#if given the correct cause and people to care about i would be unstoppable

[lafortis]

Goodnight gamers I have no plan I'm just a dude

[themadlostgirl]

A Lost Girl

*Finally back and I got platonic/lesbian prompts! Let’s do this!*

Prompt: Reader comes out to Peter

~~~

There are no girls on Neverland.

There is only one. One solitary Lost Girl. Me.

It was hard at first, coming to Neverland and being indoctrinated into the life of a Lost One. The boys were only used to other boys on the island so when Peter Pan showed up one day with me it was a bit of a shock to the others. It took some time and few lumps and bruises but I eventually became accepted as one of the boys.

Yet they always seem surprised by how well we get along and how alike we are. If only they knew.

You see, on Neverland there isn’t much need for things like romance or love. Who would want to bring that kind of mess into a place meant for fun and youth and reckless abandon? As it turns out a few people. It did not escape my notice that being the only girl on the island I was made the target of some of the older boys imaginative private scenarios. It was uncomfortable to say the least.

I had respect for those that tried to actually make something of it. Their ideas of wooing and flirting were juvenile but well meaning. Even if I always had to turn them down there was no malice.

One of my favorite people to hang out with was Peter. Unlike the other boys he never bothered with any of that flirting crap. We became good friends and I trusted him like a brother. Trusted him so much that I decided to confide in him the one secret I had.

“Hey Pete,” I kicked his foot with mine, “Can we take a walk? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Sure,” Peter shrugged and helped me up off the ground. We trailed deeper into the jungle where no curious eyes or ears followed.

My heart was hammering hard in my chest as I tried to think of the best way to approach this subject. It didn’t seem right to just blurt it out. Then again Peter didn’t appreciate people beating around the bush.

“What did you need to tell me?” Peter asked, stopping on the trail.

“Right, well...um…” I started picking at the dirt under my fingernails, “There’s something that I’ve been keeping secret that I feel the need to tell you.”

“Okay…” Peter looked at me with guarded curiosity. “Is this something I’m going to get angry about?”

“God I hope not,” I hadn’t even thought of if this would anger him somehow. I see no reason why it would but then again I have no way of predicting how he may react. “It’s just hard for me to talk about cause I’ve never told anyone this before.”

“So it’s a secret then,”

“Yes. A very big secret that I don’t think I can keep to myself anymore.” I clutched my hands close to my stomach, “Lately it’s been getting worse and I feel like if I don’t say it now then I may never and I can’t do that. I don’t know how it may change things between us but I’d rather tell you and be disappointed then keep it to myself and suffer.”

“Oh wow, alright,” Peter ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his that I picked up on, “This is really happening then, huh? I guess it was only a matter of time.”

“Wait, do you know?” I asked him.

“I mean I’ve had my suspicions for a while. I wasn’t sure if it was just me thinking that or if it was really true. Seeing as how you took the time to drag me out here away from any listening ears then I’m gonna guess it’s true.”

“And is that okay?” I hadn’t thought that I did anything that made it that obvious. 

“I think so, I suppose I’m glad that if it was anybody it was you. Not that I think I would say yes to anyone else on the island anyway.”

“What?”

“I think it has a lot to do with the fact that you are one of my closest friends. You know me very well and given how much we hang around one another this was bound to happen. I’m willing to give it a shot if you are but no hard feelings if it doesn’t work out, right?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Peter wasn’t making any sort of sense. 

“I just want to make sure that if this thing between us doesn’t work out that we’ll remain friends afterwards.”

“What thing? What--what do you think I’m talking about?”

Peter was silent for a moment, clearly taken aback by my outburst. “Are we--are we not talking about you secretly being in love with me and wanting to try having a relationship?”

“No! Where in this conversation did you get that from?”

“You were talking about a secret!”

“And you thought that the secret was that I was in love with you?”

“I thought it the most logical outcome considering how much time we spend together and the fact that you have rejected every other boy that’s made a move on you. I figured you were enamored with me and were waiting for the right time to confess.” Peter’s face was bright red. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him lose his composure this badly.

“Oh my god, does it hurt having that big of a head? Seriously. I need to know. You really thought that all this time I’ve been pining after your unwashed, hairy footed, ego-so-big-it-takes-up-an-entire-realm ass?”

“Unwashed? Excuse you, Lost Girl, but I bathe far more frequently than most of the boys on this island.”

“That’s what you took away from that?” I shouted.

“Alright, so if you’re not in love with me then what is this big secret?” he shouted back.

“I’m gay you moron!”

He blinked. “Say what?”

“Gay. A lesbian. Meaning that there is no way that I would fall in love with you because I am strictly attracted to girls. That is the reason I always reject all the boys that confess to me. It’s not because I harbor some deep unspoken love for you, it’s because they are, as well as you are, boys. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Peter nodded, “I feel like a bit of an idiot right now.”

“As well you should.”

We stood in awkward silence for a bit. Peter was pacing around the trail muttering to himself.

“So…” he turned back towards me, “You are attracted to girls and you are not in love with me in any way shape or form?”

“That is correct.”

“That’s actually kind of a relief. Not to make you feel bad or anything but I don’t think we would be good together.”

“Rude. You know that if we could be a couple we would be unstoppable.”

“You’re right. Best for the rest of the realms that we are not though. I don’t think they’d survive.”

“Certainly not.” I chuckled dryly. I had envisioned this conversation going a multitude of ways but I’m glad it turned out like this. Now I even have something to blackmail Peter with.

“Why did you never say anything before?” Peter asked, earnestly, “It doesn’t matter to me who you’re attracted to and I doubt any of the Lost Boys would care.”

I toed the dirt at my feet. My hands were balled into fists at my side as I recounted what I feared above all else. “I guess it’s because I came from a realm where it wasn’t okay to be gay. In some regions it was even punishable by death. When my parents found out they kicked me out of our home and refused to let me back in unless I took it back. I refused and it wasn’t long after that you showed up and brought me here.”

Peter cracked a small sympathetic smile, “No wonder you were so eager to run off with me,”

“I certainly didn’t join you based off your personality,” I joked. I reached for Peter’s hand. “But it does mean a lot to me that you’re okay with it.”

“You are who you are, you shouldn’t have to apologize for it.” Peter squeezed my hand once before dropping it. “Now, shall we return to camp?”

“Yeah,” I started following him back towards camp.

“One more thing, Lost Girl,” Peter said, “Can you not let any of the others know that I thought you were in love with me. It would ruin my reputation.”

“You got it, chief,” I reached up to ruffle his hair. “So long as you don’t tell anyone what I told you. I’ll tell the others in time but for right now I don’t want anyone else to know.”

“Of course,” Peter dug his hands into his pockets. “So does this mean that if I was a girl then you would--”

“Shut up!” I slapped his arm with a laugh.

[herinsectreflection]

Season Five is essentially a slow-motion trolley problem for Buffy to solve. She can let the unstoppable oncoming train that is Glory kill millions, or she can pull the lever and kill Dawn instead. It’s the most iconic choice in a series that is pretty much all about choice. This internal dilemma is externalised with the main villains. The show uses them to take a stance on the problem. There are obviously a lot of different ways to approach this from a moral philosophy standpoint, and I’m not going to talk about what is the “correct” moral choice, but how the show presents and interprets the various standpoints. It’s also worth mentioning that I am not a philosopher, this is just what I interpret from watching the show and some base level understanding.

Glory represents the option of simply letting people die. She is presented as egocentric, narcissistic, vain, and honestly kind of lazy. I think this is what the show thinks of people who would simply walk away from the lever and do nothing to keep their own hands clean. Glory does not take a sadistic pleasure in causing the death of millions, she simply doesn’t care. She justifies this by declaring that the world sucks anyway, and everyone suffers, so it doesn’t matter.

“Funny. 'Cause I look around at this world you're so eager to be a part of ... and all I see is six billion lunatics looking for the fastest ride out. ... I'm crazy? Honey, I'm the original one-eyed chicklet in the kingdom of the blind.”

- Glory, 5x21 The Weight of the World

But this is patently self-serving, yielding her own agency and using the absurdity of the universe to justify the atrocities she will be responsible for. She refuses to actively engage with the consequences of her actions, and so exposes her poisonous egomania. To simply not make a choice and let millions die would be selfish and intellectually vapid, and so Glory is selfish and vapid, and the main villain.

The Knights of Byzantium represent the opposite, strictly utilitarian viewpoint: that pulling the lever and killing the single person is not simply morally correct, but an imperative. They are treated slightly more sympathetically than Glory, since they are working in an understandable moral framework, but the story shows the ugliness inherent in their outlook. The ultimate endpoint of it is them hunting down and trying to kill a 14 year old girl. Buffy herself points out that this is inherently horrific.

“What kind of god would demand her life for something that she has no control over?”

- Buffy, 5x20 Spiral

The show is consistent throughout its run that a moral framework based purely on a utilitarian, mathematical approach and excuses any evil action as long as the amount of good done outweighs it, is ultimately unethical. That viewpoint can be used to justify any number of awful things, as long as they are outweighed on the cosmic scale. The show does not agree. It believes that certain actions are simply wrong, that no amount of good can wash out the bad. The hypothetical lives that the Knights of Byzantium could save lend their actions a reason that Glory does not have, but ultimately it does not change the fact that a child - a child with a mother, a sister, friends, a life - would be dead at their hands. The Knights refuse to confront that, simply falling back on dogmatic imperatives and silencing independent thought. They too allow their agency to be reduced, which is what allows them to commit awful actions.

Giles represents the space between these two villainous perspectives on the problem, and the heroic one that Buffy represents. He is, of course, not a villain - he’s one of the white hats, mentor to the hero. But he does argue for the utilitarian point of view. The shows stops itself being morally narrow-minded by allowing Giles to voice opposition to Buffy without being a villain, but it also proposes that the action of killing one person to save others is inherently unheroic. It taints Giles, and he accepts that.

“She's a hero, you see. She's not like us.”

I’ve been talking about Dawn as if she is the hypothetical single person on the other track, but she might better fit this scenario if we look at the “Fat Man” variation. This version posits that a “very fat man” is next to you, and pushing him onto the track will save everyone there. Dawn is that man in this scenario. Similarly, Ben can be seen as the “Fat Villain” variant, where pushing the person responsible for tying people to the tracks would save them. Giles’ murder of Ben can be seen as justified, if still unheroic, because Ben himself has chosen selfishness and tainted his own innocence.

Ben is very much a counterpart to Buffy in S5. He too had an ancient mystical force thrust upon him when he was young, which he had no choice in. His personal and professional lives suffer because of this. He cannot pursue the life he imagined for himself because of Glory’s presence, just as being the Slayer prevents it for Buffy. And both Buffy and Ben are offered an easy way out, which they spend The Weight of the World ruminating on - to simply let Dawn die. Ben at this point has a very obvious alternate solution -  the same one Buffy eventually comes to, though she hasn’t realised it’s an option yet - that he ignores. He can throw himself onto the tracks. He can stop anyone dying by killing himself and therefore Glory. But unlike Buffy, he makes the selfish choice, to preserve his own future at the cost of an innocent child. And so he is condemned, and declared a villain as he is killed.

Buffy is the one true hero in this scenario. She concludes that the only moral option is to throw herself onto the tracks. This is still, ultimately, one life given to save many. But it’s hers to give. It’s her choice to make. Glory, Ben, the Knights of Byzantium, even Giles - when they advocate for killing Dawn, they all claim ownership of her life. She becomes a lamb for them to offer up. Dawn, brave and heroic mini-Buffy as she is, actually does offer up her own life to save others too, but the point is that it’s her life to give. It’s the difference between sacrifice and self-sacrifice.

This is how Buffy reconciles “Death is your gift” with “A Slayer is not a Killer”. All the other actors we’ve considered are killers. Giles and Tara spell it out pretty well in The Gift.

BUFFY: The spirit guide told me ... that death is my gift. Guess that means a Slayer really is just a killer after all.

GILES: I think you're wrong about that.

TARA: (points to Giles) You're a killer.

A killer is not necessarily evil or a monster, as Giles as a person makes clear. But a killer will pull that lever. A Slayer will jump on the tracks. Buffy and Faith debated this idea back in Consequences, where supposed utilitarian Faith suggests that “Slayer” and “killer” are interchangeable. Buffy argues that they are not, and specifically cites the idea that they can’t decide whether the lives of others are worth saving or not.

Faith: We're warriors. We're built to kill.

Buffy: To kill demons! But it does not mean that we get to pass judgment on people like we're better than everybody else!

Throughout S5, and particularly starting in Restless she fears that Faith is in fact right, and that a Slayer is in fact a killer. But in The Gift she proves that incorrect. She ties the human part of herself represented by Dawn to the duty-bound slayer part of herself, and both lead to the same destination of self-sacrifice, and heroism.

[timothypines]

The Fire of Achilles (Essay)

“He was like a flame himself. He glittered, drew eyes.” (pg. 43, Miller) Throughout the novel The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller and the epic poem The Iliad, Achilles is often compared to fire. In The Iliad he is referred to as “brilliant Achilles”—meaning to sparkle with light or luster; however, this comparison is not always positive, as the destructive side of fire is not forgotten when describing his unstoppable rage. The double-sided nature of fire perfectly encapsulates Achilles. The brightness and openness he emulates, much like the welcoming of a controlled fire, attracts the soldiers to him, while uncontrolled his rage can destroy armies like a forest fire pushed by rushing wind. But while most people can only see the war in him, the rage in him, he would never have gotten as far as he had without his gentle warmth.

The Song of Achilles shows much more of the softer side of Achilles’ flame, however, I do not think this makes Madeline Miller’s interpretation any more or less correct in the characterization of Achilles; rather, it deepens what is shown to us in The Iliad. In the early moments of the book (The Song of Achilles), it is shown that just as Achilles speaks his mind freely and absolutely, he expects the same from all others; this leads to him being overly trusting in many ways. “He said what he meant; he was puzzled if you did not. Some people might have mistaken this for simplicity. But is it not a sort of genius to cut always to the heart?” (pg. 44, Miller). This is seen in The Iliad also, in his rage against Agamemnon when the king refused to return the priest’s daughter after the priest offered ransom. Most would never speak such things against a king, but he did not fear a thing, no, he was completely honest with Agamemnon, reminding the king that it was he who was needed, he who was asked to fight, “It wasn’t the Trojan spearmen who brought me here to fight. The Trojans never did me damage… we all followed you, to please you, to fight for you, to win your honor back from the Trojans.” (pg. 82, Book 1: The Rage of Achilles, Homer). Yes, the dishonoring of him is what causes this great rage, but his honesty is part of that too. But even though this rage appears to come from unbreakable pride, I feel that it came not from a place of pride, but rather rage at Agamemnon for not being at all reasonable. While he keeps his honor close to him, he is not prideful of his abilities. “‘I will be the best warrior of my generation.’ It sounded like something a child would claim, in make-believe. But he said it as simply as if he were giving his name.” (pg. 38, Miller). In this sense, I agree with Miller’s interpretation of Achilles’ feeling in this moment and how even though his honor is important to him, he is not particularly prideful. This rage, I feel, comes more from a great feeling of unfairness, which Achilles seems to value more than anyone else in the army. Agamemnon made the mistake of not returning the priest’s daughter, out of his unyielding pride, and now he is unwilling to admit to his mistake and is instead punishing Achilles, who was the only one trying to end the great plague. I am in no way saying that Achilles’ actions to call the gods to punish the entire army so relentlessly were justified, however, his feelings of rage toward Agamemnon cannot be blamed on just himself, and therefore, neither can the punishment that falls upon the army.

It seems silly to try to talk about Achilles and leave out what he loves most. Now, in The Iliad, before we get to the aftermath of the death of Patroclus, it could be fair to assume that what Achilles loves most is his honor; damage to his honor is what caused him to call for the army’s suffering and destruction, the very army he had been fighting with for nine years. However, it is very clear that after the death of Patroclus that it is he whom he loves most. Once Patroclus has died, Achilles does not care to act honorably, he does not care if Agamemnon apologizes, he simply wants the person who took his love from him to suffer. Even his own life does not seem precious to him anymore. For the brief moments that Patroclus is shown in the epic, his character is made very clear. He appears to be kind, gentle, to carry himself with a strong grace. No one has ill-will towards him; he is a good man universally in the eyes of the kings and soldiers. This is what makes his death so impactful. This version of Patroclus that we see in The Iliad I feel is lacking when reading The Song of Achilles. In the epic, Patroclus can fight, he is quite good at it and it does not feel a surprise, “And then and there the Achaeans might have taken Troy, her towering gates toppling under Patroclus’ power heading the vanguard, storming on with his spear.” (pg. 435, Book 16: Patroclus Fights and Dies, Homer). The Patroclus we find in The Song of Achilles is awkward, unwilling to fight, even just before this moment at Troy, “The wheels gave a little lurch, and I staggered, my spears rattling. ‘Balance them,’ he told me. ‘It will be easier.’ Everyone waited as I awkwardly transferred one spear to my left hand, swiping my helmet askew as I did so.” (pg. 327, Miller) When reading The Iliad, I felt none of this from Patroclus. While it may have been surprising that he ended up at the wall of Troy, it certainly wasn’t surprising that he had fought and fought well.  I will say that both works made it heart-wrenching to see Patroclus slaughtering people, however, the epic held more integrity than the novel had. This can especially be seen when Patroclus and Hector meet on the battlefield. This is the interaction we get from The Iliad, “‘Hector! Now is your time to glory to the skies… now the victory is yours. A gift of the son of Cronus, Zeus—Apollo too—they brought me down with all their deathless ease, they are the ones who tore the armor off my back… You came third, and all you could do was finish off my life…” (pg. 440, Book 16: Patroclus Fights and Dies, Homer). And this is what we get from The Song of Achilles, “He is coming to kill me. Hector… He must live because his life, I think as I scrape backwards over the grass, is the final dam before Achilles’ own blood will flow. Desperately, I turn to the men around me and scrabble at their knees. Please, I croak. Please.” (pg. 334-335, Miller). Although Achilles’ stubbornness killed both versions of Patroclus, at least in The Iliad Patroclus died strong in himself, while the Patroclus from The Song of Achilles died a shell, lacking any self, just filled with thoughts of the fire that is Achilles.

One thing that no version of the story could ever take away is how much Achilles loves Patroclus (even if they decide to make them simply cousins for some reason). It is devastating to read Achilles discover that his lover is dead; this is not lacking in either version of the war. Something I especially enjoyed from The Song of Achilles is how much more deeply Miller built the relationship. While reading I could really tell that Patroclus was Achilles’ heart; he was the only one who was immune to Achilles’ rage and the only one who had a chance of getting through to him. “I had found a way through the endless corridors of his pride and fury. I would save the men; I would save him from himself.” (pg. 325, Miller). The building of their relationship before this moment where Patroclus begs for Achilles to fight made for a deeper understanding as to why, after so long, after so much suffering of the Achaeans, Achilles was willing to do something to help, no matter what that was. In The Iliad we are given a mention of how close they are and that is supposed to reason Achilles’ willingness to bend slightly. This deeper understanding of their relationship also makes Achilles’ reaction to Patroclus’ death all the more painful to watch happen and his actions during the beginning of his morning also make more sense to the reader.

Achilles’ relationship with the war of Troy is somehow both extremely complicated and overly simple. It is complicated in terms of what he should bring into the war, what he owes Menelaus and Agamemnon, and how fate plays into it all. It is simple, however, when it comes to him having to perform the act of war itself. I feel that what Miller added to the story regarding this area really deepened and strengthened Achilles’ character; she really tried to show the struggle in Achilles when he was dealing with all of these complexities that came with the politics of the war, between both the mortals and gods. This is the war he was fated to have such a large part of; he was to kill the Trojan’s greatest hero, Hector. But fate isn’t the only thing forcing him to back and fight in the war against Troy, the Achaean kings he fights along side with also feel entitled to him and his abilities. In the end, however, Achilles does not feel attached to the war in actuality. “‘The Trojans never did me damage.’” (pg. 82, Book 1: The Rage of Achilles, Homer). He doesn’t hold any rage toward the Trojans, that is until Hector kills Patroclus, and even then, his true rage is only toward Hector, it is only the magnitude of it that takes down the mountains of Trojans he slaughters. He is in a war he was expected to be in simply because of that fact, he was expected to fight. When discussing the war with Patroclus, Patroclus asks if he is afraid to fight, Achilles answers, “‘No… This is what I was born for.’” (pg. 220, Miller). So, if he was fated to be in the war, the Achaeans can only win if he fights, and every Greek kingdom expects him to fight, then what does he owe to his fellow Greeks? To Menelaus and Agamemnon? Simply put, in reality he owes them nothing, his father doesn’t even force him to go, telling him it’s his choice (The Song of Achilles), however,  the issue and complexity doesn’t come from what he actually owes the kings, but from what they believe he owes them. Here are two interactions between Achilles and Agamemnon from both works. “Agamemnon stepped forward. He opened his hands in a gesture of welcome and stood regally expectant, waiting for the bows, obeisance, and oaths of loyalty he was owed. It was Achilles’ place to kneel and offer them. He did not kneel. He did not call out a greeting to the great king, or incline his head or offer a gift. He did nothing but stand straight, chin proudly lifted, before them all. Agamemnon’s jaw tightened.” (pg. 194, Miller). “‘This soldier wants to tower over the armies, he wants to rule over all, to lord it over all, give out orders to every man in sight. Well, there’s one, I trust, who will never yield to him! What if the everlasting gods have made a spearman of him? Have they entitled him to hurl abuse at me?’

‘Yes!’—blazing Achilles broke in quickly— ‘What a worthless, burnt-out coward I’d be called if I would submit to you and all your orders, whatever you blurt out.’” (pg. 87, Book 1: The Rage of Achilles, Homer). It doesn’t just matter what Achilles feels he owes Agamemnon because the king feels he is owed not only Achilles’ spear, but his total loyalty and an oath of such.

Despite this complexity with his motivations and responsibility to fight, when it comes to the fighting itself, it is as simple as breathing for him. As told in The Song of Achilles, “What he lived for were the charges, a cohort of men thundering towards him. There, amidst twenty stabbing swords he could finally, truly fight… With a fevered impossible grace he fought off ten, fifteen, twenty-five men. This, at last, is what I can really do.” (pg. 240, Miller). The war wasn’t truly a conflict for him, the true war was in the politics of men and gods; this notion agrees with what is shown in the epic.

While the men in power may not particularly like Achilles, the soldiers of the Achaean army do indeed, from the very beginning (at least in the interpretation that is The Song of Achilles). Here is the moment he introduces himself to the entire army, “‘I am Achilles, son of Peleus, god-born, best of the Greeks,’ he said. ‘I have come to bring you victory.’ A second startled silence, then the men roared their approval. Pride became us—heroes were never modest.” (pg. 194, Miller). Miller choosing to have the soldiers have these types of feelings towards Achilles makes sense. Up until the moment he declares he will no longer fight for the Achaeans, he is their hero, the one they look to and follow; in a society that values glory and heroes above almost all else, second only to the gods, he most-likely would have been viewed that way by the general public, those uninvolved in politics. An example of how deep this goes is shown just before the war begins, as the Phthians are sailing towards Troy’s beaches, “We stood at the prow with Phoinix and Automedon, watching the shore draw closer. Idly, Achilles tossed and caught his spear. The oarsmen had begun to set their strokes by it, the steady, repetitive slap of wood against his palm.” (pg. 212, Miller). Even subconsciously the men are following Achilles’ spear.

Achilles isn’t the only person for whom Miller develops a good relationship with the common soldiers—this  is done for Patroclus as well. I also agree with her decision to do this; it helps solidify the emotions the people feel toward Patroclus which are only mentioned and implied in The Iliad. Miller decided to make Patroclus a healer, “I developed a reputation, a standing in the camp. I was asked for, known for my quick hands and how little pain I caused… I began to surprise Achilles, calling out to these men as we walked through the camp. I was always gratified at how they would raise a hand in return, point to a scar that had healed over well.” (pg. 261, Miller). This use of his character makes sense in my mind when regarding the character shown to us in the epic; being a gentle and kind man. It also makes his motivations when trying to convince Achilles to fight all the more authentic, “All around me are men carrying fallen comrades, limping on makeshift crutches, or crawling through the sand, dragging broken limbs behind them. I know them—their torsos full of scars my ointments have packed and sealed.” (pg. 319, Miller). So, even though I do disapprove of Miller’s decision to make Patroclus seem too awkward and weak to fight, I cannot say her making a healer of Patroclus is without any merit. 

