#the way Harrow just gives away other people's food without thinking of the consequences for anyone including himself just gets me every time

[toknowthatimatter]

My personal headcanon is that since Viren obviously didn't grew up very privileged, if not straight up poor, he might actually know what real hunger feels like. Which is why Viren (unlike Harrow for some reason??) knows/keeps track of how much food Katolis has, why - according to the novel - he's disgusted that Harrow refuses to not let the people of Katolis suffer from hunger instead of protecting them from it and why, after consulting Harrow about it and being shut down, he's apparently the only person who's actually dead set on ensuring no one has to starve at all, while everyone else is just like "welp, we tried nothing and we're all out of ideas". Because, let's be real, a) he was never tasked with finding a solution to all of this, it's not his job and b) neither he nor his children would have to starve, just like Harrow and his family wouldn't have to. Viren doesn't have to do any of this. Don't get me wrong, I think he would have at least tried to find a solution regardless of his past, but the entire thing seems more personal to me. Like, look at him :C

[wri0thesley]

Being the Adult (Narancia)

You’re happy with Narancia. Really, you are - you just wish he’d take things a little more seriously. 

almost angst turning into definite fluff! sfw, fem pronouns (but i think its just one instance of the word ‘girlfriend’)! this was a commissioned work!

Sometimes you do feel like you have to play the role of the adult. You don’t really mind; honestly, knowing what you do about Narancia’s past and everything that’s lead up to this moment, you’re glad that he feels like there’s still some good and light left in the world. In so many other people, the way he’s been treated would lead to apathy. In Narancia, it’s lead to seeing everything around him through a sunny glow, a grin on his face, making the most of every moment he has. You suppose the business with Diavolo (insofar as you know about it) had also taught him to grab life with both hands, and you’re glad about that--

But sometimes, it just gets to you a little bit having to be the responsible one.

Sometimes you find yourself talking down to him, and you hate it. He’s probably seen more of the world than you; hell, you didn’t help defeat the mob boss of the most powerful mafia in Italy - and yet, you just can’t stop yourself. He pauses whilst you’re walking to point at someone’s dog across the street, already taking off to give it pats and call it a good boy. He grins and bounces around whilst he talks, hands moving as quickly as his brain, his train of thought jerking to a stop and resuming again until you’re not entirely sure what your conversation was about to begin with. And you find yourself, every so often, holding your hands up and telling him to slow down and let you think.

Or you find yourself calling across a busy street to tell him to be careful. Or grabbing ahold of him before he walks into a lamppost, telling him to calm down, rolling your eyes if he suggests doing something like catching a superhero movie at the cinema or playing video games.

And every time, you see his face fall just a little, and you feel like your heart is cracking into two pieces. You don’t mean to be so boring! You don’t mean to try and stifle him! You want to have fun too!

But you try and reassure yourself that one of you two has to be an adult, one of you two has to think things through, consider the consequences. If it has to be you, you guess you’ll have to accept your new role.

It doesn’t seem to work at all when it comes to making Narancia calm down. If anything, you trying to be the one taking control and acting like an adult makes it worse. It’s almost as if Narancia’s trying to prove something to both himself and you; trying to joke around, get people to laugh with him, get people to look at him in wonder about how cool he is and how much they’d like to be like him.

When you go to dinner with all of Passione’s inner sanctum, it’s always Narancia who tries to make the waiter laugh (no matter how improbably fancy the venue, and with Giorno at the helm, the restaurants are often improbably fancy). It’s always Narancia who makes a joke that just falls a little flat; a little too blue, or a little too rude, or just so off the mark that Abbacchio rolls his eyes and breathes a sharp sigh and calls the waiter over to bring him an extra glass of wine. It’s always Narancia who runs his mouth; who blurts out something that is clearly not intended for a public place. It’s always Narancia who’s toeing the line.

Even when you’re alone--

Even when you’re alone, you’ve noticed that Narancia can get a little bit over-excited. That his touches on your waist and his kiss are fumbled a little, that he presses a little bit too much without understanding what he’s doing, that he’s overcompensating with big talk and attempts to make bigger physical overtures to you; once he’d bit down so hard on your lower lip you’d started bleeding. Once he’d given you a nosebleed because as he’d launched himself at you to kiss you, his forehead had collided with your nose. More than a few times, there’s been an awkward scuffle as you two try and get in a comfortable position for cuddling and you’ve been bruised by elbows and knees that never seem to stay where Narancia puts them to begin with.

It’s the elbows and knees that do it for you, in the end. Narancia’s knee connecting with your midsection as you crawl across the bed to try and rest your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder and he rolls in an attempt to get into the position he thinks is optimal for snuggles; in his wriggling, he hits you hard on the stomach and you roll away with a soft ‘oof’, pain blossoming from where the two of you had collided.

