2018, most of them small operations.1

As CAFOs became the norm for dairy farms (even in idyllic-seeming dairy states like Vermont), farmers trying to survive were forced to grow their herds and increase milk production using artificial (drug- and hormone-based) methods, among others (like feeding cows an unnatural amount of grain-based food, 24-hour confinement and increased numbers of milkings per day).

Such was the case for Pennsylvania dairy farmer Edwin Shank, who increased his herd size to 350 cows, used growth hormones and milked cows three times a day — only to face financial ruin as milk prices dropped in the 2000s.

Shank’s story has a happy ending, though, as he is one of a growing number of farmers who’ve been able to not only climb their way out of a failing industry, but also thrive by switching over to a profitable niche market: raw milk.2

Raw Milk Farmers Thrive as Others Shut Down

Many consumers seeking out raw milk do so for health purposes or simply because they love the taste, but raw milk has another advantage in that it’s helping small farmers to thrive. As Civil Eats reported, Shank was in the process of transitioning his dairy to organic when he realized he could sell organic raw milk for nearly 10 times the price he’d been getting before.

Judith McGeary, an attorney and board member with the Farm-to-Consumer Legal Defense Fund, told Civil Eats, “Dairy is an incredibly consolidated system. The farmer has no bargaining power … Raw milk provides this polar opposite; you have this product in high demand by consumers who value it, and all that profit goes to the farmer.”3

Shank’s farm, The Family Cow, is now the largest raw-milk producer in Pennsylvania, taking advantage of increasing interest in this fresh, wholesome food. Likewise, Charlotte Smith, a farmer in Oregon, is able to stay in business by milking just three cows, the number the state law allows for raw milk farmers.

“I milk three cows and my neighbor who milks 300 cows could probably make as much money as me if he sold all his cows and milked three,” she told Civil Eats.4 Meanwhile, the price of conventional milk has gone so low that an average-sized dairy farm in Vermont (about 125 cows) may operate at a loss of $100,000 a year.5

But for Organic Pastures, the largest raw milk dairy in California, sales grew 18 percent from January 2018 to January 2019. Likewise, as conventional milk farmers are shutting down, licenses for raw milk dairies climbed from six in 2006 in Washington state to 32 in 2019. And in New York, permits for on-the-farm sales of raw milk increased from 12 to 37 over the last several years.6

CAFOs Destroy Rural Communities

Across the U.S. Midwest, small farms that once raised a mix of crops and livestock over the course of generations have been disappearing, replaced by agribusiness giants growing monocrops of corn and soy and raising thousands of chickens and pigs in inhumane CAFOs.

In Missouri, for instance, the 23,000 pig farmer operations that existed in 1985 have dwindled to about 2,000, while the number of independent cattle farms has also dropped by 40 percent.7 The trickle-down effect put not only the small farmers out of business but also the communities that once thrived around them. The Guardian reported:8

“In 1990, small and medium-sized farms accounted for nearly half of all agricultural production in the U.S.. Now it is less than a quarter. As the medium-sized family farms retreated, the businesses they helped support disappeared. Local seed and equipment suppliers shut up shop because corporations went straight to wholesalers or manufacturers.

Demand for local vets collapsed. As those businesses packed up and left, communities shrank. Shops, restaurants and doctors’ surgeries closed. People found they had to drive for an hour or more for medical treatment. Towns and counties began to share ambulances.”

At one time, there were 1.6 million independent farms in the U.S. Today, there are about 25,000 contract farms that raise most U.S. poultry, with many of them raising upward of half a million birds annually.9

In many rural areas, there’s only one (or maybe two) big chicken companies in town, and farmers have no choice but to enter into exclusive contracts that, for many, saddle them with debt and little recourse if the relationship sours. The story is similar among big pig producers.