“What has Hector ever done to me?” This phrase is echoed throughout The Song of Achilles, creating a sort of foreshadowing sprinkled throughout the novel. This sentiment rings familiar from The Iliad where he expresses that he holds no feelings of hatred nor resentment towards the Trojans. The role that Hector plays in The Song of Achilles is slightly different than seen in the epic, though this is unsurprising as the novel is from the perspective of Patroclus and therefore cannot show much of Hector. Despite the lack of Hector, however, Miller included moments that are reminiscent of what we saw of Hector in The Iliad. Here is a domestic moment shared between Hector and his family when he returns from fighting, “shining Hector reached down for his son—but the boy recoiled, cringing against his nurse’s full breast, screaming out at the sight of his own father, terrified by the flashing bronze, the horsehair crest, the great ridge of the helmet nodding, bristling terror—so it struck his eyes. And his loving father laughed, his mother laughed as well, and glorious Hector, quickly lifting the helmet from his head, set it down on the ground, fiery in the sunlight, and raising his son he kissed him,” (pg. 211, Book 6: Hector Returns to Troy, Homer). Now here is a moment between Achilles and Patroclus when Achilles is coming back from battle, “I woke to his nose on mine, pressing insistently against me as I struggled from the webbing of my dreams. He smelled sharp and strange, and for a moment I was almost revolted at this creature that clung to me and shoved its face against mine. But then he sat back on his heels and was Achilles again.” (pg. 222, Miller). These are two moments of domesticity between warriors, great heroes, and the loved ones they returned to. In these moments war is more real, and it is harder to separate the men on the field and the men that return home. 

None the less, the phrase “what has Hector ever done to me?” is also meant to show Achilles’ active struggle against his fate that came with the war. He wants glory but is unwilling to make sacrifices to gain it. It is only once Hector does personally harm him by killing Patroclus that he does not care to avoid fate, in fact he does not care about glory or honor after this. In a way, it is Patroclus’ sacrifice that gives Achilles glory, which is ironic seeing as he does not fight for glory anymore, but revenge. This can be best seen in how he treats Hector’s body after he defeats him. “He rises at dawn to drag Hector’s body around the walls of the city for all of Troy to see. He does it again at midday, and again at evening. He does not see the Greeks begin to avert their eyes from him. He does not see the lips thinning in disapproval as he passes.” (pg. 346, Miller).  “The memories flooded over him, live tears flowing, and now he’d lie on his side, now flat on his back, now facedown again. At last he’d leap to his feet, wander in anguish, aimless along the surf, and dawn on dawn flaming over the sea and shore would find him pacing. Then he’d yoke his racing team to the chariot-harness, lash the corpse of Hector behind the car for dragging and haul him three times round the dead Patroclus’ tomb, and then he’d rest again in his tents and leave the body sprawled facedown in the dust. But Apollo pitied Hector—dead man though he was—and warded all corruption off from Hector’s corpse…” (pg. 589, Book 24: Achilles and Priam, Homer). In The Song of Achilles the Greeks, and gods, are not pleased. In The Iliad the gods see this as a disgrace. 

Where Achilles redeems himself greatly in The Iliad is not as significant in The Song of Achilles which left me extremely disappointed. The moment when Achilles is meant to show what a great character he is and how willing he is to forgive, even after such a significant loss, is in Book 24: Achilles and Priam. It is here when Priam and Achilles share a very vulnerable moment with each other in which they hold no contempt towards one another and the people they have taken from each other, but they cry, together, for the horrible losses they have endured in this long war. Miller makes this moment so much less vulnerable and emotional, making it feel significantly less important and character defining as it had been in the epic. Here is the moment as shared in The Iliad, “‘I put to my lips the hands of the man who killed my son.’ Those words stirred withing Achilles a deep desire to grieve for his own father. Taking the old man’s hand he gently moved him back. And overpowered by memory both men gave way to grief. Priam wept freely for man-killing Hector, throbbing, crouching before Achilles’ feet as Achilles wept himself, now for his father, now for Patroclus once again, and their sobbing rose and fell throughout the house.” (pg. 605, Book 24: Achilles and Priam, Homer). And this is the very same interaction as written in The Song of Achilles, “‘…it is worth my life, if there is a chance my son’s soul may be at rest.’ Achilles’ eyes fill; he looks away so the old man will not see.” (pg. 350, Miller). In Miller’s version there is not even a mention of the agreement that is come to in the epic that allows Priam to host a full funeral for Hector. This left Achilles feeling cold and unfeeling, which goes completely against his entire characterization in both the novel and the epic. For me, the watering down and diminishing of the conversation between Achilles and Priam was the biggest misstep in Miller’s novel and was a major disappointment especially since I felt she characterized Achilles so well for the majority of the novel.  

“His anger was incandescent, a fire under his skin.” (pg. 283, Miller) The comparing of Achilles to flame and fire strikes most true. He is never an emotionless man, never achieving a moment of utter stillness, instead he is always flickering under the surface. Even in times of calm he radiates warmth, and in times of great anger he rages in a great blaze. It is fire that is the perfect essence of Achilles. But this is what also makes him so controversial in the eyes of modern men. Some today still find themselves drawn to his wild flame and the brilliance of it, while others see the ash trails of his destruction and feel he is no good man, no hero. Achilles himself, I think, would agree with the sentiment that he isn’t a hero. In the end with Priam he felt shame for how he treated Hector’s body, his greatest love died because he couldn’t let go of his honor. In class people questioned why Achilles is remembered the hero and not Hector or Diomedes. I think Achilles achieved the fame he has because he is a good man who let his emotions drive him to do bad things, things looked down upon even in times of war. However, in the end, he redeems himself. He is a brilliant, shining character with intense emotions who manages to redeem himself—of course he has become the main hero of the story. Madeline Miller, in my opinion, did a very good job with the interpretation of his character, however, there were a few missteps with him and other things that were very important to his development. But despite these missteps, she has managed to bring Achilles’ light back into the lives of modern people, which is a wonderful thing. “As if he heard me, he smiled, and his face was like the sun.” (pg. 47, Miller)

[princeescaluswords]

Evil Deaton Rant #35

Sometimes, I subconsciously bristle when I see emotional reactions of oppressed minorities to white supremacy on this site.  In the end, I keep my mouth shut because while I don’t agree with all the policies they want, I recognize the validity of their experiences.  Arguing with them is the least productive thing I can do.

Especially when I can see that white supremacy infiltrates and corrupts even the most innocuous and trivial things, including -- and it seems, especially -- fandom.  Since I’ve chosen to focus my experience on this site on a particular fandom, I’m going to keep talking about it.  Here’s today’s experience: a blatant and disgusting white power fantasy in fanfiction.

There’s a story that got past my filters, labeled with ‘fix-it’ and promising to heal what is broken with Teen Wolf.  It promised to correct what Jeff Davis screwed up.   And the way to do that seems to be a White Power Fantasy. I won’t provide a direct link in this post, but I’ll provide it to anyone who wants to contact me privately.

The first thing you have to realize when reading this story is that Deaton is Evil, because of course he is.  He’s jealous of Stiles’s power, criminally negligent, and he was an accomplice to Kate and Gerard when burning down the Hale House.  Why did he do this?  Because cutting down the tree would hurt Talia enough so that she couldn’t protect his family.  You mean his motivation?   Oh, well apparently he wanted magical power for himself.   Though eight years later -- the story picks up after Strange Frequencies (5x07) -- he still hasn’t gained any magical power.   It seems an ill-thought out plan.

So, having murdered the Hales out of animosity and intending to stifle Stiles’s superlative magical abilities -- as you do -- he decided to run an animal clinic for most of a decade. He didn’t bother to eliminate Peter in the hospital ward when he was helpless and in a coma for six years, he didn’t silence Derek when he had him at his mercy in Fury (2x10).   Why he risked his life to save Derek in Season 4 or Stiles in Season 3 is ... well ... not explained. He waited around to be discovered by the Druid’s Council (which is going to punish him for being cryptic and not doing enough) or by the Other Hale Branches.  (We’ll get to the Hales Are the Most Powerful Thing Ever in a bit, just remember that the Hale control of the Nemeton is important to the world.)   

He’s the most incompetent yet successful villain in history -- he knew that Stiles’s power would manifest but didn’t follow the correct rules and let other people know.  Stiles wouldn’t even know about his power if Deaton hadn’t told him in canon, but he must have had a reason for revealing it to him so he could stop it, however that works.  His complicity with the Argents could be sniffed out in days by a super Hale, yet he didn’t have any plans to counter it.  He was just a Sinister Black Man, who hated his benevolent white overlords, and desires their power, but he can’t actually take it ‘cause he’s bad.

Now, of course, there could be his side of the story, if he ever got to tell his side, but no, the Powerful Hale Alpha from White Europe is able to figure everything out without any investigation or interrogation. Deaton says two words in 35k of story.  They Just Know That The Black Man is Evil.   

And if you are wondering whether this animus extends to other black characters, it doesn’t!  You see, Braeden doesn’t exist.  Mason doesn’t exist.  They’re not important.   Boyd is only mentioned as a source of Derek’s manpain.  Isaac and Jackson and any number of Pearly White OCs do matter, because they all love and support Derek and Stiles and the Hale Supremacy.  

But don’t worry, it’s not just black people who are evil.  It’s Asians, too.   Noshiko is only referred to as “Kira’s Mother” and she is scolded for not training her daughter and getting her act together -- even though you might think that as a 900 year kitsune she perhaps might have more experience in kitsune, no, it’s Stiles and the Hale UberAlpha who know better how to take care of Kira.  Not that we get Kira or Noshiko’s point of view as they never even show up on the page, they’re dispatched off screen so as to not get in the way of the white people.  

You know what’s really interesting?  Even with -- as a dying Theo confesses after trying to take on the All-Powerful Hale Pack by himself -- “the Hale Territory is the ultimate power,” except we’re not sure why that is or why they haven’t driven Satomi Ito and her pack away, but she’s Asian so who cares?

And Scott, well Scott is a stupid, lazy, short-tempered, ignorant Latino who doesn’t know his place.   He should have only listened to Stiles, and not Theo or that Super Mysterious Evil Black Man.   Malia leaves (she’s not a Hale, of course, because she defiled Stiles’s pure virginal flesh and that’s for Derek) and Kira is sent packing, and Scott is a fool for caring for them instead of focusing on Stiles the Great.  He doesn’t train his betas (unless you count the physical training of lacrosse, which doesn’t seem to occur to the author ‘cause it’s not a Hale thing) and the Hale family are all happy and well-adjusted and Isaac and Jackson love each other and love Derek and love Stiles.  I mean, the first thing that Jackson says to Stiles is how handsome he is.   The first thing Isaac says to Scott is to scold him for not holding regular training sessions.  No explanation is given as to why neither Isaac nor Jackson informed the Hale Super Wolves about what was going on in Beacon Hills -- but it’s Deaton who is evil.

You get the point.  You see, the Hales are the most powerful werewolf pack in the world, and they are unstoppable -- even though it took eight years for them to figure out that the North American Hale Pack was destroyed.   They’re also capitalists, controlling industries all over the world.    Dalia Hale -- Talia’s cousin, get it? -- is going to fix everything, though no one bothers to ask her why Derek didn’t call her in 2011 or 2012.  There’s no mention of the Dead Pool and Scott being worth $25 million dollars, which might draw the attention of the Hale Corporation.   Only Deaton is the culprit here for not doing what a good house servant should.

And this story is super popular.   Really, really popular.   Scott and those ignorant teenagers are going to get taught by this woman who walks in and takes command even though she’s never been in Beacon Hills for any of the other shit, because well, you know Rich and White.   

I seethed at this story, and I can’t imagine what it is like to be a minority fan of this show and see everyone who looks like me treated like garbage, but Stiles is, to quote the story “like Gandalf” and Jackson is wonderful and Derek is a poor sad woobie, and that’s WHAT THIS PERSON SEES AS FIXING TEEN WOLF.  Latinos are stupid and unworthy; Asians (and I’m using the generic word on purpose) belong elsewhere; and Black People?  Well, evil.  Evil. Evil. Evil.  Or Dead.  Or gone.    

Which is why sometimes I know I need to keep my mouth shut.

[dlwritings]

Got Your Six | Tom Holland | pt 1

series masterlist found here

general masterlist found here

pairing - mob!Tom x reader word count - 4,257 warnings - language

summary - (Y/N) and her sister, April, think they’re in for a normal day at their family coffee shop, but two, new, intriguing customers come in and change everything.

(next)

“(Y/N), can you make a vanilla latte for Eleanor?”

“I’ve gotta warm up a muffin for Ted.”

“Okay, well, after that?”

“What are you doing?”

“Working register.”

“There’s no one in line, April.”

“But you never know when someone will show up!”

“I hate you.”

My sister, April, stuck her tongue out at me as I rolled my eyes with a smile. The microwave beeped, so I quickly took the chocolate chip muffin out and set it on a plate. I walked it over to one of the tables and gave it to Ted, a 60-or-so-year-old gentleman who was a regular customer at my family’s cafe, Bake and Brew.

Most of our customers were regulars. As one of the only bakeries in the neighborhood that had been running successfully for over twenty years, it made sense that we often knew the people who came in by name.

I worked with my sister, April -younger than me by two years- at the cafe every weekday over the summers from 6:00 in the morning when we opened until noon when our cousins -Robin and Daisy- clocked in. The bakery was a family business. My mom and aunt did more of the booking and keeping things while my dad and uncle did all the baking. We had been running that way since I was 18, so for about four years. It worked well, and my parents were relieved they didn’t need to get down on their hands and knees to convince April and I to keep working, even when we both moved out.

April was pretty much my best friend. It wasn’t that I didn’t have friends in college. It was just that not a lot of them lived in New York like I did. I graduated a month prior, so most of them already moved back to their hometowns. But that was fine by me, because I had April. She had been my right hand (wo)man for my whole life, and when I was with her, I didn’t need anyone else.

Except, as she would so often remind me, a boyfriend. I needed a boyfriend. Or at least she said I needed a boyfriend. I didn’t think I needed anyone. I was quite content being romantically on my own. No one had sparked my interest in that way since high school, and as long as I had my vibrator, I didn’t need a man.

“What about for companionship?” April would always tell me.

“That’s what I have you for,” I would say back.

“Whatever,” she would say with a roll of her eyes. “I’m only gonna break your heart.”

I moved out of my parents house as soon as I turned 18, and April moved in with me two years later. We were a dynamic duo, unstoppable by anyone.

The bell above the cafe door jingled just as I was finishing Eleanor’s latte. I brought it over to her table while April greeted our customers- two boys I didn’t recognize. The first boy was shorter than the second, but not by much. They both had sharp and striking features. The arms of the first boy were more defined than the second, but his eyes weren’t as bright. In fact, his whole vibe was darker. Not the clothes he was wearing, but the impression he was giving off. His jaw was more tense, his eyes darting around more suspiciously. The second boy, however, had his eyes locked on April. And he was smiling. I, like the protective sister I was, went to join her at the counter.

“What can I get started for you boys today?” I asked. April shot me an annoyed look, but I kept my eyes on the boys. Now that I was standing right in front of them with only a counter between us, I could take in more details. The taller boy was wearing dark jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black jacket, while the shorter was wearing a white button up with his sleeves rolled to the elbows and a pair of black slacks. His eyes were dark brown, but the other’s were bright blue. I decided they weren’t brothers.

“Two black coffees,” the shorter boy said at the same time the other said, “What do you recommend?” with his eyes still on April.

“I always like the Americano,” April said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. It was a tell tale sign she was attracted to someone. “It’s basically espresso and hot water. It’s like black coffee but better.”

“I’m sold,” the boy said with a smile. “An Americano for me, and a black coffee for my equally bitter friend here.” He tried to clap the other boy on the shoulder, but he nudged him away with a roll of his eyes.

April rang up their orders while I poured the shorter boy some coffee. “I haven’t seen you two here before,” I said, trying to catch his eye as I handed him his drink. I was suspicious. “We usually know everyone who comes in here.” the shorter boy ignored me, but the taller gave me a smile.

“We don’t usually stop by this end of town,” he explained.

“What brings you by?” April asked, handing him the Americano.

“Just had some business to take care of,” he said. He took a sip of his drink, and his smile widened. I wasn’t sure it was possible, but there he did it before my eyes. I understood why April was charmed, but I was too annoyed with the other boy to really focus on anything else. “This is perfect,” he said, raising his cup a bit. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” April said, the apples of her cheeks turning red. She stuck her hand out for the boy to shake. “I’m April.” She nodded her head in my direction. “This ray of sunshine is my sister, (Y/N).” I gave the boy a sarcastic smile, but he seemed unphased.

“I’m Harrison,” he said, shaking April’s hand. “This is Tom.” The boy didn’t look up from his phone as he gave me and April a wave. It made me roll my eyes again. Tom locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket.

“Let’s go, Harrison,” he said. Harrison nodded and gave me and April (mostly April) one last dazzling smile.

“I’ll be sure to stop by again sometime, April,” he said, shooting her a wink. “It was nice to meet you two.” He looked at me, and I just sent him another patronizing smile.

“You too,” April said.

Tom left the cafe, not saying a word to the rest of us, and Harrison sent us one last wave and followed. As soon as they were out of sight, April turned to me with wide eyes. “Oh my god,” she said. “Were they hot or what?”

“Oh come on,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I wouldn’t have even given them a second glance if blue-eyed boy wasn’t gaping at you the whole time.”

“Harrison,” she corrected with a blush. “And you’re just upset that Tom didn’t look at you.”

“I can honestly say I was not upset about that,” I said.

“Mhm,” April hummed. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to convince her otherwise, I just rolled my eyes and got back to work.

Of course she was right. Both boys were hot, but I wasn’t interested. Harrison clearly had eyes for April, and Tom seemed like an asshole. Not my type. I hoped I’d never have to see them again.

Unfortunately, Harrison was a charmer.

He and Tom stopped by the cafe the next day as well, this time looking a bit more casual. Well, Harrison did anyway. He had swapped out his white t-shirt and black jacket for a plain red t-shirt, still with his dark jeans. Tom was still wearing black slacks and a button-up shirt, this time black instead of white. The black on black outfit would make me feel some type of way if I didn’t find his personality completely aggravating.

Tom, again, got a black coffee while Harrison opted for another Americano. April chatted with Harrison. He sat at the bar and April stood on the other side, her chin in her hand, completely infatuated with every word leaving his mouth. This left me with Tom. Tom also sat at the bar -a few seats down from Harrison to give him some privacy- but was on his phone, just as he was the day before. I didn’t know if I should strike up a conversation with him or just leave him be. The cafe was oddly empty, so I was bored out of my mind. 

Now that I thought about it, it was kind of weird that it wasn’t busy. Just as the thought entered my mind, the bell above the door rang. I looked up, eager to welcome a customer, but as soon as they entered, their eyes grew wide and they turned around and left.

What the hell?

“That was weird,” I said aloud, thought I knew no one was listening.

“What was weird?” Tom asked, shocking me, but still not looking up from his phone.

“That guy just walked in and walked right out,” I said. “That doesn’t happen a lot.”

“Maybe he saw the two employees flirting with the customers and decided to turn around,” Tom said. I furrowed my eyebrows at him, feeling a surge of anger.

“First of all,” I said, “I’m not flirting with you. In fact, the mere idea that I would be flirting with you right now is laughable considering you haven’t even looked at me since you got here.” As if only to contradict my point, Tom locked his phone and looked up. “Second of all-” I looked at April and Harrison who were still wrapped up in their conversation and lowered my voice. “-your friend started this, so don’t act like this is all one-sided.”

“I’m not saying it’s one-sided,” Tom said. “I’m just saying you should never mix business and pleasure.”

“And I’m just saying you’re an asshole,” I muttered, turning to wipe the countertop just for something to do.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Tom said, the right side of his lip raising into a smirk.

“Oh, you’re gonna want to never call me that again,” I said, looking up at him behind squinted eyes.

“Then you’re probably never going to want to call me an asshole,” he said, still smirking. I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face.

“What would you prefer?” I asked, painting on a sarcastic smile of my own. “Conceited douchebag?”

“You think I’m conceited?” he asked with a chuckle. “Princess, you don’t even know me.”

“If you call me one more nickname, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” he taunted. “Please enlighten me, darling.”

“I swear to God fucking above-”

“Hey,” April said, causing Tom and I to both snap our heads in her direction. She and Harrison were both watching us. Harrison looked amused. “(Y/N), Harrison wants to know if we want to get dinner tonight.”

“Oh does he?” Tom asked, raising his eyebrow.

“He does,” Harrison said, shooting Tom a glare. “It’ll be fun. And you’re coming, too.”

“I don’t think I am,” Tom said.

Harrison let out an annoyed sigh. “Ladies, could you excuse us for a moment?” April nodded as Harrison stood up and nodded his head for Tom to follow him. Tom did, looking pissed as he did so. April looked at me with hard eyes.

“You’re going,” she said.

“I’m not,” I said. “And you can’t make me.”

“I think I can,” she said.

“And how do you-”

“I’ll tell Mom and Dad about Chris.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Chris was an old family friend of my parents’, and I may or may not’ve hooked up with him a couple times.

What? He wasn’t even 40 and he was hot and had a daddy kink. It was only a couple times, and it was over a year ago. I prided myself in keeping it a secret from my parents. I was pretty sure they thought i was still a virgin, and I had no desire to let them think any different.

“You’re a bitch,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.

“I learn from the best.”

At that exact moment, Harrison and Tom came back. Tom looked just as annoyed as he did before, but Harrison’s smile had grown wider. “Tonight, 7:00,” he said. He handed April a piece of paper that had an address on it. “You can meet us at that address.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re sending us to a crack house where we’re gonna be raped and murdered.”

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N),” April said, slapping my arm.

“It’s our house,” Harrison said with a slight chuckle. “But if you get there and decide it’s too sketchy, feel free to turn around and ditch us.” April laughed, tucking another piece of hair behind her ear, and Harrison smiled again. “Well, we’ll see you two later,” he said. April waved him off, I sent him a sarcastic smile, and he left- Tom following behind him, not sparing us another glance.

5:00 rolled around, and April and I were both getting ready. As soon as she got out of the shower, I got in. April knocked on the door and asked if she could brush her teeth. I let her, and she asked me what I was planning on wearing. “I don’t know,” I answered. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Harrison texted me that it was a nicer place,” she told me.

“He texted you?” I asked, peaking my head out from behind the curtain.

“Yeah,” she said.

“When did you get his number?”

“When he asked us to dinner. It only makes sense.”

I rolled my eyes and went back to my shower. “I still don’t care what I’m wearing,” I told her.

“Well I do,” she said. “You’re going to look cute.”

“I’m going to wear jeans.”

“You are not. You’re going to wear a dress and you’re going to like it.”

“Can’t make me.”

“Chris.”

I stuck my head out from behind the curtain again. The shampoo started to drip down the side of my face. “Have I said yet that I can’t stand you?” I said. “Because I can’t fucking stand you.” April smiled and spit the toothpaste into the sink, then left me alone in the bathroom.

When I finished my shower and went into my bedroom, I saw that April had laid out two outfits for me: one was a black dress, the other a black romper. “Gee!” I yelled to her, knowing she was in her room. “Glad you gave me options.”

“I love you!”

I decided on the romper. It was cute but also kind of sexy. Not that I wanted to look sexy for anyone in particular. Sometimes it was just nice to look sexy for myself. And that was exactly what I told April when she wolf whistled at me. She was wearing a red dress that I knew to be her I’m-gonna-get-some dress. “If you bring him over, don’t keep me up all night,” I told her.

“I won’t make any promises,” she said with a wink.

“Ugh,” I shuddered. “I hate thinking about you having sex.”

“No one’s asking you to think about it.”

We plugged the address Harrison gave us into my phone and headed off. It was about a twenty minute drive, and it looked like it was a nicer area of town. When we pulled up to the house, I saw that I was right. Because this wasn’t a house. This was a mansion. Once I pulled up to the gate (yes, gate), April and I both stared up at the house in awe. I pulled up to the intercom and was met with a voice that said, “Name?”

