#who are implied to have *history* and have been drawn to each other against their better judgement

[notmoreflippingelves]

Why is it that my rare pair tendencies are not limited strictly to my hyperfixations of the moment but in like 99% of media that I consume? It's not fair. I just get a tiny little urge for like a day to read a fic or see an art for a specific pairing before returning to my main interest. Only to find that particular pairing that my stewpid brain had convinced itself "must be huge in this fandom because how could it NOT BE?" barely exists--if it even exists at all and I have clowned on myself yet again.

[auspicioustidings]

Bannockburn

Summary: Your boyfriend Johnny has come home in a strange mood, and you are about to get your shit rocked at Bannockburn.

Technically, if you squint, a sequel to Savage set just over 700 years later. Like I will perhaps write a proper sequel at some point, but you can blame Bunny for this one.

Words: 3.6k

CW: CNC, smut, implied character death

You were getting nervous. You were getting really nervous. There were two Johnny’s and you never knew what one you were getting when he came home from a mission. Most of the time you got your Johnny, sweet and loving and tackling you to the bed with a laugh while he showed you how much he missed you. But sometimes whatever happened out on mission got his blood up. Whatever he usually did to get himself settled and out of war mode didn’t take. Sometimes you got the Savage Johnny, the one who heard your English accent and became more animal than man. The one who went into such thick Scots that you hardly understood what he was growling into your ear as he took you. 

Usually you knew what Johnny you had the moment he walked through the door. Not this time. This time he seemed like he was boiling with energy under the surface, but he kissed you nonetheless and ate dinner with you and held you as you slept. When he got you both up and packed into the car the next morning for a trip you had the sense to at least be a little worried. Now, hand held in his as you listened to the guide, you had some inkling that you might be in for it. 

“Now King Edward the second invaded as a result of Bruce’s demand to his people to recognise him as their King. He summoned 25,000 infantry and 2000 horses, the largest ever army to invade Scotland. Bruce only had command of 6000 men.”

You could feel the blood draining from your face as the guide went further into the background of the battle. Around about the time she briefly mentioned how Wallace had been hanged, drawn and quartered, limbs displayed in different cities, just shy of ten years before the Battle of Bannockburn, you absolutely knew what Johnny you had on your hands. And this Johnny? There was nothing you could do to save yourself from this Johnny. This Johnny was taking in every word, ready to punish you for your ancestors' transgressions against his. 

You were trying to pay attention, but your eyes were darting around trying to pinpoint any little nooks that might spell danger if he got you in them. Only that was dangerous in itself, because the first time you felt your attention drift from what was being said Johnny had let go of your hand and moved to instead hold you firm by the back of the neck, fingers massaging a little too hard in warning. That got you to pay rapt attention to all of it, to the whole history of the Scottish wars of Independence as it related to Bannockburn. 

It was strange sometimes, you and Johnny. There were times like now when you would be learning about the history of your countries and it felt like some long forgotten memory. There were times when you met his Lieutenant and swore you knew him from somewhere. Like there was some ancient part of you that trusted them when they fought together to watch each other's backs. No matter what Johnny you got, you held such a deep love for him that it scared you sometimes. Your heart twisted as they described what the battle would have been like for the soldiers, the sights and sounds and weapons. It must have been awful. 

You were stuck on it. Stuck on the image of a Johnny with a sword on the battlefield. That was your mistake, zoning out and just following along when he led you out to the grounds. Only when you had been walking for a while did you realise how far you were getting from the safety of a building full of people.

“Where are we going?”

“Dinae pay any attention at all did ye? Must naw have been interesting tae ye learning about how my people battered yours when they tried tae grind us intae nothing.”

“No, I was paying attention. Of course I was” you said, trying to be meek and quell some of his building fury. 

“Couldnae even hunt a bunny without some English noble claiming it wisnae our right. Punishing us” he ranted before turning to you with a feral look in his eye. “Cannae stop me from hunting one right now though can they? Ye going tae run for me wee bunny?”

Fuck. He looked ready to tear into your throat with his teeth. You felt every bit a prey animal, eyes darting around to find a way out of this. The woods. There were woods here. That was where he had been leading you while you had been busy getting stuck on the idea of him as some ancient warrior fighting to the death. Gillies Hill. The guide had told you about it, how the Scottish had made their camp here. It was where they had attacked from.