As noted by The Guardian, “Iowa Select Farms has one of the fastest-growing CAFO operations in the country, with 800 farms spread through half of the counties in Iowa. Yet few of the economic benefits spill down to the communities around them. Workers are often poorly paid; many are bussed in.”10

Raw Milk Can Boost Rural Economies

In sharp contrast, farmers who are able to take control of their own products and offer high-quality foods directly to consumers can often reap great rewards. Only about 3 percent of Americans (more than 9 million people) regularly consume raw milk, but the Organic Consumers Association (OCA) states this could offer a major push to rural economies.

In fact, if 100 farms in Wisconsin could provide raw milk to 50 local families, it would lead to more than $10 million in “increased wealth and well-being” for Wisconsin residents.11

OCA further noted, “A boost like that is exactly what rural economies need as U.S. dairy farmers continue going out of business at an unsustainable rate. In 1950, there were about 3.5 million farms with milking cows. By 2016, there were only 41,809. Between 2015 and 2016, 1725 dairy farms went under.”12

How Risky Is Raw Milk, Really?

Public health agencies claim that raw milk is simply too risky for your health to consume, but how dangerous is it, really? Research published in PLOS Currents revealed that while the legal distribution of raw milk has been on the rise, the rate of illnesses associated with raw milk have been on the decline since 2010.

“Controlling for growth in population and consumption, the outbreak rate has effectively decreased by 74 percent since 2005,” the researchers wrote.13

Further, citing evidence of the “immunological effects” of raw milk consumption to offer benefits against childhood asthma and respiratory illness, the researchers suggested, “given the potential for significant public health benefits which could be gained from a reduction in immunological disorders, a re-evaluation of the risk/benefit profile of unpasteurized milk is in order.”

It’s also essential to point out that leafy greens are actually the No. 1 source of food poisoning in the U.S, accounting for nearly half of all illnesses.14 But, as Civil Eats noted, “no one is calling on Americans to stop eating salads.”15CAFO meats are also notoriously dirty.

One study by the USDA Agricultural Research Service (ARS) found that chicken samples gathered at the end of production after having been cut into parts, as you would purchase in the grocery store, had an astonishing positive rate of 26.2 percent contamination with salmonella.16

Meanwhile, it’s not without irony that raw milk continues to be targeted as an unsafe food while the government-subsidized CAFO model’s illness outbreaks are minimized or glossed over. For example, a CDC report on 121 milk outbreaks between 1993 and 2006 focuses on the 73 raw milk outbreaks and barely mentions the 48 involving pasteurized milk.

That same report mentions that there were 4,413 illnesses reported as a result of drinking milk, of which 1,571 were from raw milk. But, rather than pointing out that more illnesses — 2,842 — were from pasteurized milk, they leave it for you to figure out.17 That said, many raw milk producers hold their products to even higher standards than are observed for pasteurized milk.

Take The Family Cow, for example. They run 10 milk sanitation and herd health tests, only three of which are required to sell milk to a pasteurizer. The other seven are extra tests required in Pennsylvania for those selling raw milk directly for human consumption.18

This means the milk produced by CAFOs that ends up pasteurized and shipped to grocery stores across the U.S. may very well be contaminated from the start — it’s only the pasteurization process that makes it “safe.” Raw milk, on the other hand, is required to be safe from the start.

Anti-Inflammatory Health Benefits of Raw Milk

While raw milk is noninflammatory and inhibits MAST cell release of histamines, pasteurized milk is the most allergenic food in the U.S., Mark McAfee, founder and chairman of the Raw Milk Institute (RAWMI), notes. He also points out that pasteurized milk is often associated with lactose intolerance and is often not digestible by children, whereas raw milk is highly digestible and gut-friendly.

Taken together, raw milk isn’t high risk at all but is actually very low risk, with proven health benefits. Among them is alkaline phosphatase, an enzyme found in raw milk, that’s known to be anti-inflammatory.