“Uh, I’m (Y/N),” I said. “And I’m with my sister April. We’re here to meet Tom and Harrison?” There was silence on the other end, but the gate opened and let us in. “I hate this,” I told her. “This is creepy.”

“Creepy?” April repeated. “Are you kidding? They’re rich! This is amazing!”

Harrison and Tom were waiting outside for us. I parked the car in their driveway and got out with April. She approached Harrison with a quick hug, and I trailed behind, awkwardly sending him a wave. Tom had his arms folded across his chest and looked like he wanted to be anywhere except with us. He and Harrison were both wearing the same outfit- black slacks and white button-up shirts. Tom’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, just like they had been the first day we met, but Harrison’s were down to his wrists. Tom’s hair was gelled smoothly, but Harrison’s was fluffier and less put-together. Those two facts alone were perfect examples of the stark differences in their personality.

“We’ll drive, yeah?” Harrison said.

“Okay!” April agreed. Harrison led us to the three-car garage and opened it. In it sat three black vehicles: a Rolls Royce, an Audi, and a Porsche. Mine and April’s jaws both dropped, and Harrison chuckled.

“Have a preference?” Harrison asked.

Before either of us could say anything, Tom said, “We’re taking the Audi.” I rolled my eyes at him, not really caring if he saw. He did. “Is that a problem, princess?” he asked, a smirk growing on his lips.

“Dude, I swear to god-”

“Dude?” Tom repeated.

“Would you prefer motherfucker?”

“(Y/N)!” April said, slapping my arm. Tom, however, just laughed. It was the first time I had heard the sound, and it threw me off guard. It looked like it did the same for April.

“Such a dirty mouth on such a pretty girl,” Tom said. This earned a roll of the eyes from both me and Harrison. April seemed stunned silent.

“Let’s go,” Harrison said.

The four of us got into the vehicle and headed off to the restaurant. Harrison told us the name of it, but I had never heard of it and neither had April. When we got there, it looked like a little hole-in-the-wall place. When we got inside though, it was like a whole different world. The lights were low, and the decor was fancy. Right away, I felt like I didn’t belong. We had to push through a crowd of people just to find our way to the booth Tom had reserved.

We sat down at the booth in a secluded corner of the restaurant. “Hello Mr. Holland, Mr. Osterfield,” the waiter said as he approached our table. “The usual to drink?”

“Please,” Harrison said at the same time that Tom nodded. “April, (Y/N)?” April and I both asked for waters. I was surprised with how quickly our drinks came back to us. In fact, everything happened quickly. I hadn’t noticed until we were already being handed our meals not even twenty minutes after ordering them. I swore that was a record for any restaurant I had ever been to. Tom and Harrison seemed unphased.

“What is it you guys do?” I asked them both. “Like, I don’t mean to be rude, but the big house? The fancy restaurant just for a couple of strangers? You’ve clearly got no problem throwing money around.”

“(Y/N)!” April said. She was getting annoyed with me, I could tell. At the same time, I didn’t care.

“Real estate,” Tom said.

I snorted. “Real estate? Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?” Tom shrugged and took a sip of his drink- whiskey on the rocks.

“I’m going to go touch up my lipstick,” April said, standing up from the table. “(Y/N), come with me?” It was a command, but she phrased it as a question. I rolled my eyes but followed her anyway. As soon as we were in the bathroom, she turned to me with a huff. “Will you quit being such a bitch?” she said.

“I’m not!” I said.

“Oh fuck off,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m just looking out for you. I don’t trust these guys.”

“I can look out for myself.”

“I know that, but-”

“But nothing! Quit being so mean to them. They’re nice guys.”

“Harrison’s a nice guy,” I said. “Tom-”

“I think he likes you,” she said with a shrug. As my jaw dropped, she turned to the mirror and actually started to reapply her lipstick.

“You’re kidding me, right?” I said.

She shrugged again. “You know how boys can be. They’re rude to the girls they like.”

“In elementary school,” I said. “Besides, what kind of boys will be boys bullshit is that?”

“I think you should just cut him some slack,” she said. “Give him a chance. He may be a little off-putting, but you’re not exactly little-miss-sweetheart either.”

“I’m not little-miss-sweetheart because assholes aren’t my type.”

“Give me a break.” She rolled her eyes. “You almost exclusively date assholes.”

“And I’m trying something new.”

“That’s what you said before you fucked Chris.”

“April, I swear to god-”

“I’m teasing!” she finally laughed, bumping her hip with mine. “Relax. God, you really need to get laid.”

The rest of the dinner wasn’t too painful. Tom mostly kept his mouth shut, which I was grateful for, but it felt like Harrison and April were in their own world. I didn’t want to pull out my phone because I hated when people did that, but I was getting bored. For lack of anything better to do, I started people watching. A lot of the customers were like Tom and Harrison: put together and rich looking. My eyes were currently trained on a booth across the restaurant. In it sat three men, all probably in their 30s. They were hunched over, talking to each other in hushed voices.

“It isn’t nice to stare,” Tom said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I huffed. “Maybe if you struck up a conversation with me, I wouldn’t have to find entertainment somewhere else.”

“Conversing is a two-way street, sweets,” he said.

“Sweets?” I repeated. “That’s what you’re going with now?”

“I’m just trying things out,” he said, hiding his smirk behind his whiskey. “You haven’t been satisfied with anything else.”

“Because my name is (Y/N),” I said, my fist clenching. “It’s not that hard.”

“I’m more of a nickname kind of guy myself,” Tom said with a shrug.

“Oh?” I said. He was baiting me, I knew, but I was bored so I took it. “And what’re your nicknames?”

“I don’t have nicknames,” he said. “I go by four names and four names alone.”

“And they are?”

“Tom, Mr. Holland, sir, and boss.”

“Boss?”

“Yes?” he said, teasing me again. I rolled my eyes and drank from my water.

“Alright,” I said. “So what are Harrison’s nicknames.”

“Harrison?” Tom said, glancing at his friend before looking at me again. “H, Haz-”

“So original,” I said. Tom shrugged.

“I can’t exactly call him peaches,” he said.

“God,” I groaned. “If you listen to anything I say to me, let it be that I never want you to call me peaches.”

Tom chuckled. “Alright, I’ll give you that one, petal.”

“Petal?”

“Cut me some slack.”

I wasn’t having fun with him. No way.

“So I can’t give you any nicknames?” I asked.

“No you cannot,” he said.

“And what’ll you do if I do?” I asked. I hesitated, then added, “Tommy?” Tom’s jaw clenched, and he downed the last of the whiskey in his glass. He looked me in the eyes -they were darker than they had been all night- and licked his lips.

“If you call me that again,” he said, “I’ll make sure you know why I go by sir.”

“Alright, I think we’re ready to go.”

April was smiling widely, clearly not aware of the conversation she just broke up between me and Tom. I, however, swallowed thickly, not having a clue how to move forward. It was as if Tom had already forgotten, because he stood up and tossed his napkin on the table. Harrison, April, and I stood up from the table as well and followed Tom out to the car.

The ride back to the mansion was silent, and I wasn’t surprised when Tom headed straight inside when we arrived. Harrison whispered something to April, and she giggled and nodded, then waved him off as he went inside. “He’s not coming back with us?” I asked, walking over to my car.

“I’m actually going to stay here with him,” she said, kicking her feet against the ground. I raised my eyebrows. “What?” she said. “It’s fine. It’s not like you’ve never had a one night stand at some other guy’s house.”

“Yeah, but those guys were normal,” I said.

“Listen,” April huffed, “you’ve done it, okay? You did your big sister job. Thank you. I appreciate it. Now please, just let me go. You know our SOS text.”

“Of course I know our SOS text.”

“Alright, then relax unless I send it.”

I rolled my eyes but hugged her anyway, placing a kiss to her cheek. “Be careful,” I told her. “Have fun. Be safe. I don’t want to be an aunt.”

“Jesus,” April laughed, giving me a little shove. “Go! Enjoy your wine and vibrator.”

“I will.”

I sat in the car until April was safely in the house. Safely. Why couldn’t I shake the feeling that being with Harrison and Tom and being safe were mutually exclusive?

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

TAGLIST

@bangtan-serendipity | @planetdemon | @the-singing-clown406 | @tomshufflepuff | @bluelalal | @grandloser | @jackiehollanderr | @mindset-jupiter | @bisexual-sk8r | @feel-like-gold | @runaway-apple | @miraclesoflove | @marvelismylifffe| @wonderbyers | @coraz0ndcristal| @lizmarvel​ |  @hannihannelora

[ohdeputy]

100 Letters PART IX

Arthur Morgan x John Marston

Words: 6,545

Read on Archive

Part VIII

-

The sky was a perfect shade of blue, with fluffy clouds that made John feel like he was sitting inside of a painting. He had spent the past few days enjoying the warmer breeze the wind carried alongside Albert’s presence. He was grateful for the man’s hospitality but had grown eager to return to the gang.

John hoped they were okay, not having heard any word from anyone since his arrival at Albert’s cabin. It wasn’t unusual, since they were undoubtedly just keeping a low profile, but he was uneasy nevertheless.

Luckily, most of the time Albert kept John preoccupied with helping him do his photography. It kept his mind free from the anxiousness he felt. John had become an assistant of sorts, aiding Albert in finding the best spots to photograph wildlife.

“Here?”

The sun shined down on John as he set Albert’s tripod on the ground amidst a clearing. The photographer’s head popped up from digging around in his bag, “yes, that’s perfect, Mister Marston!”

“John,” he corrected with a smile.

Albert gave a sheepish grin, returning to his bag once more, “right, apologies. John.”

John had spent their time together constantly reminding the other man to call him by his first name, yet Albert always retreated to his polite roots. It was certainly a contrast to what he was used to, not at all close to the usual treatment he received as a wanted outlaw. Of course, John didn’t believe the man to be naive, how he must know that the likes of him and Arthur were not like most other people. But Albert didn’t seem to care, at least he never voiced any concerns on the matter.

Albert came up beside John, holding the camera he’d retrieved from his bag. Carefully, he placed it on the head of the tripod, setting it up to angle slightly upward.

They were after the Pileated Woodpecker. A tough subject to capture, in Albert’s words. He thought that with their combined effort, he may be able to finally pull the feat off. John suggested this area, sure to travel to a dense enough part of the forest where the bird would likely be spotted.

“I’ve put some berries out in hopes of attracting one,” Albert motioned over to where he came from. “Now all that’s left to do is to wait.”

“Sure.” John stood beside Albert, following his line of sight to the tops of the trees.

Albert produced a pair of binoculars to search above them. Every once in a while he’d tense when it looked like he had spotted something, only to slouch in disappointment when it wasn’t the woodpecker he was in search of.

Eventually, John sat himself against a trunk of a nearby tree, patiently waiting in the comfort of its shade. He tried not to let his mind wander, instead, taking in the beauty of nature that surrounded them. He felt at peace watching the birds fly above, and the tiny squirrels and rabbits that scurried around the forest floor.

A small gasp escaped Albert, who pointed a finger toward a nearby tree, “there.”

John followed his gaze to where he gestured, seeing a ghost of white feathers against the trunk. Upon further inspection, he could make out a streak of red running down the head of the woodpecker. “Whoa.”

John slowly got up to get closer to Albert, who adjusted his camera to get a good shot.

“He doesn’t have any black feathers,” John quietly stated.

Albert gave a short nod, “right you are.”

“He doesn’t look like the other ones, he’s different.”

Albert pressed down to take the picture, sending a plume of smoke to the air with the sound of the shutter ringing out for a split second. Surprisingly, the ghost woodpecker didn’t fly off from the commotion, barely even flinching as it moved its head in their direction.

“It seems not only were we successful in finding one but stumbled across a rather rare variation of the species!”

John studied it, almost convinced that the creature was studying them back with intelligible eyes. He was beautiful but stood out like a sore thumb amongst the dark branches and leaves.

“Must be lonely,” John thought aloud. “Being the only abnormal one around. Are you not disappointed that he doesn’t look like the rest?”

“On the contrary!” Albert turned to smile broadly at him, “this particular woodpecker is a gift! You see, nature can be so exciting. Just when you think you’ve come to understand it, it throws you something unexpected. To find a bird different from the others is refreshing, such things should be cause for celebration in a world that can be so bland at times.”

John let Albert’s thought sink in, deciding he liked the other man’s perspective on it. He’d called it a gift, whereas others might’ve called it a flaw. He continued thinking about it for a while, lingering on his mind even as they packed up the equipment and took the decent walk back to their horses.

By the time John and Albert made it to the cabin, the day was coming to a close. He was starting to grow fond of Alberts simple life tucked away in the forest, but once again felt the anxious pull of not hearing from anyone back at camp. Luckily, the few days here had given his body the chance to heal, admittedly finding his current living arrangements much more agreeable. It was nice to sleep under a proper roof for once.

The next morning, John woke up alone without any sign of Albert. Upon entering the kitchen, he found a note in Albert’s writing saying that he took a trip to the post office and that he didn’t wish to disturb John.

Retreating back to the main room, John couldn’t help but study the odd things that cluttered the space. There were devices strewn about that he couldn’t name if he was asked to. No doubt more equipment Albert used for his photography. The whole house was like a museum that continued to mesmerize John with each following day.

Out of the corner of his eye, a picture on the front page of a newspaper caught his attention. He furrowed his brow, thinking his eyes to deceive him in seeing who he thought it was. Moving closer to the desk it lay on, he felt his blood run cold at the realization that he had been right. There, staring at John was a picture of Nico. His eyes dropped to the writing underneath which stated:

After months on the run, the Van der Linde Boys are still evading capture. With the events of the Blackwater Massacre still fresh in our minds and the murder of the innocent Heidi McCourt (pictured above), along with many others, we wonder why they are still at large.

John had to still his hand as he read, not believing the words on the paper. There was that name again, ‘Heidi McCourt’. It taunted him from the page, making him wonder where it had come from. Who the hell is Heidi McCourt?

Whoever she was, she wasn’t Nico. That much John was sure of. And as much as he was curious about the name, he was more annoyed at how clever Dutch’s story was. If Nico was working for the law, or the Pinkertons, there was no way they would admit publicly having her be associated with them. Her death would’ve only been tying up a loose end. Of course, John knew it was all a lie, wishing there was some way to clear her name. He wished he knew more.

Turning the page over, he continued reading under the bold headline of:

TWENTY-SEVEN DEAD AT THE VALENTINE SHOOTOUT. EIGHT LOCALS.

Eight locals?! John wondered to himself. Shaken to the core of how this was caused by the event he was present for only a couple of days prior.

Even if these locals did wield guns in defense of their town, he was sure Dutch would be able to avoid shooting one, never mind eight innocent people. His heart dropped a little at the thought of Arthur being there, too.

The Valentine shootout is believed to be the result of the earlier robbery of a Leviticus Cornwall transport coach, catching the attention of the Pinkerton Detective Agency in the investigation to whether the train robbery and Blackwater Massacre are in any relation to the same group of outlaws.

He tossed the newspaper aside, worked up from the anger that rose inside him. This was all Dutch’s fault. He was becoming this unstoppable force backed by greed and foolish choices that would be the undoing of their gang. It would only be a matter of time before his vicious nature would unravel out of control.

So overwhelmed by the contents of the newspaper, John almost didn’t notice the sound of Albert entering through the front door.

“Ah, John! Good morning, sir. Are you well?”

John gave a nod, “sure.” He tried to give the man a convincing smile as he forced his gloomy thoughts from his mind. He noticed a small parcel in Albert’s hands, curiosity piquing his interest.

“You pick something up?”

Albert looked down at the small package as if he had forgotten about it, “oh, yes! Some of my prints arrived today, would you like to see them?”

John nodded enthusiastically, and watched as Albert gently undid the string that tied the wrapping together. He then came over to sit beside John.

Albert unfolded the papers to reveal a short stack of photographs, picking up the first one which depicted a buck. Its head was up, with knowing eyes that seemed to stare right at John. His antlers reached toward the skies, complementing the mountainous terrain he stood in front of.

John couldn’t help from reaching to take the photo from Albert’s hand to inspect it more closely. “That’s amazing!”

“Ah, yes, I remember that buck. Gave me quite the challenge, he did. I originally was after capturing a deer, but couldn’t seem to shake this one’s attention. The nerve of the animal, tried to run me over! And almost succeeded, too.”

Albert lifted the second picture, “see, here she is.” He handed it over for John to see. Sure enough, this one showed a deer nibbling some berries from a bush, completely unaware of the camera.

“Oh,” Albert gave a little chuckle, already having moved onto the next picture. I think you’ll quite enjoy this one.”

John accepted the photo he held out, seeing an action shot of a coyote running off with Albert’s bag hanging from its mouth.

“Cheeky little thing, that one. If it weren’t for your friend, I’d have never gotten my things back!”

John looked up at Albert, “Arthur help you with this one?”

“He did, indeed! And with another, too. Let me see if I can find it,” Albert started shuffling through the photos in his hand, but John was distracted by the next picture in the stack. He blinked, smiling to himself a little as he came to the conclusion that this one was by far his favourite.

He gingerly picked it out from the stack, Albert letting him as he continued to search.

“It’s got to be in this batch somewhere, I know I sent that reel out. You see, there were these God forsaken creatures that almost killed me! Managed to snap a few good ones before they tried ripping me to shreds, though…” Albert continued talking, but John tuned out as he studied the photo in his hands.

It was a  picture of Arthur, who was smiling. It was a genuine one, which proved to be a rare sight for John. Somehow the image alone made him feel butterflies in his stomach, the way his smile reached his eyes with how they crinkled. He was captured from the waist up, holding one hand on his hip and the other up like he was about to say something. It was a candid shot where he wasn’t looking at the camera, which probably made sense as to why Albert was able to print it. If Arthur had known, there was no way he would’ve let him.

John couldn’t tear his eyes away, Arthur’s image was always well captured in photographs. Most of the pictures they had growing up were group photos where no one smiled, not like this. This one rendered John in awe, the exact moment living on forever through the photograph. It made him wish he could go back in time and capture some of his favourite memories together.

“Here it is!” Albert produced a photo from the pile before noticing John’s attention on the one he already held.

Albert leaned over to look at it. “Right! I almost forgot about that picture, I got it printed with the intention of gifting it to Mister Morgan. He’s been so helpful with my foolish endeavour, I really felt I owed him.”

“Well, if I know Arthur I’m sure he enjoyed helping you, he’s too curious not to. He’s got so many stories about the people he’s met, I’m not at all surprised that you’d be one of them.”

Albert gave a little chuckle, “he is definitely an interesting man. Nevertheless, would you mind passing it on to him? I’d very much appreciate it.”

“Sure, yeah..” John got up to find his satchel, placing the photograph inside with the intention of giving it to Arthur. Eventually, that is. For now, he thought he might hang onto it. And even as Albert went on to ramble about the other animal encounters he’d experienced while taking their likeness, John thought about how none could compare.

A steady knock at the door made John suddenly look up and Albert almost jump out of his skin with an “Ahh!” Taking a moment to compose himself, he stood and went to answer the door.

“Hello, can I help you?”

“Hi. Is John here?”

John peered over to see a familiar form stood at the entrance, making him stand up abruptly. “Charles, that you?”

Charles noticed John, giving him a relieved smile before his eyes darted back to Albert.

“This is Albert Mason, a good man. He’s been helping me get back on my feet these past couple days.”

Charles gave Albert a stern nod, “Seems we owe you our thanks.”

Albert bashfully waved it away, “it was of no trouble, I assure you, sir.”

“Please, Charles.”

John swore he could see Albert’s cheeks heat up a little as he continued, “Well then, would you like to come in for a cup of tea, Charles?”

“Thank you, but I’ve come to collect John and I’m sure he’s eager to return-”

“Yes! Yes,” John interrupted, “how is everyone? Did everyone make it okay?”

“Everyone’s fine. Abigail and the little one are safe, Arthur was the last to join us.”

John let out a breath, “good, that’s good.”

Thank God, he was relieved that everyone made it in one piece. A new flood of anticipation for returning overcoming him from the news.

“I’ll let you say goodbye,” Charles said as he gave him and Albert a nod, retreating to the horses.

John turned back to Albert, “thank you, for everything. How can I ever repay you for the kindness you’ve shown me?”

Albert gave a modest shake of his head, “please, as I told your friend, it was of no bother. Might I say, I rather enjoyed the company.”

“Well then, it’s been a pleasure,” John held out his hand to Albert, who looked down at it for a brief moment before clamping it in a firm grasp. The other man’s eyes glistened a little before he pulled John into a hug. Caught off by the gesture, John hesitated before giving Albert a slight pat on the back.

Albert pulled back, already apologizing profusely, “sorry, John, forgive me. I just-I hope the world treats you a little kinder in future.”

John smiled slightly at that. Albert was a kind man that he was grateful to have met, even if it was under such a terrible circumstance.

“And please,” he continued, “if you ever find yourself in the area, do not hesitate to stop by.”

John nodded, “of course. Thanks again, Albert.”

Walking back into the makeshift bedroom in Albert’s cabin, he took one last look around the room. He’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss the comfort of the place.

Grabbing his gunbelt from where it sat idle for the past few days, John secured it around his waist before picking up his coat and satchel. As he left the cabin for the last time, John found Charles waiting by his horse for him.

He looked up when John approached, “ready to go?”

John gave a firm nod, climbing on the back of Old Boy.

“Let’s go.”

Charles took the lead, mounting and walking his horse in the direction of the pathway away from the secluded cabin. John looked back to Albert, who stood at the entrance. He waved them off, and John returned the farewell with a flick of his hand.

The two spurred their horses, leaving the cabin behind them in their pursuit of the main path. They eased into a steady pace through the countryside, careful to avoid any roads that were known to be busier.

John forced Old Boy to ride up next to Charles, “how’s the new spot? Is it a good place to lie low?”

Charles gave a stiff nod, “It’s definitely more secluded than the last place. I found it myself.” He looked over to John, “figured I could be the one to show you.”

Charles turned his gaze back to the road ahead of them once more. John noted the way his expression seemed more hardened than usual, brows creased to indicate his loss in thought. It wasn’t unlike Charles to be reserved, but John sensed something was bothering him.

“I’m glad you’re the one who came to get me, it’s good to see you.”

Charles’ features softened somewhat as his attention focused back on John, “of course. I’m glad you’re okay, do you remember what happened?”

John frowned slightly at the thought of what happened back in Valentine. “Not much, I, uh, wasn’t with Dutch n’ Arthur when everything went down with Cornwall.”

“I heard. I’m glad Arthur found you. From how he described the whole thing, you’re lucky to have gotten out of there.”

John nodded, feeling his skin crawl from the recent memory. “How much did he tell you?”

“Only a little.” Charles paused for a moment before adding, “he seemed.. off when we spoke.”

“How do you mean?”

Charles took his time in replying as if choosing his words carefully. “He seemed a little wary of how Dutch handled the situation. I don’t know if you heard about it after you escaped but they were calling it a bloodbath… awfully similar to Blackwater.” His deepened frown returned, “but this time it was just Dutch.”

“And Arthur,” John added, though it sounded almost like a question.

“Hmm.” Charles’ face screwed up slightly, “I don’t know. To be honest, Arthur made it sound like he got out of there pretty fast.”

John let the thought sink in, surprised when Charles broke the silence once more.

“We’re supposed to be avoiding trouble, not causing more. What was Dutch thinking? Why didn’t he just get out of there as soon as he could?”

It was rare to see Charles so shaken, taken aback by the fluctuation in his voice. “Where will it end? The moving, the running?”

He still avoided looking directly at John, making him think he wasn’t asking him as much as just voicing his concern. John could tell it upset him. Charles had only been running with the gang for half a year or so, clearly unimpressed by the recent direction the gang had taken with their poor choices.

John swallowed, wanting to reassure Charles but finding it hard to come up with anything to say. John was probably the worst of the lot of them to consult in, having no kind words to offer about Dutch.

Charles gave a heavy sigh, “I’m sorry, brother. You’ve got enough on your mind, I’m sure.”