And it was where you found yourself sprinting through, heart pounding. Your logical mind knew it was a mistake, you running only meant he could chase. You should have just stayed where you were, tried to talk him down. You were stumbling and tripping, trying to get your bearings as the woods became dense around you. Every snap of a twig or sway of a branch sent you darting away in the other direction until you were shaking from exhaustion and no small amount of mounting terror.

You had never been hunted like this. Johnny had been rough with you before in the warmth of your own home, had fucked you into the bed like he was trying to mould you permanently to him. But this was a different creature entirely. This was the monster under the surface that you only caught glimpses of, that you never thought you would meet face to face. The woods were silent of another human, had you managed to escape him?

“Yer naw even trying little bunny, ye want me tae catch ye is that it? Slut.”

His breath was hot on your ear and you choked on any response you had tried to come up with. How had he gotten right behind you without a sound? You were running again, tripping and scraping your knees but clawing your way back to your feet to keep going. The little summer dress was not suited for this, but at least you were wearing boots. At least Johnny had told you to wear boots this morning. 

It was with a sickening dread that you realised he had planned this. He knew you would be running from him, knew he wanted you in a dress for easy access but boots for fleeing into the woods. At least you knew that your Johnny was still in there somewhere, enough to care about you not breaking an ankle. Not enough to care about breaking you in other ways. 

“Aww wee English princess got her knees all scraped up? All yer kinfolk are going tae ken how ye love getting on them for good Scottish cock when they see the marks. Wee whore down in the dirt fucking gagging on it, crying over how much ye love it.”

You couldn’t properly tell what direction his voice was even coming from. The shame of his words was flooding you with a sickly humiliation that only increased when your body reacted differently to how it should have. When you throbbed with need for him. 

“I’m not! That isn’t what’s happening!”

You were flustered and scared and needy and felt like you were yelling at nothing as you kept catching sight of him on your periphery only to turn and find nobody there. 

“Naw? Slick is practically running down yer plush fucking thighs princess, bet yer clenching down on nothin’. Dinnae even have tae catch ye dae I? Could just wait until ye come crawling tae me, begging me tae claim ye. Fucking pleading for it right here, right where my army celebrated before decimating yours.”

His words sent a shiver up your spine. Out here felt removed from time, it really did feel like you were betraying something by finding yourself drawn to this savage. By imagining that his prediction would prove true, that you’d beg for him. You couldn’t, it would be too much, too shameful. So you kept stumbling through the woods even when the deep tenor of his voice rang through in a mocking little song.

God he had translated this for you once. Told you that brose and butter was a euphemism, that it was about fucking a girl full of cum. It had made you blush and laugh at the time when he playfully sang it over to you now that you understood the meaning, but now? Fuck now it just scared the hell out of you with how the words were tinged with a promise. This was hardly playful, he really meant to hold you down and shove himself inside you out here in the woods where anyone could walk by. 

“We can’t! John please, not here” you pleaded, pausing to try and find where he was. “I… you were gone for months, I’ve not…”

He had made you promise before he left that you’d save yourself for him, wouldn’t even put your own fingers inside yourself while he was gone. And you hadn’t. Fuck you would be so tight now, not ready for him to take you hard. Had he known even then that this was the plan?

“Maiden are ye? Scared it’s going tae hurt, princess? It will, did they naw teach ye that we’re animals? We dinnae treat wee English lassies the way yer own men would. Ye’ll get treated the way ye should, like a fucking whore. And ye’ll take it won’t ye? Ye’ll take it wherever I want tae give it tae ye.”

Fuck, you were starting to slip away to whereever he was. You were starting to feel less like yourself and more like the poor English maiden being hunted by the enemy. The bunny being hunted by the hound. Starting to drift away into pure animal instinct, pure fear and arousal. You could hardly breathe now, feeling tears prick at your eyes.

“Please…” you sobbed quietly, not even sure what you were begging for.

And then he was there, towering over you and wrapping a hand around your throat, thumb beneath your chin to tilt your head and force you to look at him. 