“[I]ntestinal alkaline phosphatase (IAP), a potent endogenous anti-inflammatory enzyme, is directly stimulated by various components of milk (e.g., casein, calcium, lactose and even fat),” researchers wrote in Medical Hypotheses,19 “… and detoxifies proinflammatory microbial components … making them unable to trigger inflammatory responses and generate chronic low-grade inflammation leading to insulin resistance, glucose intolerance, Type-2 diabetes, metabolic syndrome and obesity, known risk factors for CVD [cardiovascular disease].”

Raw milk also contains protective components that aren’t found in pasteurized milk, including antibodies and beneficial bacteria that help to kill pathogens in the milk, as well as compounds that prevent pathogen absorption across the intestinal wall. There are a variety of immune-strengthening components in raw milk as well, including lymphocytes, immunoglobulins and growth factors.20

Support Your Food Freedom and Your Local Farmers

In the U.S., efforts continue to expand access to raw milk — the only food banned from interstate commerce — and, in so doing, protect people’s right to eat and drink what they please.

If you’re interested in raw milk, in states where the sale of raw milk is legal, RAWMI lists farmers on their website who have gone through their training program and demonstrated, through testing, that their milk is consistently clean and safe.21

In other states, those who want to purchase raw milk often purchase a share of the cow or herd directly from a raw milk farmer. As with all foods, source matters, and this is just as true with raw milk as any other food, so be sure to review these tips for finding high-quality raw milk sources.

Not only are you supporting your food freedom by sourcing your raw milk from a local farmer, but you’re also helping to support a family farm and the surrounding community. The further we get from a locally based food economy, the more communities and food quality crumble.

Ultimately, even the basic knowledge of how to grow and raise food will be lost, handed over to corporate giants instead. In this way, seeking out real food from real farmers may not only save dairy farmers, but could be instrumental in saving the food supply as a whole.

from Articles http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2019/04/02/will-raw-milk-save-dairy-farmers.aspx source https://niapurenaturecom.tumblr.com/post/183884279221

[jerrytackettca]

Will Raw Milk Save Dairy Farmers?

As corporations continue to take control of the food supply, small family farms are giving way to concentrated animal feeding operations (CAFOs) mass producing a surplus of poor-quality food. Conventional milk is a prime example. Milk surpluses have led the price of milk to plummet.

In Wisconsin, farmers are getting nearly 40 percent less for their milk than they were in 2014. Nearly 700 dairy farms closed in the state in 2018, most of them small operations.1

As CAFOs became the norm for dairy farms (even in idyllic-seeming dairy states like Vermont), farmers trying to survive were forced to grow their herds and increase milk production using artificial (drug- and hormone-based) methods, among others (like feeding cows an unnatural amount of grain-based food, 24-hour confinement and increased numbers of milkings per day).

Such was the case for Pennsylvania dairy farmer Edwin Shank, who increased his herd size to 350 cows, used growth hormones and milked cows three times a day — only to face financial ruin as milk prices dropped in the 2000s.

Shank's story has a happy ending, though, as he is one of a growing number of farmers who've been able to not only climb their way out of a failing industry, but also thrive by switching over to a profitable niche market: raw milk.2

Raw Milk Farmers Thrive as Others Shut Down

Many consumers seeking out raw milk do so for health purposes or simply because they love the taste, but raw milk has another advantage in that it's helping small farmers to thrive. As Civil Eats reported, Shank was in the process of transitioning his dairy to organic when he realized he could sell organic raw milk for nearly 10 times the price he'd been getting before.

Judith McGeary, an attorney and board member with the Farm-to-Consumer Legal Defense Fund, told Civil Eats, "Dairy is an incredibly consolidated system. The farmer has no bargaining power … Raw milk provides this polar opposite; you have this product in high demand by consumers who value it, and all that profit goes to the farmer."3

Shank's farm, The Family Cow, is now the largest raw-milk producer in Pennsylvania, taking advantage of increasing interest in this fresh, wholesome food. Likewise, Charlotte Smith, a farmer in Oregon, is able to stay in business by milking just three cows, the number the state law allows for raw milk farmers.