“Charles.”

“Hmm?”

John slowed his horse until he came to a steady halt. Charles didn’t notice immediately, turning his head back toward John when he didn’t answer right away. He stopped his own horse, a look of interest dawning his face.

“What is it, John?”

Pressing his lips together nervously, John thought carefully about what he would say next.

“Back in Valentine, when Cornwall showed up… I was by some of his men. They threw me into an alley beside the saloon Dutch and Arthur were held up at.”

Attentively, Charles listened to what John was saying, waiting for him to continue. John drew a shaky breath.

“I could hear them talking from where I was tied up and… I thought Dutch was going to cut me loose, I thought-” he broke off the sentence as his throat tightened.

“What you went through,” Charles started, his voice softer than a moment earlier. “I couldn’t even imagine. It was horrible what those men did to you. But to feel abandoned by your family… John, I am so sorry.”

John shook his head, blinking away the tears that had started to form in his eyes.

“One of the reasons I joined this gang was because of the loyalty shared amongst its members,” Charles continued. “Dutch always said that no one gets left behind, and Arthur managed to get you out of there-”

“What Arthur did isn’t what I’m worried about. It’s Dutch, Charles. I fear if Arthur wasn’t there, Dutch would have left me behind.”

The words hung in the air, suddenly making John so aware of how bold they were now that they were spoken out loud. He studied Charles, scared that he may react as Arthur did when he mentioned the same concern over Dutch.

He hadn’t meant to admit his feelings about Dutch so openly to Charles, knowing the man respected him as much as most of their peers did. John had been reserved about Dutch all of his life but had become so overwhelmed with what happened in the past couple months that his actions had become brash.

Charles gave a slow nod, “I understand your concern.”

John exhaled in relief, not realizing the breath he held in anticipation, “you do?”

“Dutch didn’t speak about what really happened at Blackwater, and now he avoids talking about what he did in Valentine. It has me questioning his methods. Arthur seems a little shaken, and now you, too? I can’t ignore something like that.”

John felt a sudden buzz from his words, almost not trusting his ears to believe what he was hearing be true. “What do you think will happen next?”

Charles let out a deep sigh through his nose.

“I trust Dutch.”

John’s eyes dropped. He knew he did, yet the statement still dealt a hard blow.

“But I trust you, too. And Arthur.”

His eyes flickered back up to Charles, widened in surprise.

“For all I know, Dutch may not have had another choice. In Valentine and in Blackwater. But I think I’ll be keeping a closer eye on things. And if you notice anything, tell me. I will be speaking with Arthur, too.”

He straightened Taima back on the road, signaling that the conversation was over for now. “Come on, we should get going.”

With that, Charles urged his horse to continue moving forward. John followed, suddenly feeling a lot lighter than a moment before. To know that Charles had the slightest shred of doubt about Dutch made John want to cry from relief.

The thought that Dutch’s risky actions finally had repercussions, even if they were minuscule, gave John the tiniest flicker of hope that ignited inside his chest. The feeling was a foreign one that John hadn’t been acquainted with in a long time. His mind was racing at the possibilities of what it could mean, that maybe there was change on the horizon.

With all that in mind, he couldn’t help but feel a little scared, too. After the years of abuse he’d received from Dutch and losing the only people who could do anything about it, John truly believed he could do nothing but accept it. But now, now he didn’t feel as alone as he did before.

Pushing down his thoughts, he tried not to get ahead of himself. He didn’t want to get his hopes up over the matter, so, for now, he focused his mind on his and Charles’ surroundings.

The low sunlight dappled John’s skin through the sparse branches above them as they made their way through another cluster of trees. The forests they found themselves in now weren’t as dense as where Albert’s cabin lay tucked away and had a different look to them.

The air was hotter, with a humidity that made John’s shirt cling to his back as they rode to their new camp. The path in front of them turned to a dusty red and seemed to reflect in the sky above them. Or perhaps it was the evening casting the earth in its warm glow. Either way, John felt like he was somewhere far from where they once were.

He thought that they must be getting close now, seeing a white wooden sign pop up ahead of them. He glanced over it as they passed by, the paint chipped from being weather worn.

WELCOME TO THE STATE OF LEMOYNE

“You guys fled to a completely different state?” John turned to ask Charles.

“Yeah, better safe than sorry. We’re near the water up this way, it’s a good spot.” Charles nodded in the direction of where their new camp was pitched, steering his horse on a small pathway that led into another heavily wooded grove. John would’ve completely overlooked it otherwise, but once they continued deeper into the shade of the overhanging branches, the path widened into a clearing just before the shore of an endless lake.

"Clemans Point," Charles stated to John at their arrival.

He could make out the familiar bustle of people strung about. Their tents and wagons were more spaciously placed than at Horseshoe Overlook, with more room for the horses, too. A thick, old looking tree was planted right in the middle, providing a promising shelter from the hot weather they would be experiencing here.

John followed Charles to a nearby hitching post, sliding off to secure Old Boy to it. He’d only just managed a tight enough knot when someone came charging toward him.

“John? John! Oh, thank God!”

Abigail threw her arms around John, making him stumble back a step before catching his balance.

She was off of him just as fast, holding him at an arm’s length, “you’re alive!”

John nodded, “so are you.”

Abigail made a noise that sounded like a mix between a laugh and a stifled cry, her eyes glistening as she smiled widely at him.

“How’s Jack?”

“He’s good, he’ll be even better now that you’re back. Come, are you hungry? There’s still some stew for you.”

She took his arm, leading him through their new camp. John looked around, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Is Arthur-”

“He’s out with Dutch and Hosea,” she interrupted him before he could finish, giving him a knowing look. “I’ll tell you more once we get you some food.”

His shoulders fell, giving in as she pulled him along. On one hand, he was glad Dutch wasn’t around to watch him like a hawk, but on the other, he was a little disappointed that Arthur wasn’t around for his return. Things would likely go back to how they were before. As if the moment shared between him and Arthur at Albert’s cabin never happened and would never be spoken about again.

The simple task of getting a hot bowl of stew from the cooking pot to his tent proved harder than he thought it would. As Abigail brought him over, he wouldn’t stop getting interrupted by the other gang members.

Some of the girls called out to say how happy they were to see him again, followed by Reverend Swanson, who stumbled by to say the same. He then began quoting a verse from the bible that John was sure he wasn’t reciting right. Only to become distracted by something else and finally leave John alone. Then there was Sadie, who practically jumped him, wearing a smile he wasn’t too used to seeing from her.

“John! You’re back, we missed you!”

She didn’t hug him like how some of the others had, which he was a little relieved of since he wasn’t used to the sudden amount of affection. Instead, she gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“I have to say, I’m glad to be back.”

She looked different from the last time he’d seen her, wearing a bright mustard yellow blouse and dark brown pants with a worn looking gun belt loosely buckled at her hips.

“You look good, Sadie.”

Her expression was a little skeptical at first, not knowing the sincerity behind John’s compliment. When he gave her a little reassuring nod, her smile reappeared.

“Thanks! Arthur and I went shopping and I thought I’d get myself a pair of pants, since most of the men around here don’t do a very good job of wearin’ them.”

He gave a laugh, “you’re right about that.”

He barely had time to say goodbye to her before Abigail whisked him away again. Javier tried to call out to John, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“You two can bond once he’s had something to eat! For now, you shut up and play your damn music!”

The last thing John saw before being shoved into his tent was a distraught looking Javier clenching onto his guitar.

The world muffled around him once he was inside the familiar canvas walls. He didn’t think he would miss it, yet looking around to find his few belongings struck a little homesickness within him.

The few books he owned were stacked neatly on top of his clothing chest, no doubt by Abigail. Some other odds and ends of his belongings lay organized on his side table.

“Thanks,” John breathed out to Abigail once he sat down on his bed with his bowl.

She sat in the chair across from him, “eat.”

He did so, scarfing down Pearson’s stew faster than he ever had before. It almost tasted good from how hungry he was.

All the while, Abigail watched him, even once he’d finished and set his bowl aside.

“So,” he broke the silence. “How have things been?”

“Tense,” Abigail pressed her lips together, eye contact not breaking his. “People weren’t too happy to be moving again so soon. Especially under the circumstance of doing so.”

“I see,” John fidgeted with his fingers.

Abigail gave an amused huff, smiling at the corners of her mouth as she dropped her gaze.

“Arthur’s fine.”

“I wasn’t-”

“It’s okay, I know you’re wondering about him. I’m just teasing you by avoiding it,” her eyes were back on his, holding a mischievous glint within them. The amusement faded slightly, “he told me about what happened with you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am, only because of Arthur.”

She nodded, suddenly so serious, “thank God. I was scared when he showed up alone, not knowing what could possibly have happened to you.”

“I’m okay now,” he tried to reassure her.

“I know,” she let out a breath. “Waiting around was the worst part. I’m just so glad you’re back now.”

“Did Arthur say anything else?”

Abigail shook her head, “no, he mostly just checked in with me and the boy, made sure we were doing alright. He talked a little with Dutch, the two weren’t seemin’ too friendly toward one another when we first settled here.”

John tried to imagine how that must have looked, finding it hard to do so. Even though he knew Charles wasn’t lying to him about the fact that Arthur was clearly affected by what happened in Valentine, it was still hard to believe Arthur and Dutch butting heads over it.

A sudden thought occurred to John, confusion knitting his brows together. “If they don’t seem to be getting along too well, how come he’s out with Dutch and Hosea? What’re they doing?”

Abigail rolled her eyes, “they’ve gone fishing.”

His frown only deepened, wondering what the hell Arthur was doing by going out fishing with Dutch. A little offended at the notion, he tried not to let it show as he urged Abigail to continue, “they did?”

“I know, I know,” she raised her hands like even she didn’t get why they thought now was the right time for it. “The thing is, I think it was an olive branch from Dutch. This isn’t just any member of the gang, it’s Arthur we’re talking about. I don’t think Dutch wants to lose the trust Arthur has for him.”

John let the thought sink in. That sounded like something Dutch would do, and it angered him.

For a moment, he thought about telling Abigail about Valentine, and how Dutch didn’t hesitate to leave him behind. But he bit his tongue, the last thing he wanted was her going after Dutch with the full intention of ripping him apart.

“Hey,” Abigail tried to regain his attention, her expression displaying a worry as if she could read his thoughts. “Arthur’s smart, if he’s worried about how Dutch is handling things he’ll speak up. Hosea’s no fool either, he’s been keeping Dutch in check for years.”

John nodded, but it felt hollow. He knew Abigail was trying her best to reassure him, but he couldn’t stop from thinking about how deep it ran. If Dutch convinces Arthur to look past this… he wouldn’t know what to think.

He stared out of the sliver of the tent’s entrance, completely lost to the present. Not knowing what he expected to see outside, as if he might catch a glimpse of Arthur. Like the man would appear out of thin air just from being talked about.

“I know you care about him.”

John’s head snapped back to Abigail, “what’re you talking about?”

She gave a soft smile, “Arthur.”

He blinked, sputtering over his words in an attempt to respond, “well, I mean yeah, I-we’ve known each other a long time-I just mean I trust him as a fellow member of the gang-”

“I’m no fool, John, I see the way you look at him.”

Panic consumed John completely. He stared at Abigail wide eyed and short of breath, his thoughts running a mile a minute. John had never said the fact out loud, even repressing ever really fully comprehending it internally. It came as such a shock for Abigail to say it, seizing him because of how deep he had buried that part of himself.

He quickly tried to disprove her statement, but all that came out was an incoherent noise, suddenly not knowing how to string a sentence together. He felt heat rise to his cheeks, not even able to look at Abigail directly anymore.

“See, you’re getting all flustered just talking about him!” She held up a hand to hide her laughter.

“No, I’m not!” John yelled at her, jolting upright.

She stood too, shock taking over her features which immediately morphed into concern, “hey, it’s okay!”

“Did you tell anyone?!” John blurted out, still consumed by his fright.

“No, no of course not!” Abigail hesitantly reached a hand out to put on John’s arm. He let her, both of them lowering down in their seats again, then retracted her hand.

“You can’t say anything, please, Abigail, you can’t.”

“I won’t, John. Hey,” she moved so John was forced to look at her, “I would never do that to you.”

He nodded, swallowing dryly, “okay.”

When he thought his heart rate had returned to normal, another thought struck him. “But I don’t understand, didn’t you think that…we?” he pointed between the two of them.

“Loved each other?” She gave a little huff, “I hate to say it but you didn’t exactly sweep me off my feet, John Marston.”

He just stared at her, completely dumbfounded.

“Buuut I do think that deep down you care about me as much as I care about you. Sure, at one point I might’ve hoped for more, but I don’t feel that way anymore as much as you don’t.”

She moved forward to carefully put a hand on his arm again, this time her grip firm. “All I want is for you to provide for Jack and I. I’m not asking for us to be this perfect family, just to be there for us.”

“I, yeah but-are you okay with that? Me being with…” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence out loud.

“I want you to be happy, John.” There was a short pause before she continued, “you know there’s nothing wrong with you because of that, right?”

For however gentle her words were, he almost fell completely apart from them. His face contorted from an overwhelming sense of emotion that rendered him unable to respond.

Abigail was sitting before him, fully aware of who John was, and completely accepting of it. He didn’t think anyone could ever understand, yet somehow she did.  

Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled her into a tight hug. He clung onto her, almost as surprised as she was by the gesture. It wasn’t like him to do something like this, but he felt there was no other way he could have expressed his gratitude towards her.

She pulled back from their embrace, but still held onto his arms, “I have to say. You and Arthur, it’s actually kinda sweet.”

Her voice was soft when she said it, making John want to die from embarrassment.

“Jesus Christ, woman-”

The opening to the tent abruptly whipped aside, interrupting them and drawing their attention. At the entrance stood Arthur, wearing an easy smile that immediately fell when his eyes landed on John and Abigail holding each other.  

John quickly dropped his arms, “Arthur-”

“Sorry, I, uh, didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll leave you two to it.”

“Actually,” Abigail shot up from where she was sitting. “I was just leaving.”

She gave John a brief look as she moved to exit the tent, “if you’ll excuse me.” She slipped past Arthur, leaving him to awkwardly stay behind.

Silence followed when neither of them said anything, only to be broken by Arthur when it had become painfully obvious.

“Well, I just heard you’d come back and wanted to check that you’re alright, which you seem to be so I’ll just be going then.” He was gone before he’d even finished what he was saying, the tent flap falling into place after his rushed escape.

John let out a heavy sigh, letting his head fall into his hands. He cursed himself for being such a damn mess, knowing that that could have gone way better.

[takerfoxx]

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, Season 4, Episode 1, First Impressions!

New season has FINALLY ARRIVED, which means I finally get it in front of my eyeballs! So, it’s first impressions time!

...however, since I’m watching it right after it dropped instead of being kind of late to the party like I was with the previous three, I’m gonna play it safe and seal off my thoughts under the spoiler cut. So yeah.

Anyway!

So the first part of my prediction was pretty much correct, in that it’s about Glimmer’s coronation, and she’s still really shaken up over Angella’s death (and why wouldn’t she be?) and Adora and Bow are trying to be supportive but it’s super stressful, though it did play out a bit differently. Turns out, rather than be nervous about whether or not she could fill her mother’s shoes and that everyone is looking down on her and judging her like I thought, she’s instead mega-pissed about how no one is even addressing the big THE QUEEN, WHO OH YEAH WAS MY MOM, IS SUPER DEAD! and is instead all going on and on about party arrangements and ceremonies and rituals and stupid stuff that doesn’t matter because her mom is dead and no one is even talking about it!

Bow and Adora certainly had the best of intentions, and I like how neither the show nor Glimmer made them out to be the bad guys in this despite them kind of making things worse. Glimmer’s hurting, but just not in the way they were thinking. Fortunately, in the end she got what she needed in hearing Angella’s final message to her, giving her some measure of closure and letting her accept her new position as Queen of Brightmoon and the leader of the Princess Rebellion, which is pretty much what she needed all along.

That having been said, I did kind of feel like her pain over losing her mom was resolved kind of...too neatly, I guess? I get that it’s a new season and they need to move the plot along, but even so. Still, just because she’s gotten some closure doesn’t mean that the wound is totally healed (because it never will be) and that this won’t come up again, so I’ll be keeping a close eye on her.

In other news, the other princesses were as delightful as always in their trying so hard to do things right but completely missing the point. Frosta was...kind of terrifying (poor Sea Hawk!), Mermista’s obsession with her “floral” arrangements were a hoot, and poor Perfuma really needs to get back to her hippie roots and get some meditation in while smoking some kush, because I feel that her patience for her fellow princesses is very close to running out and she’s just going to go all Poison Ivy on everyone. And jeez, someone rein Castespella in!

Though on a side note, I feel kind of bad for this, but Swift Wind continues to irk me. Yeah, I know he’s supposed to be a comic relief character, but at least the other characters were trying to do right by Glimmer in their weird, kind of egotistical ways, but he was making his thing all about him and...look, I’m sorry, but I just don’t like Swift Wind, okay?!

Also, give Netossa and Spinnerella something to do, already!

Ahem.

So, back to the bad guys’ side, that’s where things take a...fully predicted and interesting turn.

So, let’s talk about Catra.

Catra continues to be the most fascinating character in the entire show. On the one hand, she is very much an abuse victim, someone who was mistreated her entire life, who was forced to live in the shadow of her best friend, who was clearly starved for any kind of positive reinforcement but was constantly denied it, who was constantly told that she wasn’t good enough, that she was inadequate, that she was a failure, etc. It’s a terrible situation for anyone to be in, which is why her sympathetic moments play out so well.

But however, despite how she’s been treated by her so-called betters, Catra’s kind of the most competent character in the whole show. Every time she has the freedom to do things her way, she quite often comes out on top, and unless her deeply-seated issues get the better of her or some other happenstance that she couldn’t account for occurs, she tends to win. She is a master of psychological warfare and a terrific and cunning fighter, able to adapt to quickly changing situations and new environments scarily fast and get the drop on her opponents. Hell, she’s gone toe-to-toe with She-Ra and managed to hold her own just through her wits. 

And that has led her to having a rocketship strapped to her back, sending her soaring upward.

Through sort of a fluke, she was made Force Captain in Adora’s place and kicked ass. She out-thought Shadow Weaver and deposed of her, taking her power and her job. She made herself out to be the biggest threat the Rebellion has ever seen (I can’t remember the figures, but Entrapta once said that under her leadership, the Horde saw a massive leap in efficiency). When she was exiled to the Crimson Waste pretty much to die, she took it over in a day, captured Mara’s ship, took Adora’s sword, and brought it back to Hordak when he had pretty much written her off.

Point is, when she has her eye on the prize, Catra is almost unstoppable. And here we are shown what that prize is. She wants the Rebellion crushed and Etheria ready to offer up on a silver platter when Horde Prime finally arrives, as expected, though I truly doubt that has much to do with actually believing in the Horde’s right to rule and has more to do with it being because the Rebellion is where Adora and Shadow Weaver are. But regardless, it’s always been made very clear that she is in it for herself, and not out of any kind of loyalty to Hordak. I mean, after he treated her last season, why would it be? And now she has had it up to here with his constant moping despite having a distinct advantage that he’s not pressing.

So she decides to do something about it. Namely, she does to him what she did to Shadow Weaver: exploit her knowledge of his weaknesses and make him her bitch. 

Damn. I mean, we all saw it coming, but damn.

Catra’s...running the Horde now. I mean, Hordak’s probably still going to be the front, but she’s going to be the real power from now on, and that is really bad news for the good guys. And I have no doubt that that’s where Double Trouble comes in.

But anyway, as sympathetic as Catra’s story is, and as impressive as her actions have been, that doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s kind of become a really terrible person. Which is totally deliberate and the writing is great, don’t get me wrong! But she’s replaced both Shadow Weaver and Hordak, and like them, she has her own victim of her abusive behavior. 

Scorpia.

That scene honestly broke my heart, even if I saw it coming. Scorpia honestly is pretty much my favorite character. I love how she’s this big, powerful, intimidating person with a totally sweet, caring, awkward, and kind of ditzy personality. Her crush on Catra was pretty obvious from the get-go, and I loved their dynamic...for the first couple of seasons anyway. But as much as I got into the Scorptra train, it’s clear that it’s not going to work out, given how toxic Catra’s become, and Scorpia knows it, and it’s tearing her up. I am very interested in how her arc is going to turn out this season. I mean, she’s got an entire solo episode coming up, which I am very much looking forward to. But I hope that this is the catalyst that causes her to finally stand up to Catra and break away from the Horde. At the very least she doesn’t buy what Catra did to Entrapta one bit, and I love that she’s still looking after Emily. Maybe she and Hordak can team up and go to Beast Island to rescue our favorite autistic gadgeteer princess. 

But getting back to Catra, if the last season was seeing her at her lowest point, then this one will be seeing her at her highest, but on the side of evil. I predict that she’s finally going to get everything she’s convinced herself that she wants only to lose it all at the end, leading to her final arc in the final season. Now, will that be a true redemption arc like everyone is hoping for? Will Hordak redeem himself as well?

Well...probably not. 

See, I am totally on board with the two of them finally confronting the years of abuse that made them the way they were, breaking away from it, and actually becoming better people, but redemption does kind of mean making up for all the pain and damage that you’ve caused, and I’m afraid that they’re in waaaaaaaaaay too much debt to do that. 

However, they are perfectly capable of having a reformation arc. Because just because you can’t make up for what you’ve done doesn’t mean you can’t better yourself going forward.

Not Shadow Weaver though. Don’t think I didn’t notice you lurking around in that one scene. Honored guest my ass. She’s totally up to something.

[silvensei]

Complementary

Shou, having grown up messing with psychic powers, figured out how to leave his body. The obvious next step is trying to take over another.

Started this like a year ago, based on this post I stumbled upon by @hydrachea, and finally got around to finishing it! Just some rowdy espers being teen boys. 

(On AO3 too! Link in a reblog because I never know if external links are functional)

Ritsu narrowed his eyes, the question he was just given running through his head for a third and fourth time. Sitting on his bed, staring ahead, he tried for a fifth pass to work out what he could possibly say next. Mmm…nope. “You’re going to have to say that…one more time.”

Seated on the ground in the center of his room, legs crossed, back straight (a bit unusual for the rowdy teen), and a barely contained smirk on his lips, Shou drummed his hands on his ankles. “I asked,” he repeated, carefully, “if I could perhaps…for a little bit…borrow…your body.”

Ritsu ran a hand down his face. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, that’s what I thought you said.”

“I know what you’re thinking, dude: It’s not something you hear every day—”

“No, it’s really not!”

His hands changed their rhythm, quickening into a drumroll before finding their pattern. “So. To give you some backstory—”

“That would be great, thanks.”

“—some lore, now, okay.” Pata-tata pata-tata pata-tata. “So my dad used to know this one psychic in town. Or not know him; he kept tabs on every esper around, so I would steal copies of his records to see what powers people had, because if some rando can do it, why can’t I? And so this guy, his specialty was astral projection, but he like, leapt from his body just to spy on people or watch his neighbor’s Netflix or some shit. Anyway, didn’t take long to figure out. You could probably pick it up, too. Your brother is probably doing it right now, watching from above, oooo….” He tapped out a light decrescendo, leaning forward for effect.

Ritsu quirked his eyebrows. It was just a joke, but he still wondered. What would Shigeo even use it for?

With one final beat, Shou swung his hands to the floor behind him, leaning back on his propped arms. “It got me thinking: What am I when I astral project? It’s still me, but not in my body, so am I a ghost? Am I like a spirit? And since regular spirits can possess people, then….” As if going over it again knocked his confidence down a peg, he flashed a sheepish smile.

His friend did not react. “You want to possess me,” he said.

“I want to see if it’s possible!” Shou corrected. “And if it is, then would I get—would we have double the power? Would you look different at all, like some sign that it wasn’t all you in there? Will you be awake at all? Just think of the possibilities! The pranks!”

Ritsu’s stomach turned. This is crazy. This doesn’t just happen. Your friend doesn’t just saunter into your house unannounced, steal a soda from the fridge, make light banter with your family, and then body snatch you. It doesn’t happen!