It had already been a stressful day. Narancia and you had gone out for lunch with Mista, who is not a calming influence at the best of times - your food had been a little cold, and you’d mentioned it to Narancia, and he’d made a huge deal out of it when the server had returned for the bill. It’s not something you’d cared about that much, and you’re sure that Narancia had felt like he was doing you a favour, trying to be the big man or whatever - but it had just made you feel embarrassed and awkward. Narancia probably wanted to be a knight in shining armour. But that’s not what you want from him! You just want him to be himself.

“For God’s sake,” you find yourself snapping, the words coming out before your brain has time to think about how your boyfriend might react to them. “Can’t you just think about what you’re doing for once in your life?”

Narancia stares at you for a moment as the words sink in, before his face twists into distress and he replies to you, sounding a little breathless;

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“It’s not that and you know it!” The words are spilling out of you after being held back all day. You know this is not a smart move. You know, for all he tries to bluster, Narancia is actually kind of sensitive; but you’ve spent the past months of your relationship trying not to let your frustrations show because you can’t believe how lucky you are that Narancia even wants you back. Months worth of vitriol comes out of you now. “It’s everything! You’re always trying to prove something, a-and I don’t know who you’re trying to prove it to! but it’s damn well not working on me!”

Narancia’s eyebrows draw in, full mouth twisting into a pout.

“Maybe if you took me seriously I wouldn’t have to try and prove anything to you!” He replies, his own voice rising in pitch and volume too. You’re used to his particular rises in volume being to do with excitement rather than anger, and you’re actually kind of scared to find out how hard Narancia sounds when he’s not being good-natured. You know Narancia is dangerous; you know Aerosmith isn’t a purely defensive stand. But Narancia has always been nothing but kind to you. Hearing this side of him is a little bit harrowing, honestly. Your fingers twist and untwist on the covers of the bed, the place where his knee had collided with you seeming to pulse in time with the beat of your heart.

“I do take you seriously,” you say, a little softer than before. Is that really what he thinks? “But you act like a kid all of the time--”

“You don’t,” he replies, forcefully, and when you look up to meet his eyes. Ordinarily, they’re a bright shade of violet; almost laughing, happy, eyes that make you feel lifted just to see them. Today, though, their colour has been muddied somewhat, and you know why; because they’re practically swimming in tears. Narancia’s always seemed so tough. He’s been through so much, and you don’t know how much of it he cried for, but plenty of it seems tear-worthy; that he’s crying now, because of you . . . It makes your stomach twist in discomfort and makes you feel like the worst girlfriend in the whole world. “You don’t take me seriously. Nobody takes me seriously, and I’m kinda used to that, but when it’s you doing it--”

“All of us take you seriously,” you say, trying to placate him and rid him of the tears that are threatening to roll down his cheeks. Oh, you don’t know what you’ll do if he cries-- “I take you seriously, and you know Buccellati does, and Giorno takes everything everyone says seriously--”

This time, Narancia’s voice is a little bitter.

“Of course you’d mention them,” he says, and you don’t miss the scorn lacing his words. You know he’d never be scornful of Buccellati, or Giorno - so does that mean, then, that the scorn is directed at you?

“I--I don’t know what you mean,” you tell him, face creasing into concern, and Narancia lets out a huff and rolls his eyes. In a different time and place, the huff and the way his mouth turns into a pout would be cute, but it’s hard to find anything cute right now.

“You know,” he says, “I mean. I know. It’s obvious you’d rather be with one of them than me. And I get it, I guess. I just--”

“Narancia,” you say, and you lean over. Your hand comes to rest on his, and you look into his eyes with a look on your face that you hope he sees as earnestness. You need him to believe you. “There is literally nobody I would rather be with than you.” He looks at you, lip trembling, and you get the impression that he doesn’t really believe you. That’s fine, though. You’ll convince him if you have to.

You take his hand into your lap, and try and think about what you’re saying.

“I guess I get a little bit worried about you,” you admit. “I don’t like feeling like I’m ruining your fun, y’know? Sometimes I feel like I have to be the adult. But I promise I’m not looking at Bruno or Giorno or any of your friends like that! That’d be a shitty move by me, right?”

“I’d get it,” he mumbles, a little shamefacedly. “They’re all suave and handsome and good and shit, and I’m just Narancia. Y’know. Lovable comic relief. Not to be taken seriously. Cute and not handsome.”

“Whilst I do think you’re very cute,” you say, a smile beginning to tug at your lips now that Narancia has stopped looking like he’s in immediate danger of sobbing. “I think you’re exceedingly handsome too. I mean, Bruno and Giorno are good-looking, I suppose - but they’re not you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice comes out as a grumble that’s so soft you barely hear it.

“I jus’ want you to think I’m cool too.”