"I milk three cows and my neighbor who milks 300 cows could probably make as much money as me if he sold all his cows and milked three," she told Civil Eats.4 Meanwhile, the price of conventional milk has gone so low that an average-sized dairy farm in Vermont (about 125 cows) may operate at a loss of $100,000 a year.5

But for Organic Pastures, the largest raw milk dairy in California, sales grew 18 percent from January 2018 to January 2019. Likewise, as conventional milk farmers are shutting down, licenses for raw milk dairies climbed from six in 2006 in Washington state to 32 in 2019. And in New York, permits for on-the-farm sales of raw milk increased from 12 to 37 over the last several years.6

CAFOs Destroy Rural Communities

Across the U.S. Midwest, small farms that once raised a mix of crops and livestock over the course of generations have been disappearing, replaced by agribusiness giants growing monocrops of corn and soy and raising thousands of chickens and pigs in inhumane CAFOs.

In Missouri, for instance, the 23,000 pig farmer operations that existed in 1985 have dwindled to about 2,000, while the number of independent cattle farms has also dropped by 40 percent.7 The trickle-down effect put not only the small farmers out of business but also the communities that once thrived around them. The Guardian reported:8

"In 1990, small and medium-sized farms accounted for nearly half of all agricultural production in the U.S.. Now it is less than a quarter. As the medium-sized family farms retreated, the businesses they helped support disappeared. Local seed and equipment suppliers shut up shop because corporations went straight to wholesalers or manufacturers.

Demand for local vets collapsed. As those businesses packed up and left, communities shrank. Shops, restaurants and doctors' surgeries closed. People found they had to drive for an hour or more for medical treatment. Towns and counties began to share ambulances."

At one time, there were 1.6 million independent farms in the U.S. Today, there are about 25,000 contract farms that raise most U.S. poultry, with many of them raising upward of half a million birds annually.9

In many rural areas, there's only one (or maybe two) big chicken companies in town, and farmers have no choice but to enter into exclusive contracts that, for many, saddle them with debt and little recourse if the relationship sours. The story is similar among big pig producers.

As noted by The Guardian, "Iowa Select Farms has one of the fastest-growing CAFO operations in the country, with 800 farms spread through half of the counties in Iowa. Yet few of the economic benefits spill down to the communities around them. Workers are often poorly paid; many are bussed in."10

Raw Milk Can Boost Rural Economies

In sharp contrast, farmers who are able to take control of their own products and offer high-quality foods directly to consumers can often reap great rewards. Only about 3 percent of Americans (more than 9 million people) regularly consume raw milk, but the Organic Consumers Association (OCA) states this could offer a major push to rural economies.

In fact, if 100 farms in Wisconsin could provide raw milk to 50 local families, it would lead to more than $10 million in "increased wealth and well-being" for Wisconsin residents.11

OCA further noted, "A boost like that is exactly what rural economies need as U.S. dairy farmers continue going out of business at an unsustainable rate. In 1950, there were about 3.5 million farms with milking cows. By 2016, there were only 41,809. Between 2015 and 2016, 1725 dairy farms went under."12

How Risky Is Raw Milk, Really?

Public health agencies claim that raw milk is simply too risky for your health to consume, but how dangerous is it, really? Research published in PLOS Currents revealed that while the legal distribution of raw milk has been on the rise, the rate of illnesses associated with raw milk have been on the decline since 2010.

"Controlling for growth in population and consumption, the outbreak rate has effectively decreased by 74 percent since 2005," the researchers wrote.13

Further, citing evidence of the "immunological effects" of raw milk consumption to offer benefits against childhood asthma and respiratory illness, the researchers suggested, "given the potential for significant public health benefits which could be gained from a reduction in immunological disorders, a re-evaluation of the risk/benefit profile of unpasteurized milk is in order."

It's also essential to point out that leafy greens are actually the No. 1 source of food poisoning in the U.S, accounting for nearly half of all illnesses.14 But, as Civil Eats noted, "no one is calling on Americans to stop eating salads."15 CAFO meats are also notoriously dirty.