“Wonder whit they’d think of ye begging so pretty for the enemy. Cannae help yerself can ye?” he said, as if fascinated by you, slipping his other hand up your dress and under your panties. “Fucking English slut. Y’er dripping.”

Your reaction to those words was violent and unexplainable. It made your legs shake and your pussy clench painfully hard. It was confusing how much it affected you, causing such a flood of wetness that Johnny noticed, his pupils dilating as he squeezed at your throat and laughed when that made you whimper and claw at his hand. He only kept on squeezing until you were starting to see stars.

“Dinnae fucking move princess.”

The pressure of his hands was gone in an instant and the flood of oxygen made you dizzy. There was no time for you to recover before he was on his knees in the dirt, treating your pussy like it was a mouth and sloppily kissing it over your panties. The press of his tongue was insistent and overwhelming, like he was trying to bully it past the fabric. When he ripped at your waistband with his teeth the lace tore. 

He continued his attack like he truly was a wolf sinking his teeth into a fresh meal, completely ruining your underwear until the mangled scraps fell to the floor and left you bare. Your hands were woven into his mohawk and you tried to pull him away, earning a growl that reverberated into your bones and a heavy handed smack to your ass before he assaulted your clit with tongue and teeth and spit. 

You felt yourself clench so hard that you almost felt nauseous. Fuck. You were trying to keep some sense of self, trying to remember that you were out in public and he was some feral version of the man you loved who was saying horrible things to you and promising he was going to hurt you. But there was a creeping haze taking over, turning you dumb for him. 

It wasn’t even something you had been aware was happening when you came on his tongue. It was just sensation, just the desperate need for more. The primal desperation to be fuller even as he pushed his tongue into your over sensitive hole while your walls fluttered through the pleasure of that high.  

“Please, need you.”

“Aye, that right? Needy wee slut.”

You were too far gone to notice that while he was rough in getting you onto your back in the dirt, one hand was gentle in cradling your head to make sure it landed softly. 

“Use those pretty wee words. Ask me for it the way ye’d ask a good English man.”

Ask me for it the way ye’d ask Simon.

When all you could do was wriggle underneath him and whine he grabbed the neckline of your dress and yanked it down to let your breasts spill out, slapping hard at one and making you howl. 

“They naw teach ye how tae talk proper ye wee slut? Ask fucking nicely.”

“Please, please I want you inside me.”

“Aye, can tell that princess. Whit else?”

“Want you to cum inside me.”

“Good fucking girl, wisnae so hard now was it?”

He didn’t take any of his clothes off, just fished his hard cock from his jeans, hooked your knees on his shoulders and pressed into your wet heat in one fluid motion. You both groaned as he bottomed out. It had been so long, you were so fucking tight around him. 

“M’so full, thank you thank you ,m’yours, need you. Fuck, ah. Made for you, it’s so much” you rambled, incoherent in your bliss. 

“There she is, needed this naw? Needed my cock deep in this tight wee English cunt. Cannae be a person without it, it’s whit ye were made for. Fucking built tae be on yer back with yer legs open for me.”

He stayed like that for what felt like forever, the fullness pushing any coherent thought out of your head. Fuck he was so deep like this, with you nearly folded in half. It felt like you were choking on his dick. You were clawing at the dirt by your sides so hard that you thought your fingers might bleed, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head before they could.

You were so cock drunk that you were only distantly aware of the look in his eyes now, the almost obsessive adoration as he took in how you looked pressed into the earth like this, dress rucked up from the bottom and pulled down from the top, palm print visible from where he had slapped at you, knees by your ears, hands pinned over your head and yet despite it all so blissed out you were salivating and babbling at him how you needed him.

When he pulled all the way out to the tip and then slammed back home you choked on the wind being knocked right out of you. It only encouraged him as he started to fuck you hard and deep, taking him time to make sure every thrust settled him so incredibly deep inside of you that you were floating. 

“Braw wee creature aren’t ye? Feart of me and gagin’ fer it anyway. Dinnae fash bonnie, gettin’ yer hole proper.”

You knew vaguely that he was close because you could hardly understand what he was saying. You were so unable to do anything in this position, no leverage on your arms and legs that you could use to pull him closer. 

“Inside, need it inside. Please, please ah!” you cried, no shame left in so as you begged like a bitch in heat for him to cum inside you. 