You squeeze his hand again, and he meets your eyes looking a little bit more hopeful than before. The hope in his eyes makes your heart and your stomach do a little somersault; this is the Narancia you fell so hopefully in love with from across the crowded halls in meetings with the Don of Passione. This is the Narancia that you watched from afar and wished would notice you. The Narancia that you’d felt so special when he’d smiled at you and known your name and asked you if you wanted to maybe get gelato together (he’d forgotten his wallet and you’d paid, laughing)--

“I think you’re cool already,” you tell him earnestly. “I think you’re just about the coolest guy I know without having to try. But when you do try . . .” Your face screws up, nose wrinkling. “I think when people try and be cool it’s probably the least cool thing they can do.”

Narancia looks a little shamefaced. Someone who cares as much about their coolness as he does knows what you just said to be an irrefutable truth, you think - you give him an encouraging smile anyway.

“I just want you to think I’m the coolest,” he repeats. “I’m tryin’ my best here!” He’s getting a little agitated, knee bouncing up and down; mindful of what happened last time Narancia’s knees got out of control, you shift a little closer to him so you’re almost touching. You try and imbue every ounce of feeling you have for him into your next words; try to channel how much you love him, how glad he’s made you in the past few months, how much you want to spend the rest of your life with him by your side;

“You don’t need to try.”

“But if you leave me because I fuck up--”

“I’m not leaving. I promise.” You’re struck suddenly by the thought of the boy who took advantage of Narancia’s nature; the one who convinced him to dye his hair and sent him to juvenile detention in his place, and your heart aches. You and all of the rest of Passione are not going to leave Narancia, of course - but Fugo had come so close, and Narancia didn’t grow up with too many figures whom he could trust, and of course he’s afraid that you’re going to up and abandon him. “I know that things are hard. For you. For everyone. But I’m here for good.”

“I’m just tryin’--”

“Narancia,” you say, and the stern tone in your voice finally makes him seem to take notice. His shoulders square, his mouth twisting, as he looks you full-on. “I promise, you don’t need to try. You can let go of the walls around me a bit. You can just be you.”

“What if . . . What if the you that you think I am isn’t the you that I am?” He replies back with, a challenge in his tone. “What if it’s the wall or whatever that you like and not the me?”

“You just like being contrary,” you tell him, with narrowed eyes, and you win a bark of laughter. Narancia’s lips when he laugh look so inviting. You want to lean into him, to kiss him until neither of you remember your own names-- no, concentrate. Narancia’s fragile, for all of his thunder. You need to pick up his pieces again first. “I fell in love with you. Not the wall. And I know it’s you and not the wall because I can tell when you’re putting it up.”

Narancia sighs.

“Is at least a real good-looking wall?” He asks, and it’s your turn to laugh. His face turns serious even as you stifle the giggles. “Are you really in love with me?”

Fuck, was that the first time you’ve said it out loud?

You’d hoped that your admission of love to Narancia would be somewhere a little nicer. Somewhere a little more romantic. Your six month anniversary is coming up, and Giorno’s got enough connections to get you tickets for a concert Narancia would like and a reservation at a restaurant you’ll like and entrance into an exclusive club where you know Narancia will have an amazing time dancing. You’d planned to do something special for it! You wanted Narancia to remember it!

But it looks like you’ve already put your foot in it, so you may as well accept it. You breathe out, slow and steady, and make sure that you’re looking Narancia square on into his - handsome, beautiful, real fucking cute - face.

“Yes.” You say. “I love you, Narancia Ghirga. Probably more than I should. You’re kind of annoying, sometimes? But mainly you just make me happy and feel like I could do anything I wanted to do. And . . . And I want to spend as much time with you as I can, and I don’t want you to be mad at me, and I really really don’t want you to cry. Ever.”

Narancia blinks at you for a few moments, clearly taking some time to process this new announcement. It’s clearly not something he minds, though - as he stops, his face splits into a grin, and you could cry with relief. You don’t know what you’d have done if he’d stumbled over his words and said you were really great and all, but that’s just not where he imagined you two going and it was just fun and was never meant to be serious or anything--

“Aww, amore!” He says, and he opens his arm wide. “Come here! Let’s cuddle! I love you too!”

This time, he waits for you to crawl over the bed, and you thankfully manage to avoid any of the Narancia’s knees related pitfalls that had befallen you earlier. You’re still a little slow as you rest your head on his chest (just to make sure, of course), but when you do, his arm goes easily around you. His movements are slower, and less frenetic, and although it’s not the Narancia you’re used to, it’s a good Narancia that makes you feel soft and warm and wanted.

“I’m glad,” you say, and then you wrinkle your nose as you settle closer to his heart. You can hear his heartbeat thrumming rhythmically in your ear, the noise soothing and making you feel closer to him than ever. “I wanted to tell you somewhere special. I wanted to make it feel like it was important.”