…but…what if...?

He closed his eyes, head shaking back and forth. “This is insane,” he grumbled. “People ask to borrow phone chargers and cups of sugar, not....” He waved a hand towards his head before letting it drop to his blankets.

Shou took a swig of his soda. It was already almost empty. “I get it, I’ve been sitting on this for like, weeks, but I’m not just gonna go possess some poor bastard off the street; I do have some morals. And who else am I supposed to ask, a non-esper? My old man? Your brother?”

Process of elimination, that made logical sense, but it didn’t do much to quell his concerns. It’s not like he didn’t trust Shou. His close friend Shou Suzuki was different from the enigmatic threat Shou Suzuki that burned down his house on their second meeting. Now, that didn’t mean he would trust Shou with everything. Maybe to return a loaned book. Maybe not with the care and well-being of a life. His life in this case.

But it’s not like he would be unsupervised. Probably. When Dimple possessed him, not only was he awake, but in control, too, so there was a chance Shou wouldn’t even be able to do anything. And Dimple did help his powers develop astonishingly quickly. Maybe….

Ritsu grumbled, falling back on the bed. God damn it, he was curious to see what would happen, but just the thought of it made his skin crawl. It was enough of a tough decision when it was a weak little smart-aleck of a ghost whom he could use solely as a mean to a desperate end. This, however, was his friend. His living human friend that he saw on a regular basis, in his own living human body. They hadn’t ever hugged before, and now Shou would be using his arms, existing within his head—oh god, would he be able to hear Shou’s thoughts?

“You overthinking things with that big brain of yours again?” The empty can clattered onto Ritsu’s desk. “It’s not like I’m going to steal your life and go on a heist spree. It’ll be a few minutes, maybe more if something cool happens. A day max.”

“A day?!”

“A couple hours, absolute max, it’s up to you. I’d offer to do your homework while I’m you, too, but we both know I don’t know shit about school and no one would want that.”

That earned a half-smile from Ritsu. If Shou went to class as him, he felt his grades would instantly drop a letter as soon as he walked through the door. Student Council would fall into shambles. Shigeo would try to exorcise him.

The mattress tossed him an inch into the air when Shou flopped on his stomach to Ritsu’s left. “So…?” he asked, looking over with one of his trademarked trickster teen grins.

It’d be an experiment. Had this ever been done before? Few people seem to be as versatile in the psychic arts as Shou and the other espers of Seasoning City. And even if it had, he doubted it was documented in any way, so the previous query was really a moot point. But would it actually combine their powers into an unstoppable force? Should another threat ever come to this magnet of a town, it would be useful to have a trump card like that. A trump card like…having control of himself wrest from his grasp from a being within his own skin….

Ritsu folded his hands over his midriff, tapping a finger against his knuckle. “None of this seems just the least bit…wrong to you?” he asked, pointedly looking at the ceiling.

“What, hanging out over the weekend to possess my best friend?”

He pursed his lips. “Yes, that.”

“Uncommon, yeah, but it’s only wrong based on your definition of it.” Shou tried to make wise and erudite gestures like pointing and tapping his head even though lying face-down restricted his movement. “Spirits do it all the time, it’s just how they are, but we only question their intentions, not the action itself.”

“But you’re not a spirit! You’re alive, you have your own body, and this isn’t natural at all, intentions or otherwise.”

“You can say none of these powers are ‘natural’ in the first place, but we’re stuck with ‘em anyway.” He mimed air quotes a couple times more.

Ritsu didn’t have an argument for that. It was a good point. A year ago, bending spoons wouldn’t have seemed natural to him, either; it was just an anomalous habit of his anomalous brother.

“And I do have a body, no shit, Sherlock,” he continued, “but since I can separate myself from it, it’s more like just a sweet suit with bitchin’ hair. The me that’s me is the personality and the superpowers. It doesn’t really matter to me whether that personality is in my head or yours, ‘cause I’m me either way, and you’ll still be you.”

Ritsu looked over at him, for the first time since he posited the question. Shou had dropped the grin in favor for a small, neutral frown as he picked at a loose thread he found in the blankets. “How long did you say you’ve been thinking about this…?” he asked.

The boy met his eyes, but instead of an answer, he got a smile with too many teeth. “Does that mean you’re game?”

Ritsu took a deep breath. Then he took another one. If anything, it beat doing algebra. “Sure. Fine. I don’t have to do anything besides be here, after all. But—!” He sat up and pointed a finger at his overzealous companion. “No leaving this house—no leaving this room, actually, why would you need to. No haircuts, no photos, no calls, no texts, no— just—!” He stopped himself. He did trust him. To an extent. He sighed. Instead of trying to tie up every possible loophole, he concluded with, “Just have some respect, is all.”

Shou’s burnt orange aura flared up, throwing him off the bed to stand. He snapped his feet together to attention and saluted, a giddy grin on his face and supernatural fire in his eyes. “You can count on me, Captain!”

And then his aura moved without him, whipping around at the edges before amassing over his shoulders. The energy glowed and coalesced before it darted away, a pale tangerine shape spinning in circuits up to the ceiling.

Shou’s face went slack, his eyes losing their light as they slid shut, mouth falling with the rest of his body. “Don’t—!” Ritsu swore before swooping in to catch him, half holding him up before his upper torso could hit the edge of the bed. “Don’t just do that with no warning! I didn’t think you meant right this instant!”

He kneeled to safely lower his friend to the floor. As soon as he let go, the orange form darted into view. He winced and threw up an arm on reflex, but it hung in front of him, over the body lying comatose (lifeless?) on the ground. It was Shou-shaped for the most part, if Shou were made of fog physically vibrating with excitement. Which he currently was.

Ritsu lowered his arm, as well as his instinctive psychic defenses. He sighed and turned to lean back against his bed. “Just give me more of a heads up next time,” he said before closing his eyes.

He could hear the hum of power before he felt it. A force slammed into his senses, causing a barrier to flare up before he steadied himself and dispelled it. The moment it wisped away, it was like a frozen stake shot through his brain. A telltale sign of possession, he knew, but it didn’t stop there this time. His breath caught in his throat as a chill clouded his head, sending a violent shiver down his spine, seeping into his lungs and through his skin to his fingertips. A gasp escaped him, and his eyes blinked open, before the cold stopped in its tracks, fully freezing over, encasing him in ice and locking him in place.

And then his eyes blinked again. A slow breath filled his chest that bubbled to a roll of laughter as his lips spread to bare his teeth. “Oh, Ritsu,” he sung, “you better be awake for this, ‘cause this is fucking wicked!”

Jesus, thought Ritsu, most definitely still conscious and most definitely thrown out of control. He tried to say that aloud with a grimace, neither of which his body emulated. This is disconcerting.

His head perked up. “Hey, there you are!” his voice announced. “You still sound like you in my head—our head—”

My head.

“Our head, and I sound like you, too! Double the Ritsu!” Shou cracked his borrowed neck, interlacing his fingers and pushing his palms to the sky in a stretch. “I’ve never heard you sound this happy before!”

And you still haven’t.

“Mm, that’s a debate you will lose on a technicality. And you should stretch more often, bro, it feels cramped in here.”

Because it is cramped in here!

Shou jumped to his feet, rolling his shoulders. Ritsu groaned. This was nothing like the time with Dimple. He was just hoping he wouldn’t regret this decision any more than he already did.

His eyes swept the room, his hands rotating in loose circles that cracked his wrists. “Yo, you don’t have a mirror in here?”

No.

“That’s fine, probably one in the bathroom, right?” he asked, already moving to open the door into the hallway.

Shou, what did I—!

“Chill, dude, I just wanna see how you look.” Shou cracked open the door, checked for anyone in sight, and slipped into the bathroom across the hall, closing the door behind him with a soft click. When the lights flicked on, they both gasped.

Shou stared back from the square mirror over the sink. Anyone would know it was Shou. Blue eyes were a rarity in Japan, and anyone would immediately know that what looked and sounded like Ritsu Kageyama was in reality the furthest thing from him, an impostor that replaced his dark russet eyes with stark sea blue. Ritsu did not like it one bit, oh, no no no.

“Whoa,” Shou breathed in awe. He gripped the sides of the mirror, tilting his head every which way while taking in the reflection. “This is dope! This…is a bit creepy, not gonna lie, but it could work, you could make it work! Fluff up your hair a bit, get rid of the haunting sleepless gaze, give ‘em a smile—just play it like I would! Oh, pshh. Forgot!” He cocked his head to a three-quarter view, shooting a half-smirk and wink at himself. “That won’t be hard.”

Ritsu wanted to die. His image, being perverted so. The embarrassment was unprecedented, and the fact that he physically could not look away and hide from the world made it that much worse. At least that meant his face wouldn’t show the disturbed blush. Don’t act like it’ll stay that way, he whined. It’ll go back to normal when you’re gone.

His hand held up a finger. Still talking to the reflection, Shou asked, “What if I’m not in control? Still blue?”

Ritsu would have scrunched up his nose if he still could. Damn him and his good questions.

“Now how do I do that…?” his voice muttered. His hands dropped to the sink as he finally looked away, drumming his fingers on the porcelain. “What if…I dissociate, but not project…?” He closed those foreign eyes and repeated it under his breath, slowing his tapping.

The fog seemed to clear from Ritsu's head, loosening the chill he was in, until it rushed back through his palms—the cold porcelain underhand. He was also immediately reminded that his chest had weight from the beating heart and lungs just beginning to tighten and burn without air. He took a breath, curling his toes and taking stock of everything else. Everything back under his control.

He still didn’t feel completely himself, but it was worlds better than before, when his feet were too numb to even feel grounded.

Relishing the feeling of just being able to feel his breathing again, Ritsu glanced up into the mirror. He grimaced, an action meant to distract him from the knot in his stomach. Still blue.

“I really don’t like these eyes,” he said. His voice sounded better in his cadence. “They’re...too bright.”

Nah, bro, yours are just too dark. The idea bloomed in his head, like he had imagined Shou’s voice, except that it kept going without his permission: At least now you don’t look like a zombie.

“I don’t look like a zombie,” he muttered before narrowing his eyes at his reflection. He just realized he was having a conversation with himself. Technically schizophrenia. What a day.

Ya totally do, dude, you barely sleep some days. Yo, use your powers on something!

“Hm?” Ritsu raised an eyebrow at the mirror. Right, they were testing their powers like this. He noticed the hand towel on the wall behind him and directed his focus at it. The familiar light tingle of his powers prickled his skin as his turquoise aura appeared around it, darting it around him to float over the sink. “It looks the same. Same color, same texture.”

And coming in for the pass—! His breath caught for a mere moment as the ground was snatched from under him, dropped into a dunk tank of ice water after a successful throw. His aura splashed around the towel before swirling into a glittering citrine. His fists punched the air. “Fuck yeah!”

I’m gonna be sick.

“Don’t be dramatic; not while I’m driving, you’re not.”

Ritsu groaned and dragged his hands down his face. Neither of those things actually happened.

Shou laughed, his current voice rising to the point where it could almost be called a giggle. “No, no, I get it, it’s weird as shit, but come on! It’s so rad!” The towel darted around the small room at his behest, the bright orange aura highlighting its path like a comet. “Like, I dunno if you can feel it, but my powers don’t have the same oomf to them. Your body might not have enough juice to keep ‘em running like I’m used to.”

Well, sorry we can’t all be hotshot prodigies. Ritsu skipped being offended and instead watched the towel spin in a tight circle—not like he had any choice in where his eyes went. Just in the top right of his periphery, he could still make out a bit of his reflection in the mirror. It was out of focus, but it was still enough to notice his too-light eyes. Think my powers can add to yours? he asked, bringing up one of Shou’s earlier inquiries to change the subject.

“Give it a shot, bro.”

He focused on the towel and its path, trying to help push it along, to speed it up. After a moment, he was unsure if his powers were even working, his hands too far from his senses to tell if his palms were tingling. Then something slotted into place in his head and the towel kicked into double time, instantly spinning so fast it twisted and knotted itself into a plush wad. Aquamarine swirled among the amber aura, making...an uncomfortable color, actually; blue and orange mixed together like that was rather unappealing to look at.

“Sweet!” The grin Shou had pulled onto Ritsu’s face only grew. His face was starting to get sore. “Now try the other way! I’ll throw it left, you go right, yeah?”

What, oppose each other?

“Yeah! Psychic arm wrestling! ‘Kay, in three, two, one—”

The towel ignited.

Shou beamed like a kid on Christmas. He threw his arms up fast enough to bounce his heels off the floor. “Fuck yeah! Now it’s a party!”

Out of sheer panic and adrenaline, Ritsu snatched hold of his hands, throwing them at the towel, encasing it in a bubble of energy. His breathing was quick (hey, he was breathing) as he watched the flame flicker and reflect off his aura for a few seconds before it suffocated and snuffed out. He blinked (hey!) and tried to slow his hyperventilation, gripping his shirt in an attempt to dampen the thumping of his racing heart. The towel fell into the sink, the faintest bit of smoke pluming from its singed corner. “Who the fuck did that?” he asked, a slight strain to his voice he failed to wrangle. “Because it wasn't me!”

Not me!

“Uh-huh.” Ritsu glared into the mirror, fully accusing those eyes. “Sorry, but I've come not to trust you with fire.”

Honest, man, I didn't mean to do it! Our fusion powers are probably just different now, unpredictable! Guess we just gotta get out there and practice: bend a lot of spoons or some shit, maybe go teach some thugs a lesson, go lift some rocks in Dagobah—

“Hang on, fusion? You gave it a name already?!” Ritsu twisted the tap on for a half second to douse the towel before dropping it in the trash. “Nuh-uh, that's enough. We're not going out getting into fights, not when it's my body on the line.”

Fine, we can use mine next time.

“Next time?!” Ritsu’s fuming as a defense mechanism was made even more frustrating by not having a target to direct his reproval at; blaming his reflection was just too strange. “Wha— Why— How could you—!”

The door clicked open behind him. He spun around, startled and already trying to come up with explanations, excuses. He was able to open his mouth before he was pushed out of control again, his excuses contained within his head.

Shigeo raised his eyebrows, standing in the doorway. “Oh. Hi, Suzuki.”

The grin was back on his face. Shou shifted his weight to one leg and waved a hand. “Yo, lil’ bro! What’s up?”

“I was going to ask Ritsu a question and noticed something seemed off upstairs.”

Ritsu was thanking any power up there that Shigeo was taking this so well. By this point, it shouldn’t be surprising, but still. Shou hummed. “A disturbance in the force, you say….”

“I didn’t say that—”

“Nah, nothing’s wrong. Just guys bein’ dudes, hangin’ out.”

Shigeo paused for a beat. “Why are you in my brother?”

“Just messing around, testing out some powers. Hey, you wanna be Ritsu, too? It’s fun!”

Shou, don’t just say shit like that, Ritsu protested, uncomfortable. What was he, a sampler plate?

Shigeo’s brief hesitation didn’t help his unease. “No,” he eventually answered. His expression changed, ever so slightly, so much so he doubted Shou caught it. “No, I’ve had my share of possession, I think. I’ll keep to myself.”

Ritsu’s stomach would’ve dropped if it could. What the fuck does that mean??

Turns out Shou didn’t catch it. He whistled and lightly jabbed Shigeo’s shoulder with his elbow, asking, “What’s that, a rebellious streak? Moonlighting as a spirit? Spy missions?”

Shigeo ignored him, his composure already back to normal. “Is Ritsu in there, too?”

“Mm-hm.” Shou gave him a brisk nod before pushing Ritsu to the front, all his numbed senses switching on at once. He blinked to catch his bearings before opening his mouth to actually voice his concerns over that cryptic statement. He stopped himself, though, realizing Shigeo wouldn’t answer in this situation. He’d save it for later. “Yeah,” he said instead, “I’m here.”

“Mom wants to know if Suzuki is staying for dinner.”

Ritsu smiled—a normal, content smile, not one of Shou’s manic grins. “You could’ve just asked him, you know.”

“I guess, but you’re the host, so it seemed polite to ask you.”

Despite the last half hour’s whirlpool of emotions, he couldn’t help but snicker at his brother’s word choice. “I don’t know, are you staying— Hell yeah, I am!” Shou jumped in. The last thing Ritsu clearly felt was nearly biting his tongue.

“Okay.” Shigeo watched them for a moment. “You know, Ritsu, your eyes are blue now.”

“Yeah! It’s cool, right? Ritsu doesn’t like ‘em, but I think it makes him look less tired.”

He considered it. “A little.”

What do you want from me? Ritsu muttered, as well as he could in his head. Should I start wearing contacts now?

From downstairs, he heard his mom call something; he wasn’t paying enough attention to hear what. Shigeo stepped out into the hallway and called back, “Suzuki would like to stay for dinner.”

“How is he, anyway?” she asked, probably from the base of the stairs. “He’s quieter than usual.”

“He’s just possessing Ritsu for a bit.”

“Well, tell him that while I don’t mind one less mouth to feed, he should stop soon and come down himself. Growing boys need to eat.”

Ritsu wanted to hold his face in his hands. Why is my family like this.

Shigeo turned to relay the info, but Shou waved him off, saying, “No worries, I’ll leave in a sec.” Shigeo nodded and left.

“Yo. Bro.” Shou spun back to the mirror, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. It was the look he had when he was planning to get into trouble. “Next time? We gotta go flying. With our powers combined, we could go. So fast. As long as we don’t spontaneously combust, but hey, everyone needs a bit of practice!”

Damn it. Pushed into being a passenger in his head, possessed like it was the god damn Exorcist, and here he was, being tempted by power. Again. They did seem stronger together, and Shou had a wider variety of psychic talents than him. It could be beneficial to learn from him like this. Maybe it would even be—dare he think it—fun, doing things he wouldn’t normally be able to. The blue eyes still creeped him out, though. That wouldn’t change. He’d still hate that.

Good thing there weren’t any mirrors a hundred feet in the air.

Fine, Ritsu huffed. But now, you’re getting out. Dinner first. Flying later.

“Fuck yeah!”

[master-sass-blast]

Strong as Stone --Part Thirty-Seven.

Well, hi there!

Last time, we got to see a wonderful little bit of fluff with Okoye and M’Baku as they planned for the future! How lovely!

This time, the future gets disrupted when Thanos shows up. That’s right, folks, we’re at Infinity War time!

For the record: I haven’t seen Infinity War. I don’t plan on seeing Infinity War. I don’t care about Infinity War. I’m rewriting Infinity War because I know I can do a better job than the Russo brothers did. If you don’t like any of that, I don’t care.

Anywho.

Rating: T for language and general tone of plot, given the context of what we’re dealing with.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku.

@skysynclair19, @the-last-hair-bender

All battles are a choice. Whenever you decide to pick up your spear and fight, you’re making the choice to do so. You always have the option to walk away, even when you think you don’t.

Every life you take is a choice. This isn’t to say that you’d be guilty of murder when committing an act of self-defense; it simply means that you must be aware of the choices you make and why you make them.

Not every choice you will make will mean a victory for you. Absolute success is a luxury none of us can afford. Sometimes, you will walk into battles you know you won’t win, but you’ll walk into them anyway because you choose to, whatever the reason may be.

Think carefully about your choices, my dears.

Okoye was a firm believer that Bast gave her followers signs for when shit was about to hit the fan. Little precursors that alluded to the larger insanities soon to follow.

N’Jadaka’s uprising and the fight for the throne? They’d had to endure a crazy car chase with Klaue in South Korea.

The embassy explosion and the Accords debacle? Countless incidents with the Avengers causing swaths of collateral casualties had predated all of that.

The incident where Dewani and Shuri rigged every single door --every. single. door--in the palace with fireworks? Full blood moon earlier that week.

So, when two Asgardian demigods, an Asian man dressed like some sort of martial arts-monk fusion, a group of aliens that included a talking raccoon and tree-thing, a guy that looked like a Las Vegas magician with a cape that could actually make him fly, and Dr. Bruce Banner showed up on the landing platform outside the palace in a swirl of light, she knew the sense of foreboding that crept up her spine was going to be valid. Bast help us.

“He’s collecting the Infinity stones, and once he has them he’ll wipe out half the universe.”

Okoye cast a subtle, doubtful glance at Ayo, grateful to see her own wariness mirrored in the eyes of her second-in-command and friend. We’ve seen a lot over the years, but this doesn’t even sound possible.

If the green-skinned woman --Gamora--that had arrived with the group was to be believed, a tyrannical alien overload named Thanos was in search of ‘magical’ stones that granted the bearer unimaginable powers, and that once he had them he’d destroy half the universe.

Because... reasons. Apparently.

“We already have two of the stones,” the raven-haired Asgardian --Loki--said, holding up a glowing blue cube that she recognized from War Dog intel reports as the infamous Tesseract with one hand while gesturing to the glowing green gem held in Dr. Strange’s --she laugh over that choice of name later--amulet.

“Three,” Thor --he was easy enough to recognize on his own from all the mass media coverage on the New York and Sokovia incidents--corrected. “Stark’s and Banner’s creation --Vision--has the Mind Stone. But there’s no guarantee that Thanos won’t be able to take them if he accrues the other three.”

“And what do you want from us?” Nakia asked.

“Thanos has access to an unstoppable army,” the bald, blue-skinned woman --Neubla--spat out. “He’ll find a way to get the other three stones, and then he’ll come to Earth with the last three.”

“Wakanda has the most advanced weaponry in the world,” Dr. Banner added. “If we’re going to have a shot at stopping Thanos, we’ll need your help.”

Okoye watched T’Challa carefully as he sat back in his throne, gears clearly working behind his eyes.

On one hand, the story seemed almost entirely implausible. ‘Magical’ stones, a madman that wanted destroy half the universe without rhyme or reason, alien armies...

On the other hand, she’d seen a lot of weird shit in her time, and the group standing in front of them had nothing to gain by lying.

T’Challa looked at Nakia, who nodded, then looked over at Okoye.

She pursed her lips, but nodded as well.

“I need to contact some people first,” T’Challa said with a resigned sigh.

The reunion between Tony Stark and Captain Rogers went about as well as Okoye could’ve expected.

T’Challa had called the renegade Avengers as soon as the Asgardians, the group of aliens --who had named themselves ‘Guardians of the Galaxy,’ apparently--along with Dr. Strange, Wong, and Dr. Banner were escorted from the throne room. From there, Steve had contacted Tony and told him to come to Wakanda immediately, along with Vision and whoever else was willing to help.

She still couldn’t help but smirk, just a little, as she watched Tony and Steve glare each other down. “Men.”

“Tell me about it,” Ayo muttered back as she kept a careful eye on Natasha Romanoff, alias ‘the Black Widow.’ “Give them two years and they still can’t speak five civil words to each other.”

“And yet they call women the ‘emotional ones,’” Djabi added under her breath.

“Of course we are,” Aneka whispered. “We actually interact with our emotions, instead of opting to shove them down and hide from them.”

Okoye smoothed her expression out as M’Baku and the other council members walked into the throne room, along with--

“No! No, no no! What is she doing here?”

Jhanvi grinned as Tony yelled at her. “Stark! It’s good to see you!”

“Miss Singh is working for the Wakandan Scientific Outreach program,” Shuri announced primly as she walked into the throne room, followed by Dewani and her friends. “She’s been called in to assist with weapons development and systems monitoring.”

“‘That--’” Tony pointed at Jhanvi “--is a menace--”

“We don’t have time to argue,” Thor interjected, voice heavy. “Thanos is coming. We need time to prepare.”

Okoye grimaced as the groups of former Avengers and various heroes all started arguing with each other. If this alien overlord is actually real, we are screwed.

The look on Ayo’s face told her the Commander was thinking the exact same thing.

Fortunately, between Sam and T’Challa, the two men managed to get everything calmed down enough to make working through the facts possible.

Fact: Thanos was in possession of an item called the Infinity Gauntlet, which would allow him to wield the powers of the Infinity Stones once he had them.

Fact: They currently had three of the Infinity Stones in their possession, but no one knew where the other three were or how to stop Thanos from getting his hands on them.

Fact: Thanos would, eventually, make his way to Earth to procure the last three Infinity Stones.

Fact: Thanos would bring along his army and other warriors to help him procure the last three stones.