He shifted and sped his pace, nailing that spongy spot inside you that was making your vision black out with every thrust. You’d have marks on you from the buttons and zipper of his jeans. You’d have marks on your throat and your wrists, on your tits. He needed more, he needed anyone to take one look at you and know who you belonged to.

“‘at’s it, take it. Fuck. Good lass” he groaned as he sunk his teeth into your throat and your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you came, clamping down on his cock.

He jackhammered into you, forcing his way in while your pussy tried to force him out. The tight heat of it was too much and he growled and stilled after one more brutal thrust had him cumming deep inside you. He collapsed on top of you, the painful stretch from being folded as you were a delicious burn with the extra pressure forcing you to stretch further. 

You stayed like that for a while, both panting. Only when you were slowly coming back to your senses did you feel a sharp pain in your back from what must have been a particularly jagged stone. Ah, you thought you were probably bleeding on it, feeling something sticky. 

“Bannockburn” you breathed out softly.

The pressure was off of you almost immediately and he let go of your wrists and kneeled up, pulling out with a soft sigh leaving both of you at the feeling. He was quick to tuck himself in before his hands were back on you, gentle this time, fixing your dress and rubbing at all the spots he had marked.

“C’mere bonnie, ye did so well. Hurting anywhere I need tae look at?”

He looked at your back when you told him, laying soft kisses of apology on you as he cleaned it up. You used to tease Johnny for the little first aid kit he always had strapped to the back of his jeans whenever you went out, but it was coming in incredibly handy. Your panties were toast and he sheepishly tucked the remnants of them into his pocket before getting you to unsteady feet. 

“Creeping Jesus, I’ve made a right mess out of ye” he said with a bashful sort of grin, doing his best to try and fix your hair. 

“Hmm, s’ok” you replied, still a little hazy. 

He kissed you soundly and then gave you an absolute squeeze of a cuddle before scooping you into his arms in a princess carry.

“Let’s get ye all tucked up in the car then we can have a bath and dinner when we’re home eh?”

You nodded and nuzzled into his chest to get comfortable. He would take care of you, he always did.

–

John MacTavish didn’t know how he got so lucky. Not any woman would be softly dozing off in his arms after what he had just put you through. Fuck you were beautiful all of the time, but when you were like this? Fucked out and marked up but achingly soft for him in the afterglow? Jesus, he loved you. He would love you forever, through lifetimes. 

He’d explain obviously, he should really have warned you how hard he was going to go, that should have been pre-negotiated. But he had been so wound up. Fucking Simon Riley and his little comments about you, winding him up by putting thoughts in his head about how demure an English man could get you. It should have just made him laugh and shove at him, instead it made his blood boil and his cock hard and he had taken it out on you. You had let him, you always did until either of you thought it wasn’t safe. 

He paused on his way out of the woods with you, considering waking you so you could see the little glade he had come upon. It was pretty as anything, almost felt like hallowed ground with a giant stone right in the middle. Something about it called to an ancient longing within him. Fuck. He wanted to marry you out here. Was that ridiculous? Maybe just post orgasm stupidity.

Still as he settled you in the car and took you home so he could love you properly, he thought maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

–

“Fuck, Johnny.”

Simon Riley was an Englishman through and through. Everytime he stepped into battle it was to strike down those who would oppose his King and country. Yet he had left the battlefield. He had tracked into the woods, to where he knew MacTavish had crawled off to die. He found him leant against the stone that sat in the centre of a glade. Of course this is where he would want to die. Not on the battlefield, but here. The place he had married you. The place they both had.  

“Ye come tae watch it for yerself Si?” Johnny said with a laugh that turned to a hacking cough. 

“Course. Been trying to kill you for years, not about to miss it.”

Simon sat next to him, both of them looking at the sunlight filtering through the trees. It was peaceful here. Maybe in another lifetime they would not have been enemies. Maybe in another lifetime they could have been brothers.

“Ye’ll look after her until I can find her again?”

“Always.”

[buckybarnesss]

Can we start a discussion? When it comes to Teen Wolf & Shipping. Do you know of any other age difference ships that don't get as much pushback that Sterek does? Such as Marrish, Because despite the antis complaining against it it's still in the top 3 ships of all time.

haha so we've chosen violence this morning.