Narancia’s hand comes down, resting lightly on the top of your head before he begins to pull strands of your hair out as he strokes them. You’ve always loved having people play with your hair, and you relax into the touch - you’d always suspected, from the small but perfectly formed inner workings of Aerosmith, that Narancia had a side that was a little more concerned with details. Your suspicions are proved correct by the gentle way he handles you as you lay there in his embrace.

“Amore,” he murmurs, beginning to sound a little bit sleepy, “anywhere I’m with you is the most important place in the world.” He stifles a yawn at the end of the sentence, and you can’t resist the chance to tease him a little bit. This will be the true test of whether you’ve upset him beyond compare; Narancia is always up for a good laugh.

“That was real cheesy,” you tell him, “put the wall back up.”

The words hang in the balance for a brief period of time, and you think you’ve fucked up - and then, the sound of Narancia’s laugh fills the air, and you relax once more.

“Get used to it!” He tells you. “This is the real me! Cheesier than Mista at his worst! I’m gonna - uh - I’m gonna fuckin’ serenade you! Gonna buy you a hundred red roses and fill the entire fuckin’ house with them-- gonna . . . gonna . . .” He yawns, again, and the arm around you tightens. “Gonna fall asleep cuddlin’ you. Real romantic, huh?”

“Real romantic,” you affirm, settling into him. Narancia is warm, despite the bare arms, and his bed is really very comfortable. He’s a little bashful when he speaks next, though.

“Jus’ . . . jus’ don’t go spreadin’ around how romantic I am to everyone, huh? It can be our little secret.”

“Okay,” you reply to him. You’ll happily keep his secret, if it means you’re the only one who gets to share this soft, warm, cuddle tousled Narancia with the messy hair and the dusting of a blush on his cheeks.

Sometimes, being the adult means getting to be a little selfish.

[kanrakixystix]

Sink or Swim -- Corqi

Hey it’s me. I’m alive. I’m still writing FFXV but I’m super slow at it nowadays. 

But hey! I finally have permission to post this publicly! So here we go! This was my entry for the @ffxvrarepairs charity zine I was a part of earlier this fall. I had a ton of fun writing it, too! 

Title: Sink or Swim Pairing: Cor/Loqi (FFXV) Rated: T Summary: Loqi is forced to take time off before the harrowing events that will soon befall the Citadel, so he takes the opportunity to spend time with his overseas boyfriend before the Empire completely shatters his world. What is a shame, though, is that Loqi may be in over his head in more ways than one.  Word count: 2,943

-

Time off wasn’t always afforded to high-ranking military officers, especially not when they were in the midst of war. There was planning to be done, maneuvers to practice, adjustments to be done to his mechs, but that would all wait for a later date. As he was told by the high commander, he was starting to look tired from overwork, and he was to take a mandatory leave, effective at the end of the week. Loqi could have argued, but the weight of this war and his efforts to ensure Niflhiem’s victory were beginning to wear on him. No measure was too great to pull his own in this war. He had has family’s name to consider, after all.

 There was the matter of deciding how to spend his impromptu vacation, however. He could simply go home and spend his days enjoying his mother’s cooking – something else that he didn’t get to indulge in nearly as much as he would like to because of this war. Staying there, though, meant that he would have to hear his father ramble about his days serving the Empire before his accident rendered him incapable of his duties as an officer. Sure, he loved a good war story now and then, but Loqi’s father had a penchant for repeating the same ones that he had heard since he was a child. He could only listen to how he assisted Chief Besithia take down the Astral Shiva and how great a victory it was so many times. Then there was the constant grilling of tactics and plans that he always wanted to discuss…

 Yes, his mother’s cooking would have to wait for some other time. Instead, he had a much more pleasant idea.

-

 Without cracking an eye open, Loqi’s hand fumbled along the other side of the bed, and a pout pulled at his lips when he felt the sheets had already cooled. Of course The Immortal would be up at the crack of dawn on vacation. Groaning, he rolled over in the bed, which was significantly less comfortable now that he knew there wasn’t the weight of the other man beside him. Peeking from underneath the sheet, he was met with the glow of morning reflecting off of Galdin’s crystal waves. He lie quietly for a time, watching the water ebb and flow with the tide. To Loqi, it was magical as much as it was scientific, how gravity created the flow of currents and tides, but it was marvelous all the same.  

 The slow creak of the door to their room reached his ears, followed by the smell of coffee, then the dip of the bed beside him. A strong, large hand brushed the hair from his face and trailed down his cheek. Loqi couldn’t help but lean into it. Curse his touch-starved self.

 “Is that for me?” he asked into Cor’s palm, skipping the morning pleasantries altogether.

 “Nope,” Cor smirked and tipped the mug of coffee towards him before taking a long sip from the plain white mug. Asshole. “Yours is on the table if you want it.”