Fact: If Thanos managed to get his hands on all six stones, it meant the end of the world.

This is insane, Okoye thought as she listened to T’Challa, Thor, Gamora, and Tony talk back and forth. This is actually insane.

She’d been taught from a young age on not to assign labels like ‘impossible’ to a situation. Every obstacle was a problem waiting to be solved, and all one had to do was find the solution. Not always easy, but not impossible.

But she’d already calculated the odds. Run through possible strategies and scenarios over and over while listening to the others assess the status quo.

They were in over their heads. Way over.

Before she had a chance to voice the obvious --that things were shaping up for a brutal fight they couldn’t win--the windows behind T’Challa’s throne started shaking.

Her spear was ready and in her hands before a flash of gold light swept over the room.

A massive, hulking, purple-skinned alien dressed in gold armor stood in the center of the room, lips curled into a smirk as he assessed them the way a boy with a magnifying glass assessed a cluster of ants.

Even if the pompous armor and physical markers hadn’t tipped her off, the way the Guardians quickly made a barrier between the newcomer and Gamora and Nebula was all the confirmation Okoye needed. So. This is Thanos.

“He’s a lot uglier than I was expecting,” Dewani stage whispered to Izgebe, who had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle a snort.

“I take it you must be Thanos,” T’Challa said as he eyed the intruder cautiously. “And that you must have good reason to appear in my throne room without warning.”

“I am.” His voice boomed across the room, deep and full of the type of pride that often accompanied those who had made their way through life with minimal challenge to their status or way of thinking.

It made her skin crawl with unease.

“I’m here to offer you all a chance to shape destiny. To play a role in weaving of the fabric of fate.”

“You want us to help you collect the Infinity Stones,” Nakia surmised, eyes narrowed.

“I am a reasonable man,” Thanos said with a nod. “I am not a lover of violence and senseless bloodshed. If you hand over the stones already in your possession, you have my word that I will not return to Terra or unleash my armies upon you.”

“And if we don’t?” Tony asked.

“Destiny has chosen me to bring balance to the universe. No one can stop it, not even me. I will do whatever I must to complete my life’s purpose.”

“Yeah, whatever, but what gives you the right to destroy half the universe?” Dewani asked with an impertinent sneer.

“This is not about destruction. This is about balance. The universe is expanding beyond what its finite resources can sustain. Life must be culled to ensure its survival.”

“Genocide in the name of survival,” Peter Parker --a teenager that had come in with Tony that Okoye recognized as ‘Spiderman’ from T’Challa’s recounting of the airport fight after the embassy bombming--muttered. “I’ve heard that before. It didn’t wind up working.”

“Wait, pause a minute,” Dewani said, pinching the bridge of the nose. “You’re looking for the Infinity Stones, which could basically make you all powerful. Why not just... make infinite resources?”

“Solve global warming,” Peter added.

“End world hunger,” Abayomi suggested.

“Make space travel and colonization more readily accessible and affordable,” Shuri said.

“Eradicate all known diseases, disorders, and disabilities,” Izgebe spoke up.

“Create world peace,” Fukayna said.

“Guys, I got it!” Dewani said with a dramatic gasp. She pointed at Thanos. “This guy’s a moron!”

Okoye kept her eyes carefully trained on Thanos while the teenagers cackled and crowed. They were funny, yes, but anyone who was willing to make genocide his first choice wasn’t likely to be fond of being mocked.

“I mean, what kind of fucking idiot--”

“Enough!” Thanos snapped, proving her theory. “I did not come here to waste my time with children’s foolish antics.”

“And yet you wasted your time anyway,” T’Challa interjected, voice sharp and posture tense, clearly ready to jump in if the purple madman so much as looked at Shuri --or any of the other teens--wrong. “You won’t find anyone in Wakanda who would help you commit genocide.”

After a quick glance at the others, confirming that everyone else in the room was willing to side with T’Challa, Thanos let out a huff of haughty laughter. “So be it. Since I am merciful, I’ll give you three days to reconsider. If you won’t by then, I’ll just take what I need.” He tapped at a device strapped to his wrist and disappeared in another flash of gold light.

“Merciful?” Nebula spat out, seething and visibly trembling as Mantis tried to soothe her. “He cut out a part of me every time I failed, and he calls himself merciful?”

“Do you really think he’ll be back in three days?” Peter asked, a little wide-eyed from the encounter.

“There’s no way he won’t be,” Gamora said. “He needs all of the Infinity stones to execute his mission.”

“Well, in that case, we better get busy,” T’Challa said as he stood. “Thanos has given us a deadline; we need to make sure we’re ready for him when he comes back.”

Everyone divided off into teams almost immediately.

Jhanvi and Shuri immediately took off for the lab, taking Peter, Nebula, Dr. Banner, Vision, and Tony with them. “We’re going to need a mass amount of weapons,” Shuri had tossed over her shoulder as she’d darted out of the throne room. “The sooner we get started, the better!”

Dewani had also left almost immediately, heading back to the Jabari lands with Fukayna, Izgebe, and Abayomi. “I’ve got an idea, and they need you here for the bulk of the planning,” she’d said to M’Baku. “It’ll be fine; stop worrying.”

Shortly thereafter, Thor had left with Loki, the talking raccoon --Rocket, apparently--and the talking tree --which only said ‘I am Groot’ over and over--to remake his hammer that allowed him to wield lighting.

Because her day just couldn’t get any weirder.

That left the remaining Guardians, Captain Rogers and his group, Tony Stark and his friend Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, T’Challa, M’Baku, Ayo, and herself to plan the inevitable battle.

There are too many people in this damn room, she thought with no small amount of irritation as she listened to Star Lord and Stark argue about how to handle things.

“What do they even do?” Tony snapped, gesturing at Mantis and Drax.

“Kick names, and take ass,” Mantis said, too emphatic to be sarcastic.

“Bast help us,” Ayo muttered in Wakandan as she physically braced herself against a nearby chair.

They did, eventually, manage to work out a plan. Shuri and Jhanvi would spend the next three days mass producing as many drone weapons as possible, which Jhanvi would control from the lab. Shuri had her team working on making other weapons for Captain Roger’s team to use, while Tony was working on upgrading his, Rhodes’s, and Peter’s suit.

Sam, Rhodes, Vision, and Tony would be in charge of running air defense along with Jhanvi; take out as many of Thanos’s army without ever getting close to them.

Clint, along with the Wakandan snipers, would work on the back line; take out any stragglers or those that tried to breakaway, and generally keep an eye on everyone’s back.

T’Challa’s Border Tribe army, M’Baku’s warriors, the Dora Milaje, Dr. Strange and Wong, and the other Avengers and Guardians would take on the rest of Thanos’s children and the mad Titan himself, along with whatever army members the other groups couldn’t handle.

No one was sure when Thor and Loki would return, but everyone trusted that they’d fall into place in the battle when they did.

They’d done as much as they could to prepare for the onslaught that awaited them, less than a day away. Which was precisely why Okoye was knelt in front of a statue of Bast in Birnin Zana’s main temple for the Panther goddess.

She believed in doing for herself what she could --she’d always believe it. But she wasn’t about to leave the lives of her friends, of the people she loved, in her hands alone.

Be with us, Okoye prayed, head bowed. Ensure our victory over Thanos. We’ve done all we can.

A nagging doubt in her stomach told her it wouldn’t be enough, but she knew better than to entertain that thought for too long --or at all.

She stood, blew out the candle she’d lit before starting her prayer, and walked out of the temple.

“You should be in bed.”

“I could say the same about you.”

She shared a brief, wry smile with M’Baku that faded all too quickly, wicked away by the knowledge of what was coming.

For as much as dwelling on the possibilities didn’t help, it was entirely possible that one or both of them would be dead by the end of all this.

They stared at each other for a long moment, eyes burning with dread and foreboding, and then M’Baku was crossing the space between them, crushing her against his chest, kissing her until they were both gasping.

If this is my last night alive, I’m going to enjoy it, dammit, Okoye thought as M’Baku carried her to his bed. She broke the kiss long enough, planting a hand against his chest to slow him down, to look him in the eye and whisper the words “I love you.”

M’Baku let out a soft sigh, eyes closing as he pressed his forehead against hers. “And I love you. More than anything in the world.”

There wasn’t anything else she could say to that, so she yanked him back down to her and kissed him.

[distant-rose]

Seal of Fate Ch. 4 (5/8)

Notes: There’s a lot of emotions in this chapter, which makes absolutely no sense because I’m the most emotionally stunted person I know. Though I’m very curious to hear some of the reactions in regard to the last scene because it’s kinda me partially revealing my hand here. Anyway, a special thank you to @shireness-says and @katie-dub for motivating me and helping me through some of my writer’s block. Thanks also to @aerica13 who is my fantastic beta and is the best person to edit with. Thanks also goes to @cssns and @drowned-dreamer for making my CSSNS experience as excellent as it has been. Summary: Emma Swan is looking for only one thing - answers. Abandoned outside a police station in Menemsha, Martha’s Vineyard, Emma has dedicated her life to finding out where she comes from and why she was given away. She finds an unlikely partner in Killian, a selkie she inadvertently summons in a fit of frustration over her cold case. Word Count: 4,200+ AO3: [LINK] Chapters: Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Epilogue Rating: T+

Night fell and Emma watched it from her window sill, afraid to leave the confines of her bedroom. She didn’t want to leave and discover the magnitude of the damage caused by their fight. She wasn’t prepared to deal with an empty house.

Her stomach wasn’t on board with this however. It made a loud displeased growl, prompting her to finally creep out of her room and pad softly down the stairs. In a brief moment of courage, she glanced in the direction of Killian’s bedroom but the door was closed and she was unwilling to disturb it.

When she entered the small kitchen, she noted the large grocery bag on the counter and a wave of guilt rushed over her. Even though she had left him alone all day with no explanation, he had brought it upon himself to buy groceries without her asking. He had even bought her cinnamon sugar Poptarts, despite denouncing them as “sugar-coated garbage.”

She placed the box down on the counter, head buried in her hands. Once again, the gravity of their fight was weighing on her. She had driven away the one person who had, for a brief moment, given a damn about her. The weight of the loss alongside the hopelessness of her investigation felt like an anchor around her neck and she was slowly drowning.

It was almost mindless, the way she toed on her sandals and headed out the front door. The only thing that had been more constant than Killian in this place had been the ocean and she needed that right now.

The night air was cooler than she had expected, piercing even the warmth of her hoodie. Despite the chill, Emma continued her trek to the beach and sat down in her usual spot along the shoreline. She watched the waves softly roll in while playing with the sand, grabbing piles and allowing them to slip through her fingers.

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you were a child of the sea...” Emma jumped, unable to believe her ears. She turned around instantly to make sure they hadn’t misled her. Killian. “You’re still here,” she whispered in disbelief. “Of course I am, love. Where was I going to go?” It’s then that she remembered that he was bound to her. She had been so upset about their fight that she had completely forgotten that Killian was stuck here until she became happy, something that felt nigh impossible at this point. “Right, sorry.” “It’s fine,” he shrugged before sitting next to her. “Today was...something.” “That’s a word for it.” “Well, I knew it was a matter of time before I would find you here. Even when we’re focused on looking for your parents, you always have one eye looking out towards the water.” “People feel drawn to it. It’s kind of a normal thing.” “Not like you,” he asserted. “Just who exactly are you Emma Swan?”

“An unwanted souvenir it seems.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

“Well, it’s the most likely option at this point,” she murmured, resting her head on her knees. “I’ve never encountered a trail this cold...There’s nothing...I...I went to Oak Bluffs today, you know, to see the hospital records and see if I matched any of them. I was so close, Killian, so close. There were two that could have been me and I wanted so badly to be either of them, but both of them are islanders. There’s nothing! It’s like I just showed up out of thin air and no one wanted to know why!”

“I want to know why,” he replied softly.

“You don’t want to, you have to,” she corrected. “Your only hope to go home is me and that’s not much hope at all...I’m sorry…”

Killian shifted uncomfortably at her words, scratching at the skin behind his ear. He let out a deep breath before turning his entire body to face her.

“That’s not entirely true, love.”

“What do you mean?”

He bit his lip, his eyes moving away from her face and darting past her to look at the ocean. He worked his jaw for a moment.

“I may or may not have misled you a bit…in regard to my ability to go back.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m not stuck here. I’m here because I want to be.”

“I’m sorry, what?” She couldn’t comprehend what exactly he was telling her.

“Selkies can go back to the sea whenever they want to. As long as they have their pelt, they can come and go as they please between land and sea…”

“What the fuck does my happiness have to do with anything then?!” It was only the knowledge that it was the middle of the night and her neighbors were probably sleeping that kept her from screaming at him like she wanted to.

“Well, selkies...we as a species… we like causing joy and happiness...we are used to being worshiped and adored by humans...you, you were so unhappy, you were unlike any human I have ever known, I just wanted to know you. I wanted to make you smile…”

“So I’m just some curiosity project for you?” She hissed, eyes flashing.

“I won’t lie that my curiosity is what brought me to your doorstep but not what kept me here.”

“Then what did?”

It’s then that he finally pulled his gaze from the ocean and looked her straight in the eye. “You.”

“Me?”

“Aye, you. You’re a force of nature, Emma. You’re more than just an unwanted souvenir. You’re wonderful and powerful, nigh unstoppable, which is why I’m asking you not to give up hope. If anyone is going to uncover the truth...It’s you.”

“I...thank you.”

“No need to thank me, it’s just the truth, love.”

“Still…” She trailed, unable to find the words she was looking for. She felt raw in the wake of his confession and more vulnerable than she had a long time. She looked back at the water, closing her eyes and allowing herself to be calmed by the sound of the surf.

They sat in silence, not looking at each other. Killian started toying with the small shells left behind by the high tide while Emma traced indiscernible designs in the wet sand by her feet. The lull in conversation laid uncomfortably on her shoulders and she felt the need to shrug it off.

“His name was Neal.”

He looked up, meeting her eyes with a frown. “Pardon?”

“You asked me more than a few times who broke my heart. His name was Neal.”

Killian didn’t say anything, merely watched her with a look caught between curious and concerned. When she realized he was waiting for her continue instead of responding, she continued.

“You see...I was adopted at first. They didn’t think they could have children so they took me in, and then when the miracle baby came along, I was unwanted and went into foster care when I was three. Eleven foster homes but no forever home.”

“That must have been difficult,” he murmured.

He placed a hand on her back, thumb rubbing a back and forth motion against her shirt. It was soothing but she couldn’t find it in herself to fully relax.

“It was sometimes. There were as many good foster homes as there were bad ones. I can’t say it was all terrible but the bad ones certainly left their scars,” she murmured, bringing her hand up to her collarbone and smoothing her fingers along the ridge as she remembered the foster father who used to use her as a personal ashtray. The burn mark from one of his cigarette butts was still there. “But the last one was the worst and that’s when I had enough and ran away.”

“How old were you?”

“I was seventeen. Old enough to figure things out things on my own but young enough that I shouldn’t have had to,” she replied. “Five months after I ran off, I met him. You see, no one wants to employ a homeless teenager with no high school diploma. I was stealing things to survive.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the quelling emotional storm inside her. She hadn’t talk about Neal since she left prison. It felt like she was picking at an old scar that had healed wrong the first time. Killian said nothing, just continued to rub her back. She scooted a little bit closer to him. Like it or not, she needed his support for this.

“You know my Bug?”

“The yellow monstrosity you drive?”

“Don’t diss my car,” she admonished, lightly smacking him. “I met Neal when I stole that car. He had stolen it first, you see, and was sleeping in the backseat. He could have turned me in but instead he saved my ass...and we became partners...for the first time I felt like I was a part of something.”

“What happened?”

“Phoenix happened,” she spat. “That fucking asshole got me arrested.”

“He did what?”

“There were these watches he stole...we were going to fleece them and settle down together in Tallahassee…” She could feel the tears coming. “He sent me to what I thought was a pickup...but was actually a trap. There was an officer there waiting for me. Neal tipped him off.”

Killian swore softly under his breath. Emma nodded numbly in agreement, averting her eyes from his face. She didn’t want to see the look of pity on his face when she finished the story.

“I...I was pregnant.”

He stiffened, the hand on her back stilling.

“Did he know?”

She shook her head. “No. I didn’t even know, not until I went to prison. I never saw him again. I looked but he’s the one person I never found - well, aside from my parents.”

“That’s bad form...no, that’s the worst form I’ve ever heard...that’s…”

“Yeah,” she chuckled ruefully. “I don’t know what I would have done if I saw him again.”

“Tying him up and leaving him for the sharks would have been most appropriate,” he replied darkly. He softened his tone when he asked his next question. “What happened to the babe?”

The tears that had been welling up before this point finally fell, spilling quietly down her cheeks. Hesitantly, Killian’s hand moved from her back to her shoulder and he tugged at her slightly in order to bring her closer to him. She went willingly, burrowing her face into his chest as his arms wrapped around her tightly. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been held like that.

“I put him up for adoption. I was seventeen, had no family, no high school education and a criminal record to boot. There was no way I could have kept him…”

“But you wanted to.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Her voice cracked and she hated herself for it.

Killian said nothing for awhile, just continued to hold her and rub her back. She kept her head in the crook of his shoulder, trying very hard not to cry more than she already had.  It was a moment before he spoke again.

“I want you to know that you’re possibly the strongest person I’ve ever met, human or otherwise.”

She snorted in response. “I highly doubt that. I’ve turned you into living Kleenex.”

“Crying is not weak, Emma,” he admonished quietly. “You’ve been through more than I could even imagine and you’re here, you’re still alive and you’re fighting for answers. Surviving is the strongest thing anyone can ever do.”

Emma didn’t know what to say in response to that, especially because she didn’t necessarily agree with him. So she remained silent, enjoying the comfort while it lasted. A cold gust made its way across the beach and despite Killian’s warmth, she still shivered. It was mid-October and the temperature was dropping more rapidly by the day.

“How about we take this indoors?” He suggested quietly. “And you make us some of the hot chocolate you’re so fond of?”

“That sounds good,” she chuckled dryly, wiping at her eyes. With all the emotions of the day, she was certain that she looked like a drowned raccoon at this point. Killian, almost reluctantly, separated himself from her and rose to his feet. Emma followed, feeling even colder than she had before. As if sensing her discomfort, he reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tugging her to his side.

“What’s with all the cuddling?” Despite her question, she didn’t pull away.

“Just being a gentleman and keeping the lady warm.”

She snorted. “I think the last thing anyone would call me is a lady.”

“I’m going to have to disagree with you on that, Swan.”

“Whatever.”

They quietly walked back into the house, making a beeline for the kitchen. Emma went searching for the saucepan while Killian unpacked the rest of the groceries that she had left abandoned on the counter. She grabbed the milk from the refrigerator and began heating it up on the stove. He watched her with mild curiosity, a frown playing at his lips.

“I thought you used that powder to make hot chocolate?”

“You can but it’s been a shit day and this calls for the real thing,” she replied.

“The real thing?”

“Yeah,” she chuckled lightly before biting her lip. “My favorite foster mom...Ingrid...she taught me this recipe. I save it for special occasions…”

“Why was she your favorite?”

“Because she cared,” Emma replied quietly. “She was the only one who seemed to and for a little while, it felt like I had a mother...I thought she was going to adopt me but then she got sick…”

“I can’t seem to stop picking at your worst memories it seems.”

She shook her head. “No, not all bad. Ingrid wasn’t bad.”

The conversation lulled again as she stirred in the chocolate. She focused her attention on making sure the milk didn’t burn while Killian shuffled in the background. When she was finished, she found him sitting at the table, looking back over the case files that were still strewn across it.

“So, the hospital was a dead end?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t on file. Total waste of a day.”

“Not entirely,” he replied, looking up at her. “I think I might have something actually.”

Emma froze. “What?”

“I said I think have something.”

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything sooner?!”

“Because it wasn’t appropriate. I was going to tell you when you got home but some issues got the best of us and it was pushed aside. You being upset became my primary concern.”

“What exactly is this lead of yours?” Emma asked.

“Well, as you’re aware, I didn’t necessarily sit on my rear all day.”

“Yeah, thanks for getting the Poptarts.”

“We’ll talk about your atrocious eating habits later but I decided to do some digging around town - you know, talk to some of the locals about what they knew about you.”

“Did you refer to me specifically or the case?” Emma asked, feeling her hackles rise.

He gave her a long look. “I’m trying very hard not to be insulted. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, love, but I’m a bit perceptive and I’ve noticed the amount of hoops you’ve gone through to keep the fact this case is about you secret. Of course I didn’t tell anyone that you’re the baby in question.”

She relaxed slightly at his words, raising her mug to her lips and sipping. Killian took it as a cue to continue.

“Anyway, I made it round to Granny’s and chatted with Leroy and those blokes. Miserable bastards, the lot of them really but they had a vague recollection of you being found. They didn’t know much but they’re not the lead.”

“Then what’s the lead? You’ve been building this up enough, haven’t you? Just spit out already!”

“The Lady Lucas knows something.”

“Ruby?” Emma was confused.

“No. Her grandmother. She acted strangely when I mentioned the case.”

She let out a disappointed huff, placing her mug down on the table and groaning. She rubbed at her temples.

“A weird reaction? That’s all you got for me?”

“It’s more than we’ve gotten so far. She knows something, Emma. I’m certain of it.”

“Killian, we need more than just a reaction to some questions...I…” she sucked in a breath. “I don’t know if I can handle another dead end…”

He stood abruptly, causing Emma to jump. He took steady footsteps towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders. The intense look on his face made her uncomfortable so she averted her eyes, looking down at her feet.

“Emma, look at me.”

Reluctantly, she met his gaze.

“We are going to solve this. We are. There is no question in my mind that we are going to find out where you come from. Do you hear me?”

She nodded wordlessly.

“I need you to trust me on this. Please.”

“You’re really that certain that she knows something?”

“I’m willing to bet my life on it.”

Emma searched his face, noting how serious his expression was. She had no doubt in her mind that he meant it. She worried at her bottom lip.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“We’ll stop by the diner tomorrow and talk to her while we get coffee. I don’t think it’s going to lead to anything but I’m willing to humor you just this once because we got nothing.”

He frowned at her. “Shouldn’t we go now?”

“Killian, it’s the middle of the night. The diner is closed and, honestly? I’m exhausted. We’ll pick this up tomorrow morning.”

Killian looked like he wanted to argue but merely sighed in response. He picked up his untouched hot chocolate and gave her a rueful smile.

“To a better tomorrow, love?”

She chuckled, raising her own mug and tapping it against his. “Yeah. I can drink to that.”

She hadn’t been lying when she said she was exhausted but she realized just how completely drained she was as she made her way up the stairs. Her legs felt like lead and the weight of the emotional upheaval of the day felt heavy on her shoulders.

Despite her fatigue, she slept fitfully; unable to calm her chaotic thoughts. She gave up trying around four in the morning, rising from her bed and heading downstairs. Emma enjoyed staying in Ruby’s beach house but she wasn’t without complaints, particularly in the regard to the fact there was only one television. It had thrown her off at first, especially because she was in the habit of leaving it on while she slept.

She watched infomercials for a good two hours before she got restless. She gave the antique clock on the wall a quick glance. 6:50. If she walked over to Granny’s, it would be open by the time she got there. She got off the couch and walked to the bottom of the stairs, listening intently. Though Killian’s door was closed, she could still hear the muffled sound of him snoring.

She made a decision.

Digging out a notepad with the Black Dog logo on it, she scribbled a hurried note to let him know that she had gotten up early and was going to get coffee. She didn’t want a repeat episode of yesterday.

As she walked into town, a small wave of guilt washed over her. Killian, like it or not, was her partner on the case and he would most certainly not be happy that she had left him behind yet again. It was better this way however. Though she had agreed to humor him and most certainly would ask Granny about the case, she wasn’t so confident that anything would come of it. She didn’t want to deal with his disappointment on top of her own when it happened.

Ruby was just opening up the diner when she arrived. Though she was dressed in her waitress apron, Ruby didn’t look ready for anyone; eyes squinting in the morning light and a vague, zombie-like expression on her face. She became more animated when she noticed Emma.