@dear-massacre and i have brought this up before.

teen wolf is not the show to be watching if you're looking for "unproblematic" content. age gap ships have always been like at the bottom of issues with the show lol.

sterek is the ship that has always gotten the most push back. mostly because of it's exposure and the way the show queerbaited the fuck outta it. it's the one most people are aware of even if they haven't watched the show. therefore, it's the one that gets the focus.

hold on to your butts.

now i didn't watch s5 till the show had ended but people did find the age gap concerning and gross between jordan and lydia despite lydia being 18 at the time.

lydia turned 18 in season 4. natalie and her discuss this at the lake house i believe in time of death. this makes the birthday we see for lydia in party guessed her 17th birthday.

parrish tells jared in riddled that he's 24. by the time of 5a which takes place during the first semester of lydia's senior year 2012 she would've still been 18 and he would've been 25 because 3b was the first semester of their junior year 2011 so 5a is a year later.

jordan and lydia have a 7 year difference. while their age gap is concerning because of the power dynamics jordan wasn't grooming her and it wasn't illegal. i think the writing shifted to try to imply that they were drawn to each other because of the banshee and hellhound connection.

jordan giving those andy dwyer vibes.

now let's take a look at thiam. a pretty popular and accepted ship.

theo is the same age as our core characters. he is in their grade and knew them when he was young.

our baby beta liam was a freshman when he was introduced so that makes him a sophomore when theo is introduced in 5a.

by the time theo and liam become frenemies the age difference between them is basically the original age difference from the pilot presentation script as derek and stiles.

aiden and ethan were both romantically and sexually involved with lydia and danny in season 3 despite making it clear they were only pretending to be high schoolers. they may have been in their early 20s but they were adults fucking minors by deception.

danny's whole dating history is suspect too due to it being implied he had an older boyfriend and he was seen going to a gay club. like what. he's supposed to be the same age as our core gang. he did have a mild thing for matt though who was at least a peer.

there's also harris being shown to be at the rave with a much younger woman (21 he says). like bruh. this is never addressed.

mason and corey. liam and hayden. stiles and malia. lydia and jackson. allison and isaac. scott and allison. lydia and stiles. scott and kira. paige and derek.

those are all age appropriate actual canon relationships. i would also add derek and braeden too.

no one gives one episode wonder heather shit about kissing stiles nonconsensually either.

derek's age is never canonically given but like c'mon. in s1 he doesn't act that much older than scott and stiles. he acts like their peer.

jeff and the writers did age him up a bit because they realized they made derek 13 when he was involved with kate. they were uncomfortable with him that young and instead pushed it up to near 16. (still fucked).

i've seen it discussed on the subreddit (🤮) and people seem to deluded themselves into thinking derek was older when he and kate were involved. ding dong they are wrong.

visionary tells us plainly that derek and paige were sophomores (hello scott parallels) and kate got her nasty hands on him not long after paige died.

i think after sterek the most discussed age gap issue discussed is derek's seduction/enticement of erica. it was definitely out of pocket and questionable behavior on his part but it is rarely brought up by the antis that erica jumped him and kissed him nonconsensually later. or the manipulation and rape by deception jennifer commits.

notice a theme? people age up derek to try to say what kate did wasn't grooming and statutory rape and deny that what jennifer did was also rape. they'll deny derek any and all victimhood while turning it around on him calling him an abuser towards stiles and basically calling him a pedophile because of the sterek ship. antis really want to make a canonical victim of multiple instances of sexual abuse into the abuser.

or worse they'll call real life people these things over a fictional ship.

where have i heard this kind of narrative before i wonder? 🙄

besides, derek only does the steering wheel thing in retaliation for stiles using his body as enticement for danny without his permission. stiles is the one who did the bad thing and crossed a boundary. it's not nice or really acceptable for derek to harm stiles like that but there's context to the action. it wasn't random. it was pointed. he never does anything like this again and in fact spends a vast majority of his time trying to protect stiles.

nothing sexual or even overtly romantic occurred between derek and stiles in canon. their only crime was having too much chemistry.

the antis are mad because people ship sterek and it's not even canon. it's all fanon. sure i'm of the belief a deep connection and attraction is there between them but it's all subtextual and never acted on by either party.