 Loqi huffed, indignant as he sank further into the pillows and narrowed his eyes at him. He did this on purpose, and Loqi supposed he should give him more credit than he normally did. Cor’s ears were deaf to begging, even in the more – ahem – intimate of situations, so pleading with him to just hand him the damn mug was useless. However, if he got up an got it himself, Loqi would have to crawl over him to get to the coffee, which would not only leave himself wide open for the Marshal’s viewing pleasure, but it would force him out of bed, and that was the last thing he wanted to be. He was rather enjoying the waves crashing on the shore and staring at them from afar.

 “Let’s get moving,” Cor drawled as he stood, stretching his arms over his head. “The beach is a lot nicer up close.” Yawning, Loqi curled his legs under him and sat up, allowing the sheets to pool around his waist to expose pale, soft skin. There were some small scars on his arms and chest. Such was the price to pay as a war mechanic, but it offered Cor a view that would become commonplace over the duration of their getaway. As Loqi rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Cor grabbed the coffee from the table and handed it to him. Of course, Loqi wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a proper ‘thank you,’ but he figured a gracious smile around the rim of the mug would suffice.

 -

 The beach was more or less foreign to Loqi. The only shorelines in Niflhiem were frozen over and caked with snow and ice. Topless? Forget it. If you wanted to get close to any water, you needed six layers of clothes and spiked boots just to traverse the shore. Loqi recalled a particular time he had gone on a research expedition with his father to the Chorovas Rift, and they had gotten so lost that they ended up on the shore of the Sathersea. He shivered just thinking about the chill that had settled in his young bones and nearly froze him to death.

 Galdin Quey was different.

 Donned in plaid short and an oversized tank top, Loqi shielded his eyes from the late morning sun as he stepped from the hotel room. Already, there was quite a crowd, though he knew most of them were only there to get their hands on the cuisine. True, it wasn’t as good as the food at Maagho in Altissia, but it came damn near close. Still, there were the few that were there the peace and quiet Galdin had to offer.

 As he fell into step beside Cor, Loqi brushed his knuckles along the back of his hand. The gesture was simple enough, but between them, it spoke volumes. Oh, he knew the dangers of being seen in public with the enemy. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of the consequences of having fallen for a military man for the opposing side of the war. Quite often, he would remind himself that at any moment they could be facing one another in the heat of battle, and they would have to pretend that taking the other’s life would mean nothing to them. It was a hard pill to swallow, but just as subtly as he had grazed their hands together, Cor entwined their fingers – another silent gesture, but it made Loqi’s heart skip a beat, even if he wouldn’t admit that he squeezed his hand just a little to keep him close.

 He would be thankful for the potential sunburn on his cheeks that covered the blush.

 Off a little ways, people played in the water, disturbing the natural peace, but also enveloping themselves in its natural benefits. Not that Loqi believed any of them were taking a dip in the sea for health reasons, but the fact remained that there was an abundance of swimming, splashing, and his all-time favorite, screaming. Nothing drove him insane faster than the sound of a child shrieking for no apparent reason other than to hear themselves, except for Cor and his love of WATCHING them. Loqi had hoped beyond hope that they would simply stroll by them and not pay them any mind, but no, that had been too much to ask for. They idled at the end of the pier, beneath a large umbrella that casted as much shade as Loqi was with his eyes.

 “Look at them,” Cor said after a long moment of staring out at a group of children near the shoreline.

 “I see them.” Brushing his hair from his bangs, Loqi rolled his eyes and leaned on the railing in front of them. “They’re children. Loud children. Can we move on?”

 “If the Empire continues their research and plans to control the Crown City, they might not ever get to smile like they are now, again.”

 A long, irritated groan escaped Loqi’s lips.

 “I thought we agreed upon hanging up our political difference for the duration of our stay,” he chided, then turned his head to look at the older man. Cor looked distant, as though he were here, but his thoughts – maybe his memories – weren’t. Loqi admitted that he knew only a minimal amount of Cor’s past despite his curiosity. He’d ask, and Cor would always give him the same answers. “And bore you to death with the details?” “Don’t you have anything better to do than listen to me ramble?” or simply, “Not tonight.” His gaze flicked between Cor and the children, and Loqi wondered if they were seeing the same thing. He was willing to bet not.

 “Hey.” Standing upright, Loqi turned to face him fully. “We’re on vacation,” he teased quietly, and he gently swung their joined hands to and fro. “So…lighten up a little.” Loqi shifted from one leg to the other, suddenly uncomfortable with this weird vulnerability that only happened when he was alone with the Lucian.

 Slowly, Cor shifted his gaze to him, and it was then that Loqi realized how grave of a mistake that was.

 “Come on,” he muttered, taking advantage of the fact that their hands were still locked together to drag Loqi off of the pier and into the sand.