“Hey! Where’s tall, dark and handsome?”

“Still sleeping,” Emma chuckled. “But probably won’t be for long. He’s got a nose for coffee.”

“Just coffee today?”

“Yes, unless you’ve got those amazing jelly doughnuts ready?”

“I wouldn’t call them amazing but yeah. We have some.”

“I’ll take six,” she paused, biting her lip. “Is your grandmother around?”

Ruby snorted. “When she is not? She takes micromanaging to a whole new level.”

“Can I talk to her? I think she might be able to help with our case…”

“Oh,” she blinked, slightly confused. “Yeah, sure, come on in, she’s in the kitchen.”

Emma followed Ruby into the diner, slightly startled by the classic rock that was blaring from the jukebox. It seemed a little too early in the day to be listening to the Rolling Stones. Granny was putting the doughnuts in the front display underneath the breakfast bar. She straightened up, brushing her hands against her knees and tentatively smiling as she caught sight of them.

“I’m assuming that you want the usual?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you about my case.”

The smile was immediately wiped from her face. She glanced in Ruby’s direction for a brief moment before looking back at Emma. She let out a loud sigh, pursing her lips.

“Ruby, I need you to close the door and call Leroy. Tell him I’m sick and need him to man the kitchens. This is going to take a while,” she said before looking at Emma. “You’re going to want to follow me upstairs.”

“What?” This wasn’t what Emma had been expecting at all when she decided to humor Killian’s suggestion.

“What I have to say is best said in private,” she replied gruffly. “Come on.”

She then turned on her heel and headed down a narrow hallway that led to a flight of stairs. She turned and lifted her eyebrows expectantly at Emma before motioning for her to come. Completely confused by the turn of events, she tentatively walked towards her. They went up the stairs into a small apartment setup. It was tidy but cluttered, walls covered in photos and tables covered in various knickknacks.

Granny didn’t say anything to Emma nor she did offer her a seat. Instead, she went straight into the kitchen and picked up a bottle of whiskey off the counter. She then pulled two glasses from the cabinets, pouring two fingers worth.

“Isn’t a little early in the day for that?” Emma asked in alarm.

“If there’s any conversation that needs alcohol, it’s this one,” Granny replied, slamming back one of the glasses like a pro. She filled it almost immediately. “I always knew this day would come. I expected you to come sooner, you know...But the moment I saw you, I knew who you were. I hoped against hope that you weren’t but there’s no denying it...you look just like your mother...though you’re a blondie just like David.”

The colour drained from Emma’s face. She stood still for a moment, not even daring to breathe. She was afraid that if she moved, whatever was happening at this moment would cease to exist.

“You know who my parents are…”

The gruff expression on Granny’s face faltered and was replaced with one that ached of loss. She looked down at the glasses she had filled and Emma thought for a brief moment that she was going to throw back another one.

“I do. I knew them personally,” she admitted. “And they didn’t deserve what happened to them. You didn’t deserve what happened to you and it’s something I live with every day. But before we have this conversation, there’s something that I need to return to you.”

She handed Emma one of the whiskey glasses and placed the other on the coffee table before disappearing into a room that Emma could only assume was a bedroom. She was gone for less than a minute before she returned, this time with something in her hands.

At first, she thought it was a fur shawl, pure white and dainty looking. Granny placed it wordlessly in her lap before sitting across from her. Emma ran her fingers through it. It feel softer than anything she had ever felt and, surprisingly, familiar. She had felt this texture before.

And that’s when she knew exactly what it was.

The realisation hit her like a MAC truck and she nearly dropped it.  She made a frantic grab and caught it before it hit the floor, cradling it to her chest with shaky fingers. When she met Granny’s eyes, the older woman was looking at her with a remorseful expression.

“Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

“I think you and I both know what it is, Emma. It’s yours.”

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

About fate, Cain and Rowena

Compare Funeralia to The Executioner’s Song (the titles are telling, aren’t they? Funerals and executions are both societal rituals that regard death). I could have placed many gifs from the two episodes one next to the other, but since I can’t put too many, I’m going with the two climactic scenes. But there are many other moments that parallel each other, obviously with all the due differences.

This is how the confrontation between Dean and Cain in the barn starts:

I’ll spare us the formalities. You’re past talking down. Cain, you’re fully mental. Oh, I prefer to think I’ve finally gotten clear. When I made my bargain with Lucifer, killed Abel, I released a stain upon the earth, a stain deeper and far more lasting than mere precedence. Your bloodline’s tainted, so you say. So I know. Not all killers are my descendants, and not all my descendants are killers, but enough are, enough for me to know that extinguishing them is the least I owe this world. Can you honestly tell me that humanity’s not better off with fewer Tommys and fewer Leons... fewer yous?

And this is what Sam tells Rowena when he wakes up in the hotel room:

Rowena, you gotta listen to me. This power’s getting to your head, okay? It's making you go crazy. No. It’s given me clarity. It’s showing me that everything I did before, for wealth, for magic, for myself, meant nothing. And it took everything from me, everyone I love -- my family, Oskar, my son. I’m a flawed, petty, evil creature, Samuel. I don’t know if I can be redeemed, but I have to try.

They both claim that they’re not “crazy/mental”, but they’ve achieved “clarity”, one through his return to murder, the other through returning her magic to full power. And they state that they’re acting to supposedly repair an original sin of sorts - Cain wants to repair the “stain” he caused the world through his bloodline, Rowena wants to bring back her son to give him a second chance after she took away his first chance by abandoning him and causing his life to go downhill. They both know they are not good people, so to speak, but they’re doing something “positive” that they believe owe someone: Cain believes he owes the world to rid it of his cursed bloodline, Rowena believes she owes Crowley a second chance.

Let’s go further:

You told me that this day would come. You told me that I would have to kill you. Is that so? I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood my intentions here, Dean. 

There is only one person in the universe that could kill Cain, and Cain had told Dean to come back and kill him once he’d had the possibility to do so. But once Cain relapses, he changes his mind about dying, and decides to kill Dean instead, decides to go on his mission to kill his bloodline and ‘save’ Dean from what would be coming for him. Of course, Dean beats him, and Cain accepts that it’s over for him.

There’s only one way to stop me -- you. If you’re dead... then I can’t be stopped, can I? 

Rowena also learns that there is only one person in the universe that could ever kill her. In Cain’s case, it’s the Mark of Cain making him invulnerable to anyone that doesn’t also carry the Mark and strikes with the First Blade, in Rowena’s case, it’s about the ways of fate; but in both cases, they both know that there is one potential killer for them, and that with this person’s death, they’d be unstoppable in their missions. Cain’s mission is very different from Rowena’s mission to push Death to bring back Crowley, but the similarities are there. There is also another element that the two situations have in common:

This may be hard to believe, in light of what I’m about to do to you, but I care about you, Dean. I truly do. But I know I’m doing you a favor. I’m saving you.

Cain doesn’t want to kill Dean. He feels a kinship to Dean that comes from their shared experiences and their similarities. But he believes that killing Dean has a higher purpose, and that wins over a possible reluctance about hurting him.

I don’t know if I can be redeemed, but I have to try. And I do wish there was another way. [...] I'm sorry, Sam.

Rowena also feels a kinship to Sam that comes from their shared experiences. And she’s genuinely sorry about hurting him - in fact, enough that she eventually isn’t able to kill him, of course. She is aware that she feels an attachment for Sam, and killing Sam isn’t something she wants to do, but that she believes is necessary for her purpose.

And of course, there is the theme of the two episodes, which is fudamentally the same.

Fate.

This may be hard to believe, in light of what I’m about to do to you, but I care about you, Dean. I truly do. But I know I’m doing you a favor. I’m saving you. Saving me from what? From your fate. Has it never occurred to you? Have you never mused upon the fact that you’re living my life in reverse? My story began when I killed my brother, and that’s where your story inevitably will end. No. Never. It’s called the Mark of Cain for a reason! [...] The only thing standing between you and that destiny is this Blade. You’re welcome, my son.

Of course, we’ve written thousands and thousands of words about Dean’s fate prophesied by Cain in season 10, and how Dean eventually overturned that fate by not killing either Crowley, Cas or Sam, despite being placed in situations where he could have carried out those murders, one after another. He talked things out with Crowley when Rowena plotted to make them fight, he spared Cas despite the Mark’s influence being at its strongest, he hit Death instead of Sam when they had decided to sacrifice Sam for the greater good.

And now, the theme of fate returns in regards to Rowena, who is told that is going to be killed by Sam Winchester - which also implies that she is going to go down a path where Sam will need to stop her.

“That’s where your story inevitably will end,” says Cain. “You already know how your story ends,” Billie tells Rowena.

While Cain’s own destiny ended up in death and he couldn’t “stop” but by being killed by Dean, Cain’s picture for Dean’s destiny didn’t come true. Dean’s story didn’t, in fact, end up where his “destiny” was supposed to lead him - he ended up in the ‘correct’ circumstances (situations where he could have killed Crowley, Cas and Sam) but he chose otherwise. It is possible that Rowena’s fate might also be not as fixed as Death believes. In fact, Dean’s destined path in season 10 ended up with him killing the then-Death, after all - Dean has defeated the destiny that said he would kill Sam by defeating Death himself. Of course, I’m not saying Death-Billie is going to die, but that the fate that is written in her books might be defeated.

(Of course, it’s possible that Rowena will indeed be killed by Sam, but in circumstances that will be seen by her as something positive, something she’ll choose for a purpose, thus overturning the expectation that she will go down a dark path instead of a path of redemption. We’ll see...)

[softspideys]

Time After Time (Part IV) (Peter Parker x reader)

summary: peter parker is your worst enemy, but he’s also your soulmate. life is funny that way.

warnings: none

words: 1.9k

pairings: peter parker x reader

a/n: just because people keep asking me this and I don’t feel like answering it anymore....this will have MULTIPLE chapters!!! at least like 10!!!! probs more!!!! thank you for listening

The school year seemed to drag on like that: you and Peter actively avoiding each other, the universe and your friends determined to prevent it.

You’d always assumed that once you met your soulmate, you’d be the happiest person in the world. But if anything, your mood had worsened. You knew now that it was one thing to find your soulmate, but getting along with them was a completely different thing entirely.

Your chemistry teacher had long since given up trying to partner you and Peter together during experiments. It happened only once, and had ended with you pushing Peter off of his stool because he insisted on looking over your shoulder as you did the work to make sure you “didn’t mess anything up.” Since then, you stuck to your side of the room and he stuck to his.

In class, your teacher had just finished showing a documentary about drones and their use in chemical warfare. It was extremely boring, but after watching Bill Nye for the past three weeks, your teacher decided it was time to show something a little more serious.

“So,” he said enthusiastically, turning the lights back on. “What’d we think? Did we like it? Dislike it? C’mon people, let me hear your thoughts!”

“It was okay,” someone muttered, and the class murmured in agreement.

Your teacher rolled his eyes. “Really, guys? No one has any other thoughts?” No one answered. “Are we pro-drone? Anti-drone? If you were one or the other, did the doc make you switch your view? Why or why not? I’m desperate here.”

It really was getting to be quite painful, so with a sigh, you raised your hand. “Yes! Y/N!”

“I’m pro-drone,” you said, uncomfortably aware of everyone’s eyes on you.

“Alright,” your teacher said. “Why?”

You shifted in your seat. You’d been hoping he’d just take your answer and run with it himself, but no such luck. “Well . . .” you said. “They’re low cost. They’re way cheaper to purchase and fuel than regular airplanes. And they save lives, you know, so no military personnel have to be put in harm’s way or combat or whatever. The drones just do it for them.”

“I see,” your teacher nodded. “Does anyone else have anything to add? Anyone have a counterpoint?”

For a second no one answered and you thought you were done. But then, from across the room, Peter raised his hand. “I have a counterpoint.”

“Okay,” your teacher said slowly. Everyone knew by now that you and Peter together was a dangerous thing. “Go ahead.”

“Drones aren’t ethical,” Peter said. “It makes combat warfare too easy by diminishing ethical decisions. Some drone pilots or operators have difficulty switching between combat mode at work and civilian mode while not working. It can create PTSD.”

“So does actually being in the middle of combat,” you said, annoyed already. “Some drones don’t even need human pilots.”

“Drones can’t communicate with civilians for more detailed intelligence. Drones can’t capture surrendering military personnel, abandoned hardware, or military bases,” Peter spoke over you.

“They’re more lethal than regular airplanes and way more accurate,” you snapped.

“Accurate? Drone warfare causes collateral damages in civilian lives and property.”

“So you’d rather risk our own soldiers’ lives instead of civilian lives?” you said loudly.

“Civilians view drones as an invasion force. The mere presence of drones has been known to convert civilians into military combats. And when they cause collateral damage, like killing innocent people and damaging their property, the opinions of civilians decrease even more,” Peter said, his voice rising.

“Who cares what they think?”

“So you’d rather innocent people die for no reason?” Peter shot back. “What if the roles were reversed? What if a drone flew into the US, blew up an army base, and killed a bunch of innocent people? But oh no, they got their target, so who cares right?”

“That’s not what I said!”

“It’s what you meant!”

“Drones save lives. Our own lives! That’s what’s most important!”

“Everyone’s lives are worth saving!”

“News flash! You can’t save everyone!”

“You can try!”

“Parker! Y/L/N! That’s enough!” Your teacher practically had to yell to be heard over you.

You fell back into your seat, which you didn’t even realize you were halfway out of. “Both of you, go take a walk,” your teacher ordered. “Opposite directions, please. Come back when you’re ready to have a debate that doesn’t involve screaming at each other.”

Peter was out of his seat and out the door instantly. You reluctantly followed, and as you left you heard someone mutter, “Aren’t they supposed to be soulmates?”

You caught up to Peter and hit him on the shoulder hard. “Ow!” He turned and glared at you. “He said opposite directions.”

“Why do you always have to find some way to argue with me?” you demanded.

“It was a debate, chill out.”

“I’m not even talking about just the debate!” you practically shouted. “You always have to find some way to be better than me or correct me or prove me wrong!”

“Not my fault you’re usually wrong anyway,” he said coldly.

You clenched your fists so hard you could feel your nails digging into your skin. “Just once,” you said through your teeth. “I would like you to just leave me be.”

He shrugged. “Can’t help it if the universe keeps throwing me at you,” he said, though his tone had no humor in it.

“You’re the worst, Parker.”

“Are you sure about that? There’s 7.6 billion people on this planet and I’m the worst?”

“Forget it.” You turned on your heel and stalked down the hallway. As you turned the corner, you could’ve sworn you heard him laugh.

You took a short walk around the building, taking some deep breaths, and when you came back to class you saw Peter several feet away. You rushed to get there first. You slammed the door in his face, smirking at his annoyed expression.

“Welcome back,” your teacher said when Peter finally entered. “Take your seats, please.” You and Peter obeyed. You had a feeling that the real lecture would be coming after class.

Sure enough, when the bell rang, your teacher said, “Peter, Y/N, come see me, please.” 

The two of you reluctantly approached his desk. He looked at you with raised eyebrows. “What happened today wasn’t cool, guys,” he said. “I know not everyone gets along with their soulmates right away, but yelling at each other like that? Unacceptable.”

“Sorry, sir,” you both muttered.

He sighed. “I’m not claiming to know about the deep inner workings of your relationship, but I do wish you’d try to get along. You being paired together . . . it’s a pretty lucky thing.”

You blinked at him, confused. Peter must’ve looked the same way, because your teacher laughed. “If the two of you worked together on whatever you put your minds to . . . you’d be unstoppable. You’d rule the world. Think about it.”

Peter made a beeline to his locker as soon as you were dismissed and so did you, but you couldn’t help it: you did think about it.

* * *

“I don’t really think it’s hatred,” your best friend decided as the two of you walked out of school.

“Oh? Then what is it?”

“Sexual tension.”

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing. “Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“I see,” you said. “Well, thanks for that input. Now can we talk about literally anything else besides Peter Parker?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. What’d you get on that Calc test?”

“95.”

“What? How?”

“It’s called studying,” you said, amused.

“Nah,” she shook her head, “Mrs. Wyatt has it in for me. She’s never liked me.”

“Probably because you don’t study.”

She gave you the finger. “Well, here’s what I think about you and your 95.”

You laughed as you came to her subway stop. “This is me,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright, bye.” You waved as you walked away. You put your headphones in your ears and turned on some music, letting out a sigh and tilting your head back to feel the sun on your face. You liked school, but nothing compared to the feeling of finally being done for the day.

You walked alone for a little while, enjoying the solitude and thinking about nothing in particular. Suddenly, a voice behind you called, “Hey.”

You ignored it, assuming it wasn’t directed towards you. But then someone came up and yanked one of your headphones out of your ears.

“Hey!” you said, turning in time to see Peter fall into step beside you. “What is the matter with you? What do you want?”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To my subway stop. What do you want?” you repeated.

“Fine, let me walk you.”

This time you did laugh out loud. “Are you kidding? I’d literally rather get hit by a bus. I thought I told you to stay away from me.”

“Technically, you said you’d just like me to leave you be,” Peter corrected you.

“Oh my God. Can’t you just leave me alone?” You tried to quicken your pace, but Peter caught up to you easily.

“Believe me, I’d love to,” he said. “But . . . don’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“What it’s like when we’re together, versus when we’re not.” He gave you an annoyed look, like don’t make me say it.

Part of you wanted to say you had no idea what he was talking about. But it would be a lie. You knew exactly what he meant.

When Peter was around you, it was like the weight of the sky was being lifted off of your shoulders. You couldn’t explain it, but being near him felt like being home. You knew you were safe, that this was your person.

Of course, you hated every second of it, but you knew it.

“Yes,” you said finally. “I feel it.”

“Okay,” Peter said, his voice quiet. “So just . . . let me walk you. Okay?”

“Fine,” you said.

The two of you silently began to walk together. You noticed he had one of his headphones in, the other dangling loosely around his neck. “What are you listening to?” you asked, grudgingly attempting to make conversation.

“The Strokes.”

“Hmm.”

“You like them?” he said, side-eyeing you.

You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

“Hmm,” was all Peter said. You didn’t speak as you walked to your subway stop, or as you made your way downstairs and onto the platform.

Finally, you turned to him. “Are you gonna get on the train with me or something?”

“This is where I get on too,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh.”

Your train pulled up first, so as the doors opened, you faced him awkwardly. “Well . . . see you.”

He nodded, not meeting your eyes. “Yeah, see you.”

You got on the train and watched him through the window as it pulled away. Now that you weren’t with him, the safe feeling had gone away. But that was all purely chemical, you told yourself. Nothing had changed. You still hated Peter Parker.

taglist: @tohollandback​@what-the-heck-life @curlycals @rudegrungegirlxx @dontmeanlove​ @hufflepuffbitch @fanboyswhereare-you @hollandroos​ @twentyjuanwinchesterz​ @space1boy @peterparker @peterp-peterq​ @theguildenark @ravenclawnerdfromnarnia @thisisthetragicstoryofme @peteparkly

[elliemarchetti]

A Red Lover

Old fic revised for AO3 

Words:1575

As he fell, he saw nothing but flames; they were everywhere, meeting him, crackling and sizzling as they destroyed all the memories they had managed to build before reaching the front. He was sure that not even a charred mush would remain of him, that his bones would turn to ashes, and there wouldn’t be a grave where people could cry for his loss. He bang his head against something, and in his field of vision appeared a thousand shiny stars. In fact, they weren’t stars but sparks. His uniform caught fire, carbonized, began to smoke, but it didn’t happen to his skin, and he felt no pain but the sparks’ heat, as if they were going through his body, as if they were tickling his nerves. It wasn’t a bad feeling to try before he died: he felt alive like never before, like a blind man who finally came back to see after a long time. He sensed something moving inside him, but it was no longer just the sparks: it was the whole flame, which slid over him, blackened his clothes leaving the skin intact. The flames were trying to kill him without succeeding. It was all wrong, obviously; he shouldn’t have been alive, he wouldn’t have to get a big cloud of black smoke around him, the floor wouldn’t have to start crunching and the walls wouldn’t have to crack. The fire became clearer and more aggressive, but after a while, it weakened, making Thomas feel stronger. It didn’t matter that he was falling again, that three floors of that area of ​​the building had been destroyed, or that he was almost naked. It didn’t matter because he landed on a pile of dust, or perhaps ashes, definitely battered, with sore muscles, but undoubtedly alive. He stood up with difficulty, the clothes that continued to fall apart. Above him, inside the building, in the areas that hadn’t been touched by the explosion, someone was looking at that havoc. How many had died because of Maven? Then he turned, sensing other looks, this time pointed at him, a red boy who had escaped that ruckus. Watching him, there were two guys: one was taller and thinner, and the other more sturdy and stocky, but the differences between the two seemed to end there. They definitely had to be brothers. Both had wide eyes. One seemed angry, the other confused. Then their expressions changed: the biggest seemed scared, and Thomas wondered how it was possible. He was thin and pale, nobody feared him.

"He's one of us." instead said the taller, the look drawn by a small scratch on the back of his right hand. Then he didn’t fully understand what else happened, he only knew that the boy approached and in a moment he found himself very far from there, in a place that with time he would’ve learned to define a house, among people who for those like Maven had envisaged only one destiny: death.

 Farley left him in a corridor, to ruminate on her words: he had always thought that there was only the distinction between reds and silvers, kings and slaves, and instead he discovered that there was much more, a range of nuances that he didn’t understand, in which he had precipitated unwillingly. He grew up wondering if he could have dinner every night, like any other red, and now he found himself in a place full of red with full bellies and enough energy to be able to fight against the silver. He had to choose and he had to do it quickly. Would he join the Scarlet Guard, ready to sacrifice himself and everything he wanted to reach the infamous common goal, or would he continue a life that he no longer had? Thomas knew that, after all, there was no choice: he couldn’t go back to the front, he couldn’t go home, and he wouldn’t even be able to live far from there, because when the silvers are on you, there's no far enough place. So he accepted that same evening, certain that he had just launched himself into a business that would’ve eaten him alive.

 He realized he wasn’t wrong only three years later, when Farley dragged him around midnight into a greenhouse in the Royal Palace. She didn’t explain anything to him, only that they had found new, important members for the Guard. They hid in the greenhouse in four: Thomas, Farley, Kilorn, a new recruit who seemed ready to sell his soul to please someone important in the Guard, and another girl, who carried a big assault rifle with her. She had to have little aim.

"Excuse me if I don’t do the reverence." Farley said, emerging from a grove of magnolias where she was hidden with Thomas, upon the arrival of two figures. One was Walsh, he had heard of her and had even seen her, sometimes, and the other was a girl younger than him, not so tall, thin and definitely not silver. It didn’t take a genius to understand it, yet he noted that someone had given her special care. She had to be Mareena, the one everyone talked about. Her real name was Mare, and she was like him.

"Farley." she said, greeting the Scarlet Guard’s captain. Therefore, they must have already met. He suspected it. Farley didn’t return the greeting, asking Walsh where the other was. Thomas had originally believed it was some red, someone who worked in the palace, but no one had ever been so excited for a simple recruit. Was him a newblood that had managed to stay hidden all that time?

"What does that mean? Who else joined?" Mare asked, too loudly, for Thomas's tastes, but not wrongly. He didn’t like all that secrecy and certainly wasn’t excited at the idea that someone else would arrive there at any moment, with the possibility of a betrayal.

“Maven.” Thomas heard his own voice whisper. He had grown up, but it was undeniably him. He didn’t know whether to scream with joy, to see him alive, or run away, because the last time he was next to him, he almost risked dying. He was a prince, a silver, the enemy, and yet here he was, along with Farley. Thomas felt his heart burst with joy. He had stifled his love for Maven long ago, had abandoned those stupid fantasies of a kid when he had taken the oath of the Guard. Holland, his companion, a red servant of a certain age, with many years of service behind him, seemed to burst with pride.