One study by the USDA Agricultural Research Service (ARS) found that chicken samples gathered at the end of production after having been cut into parts, as you would purchase in the grocery store, had an astonishing positive rate of 26.2 percent contamination with salmonella.16

Meanwhile, it's not without irony that raw milk continues to be targeted as an unsafe food while the government-subsidized CAFO model's illness outbreaks are minimized or glossed over. For example, a CDC report on 121 milk outbreaks between 1993 and 2006 focuses on the 73 raw milk outbreaks and barely mentions the 48 involving pasteurized milk.

That same report mentions that there were 4,413 illnesses reported as a result of drinking milk, of which 1,571 were from raw milk. But, rather than pointing out that more illnesses — 2,842 — were from pasteurized milk, they leave it for you to figure out.17 That said, many raw milk producers hold their products to even higher standards than are observed for pasteurized milk.

Take The Family Cow, for example. They run 10 milk sanitation and herd health tests, only three of which are required to sell milk to a pasteurizer. The other seven are extra tests required in Pennsylvania for those selling raw milk directly for human consumption.18

This means the milk produced by CAFOs that ends up pasteurized and shipped to grocery stores across the U.S. may very well be contaminated from the start — it's only the pasteurization process that makes it "safe." Raw milk, on the other hand, is required to be safe from the start.

Anti-Inflammatory Health Benefits of Raw Milk

While raw milk is noninflammatory and inhibits MAST cell release of histamines, pasteurized milk is the most allergenic food in the U.S., Mark McAfee, founder and chairman of the Raw Milk Institute (RAWMI), notes. He also points out that pasteurized milk is often associated with lactose intolerance and is often not digestible by children, whereas raw milk is highly digestible and gut-friendly.

Taken together, raw milk isn't high risk at all but is actually very low risk, with proven health benefits. Among them is alkaline phosphatase, an enzyme found in raw milk, that's known to be anti-inflammatory.

"[I]ntestinal alkaline phosphatase (IAP), a potent endogenous anti-inflammatory enzyme, is directly stimulated by various components of milk (e.g., casein, calcium, lactose and even fat)," researchers wrote in Medical Hypotheses,19 "… and detoxifies proinflammatory microbial components … making them unable to trigger inflammatory responses and generate chronic low-grade inflammation leading to insulin resistance, glucose intolerance, Type-2 diabetes, metabolic syndrome and obesity, known risk factors for CVD [cardiovascular disease]."

Raw milk also contains protective components that aren't found in pasteurized milk, including antibodies and beneficial bacteria that help to kill pathogens in the milk, as well as compounds that prevent pathogen absorption across the intestinal wall. There are a variety of immune-strengthening components in raw milk as well, including lymphocytes, immunoglobulins and growth factors.20

Support Your Food Freedom and Your Local Farmers

In the U.S., efforts continue to expand access to raw milk — the only food banned from interstate commerce — and, in so doing, protect people's right to eat and drink what they please.

If you're interested in raw milk, in states where the sale of raw milk is legal, RAWMI lists farmers on their website who have gone through their training program and demonstrated, through testing, that their milk is consistently clean and safe.21

In other states, those who want to purchase raw milk often purchase a share of the cow or herd directly from a raw milk farmer. As with all foods, source matters, and this is just as true with raw milk as any other food, so be sure to review these tips for finding high-quality raw milk sources.

Not only are you supporting your food freedom by sourcing your raw milk from a local farmer, but you're also helping to support a family farm and the surrounding community. The further we get from a locally based food economy, the more communities and food quality crumble.

Ultimately, even the basic knowledge of how to grow and raise food will be lost, handed over to corporate giants instead. In this way, seeking out real food from real farmers may not only save dairy farmers, but could be instrumental in saving the food supply as a whole.

from http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2019/04/02/will-raw-milk-save-dairy-farmers.aspx

source http://niapurenaturecom.weebly.com/blog/will-raw-milk-save-dairy-farmers