 “What are you – ? Unhand me, damn it!” Loqi demanded. Even as Loqi struggled and tried to pull him back, Cor persisted. The closer they got to the water, the more Loqi panicked, and the more he fussed. He wasn’t afraid of open water, really. If anything, he was curious what was under there. Sure, he had a particular knack for machines, but marine biology was a fascinating science. Of course, he couldn’t speak from experience. That’s just what he had read in books and essays. No, water didn’t scare him.

 As the water splashed his feet, he screeched.

 “Cor, stop!” Then, and only then, did Cor turn to look at him, as did everyone else who heard the rather unmanly yelp. Shamefaced, Loqi turned his head away. Maybe this vacation was stupid. He didn’t know what he had hoped to gain from it, or what he expected, but the more heat continued to rise in his cheeks, the more it didn’t matter.

 “What’s wrong?” Cor’s asked, but he couldn’t hear him. The steadfast thump of his heart racing in his chest and blood rushing through his veins and pounded in his ears. Finally, Loqi jerked his hand hard enough for Cor to let go – or did Cor let him go on purpose? Either way, he was free of him, but he couldn’t move. His legs felt like lead, and the longer he stood still in the soft sand, the further he sank.

 “Loqi?” Cor tried again and took a careful step towards him. He wasn’t the only one. Suddenly there were others, asking him, asking Cor, if everything was all right. Overwhelmed, Loqi forced himself to move – away from the questions and prying eyes, away from Cor. Everything was happening so rapidly, and he just wanted the space to process it. Cor let him leave, though not without keeping a watchful eye, he knew. That was okay.

 He just needed to breathe.

-

 Eventually, the sun began to sink into the sea. That was when Cor came for him. The crowds bearing rowdy children and nosy teenagers had slowly dwindled, leaving only the couples and lonely dwellers – hunters, fishermen, and the like. Most of them occupied the restaurant, but not them.

 Loqi let the water rush past his feet as he stood, mesmerized by the sunset. Yet another pleasantry that was only afforded to him when he set foot in foreign territory. The colors were warm, comforting. He felt like he could stare forever and get lost in the depth of its beauty.

 “You can get closer, you know,” Cor suggested softly from behind, and Loqi tipped his head. He was still a little angry, though mostly at himself for overreacting. It was just a little bit of water, after all.

 “Chasing sunsets now, Marshal?” he teased, and Cor chuckled. Loqi allowed himself to be enveloped in strong arms.

 “I need something to do when I’m not chasing you,” Cor joked back, and Loqi smirked. They were silent for a moment, taking in the atmosphere, when Cor continued. “I’m sorry for what happened earlier. I shouldn’t have dragged you out like that.”

 Shaking his head, Loqi sighed.

 “No, I should have been upfront about this from the start,” he confessed, chuckling dryly. “Truth is, I don’t know how to swim.” Loqi paused, waited for the condescending snort, laugh, something. When it didn’t come, he turned around. As he did, Cor dropped his arms from around him.

 “Now what are you doing? You’re seriously not going to try and drag me into the water again, are you? Because I swear to –“

 Loqi’s rant came to an abrupt halt as he watched Cor shed off his t-shirt, which had him flushing for a whole new reason, but he still had no sunburn to blame it on. He bit his bottom lip and inhaled sharply. He wanted to touch. Oh, did he want to touch. Slowly, he lifted his arm, fingers twitching as he reached for Cor…only for him to step just out of reach. Now pouting, Loqi watched as he stepped past him and into the water, turning to face him.

 “You want it? Come and get it.” Cor taunted, a playful glint shining in his damnably gorgeous eyes. Huffing, Loqi crossed his arms.

 “No way! I just told you I can’t swim!” He hissed indignantly, and Cor chuckled.

 “Despite what you or others might think, I won’t let you drown, Shorty.”

 If the tips of his ears weren’t already red from drinking in the sight of Cor’s half naked body, the low-blow insult definitely set them ablaze. Without giving it another thought, Loqi tore his tank top over his head, fuming as he tossed it into the sand beside Cor’s. As Cor held out his arms – which only seemed to mock him further – Loqi stomped through the water.

 “You know what? This is all your fault in the first place!” He yelled, pushing the water aside with each stride. “Just once, I wanted to come out here on peaceful terms. I wanted to get away from war and politics and not have to follow through with orders that destroy your home! But, no!” His palms slammed onto the surface of the water as he continued his advance, but Cor remained just out of reach.

 “You had to talk about how the war affects the children and then get all distant. And then I can’t even help you or relate to you because you won’t tell me what’s going on in that stupid head of yours and instead you just take off into the water without asking me if I know how to swim!” He took another step, but the ground beneath him dropped off. Before he could stop himself, he sank, and the water’s surface rested just below his chin. Quick hands stopped him from going any further, though, and Cor lifted him easily. Gasping, Loqi hastily wrapped himself around Cor, arms and legs clinging to him for dear life, and all the while, Cor roared with laughter.