"Mare, I told you you're not alone." Maven said, and his voice was so different, that Thomas almost felt a stab in his stomach. He kept his hands on his hips and contracted them: he seemed nervous, probably because of Farley. Not that it was difficult to understand why: the girl had approached with a gun in her hand, almost as nervous as he was, but her voice was firm and decisive. Thomas remained hidden, even though he was sick of being just a spectator. He wanted to tell him that he was proud of him, he wanted to tell him that he remembered everything they had said six years ago, yet he stayed still, to keep his place in the Guard, because he was too used to taking orders. Farley, however, didn’t move an inch, causing Thomas's blood to freeze in his veins. Weren’t his words enough? What did she want more? Then, as if he had always known, Maven started talking again. He spoke of when he was twelve and his father sent him to the front, to temper him, to make him look more like Cal. Thomas felt a lump in his throat as he pulled out secrets that had only revealed to him, feelings that a prince should never have felt. Farley, however, snorted. Thomas never shared this abrupt and mean way; he believed there were better ways to inspire trust and loyalty, he believed that reigning through fear was something silver do, but he would never say it.  He knew that she had lost so much, but Thomas hadn’t really been a privileged in life, yet his heart hadn’t dried up like that.

"I don’t need a jealous kid."

"It’s not jealousy that pushed me here." Maven corrected her, and Thomas smiled. He hadn’t changed so much, after all. "I spent three years in a camp to follow Cal, the officers and generals, watching the soldiers die and fight a war in which no one believed."

Thomas closed his eyes, trying to shake off the nightmares. There was no honor or loyalty, whence he came, only madness and destruction, rivers of blood poured from both sides of the border.

"And our people have given so much more," Maven continued, implacable. He spoke like a river in flood that can no longer be dammed, and he spoke of a boy who was only seventeen, red and came from the cold north. He was speaking of him.

 "You should have told me!" thundered Thomas, on the way back. Farley didn’t even deign to look back at him.

"You knew everything, I told you everything!"

His anger was unstoppable, but fortunately, no one tried to use any kind of power in the vicinity, or he wasn’t sure he would be able to stop, once he started his revenge against the captain.

[bluekayanite]

Theory: Are Gems A.I.s?

I personally believe that Gems are roughly the equivalent of androids, or other forms of artificial intelligence we’ll often see sci-fi.  Here’s why.  (Fair warning: I get into some science, including computer science.  I tried not to get too confusing but I make no guarantees.)

EDIT: Part 2

Gems aren’t entirely considered living

Okay, so Gems will sometimes use the terms “alive” and “dead” to refer to whether or not they’ve been broken.

“We don’t age, but we can still get hurt and die.” - Pearl, So Many Birthdays “I’m... alive.  *laughs* I’m unstoppable!” - Eyeball, Bubbled, after narrowly avoiding asteroids

And Peridot once uses the term “living” to mean “actually experiencing things, instead of just doing as told.”

“There’s so much life.  Living here... that’s what I’m doing!  I’m... living here!  I’m been learning new things about myself all the time!” - Peridot, Earthlings

But a lot of the time, Gems prefer other terms for “death,” such as “break,” “shatter,” “perish,” and “destroy.”  And in place of “life,” they often talk as if they simply exist.

“You had no idea?!  Ho!  This is like, my entire existence!” - Amethyst, On the Run “Steven, we can’t both exist.” - Rose, Lion 3: Straight to Video

There’s a scientific basis behind this.  While the exact definition of life is hard to pin down, one definition is that the thing in question needs to fit three criteria:

1. It needs to breathe to survive 2. It needs to consume fuel for sustenance and/or growth (eating) 3. It’s able to reproduce (some part of itself is used to make more of the same thing)

Some will point out that, by this definition, fire is alive (it requires oxygen, it keeps going by consuming flammable materials, and fire creates more fire).  Though let’s take a look at Gems:

1. They have no need to breathe (they can survive the vacuum of space indefinitely)

2. They don’t need to eat (they do absorb nutrients during incubation, but they stop when they emerge) 3. Gems are produced; they don’t reproduce (even Rose had to give her entire self to Steven, instead of just a part of herself)

If my theory on how Diamonds make Gems has anything to it, then it would be a stretch to say even the Diamonds reproduce, since they don’t seem to create more Diamonds.

Still, I personally think there might be deeper reason: the very fact that Gems are made.  They probably consider themselves more of a fabrication of life than the genuine article.

Gems don’t consider themselves people

The most obvious case of this is from We Need to Talk:

Greg: “Can you just... talk to me for one second like a real person?!” Rose: *long pause* “I’m... not... a real person.”

There are cases where “Gems” are mentioned as if a separate category from “people:”

“Uh... no such thing as a good war, kiddo.  Gems were destroyed.  People too.” - Greg, The Return

And the book Guide to the Crystal Gems, the intro, which is signed by Rebecca Sugar herself, starts off with this:

“There are a lot of people in this world who don’t fit in, and might act strange, and tend to keep to themselves.  That’s definitely true of the Crystal Gems, who aren’t even people at all!”

Now I’m sure many of us (myself included) would argue that Gems are people.  Still, this has shown up enough that I figure there’s got to be a reason for it.  I think it’s the same basic reasoning for them not being alive: the fact that they’re made.  Or they might not consider themselves people just because they aren’t alive, either.

Judging by Rose’s dialogue, they might argue that even if they are people, they aren’t real ones.

Gems are officially without gender

The creators of SU stated somewhere that Gems are genderless.  I don’t know where exactly, but it’s something most of the fanbase seems to know about.  I have seen an article that describes Gems as female-presenting, though apparently I didn’t save the link, and I’m having trouble finding it again...

Anyway, you know what else may seem to have a specific gender when they don’t really?  Robots.  And programs like Siri.  A.I.s might have genders in sci-fi, but so far, real-life robots can only be made to resemble a certain gender, at best, and it will often just be the way they look or sound.  Even if a robot may seem male or female, it’s not hard to realize that a robot is still just an “it.”

Peridot mentions that Gems have an “intended form,” and hints that Gems have certain traits programmed into them (e.g. Quartzes being loyal).  This seems like a hint that whatever femininity Gems have is because they’re designed to do so, and ultimately considered a facsimile.  Which also segues into my next point...

Gems appear to have programming

In Back to the Barn, it’s indirectly stated that Gems are designed for specific purposes, and it’s assumed they can’t go beyond their intended function... like with robots.

Peridot: “No no, you’re confused.  A Pearl can’t build a thing like this.” Steven: “Why not?” Peridot: “Because Pearls aren’t for this!”

In The Answer, Ruby also implies that Gems of the same type are basically considered the same person.

Sapphire: They were gonna... break you... Ruby: Who cares?  There’s tons of me!

Now, obviously this idea gets blown out of the water when me meet the Ruby Platoon.

(Image from here.)

There’s definitely some variance between Gems of the same type, possibly (at least partly) due to the exact conditions they incubate in.  Normally, programmed things stick to a specific behavior, with no variation between them.

I think it’s more likely that certain Gems are made with a specific template, and that as long as they’re within the designed specifications (or at least within tolerances), they’re considered acceptable.  Too far outside the specifications, and they’re considered “flawed” and “defective”; terms that can apply to gemstones in real life, but also to technology.  The smaller artificial Fusions (which I like to call Frankengems) are even called “Cluster Prototypes” - another technological term.

Also: Peridot calls Pearls “made-to-order,” suggesting that Pearls are designed with a degree of customizability (which I personally suspect is part of why they’re on the bottom of the totem pole: they’re not necessarily designed for what the Diamonds choose).

But wait!  The idea of programming goes deeper:

Gems’ programming can be corrupted

Remember how Gem monsters are called “corrupted”?  That word is often used to imply that there’s something wrong with the very essence of something.  This is even the implied meaning given in Monster Reunion:

Pearl: Remember, she’s not cracked: she’s corrupted, and that’s something... different.  Something... nearly impossible to describe! Garnet: It’s sort of like... if MC Bear Bear didn’t tear the fabric of his arm, but the fabric of his mind.

In programming, the term ‘corrupted’ refers to data that’s been overwritten, erased, or otherwise damaged.  For example, I’ve tried recovering deleted files before, and ended up with some pictures that looked something like this:

If Gems have some sort of programming at their core, then “corruption” could fit all these definitions.

Another term for corrupted files is “damaged” files, and Gem corruption is described as “damage from the Diamonds,” so that also fits.

Though personally, I think corrupted Gems look oddly... stable.  Gem corruption just plain doesn’t look like random data distortion to me.  In fact, Gems of the same type will turn into the same kind of creature.

And data corruption doesn’t usually spread between systems, like it did with Jasper.

To me, Gem “corruption” behaves more like a computer virus.  Viruses are designed to do specific things (which can include data corruption), and certain types of viruses will spread.  It might be more accurate to say that the Gem monsters are infected.  Granted, I suspect the Crystal Gems came up with the term ‘corruption’ to try and describe it as best as they knew how.

That said, I’m guessing Steven’s healing powers can recover data that’s been erased, but he can’t correct rearranged data or get rid of the underlying infection.  Fully restoring a Gem’s data might require the work of a master programmer: or in other words, a Diamond.

Damaged Gems can go glitchy

This is probably the strongest hint about Gems being A.I.s.  We don’t have to guess to see that “glitching” is what’s going on.

In Keeping It Together, the large, hand-like Frankengem glitches out as it tries to form.

When their Gemstones are damaged, Lapis gets stuck with mirror-eyes, and she can’t use her water wings.  Eyeball’s form glitches out.

Amethyst’s form really glitches out, with body parts getting misshapen and sticking out from the wrong places.

Plus, she starts speaking backwards, and if you reverse the audio, you’ll find that the first thing she says is “Hey guys!  What are you doing on the beach?”  This suggests that her memory glitches out, too.

I will note that this is probably closer to what natural data corruption looks like: a hard drive gets damaged, making it hard to read the data correctly, resulting in weird, random effects.  If the corruption gets worse, it’s because the hard drive is getting worse.  Granted, other faulty parts could be the cause, but it usually stems from a hardware issue.

Anyway, it seems to me like Gems glitching out speaks for itself in saying that Gems are probably A.I.s.  Really, if a program has a problem, what do you expect it to do besides glitch out?

Gems still aren’t your average A.I.s

I’ve mentioned that Gems with issues are still oddly stable.  Even if corrupted, their bodies are useable.  Even if cracked, they can usually still function, with their forms having some semblance of a complete body.  Even shattered Gems function surprisingly well.

This is surprising because even minor damage can sometimes bring down an entire computer system, depending on where the damage is.  One missing function for text generation can make a program crash on startup.  If a Gem’s code was in pieces, then I wouldn’t expect the pieces to be able to do much anything, because programs can’t function without the pieces being able to communicate.

Instead, cracked Gems can typically still walk and/or talk.  Lapis was still able to steal the ocean with her Gemstone cracked.   There’s also a contrast to what Pearl says about shattered Gems in the What Are Gems?��minisode:

“If a Gem’s Gem is shattered completely... they’ll cease to be.” - Pearl, What Are Gems?

I think we’ve seen enough to confirm that this is a false assumption on the part of Gem society.  We can see that Gem shards can retain some of their powers, often still forming complete limbs, and with enough consciousness to try to find the other parts of themselves.

Granted, damaged and broken Gems functioning as well as they do might be chalked up to Crewniverse only being so tech-savvy, glitches being hard to accurately portray, and/or an attempt to keep the creepiness factor of the show to a relatively low level.  Though personally, I think there might be a reason damaged Gems are so stable.  It could be that Gems have sort of an adaptive programming with levels of redundancy, so they can keep going even if things get bad.

But what if it goes deeper than that?  What if there’s something behind their programming that keeps them going?  Say... a spark of life?

It could be that damaged Gems are so stable because, on some deeply-subconscious level, they’re still trying to hold themselves together.  It could be that they’re able to go beyond the limits of their programming because they do have souls.  This could also be the real reason why Gems of the same type can be so different.

Yeah, sure, I think they’re A.I.s, but I think you’ll probably agree that it doesn’t make them any less of people.

[x-men-x-imagines]

Imagine #19 Charles Xavier (Request)

Requested by Anon: Could you please write a Charles Xavier x reader where the reader likes him but feels she has no chance so she pretends to hate him. But then he finds out the truth through mind reading? I'm sorry if this is complicated!! But thank you so much.

Not my gif

Words: 2622

Warnings: fem!reader, swearing, typos

A/N: So, first of all, I know that request is from literal months ago, and I’m really sorry, but I kinda put off writing it for the following reason... I actually did that once, pretended to hate someone I believed not to be good enough for (he was a dick and probably deserved it, but still) and it’s connected to some of the worst, most uncomfortable and regrettable situations of my life. If you find yourself in that kind of situation, and you think that it would be easier to just treat your crush like crap, DON’T! I’m all for making mistakes and learning from them, but I really recommend you just talk to the person or, if that’s easier, distance yourself, but being a dick towards them will just make you look and feel like... well, a dick. Don’t! And secondly, I am not incredibly proud of this fic. I don’t think it’s that great. I hope, I’m not disappointing anyone. xoxo

Charles had hired you because of the way you worked with the students, the way you treated the other teachers and the impression that you were one of the smartest, most dedicated people he had ever met. He had hired you despite the fact that you apparently couldn’t even be in the same room as him without shooting him glares and avoiding any kind of further interaction.

Charles understood that there were people, whom one just couldn’t stand. Attraction was biology after all, and maybe you just really didn’t like him, maybe semi-polite working-side-by-side was all you were able to with him, but it still bothered him.

You impressed him every time he heard you talk, every time he listened to one of your classes or your contributions in meetings. You area of expertise was the mutant’s role in the world’s biggest wars since the 15th century, your thesis being: There have always been mutants, fighting on both sides of each war, that have simply been erased from history like so many other minorities. You seemed determined to find, analyse and prove every single mutant’s appearance in history and there was nothing more fascinating to Charles, than listening to your passionate presentations on history, the way you saw it. It was such a shame, he thought, that you never agreed to meet him for a cup of tea and some collegial discussions. But he wasn’t going to lie to himself, what he found enchanting about you was way more than just your professional expertise.

It was something in the way you moved, the way you tilted your head when listening and lowered your gaze when smiling. It was the shape of your mouth and the look in your eyes. If someone had asked Charles to explain it, he wouldn’t have been able to put his finger on it. It always seemed right out of his reach. Quite like you, actually.

 You had done your best to restrict your thoughts in the professor’s presence ever since you had started working for him. His ability, while being one of the most fascinating mutations you had ever encountered, formed quite the inconvenience for you, given the fact that all you were able to think about in his presence, were things that would practically file a restraining order all by themselves, if the professor ever found out about them.

You weren’t someone for cheesy clichés at all, but the phrase “so close, yet so far” had never made more sense to you, than at your first meeting with Charles Xavier. And what did the professional, grown-up woman do when having a completely unrealistic crush on a superior? Exactly, act like a cold, heartless prick towards him.

Looking back, you were really surprised, that he had hired you after all. Being charming wasn’t your forte as it was, and with him you hadn’t even tried! But somehow, the professor had still decided to keep you, which, today, had been exactly five months ago.

“Happy anniversary!”, someone mumbled in your ear and you turned around to look at Raven’s grin. She didn’t have a teaching position, but she visited Charles every once in a while. You two actually had quite a lot in common, as it turned out. Her activist enthusiasm being more focused on the present than your, as she jokingly called it, “moaning of dead kinsmen”, but you had mostly the same ideals. And the same shoe size, which you mentioned for no reason in particular.

“Thanks babe.”, you replied, because Raven hated that word. She rolled her eyes and stole your cup of coffee from the table. “The machine is right there.”, you murmured, focusing your eyes back on the book in front of you. “What’s that?” “Research.” You snatched your coffee back. “On…?”

You shut the book and pushed it over to her. “First appearances of the x-gene, by Charles Xavier. You’re only reading that now? It’s like fifteen years old!” You shot her a glare. “Have you read it?”, you asked and she laughed. “What do you think? So, how do you like his theory? You might be the one person, that is actually able to reasonably correct Charles on anything.” “Ha!”, you laughed, taking the book and turning it in your hands. Looking up at Raven, you realized that she was actually still waiting for an answer.

“I mean…”, you shrugged, “he does kind of imply that the x-gene, as he calls it, only developed in the beginning of the 20th century, which doesn’t at all fit my thesis…” “So he’s talking shit?” “I didn’t say that!” “I know. But I did. Isn’t it funny, how two people like you have contradictory theories about the exact same topic?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess. But that’s why we have science and not just some guy telling us, what’s right and wrong.” “You mean like the pope? Or Jesus?” “You’re in a critical mood today!”, you laughed, checking your watch. “Oh, I gotta run!” “I’ll tell Charles, you said ‘Hi’.”, she shouted after you as you hurried out the door and you immediately felt your face blush. You never talked about your crush on the professor, but you felt like she knew. He was her brother, which made the whole situation pretty awkward, but was there anything more awkward than having a crush on your boss?

 “You’re in an odd mood today.”, Charles greeted Raven as she stormed through his office door and violently dropped down on the couch. “Thanks, y/n said the same. I’m supposed to send her regards.” “Are you?” She grinned. Charles hadn’t thought so either. “She was reading your book.”

He sighed. “Raven, you’ll have to be a little more specific.” “The one that completely contradicts her theory.” “Right. I was young and naïve back then, I didn’t know any better.”, he joked. “You should tell her about that. You can also congratulate her on her five months of teaching without getting fired.”

“Oh right, that’s today.” Of course, he remembered that. “While we’re talking, there is a debate in the auditorium this afternoon. Nature vs. Nurture, y/n prepared it with one of her classes. Care to accompany me?”

Raven furrowed her brows. “If I come, will you finally grow some balls and talk to y/n?”

 Your day went by pretty uneventfully. You ignored several notes being passed in class and even collected two, because the student’s just weren’t trying hard enough. It was a matter of principle for you, being the unstoppable note-passing-queen yourself. Some people just needed a little motivation.

The debate was supposed to start at 5pm, so naturally the students showed up at 4:58, causing you to start late. You sat down by the side of the podium, crossing your legs and listening. You hadn’t heard all the contributions yet and even though none of your students had probably discovered a completely new approach on a subject that was about as old as humanity itself, you were still interested in the opinions and the way this discussion was heading. Right now, it looked a lot like Freud’s approach of ‘let’s blame the parents for everything!’ and you felt like you were watching a really eventful tennis match.

Eventually however, your eyes and thoughts trailed off as you subconsciously started searching the crowd – crowd being a rather wide term for the about fifteen people in the audience – for one specific face. The professor was seated in the front row, hands crossed in his lab above a folded grey jacket. You agreed with him, it was quite warm in the auditorium. His eyes were resting on the students, his lips forming a slight, almost unnoticeable smile.

Those lips, you thought, before you could stop yourself. You focused your eyes back on the discussion, but your mind wasn’t quite as easily restrained. You wondered, if the presentation bored him. He must have heard all of this before, in the minds of his students, but also in the minds of every person he had ever had a similar debate with. And still, you thought, here he was, supporting his students.

It had always impressed you, the way he smiled through everything, the way he managed all those things, his studies, this school, his political and scientific relations, everything, without ever even looking tired. Not to speak of all the shit he had to put up with! It had to be such a pain, listening to people’s thoughts all day. Damn, the poor man, you thought, smiling subconsciously. Sometimes – well, pretty often actually – you wished that you had just approached him, asked him out or something. He would have probably refused and then fired you, because it would have been way out of line, but at least you would have tried. You had always hated regretting decisions, but you felt like in this situation, you would have regretted your choice either way. Rather not be unemployed, you decided, focussing your thought back on the debate.

 It was rare to hear you think personal things. Charles usually avoided rummaging through people’s minds, but to a certain extent, he couldn’t help but listen, it was like a constant murmur in a room full of people, and he couldn’t always block everything out. And sometimes he got to hear some rather personal details that he would have rather not found out about. But you were never one of those people, all you ever seemed to think about was work and science, sometimes the other teachers or some issues you had with a student, but never in a way that would have shown any kind of personal attachment.

Your thoughts always felt somewhat incomplete. Mainly because Charles knew that everyone had personal, private thoughts and therefore so did you, but also because you didn’t look like the cold type to him. Again, he couldn’t really explain it, but hearing your suddenly distracted mind showed, that he didn’t have to explain anything to know that he was right.

Those lips. The words wavered through his head and left him in a state of mind that could only be described as shocked. He saw his face flash through your thoughts, as he couldn’t help himself but dive a little deeper into your world. You were warm, just like him, he thought and grinned. You weren’t bored, just distracted. He had distracted you, he realized. You thought about the things he had done for the school, and how hard it must have been. Your words rang in deep admiration.

Charles felt his heart pound against his ribs and couldn’t help but shake his head over his own childish excitement. How old was he, twelve? But he couldn’t help it, as your mind moved on to more personal matters. Were you… were you thinking about asking him out?

Could he have been that wrong about the way you saw him? He thought you disliked him, because that was all he had ever seen in your mind and your eyes. Where was all this coming from? Better not be unemployed, he heard, furrowing his brows. Was that, why he had never seen any of your personal thoughts? Had you locked them up in his presence?

Would he have to fire you, if he went out with you, he asked himself. Was it amoral of him? No, he decided. No, that wasn’t the reason he hadn’t approached you. The reason for that had just disappeared into thin air, he realized and looked at you, as your attention shifted back to your students and your mind returned to things, that you weren’t trying to hide from him.

You actually seemed to believe that he would push you away and then fire you, which was absurd! Why should he ever reject you? But of course, you didn’t know that, he reminded himself. How could you, he hadn’t approached you either. He grinned as he realized, how much of a cliché this whole situation was. Maybe the two of you had more to discuss than your different opinions on mutant history.

 You made a mental note to give all the students that had participated in the discussion some extra points. You also decided not to tell them until the end of term. Some of them were in for a pleasant surprise, you smiled while applauding alongside the audience. Your students had done a great job. And it had been nice to see them go back to things that you had taught them in class. This was, why you had decided to become a teacher.

The people in the audience started chatting and moving towards the exit. The one person that wasn’t doing either and instead heading towards you, as you realized with a confusing mix of nervousness and excitement, was the professor. Suddenly, you remembered the things you had thought about during the debate, when your mind had wandered off. Stupid, you scolded yourself, turning around to not look at the professor’s gentle expression. Oh God, he must have heard something!

“Y/n.”, you heard his voice behind you and immediately banned every thought regarding him or his beautiful eyes, only to have them return seconds later. Shit.

“Professor.”, you turned around and smiled at him as professionally as possible. “You did great work, as usual.”

“Oh, it was mostly the students.”, you replied. “But thank you.” “You’re very welcome. Raven told me that you are reading my expertise on the mutant’s origin.” “I am. I don’t agree.” It came out way too harsh, but Charles laughed, finally taking his eyes off you for one moment, allowing you to get your shit together. “I thought so. I would love to discuss some of the aspects, although I have to say that my beliefs regarding that subject have changed drastically, since I heard your point of view.”

“Uhm…”, you said, asking yourself, where all your brain went, whenever you needed it. “Thank you. But if you have already changed your mind, my work is done, so…”

“And if I wanted to talk about other things?”, Charles interrupted, raising an eyebrow and making you blush in a way that was impossible to hide. Damn it, you cursed, he had heard you. He had probably heard every… word, thought, whatever. “I… I am not as informed regarding other topics…”, you murmured, mentally screaming at him to just get it over with. To just tell you, how inappropriate and unrealistic your thoughts had been, ideally before you melted into a puddle of shame and disappointment. But of course, whenever you wanted him to read your thoughts, he wasn’t there, or he at least didn’t grant your wish.

“If I want to ask you out for dinner? Let’s say, in half an hour?”

 Charles saw your face drop in shock and for a second, he worried, if he had misunderstood your intentions, but then your cheeks turned even darker, to a shade of red that actually complimented your eyes quite well.

“I…” He waited, but you didn’t seem to plan on finishing your sentence anytime soon.

Y/n, I know, you think that I am going to fire you, but I really do not plan on doing so, he explained, grinning as he saw your face light up in relief. “Not after this debate at least.”, he added. “But I would love to go out with you.”

You didn’t look him in the eyes, which bothered him more than he had expected. “We don’t even need to talk about mutants, if you don’t want to.” A smile spread over your face and you nodded slightly. “But only, if you promise not to kick me out, professor.”, you joked, making him smile triumphantly. As if he would ever reject you, he thought.