let me reiterate this: antis are mad over a hypothetical ship of two fictional characters that never happened in the source material.

besides, by the time the show ends and i mean the last, last scene there's been a 2 year time jump. when the show ends it's 2015. stiles would've been 20 fucking years old and by the time of the movie he's in his 30s.

i think by then he'd be allowed to ride derek's dick off into the sunset if he wanted.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

I know it is the fashion to say that most of recorded history is lies anyway. I am willing to believe that history is for the most part inaccurate and biased, but what is peculiar to our own age is the abandonment of the idea that history could be truthfully written. In the past people deliberately lied, or they unconsciously coloured what they wrote, or they struggled after the truth, well knowing that they must make many mistakes; but in each case they believed that ‘the facts’ existed and were more or less discoverable. And in practice there was always a considerable body of fact which would have been agreed to by almost everyone. If you look up the history of the last war in, for instance, the Encyclopaedia Britannica, you will find that a respectable amount of the material is drawn from German sources. A British and a German historian would disagree deeply on many things, even on fundamentals, but there would still be that body of, as it were, neutral fact on which neither would seriously challenge the other. It is just this common basis of agreement, with its implication that human beings are all one species of animal, that totalitarianism destroys. Nazi theory indeed specifically denies that such a thing as ‘the truth’ exists. There is, for instance, no such thing as ‘science’. There is only ‘German science’, ‘Jewish science’ etc. The implied objective of this line of thought is a nightmare world in which the Leader, or some ruling clique, controls not only the future but the past. If the Leader says of such and such an event, ‘It never happened’ – well, it never happened. If he says that two and two are five – well, two and two are five. This prospect frightens me much more than bombs – and after our experiences of the last few years that is not a frivolous statement.

But is it perhaps childish or morbid to terrify oneself with visions of a totalitarian future? Before writing off the totalitarian world as a nightmare that can’t come true, just remember that in 1925 the world of today would have seemed a nightmare that couldn’t come true. Against that shifting phantasmagoric world in which black may be white tomorrow and yesterday’s weather can be changed by decree, there are in reality only two safeguards. One is that however much you deny the truth, the truth goes on existing, as it were, behind your back, and you consequently can’t violate it in ways that impair military efficiency. The other is that so long as some parts of the earth remain unconquered, the liberal tradition can be kept alive.

-- George Orwell, "Looking Back on the Spanish War" (1943)

Eerie.

[ Note: In 1949, Orwell subsequently wrote Nineteen Eighty-Four. ]

--

"One of the key contributions of critical theorists concerns the production of knowledge. Given that the transmission of knowledge is an integral activity in schools, critical scholars in the field of education have been especially concerned with how knowledge is produced. These scholars argue that a key element of social injustice involves the claim that particular knowledge is objective, neutral, and universal. An approach based on critical theory calls into question the idea that objectivity is desirable or even possible. The term used to describe this way of thinking about knowledge is that knowledge is socially constructed. When we refer to knowledge as socially constructed we mean that knowledge is reflective of the values and interests of those who produce it."

-- Ozlem Sensoy/Robin DiAngelo, "Is Everyone Really Equal?"

[dailyanarchistposts]

Introduction

A note on inspiration

Pluralism and freedom are not compatible with orthodox ideologies. The historical examples of anarchy do not have to be explicitly anarchist. Most of the societies and organizations that have successfully lived free of government have not called themselves “anarchist”; that term originated in Europe in the 19th century, and anarchism as a self-conscious social movement is not nearly as universal as the desire for freedom.

It is presumptuous to assign the label “anarchist” to people who have not chosen it; instead, we can use a range of other terms to describe examples of anarchy in practice. “Anarchy” is a social situation free of government and coercive hierarchies held together by self-organized horizontal relationships; “anarchists” are people who identify themselves with the social movement or philosophy of anarchism. Anti-authoritarians are people who expressly want to live in a society without coercive hierarchies, but do not, to the best of our knowledge, identify as anarchists — either because the term was not available to them or because they do not see the specifically anarchist movement as relevant to their world. After all, the anarchist movement as such emerged from Europe and it inherited a worldview in accordance with this background; meanwhile there are many other struggles against authority that spring from different worldviews and have no need to call themselves “anarchist.” A society that exists without a state, but does not identify itself as anarchist, is “stateless”; if that society is not stateless by chance, but consciously works to prevent the emergence of hierarchies and identifies with its egalitarian characteristics, one might describe it as “anarchistic.”[1]