 “What kind of boyfriend are you?!” Loqi squealed, and it only made Cor laugh harder.

 “The kind that won’t let you drown, as promised,” he responded smoothly. Loqi would let it slide, for now, but it didn’t change the fact that he was still seething.

 “Look,” Cor motioned out to the open water where the sun was starting to disappear into the horizon. Again, Loqi was lost in the colors. How could something so simple bring such an immense amount of peace? He adjusted, and he gave a soft, content sigh as he felt the pads of Cor’s thumbs trace small circles in his back.

 “I was one of those children, once,” Cor explained softly. Carefree, never giving war a second thought, until it took away my family. My friends, everyone I ever cared about, gone. I was alone.”

 Loqi wanted to fluster. He wanted to boast about the Empire, to tell him that they should feel worthy to have died by the hands of the glorious Niflheim. Instead, he frowned. Politics be damned, his lover was being open, for once, and he was going to be here for him. Silently, he tipped his head and kissed him. It was chaste, different from many of their past kisses that were usually rushed and left a taste just sweet enough for him to want more. This kiss was long, slow, and Loqi hoped beyond hope the it said everything that he couldn’t.

 As they parted, Cor smiled, and held him just a little tighter.

 “I’ve never told anyone that,” he confessed. “At least no one important.” As Loqi let his words sink in, he found himself running his hands through his hair, amused at how the silver hairs that were creeping in glittered in the dusk light.

 “That makes us even, then,” Loqi declared, offering him an understanding smile.

 “Even,” the marshal repeated, and leaned in, kissing Loqi again. The war was far from over, but Loqi knew without a doubt that one way or another, Cor Leonis was going to be the death of him. One day, he would make his peace with that. Today, he was going to enjoy the rest of his vacation.

[allyxmethstuff-blog]

Avengers: Infinity War and it’s Relevance to 45′s Regime (Some Spoilers)

So, did you see the latest Avengers movie? If you haven’t you may want to not read part of this review but I want you to; because while you may ignore the film’s message for the fun the movie absolutely is - the statement it makes is necessary. I can understand how you don’t want to think about the outside world in a summer blockbuster. However, this is the most important piece of pop culture that relates to our world.

Thanos as we all know from the trailers is looking for the Infinity Stones to end all life on Earth. We’ve heard it before. We’ve seen the heroes in these stories time and time again defeat these foes. To many Americans - this is the story we were told through Joseph Campbell’s “The Heroes Journey” and some never questioned it. We were taught that we were heroes but many other Americans know this isn’t true at all. To those that this country committed genocide against, to those that this country enslaved, to those that have been lynched, to those that have been killed by cops for doing nothing wrong, to those that have been destroyed through nuclear bombs we dropped, to those that lost their leaders so this country could obtain their resources without giving anything back, to those that cops would never help because we are not white; cis; and affluent, to those that would be put in jail because of bigotry, to civilians of foreign countries killed by our own army, to our own journalists that have been killed by our own army, to those that lost their country because this one stole the borders only to then kill - we know that the good guys do not always win.

And in this movie the good guys do not win. And it’s important to take note that the consequences are the destruction of half of life across the universe. So what does that mean? Is this the beginning of a broken cycle in the Joseph Campbell’s “Hero’s Journey”? Not exactly as this is the first film of a two-part movie. Despite knowing that let’s consider what this means. It’s a weapon of war. A weapon of mass destruction. And the man that wants to do this is not infamous in the Milky Way Galaxy - but so well known and feared that people only wish they never come across him and he would leave them alone. Who can blame these people when Thanos’s title is “The Mad Titan” along with his massively powerful army. Does this sound like anyone we know? You’d be lying if you said you didn’t know who this sounds like.

Its 45. C’mon the title says it. 45 has been itching to use nukes since the moment he won the general election in 2016. He has killed more civilians in the Middle East than President Obama did his entire presidency just within a few months. There is no way that many Middle Eastern civilians died unless it was deliberate. The man became a war criminal in his first few days. His racism, xenophobia, anti-semitism, sexism, and anti-lgbtq+ personality has made him worse than even Andrew Jackson. And Andrew Jackson killed so many First Nation citizens that 45 has worked hard to surpass him. He has left Puerto Rico a death island with no help which has left fellow citizens drinking contaminated water and almost no power during a gigantic economic depression there. He allowed the Dakota Access Pipeline to continue after President Obama told them they must suspend work on the pipeline. The protests were started by the First Nation people because it mostly went through the river in their reservation and they knew the oil pipeline would contaminate it. And it did. He has called black football players and countries with higher populations of black people derogatory words. He hired Nazis to work in the White House. He himself has a book of Hitler’s speeches on his bedside table and this man is not an avid reader. This comes straight from Ivanna (45′s first wife).