The examples in this book have been selected from a wide range of times and places — about ninety altogether. Thirty are explicitly anarchist; the rest are all stateless, autonomous, or consciously anti-authoritarian. More than half of the examples are from present-day Western society, a third are drawn from stateless societies that provide a view of the breadth of human possibility outside of Western civilization, and the remaining few are classical historical examples. Some of these, such as the Spanish Civil War, are cited multiple times because they are well documented and offer a wealth of information. The number of examples included makes it impossible to explore each one in the detail it deserves. Ideally the reader will be inspired to pursue these questions herself, distilling further practical lessons from the attempts of those who came before.

It will become apparent throughout this book that anarchy exists in conflict with the state and capitalism. Many of the examples given here were ultimately crushed by police or conquering armies, and it is in large part due to this systematic repression of alternatives that there have not been more examples of anarchy working. This bloody history implies that, to be thoroughgoing and successful, an anarchist revolution would have to be global. Capitalism is a global system, constantly expanding and colonizing every autonomous society it encounters. In the long run, no one community or country can remain anarchist while the rest of the world is capitalist. An anti-capitalist revolution must destroy capitalism totally, or else be destroyed. This does not mean that anarchism must be a single global system. Many different forms of anarchist society could coexist, and these in turn could coexist with societies that were not anarchist, so long as the latter were not confrontationally authoritarian or oppressive. The following pages will show the great diversity of forms anarchy and autonomy can take.

The examples in this book show anarchy working for a period of time, or succeeding in a specific way. Until capitalism is abolished, all such examples will necessarily be partial. These examples are instructive in their weaknesses as well as their strengths. In addition to providing a picture of people creating communities and meeting their needs without bosses, they raise the question of what went wrong and how we could do better next time.

To this end, here are some recurring themes that may be beneficial to reflect on in the course of reading this book:

Isolation: Many anarchist projects work quite well, but only make an impact in the lives of a tiny number of people. What engenders this isolation? What tends to contribute to it, and what can offset it?

Alliances: In a number of examples, anarchists and other anti-authoritarians were betrayed by supposed allies who sabotaged the possibility of liberation in order to gain power for themselves. Why did anarchists choose these alliances, and what can we learn about what kind of alliances to make today?

Repression: Autonomous communities and revolutionary activities have been stopped cold by police repression or military invasion time after time. People are intimidated, arrested, tortured, and killed, and the survivors must go into hiding or drop out of the struggle; communities that had once provided support withdraw in order to protect themselves. What actions, strategies, and forms of organization best equip people to survive repression? How can those on the outside provide effective solidarity?

Collaboration: Some social movements or radical projects choose to participate in or accommodate themselves to aspects of the present system in order to overcome isolation, be accessible to a greater range of people, or avoid repression. What are the advantages and pitfalls of this approach? Are there ways to overcome isolation or avoid repression without it?

Temporary gain: Many of the examples in this book no longer exist. Of course, anarchists are not trying to create permanent institutions that take on lives of their own; specific organizations should come to an end when they are no longer helpful. Realizing that, how can we make the most of bubbles of autonomy while they last, and how can they continue to inform us after they have ceased to be? How can a series of temporary spaces and events be linked to create a continuity of struggle and community?

[stillness-in-green]

No, Re-Destro Is Not Destro’s Literal Son

and

Yes, I Will Die On This Hill

I have a number of small, persistent quibbles with some of the widespread misapprehensions I see included in BNHA fanfic, quoted as fact in meta posts, even cited on the wiki. Quirk cancellation restraints, what the 20% quirklessness data point means in practice, when Kurogiri comes into existence relative to the time of the Shimura Family Massacre, things like that. My biggest one, though, is as the title suggests: the idea that Yotsubashi Rikiya is Yotsubashi Chikara’s son.