I could go on about all of the discriminatory things he has done and that is unfortunately as American as apple pie. After all 45 did not make slavery legal but this country did make it legal. This country also made slavery illegal with the 13th amendment but during the Reconstruction Era we still had to work hard to stop slavery. It’s still not over though. That same 13th amendment allows the country’s incarcerated to be paid slave wages for their work by getting paid pennies. Not even a full dollar sometimes but literal pennies. These are human beings that hopefully reform and get out some day but when you pay them nothing for work they do for years with hopeful reform in mind how can they live off of their earnings? The food their given is so unhealthy and the water to clean them is so disgusting you might as well wonder how someone leaving our justice system could see the good in doing what’s right after? 

And then there are those paid a minimum wage. Even if you’re paid what the Los Angeles minimum wage is at the time I wrote this you’d be making $12/hr. The average rent as of writing this is $1450/month for a 1-bedroom/1 bath. How much would it take for us to make for that to be a quarter of our monthly salary? $36.25/hr. Minimum wage is $12/hr in a good area and $7.75/hr. That means in a good area you’d need to work 120 straight hours or 5 days without breaks to get enough for your rent to be a quarter of your wages. No job would give you that many hours so you’d be working 3 jobs without a break for 8 hours straight. Do you know what happens in three days if you don’t get enough rest? You die. Now do you see what this is? Now do you see how this is unconstitutional? And how our country has only grown to be incrementally less atrocious? And the person in charge doesn’t want to pay people. He’s done it before by not paying contractors after working for him.

But that’s not the most important part not unless you count those among the actions he’s taken that are something to fear. He has begun to strip away freedom of the press by allowing the DoJ to strip the rights journalists have from their handbook. Leading a way for them to shut down dissenting public opinion. It has already begun through multiple journalists attacking Michelle Wolf when they have agreed with what she has said on their own stations. What of his unwillingness to invoke the sanctions against Russia? What of his willingness to fire those investigating him (a Nixonian precedent albeit)? What of the Nazis that he gave safe harbor to in his statement that there are good people on both sides? What of his assault on the environment in which we cannot live if we do not protect it from turning deadly? What of that moment when he found out the President of China was able to turn his appointment in office into a life term and wished for it to be done here? What of those moments he praises dictators and eschews democratic leaders? What of his desire to ban a group of people from entering the country based on inalienable qualities? What of his actions to hold immigrants both undocumented and legal from being given due process? What of his acts to keep these immigrants indefinitely and not allowing pregnant girls who do not want these babies access to abortion? And what of this man who has no humanitarian bone in his body who wishes to hold immigrants indefinitely?

The important part is do you see the abuses our own country has committed and do you see how he has gone further? Now consider what I said earlier. He keeps a book of Hitler’s speeches on his bedside table and he doesn’t read. He called for the murder of the innocent Central Park 5. He kills his citizens of multiple countries and not just his own. He tells his supporters to assault people and that he’d pay for their legal fees (but then never doing so). He says he wants to use nukes! I could go on but let’s get to where him and Thanos align.

Nukes, are a weapon of mass destruction. He wants to do exactly what Thanos has done in Infinity War. Kill as much of the world as he possibly can. He would be safe. He has an entire army that would protect him because they don’t see the issue at hand. But where would the rest of us be? Where would you be if he accomplishes this task? Would millions of people die or just a few hundred thousand? What about the radiation fallout? What about the 2 degrees Celsius temperature increase that would ensure climate change would get worse than we’ve seen already within just a few years? What of the Reichstag Fire he would create to hold power forever?

Thanos says he wanted to erase half of the universe so life could continue. All villains see themselves as the good guy. I’m not saying 45 is that smart. In fact quite the contrary. He isn’t doing anything for anyone else other than perhaps his daughter Ivanka and to an extent there is another similarity here. Yet, I would say his idol Adolf Hitler fits more in line with Thanos for just their intelligence. Hitler wanted to create a world without anyone not Aryan. In the movie you see some of the genocide Thanos enacts. The soldiers carried out the dirty work in both worlds. Hitler attempted to get a nuclear bomb but was thwarted. He had death camps. Thanos wasn’t looking to have those but where Hitler and Thanos don’t coalesce whereas Thanos and 45 do is a weapon of mass destruction. The difference is Thanos had no one to keep him in check. 45 does but those people are growing smaller in number. Those that would try to stop him from doing so get smaller day by day.

Imagine an unchecked 45. I’ve outlined his past and I’ve outlined his idol. I’ve outlined small amounts of spoilers for Infinity War’s antagonist and his goal. You’re going to see the movie if you already haven’t because it is a cultural flashpoint. And when you see the deaths of people through this weapon of mass destruction it is harrowing. Now you have an idea for what he could do just with a nuclear weapon. Imagine what he could do with a Reichstag Fire and becoming a dictator. And imagine what you wish you could’ve done before then.