I don’t entirely know where this confusion comes from. As far as I can tell, the early scanlations didn’t get it wrong—one rendered the line in Chapter 218 about Destro having a child he didn’t know about as being children, plural, but otherwise, they were all accurate enough. It seems people just assumed that the child mentioned in 218 must be Re-Destro, who was, after all, right there on the panel. Even though the scanlations never said it, even though the official translation never said it, even though ample evidence in the manga disproves it, the idea still got around that Rikiya is Chikara’s son.

I have and will maintain that this is obviously wrong if you stop to think about it for even a moment, but unfortunately, most people don’t. The error can be found on less well-tended parts of the fandom wiki[1]; it’s in tumblr meta posts about the villains; it’s in fanfic.

And now, god help me, it is on the official anime website, too.

“Stillness-in-green, maybe you should consider that you might just be wro—”

I will face BONES and walk backwards into hell.

But if you want, you can come with me, and I’ll explain on the way. Hit the jump.

Dialogue + Narration

There are two places where the relationship between Chikara and Rikiya is explicitly addressed—the lead-in to the dinner scene in Chapter 218 and the fight between Clone!Shigaraki and RD in Chapter 232. If you include the Ultra Analysis databook, the number goes up to four: once each in Re-Destro and Destro Classic’s character blurbs.

Let’s take a look at each of those places, shall we?

The relevant Japanese text here is in the first narration box: 子ども, kodomo.

Kodomo is not gendered. It literally just means child. The key kanji is 子, ko. Like most kanji, it has a lot of potential readings, and you can add other kanji to it to modify it. Add 息 and you get musuko, son. Pronounce 子 as shi instead of ko, and you get a term that is frequently, though not exclusively, used to refer to boys. Add 女 to that reading and you get joshi, woman/girl. 子 is in a lot of words, many of them gendered! Used for kodomo as Hori does here, though, it does nothing to indicate a gender one way or the other.

Also too, it does nothing to indicate that Rikiya is the child in question; it simply states that there was such a child, somewhere in the world. Now, the natural assumption for anyone who knows how the graphic novel medium works and who understands basic literary analysis would be that the significant character we just met is, in fact, the child in question—except that everything else we learn about Destro and the original Meta Liberation Army here makes it entirely impossible.

I’ll do a full breakdown on why that is in the next section. In the meantime, here’s the next reference:

Here, we’re looking at the phrase the Viz translation renders as, “His blood runs through these veins.” The literal Japanese there is, Desutoro no matsuei chi o tsugu mono! In a literal translation, chi o tsugu mono means, “one who inherits the blood,” or, more loosely, “blood successor.” It’s matsuei—末裔—that’s the key word here.

Japanese has several words to express the concept of “descendant.” Matsuei is one word; the data book uses shison. So what’s the difference? Well, I’ll talk about shison in a moment, but I had an inkling of it just from looking at the kanji in matsuei—“end” and “descendant” respectively, leaving me with an impression of something like a final descendant or the terminus of the bloodline. Further research confirmed it: shison can refer to any lineal blood tie, but matsuei refers to a bloodline’s final inheritor, the person at the end of a long line of many, or even countless, generations. It’s the difference between being able to point to a grandparent and the kind of painstaking genealogical research that lets you[2] point to a famous royal from eight hundred years ago—matsuei is a word that very much assumes the existence of those countless generations.

So not only does Rikiya’s line there not imply that he’s Chikara’s son, but his specific word choice also tells us that he cannot be Chikara’s son. That’s, uh. Pretty conclusive, I would say.

Lastly, though, there’s also the data book. This is, perhaps, the actual closest you’re going to get to a manga equivalent of those character blurbs on the anime website, at least until such time as Hori deigns to give the MLA types character profile pages. (I live ever in hope.)

There are two relevant bits of text, one in Re-Destro’s entry, and the other in Destro Classic’s. The first describes how Re-Destro organizes the MLA as Desutoro no chi o tsugu mono: the same phrase he uses for himself in the manga, minus the matsuei. @codenamesazanka (the one who told me about the databook references among other citations, bless) rendered it as “Destro’s blood successor”; I have also seen it given as “the successor of Destro’s bloodline.” Note again, the lack of reference to a father/son bond.

Chikara’s entry uses that other descendant word I mentioned before, 子孫, shison. Notice that the term uses that ko kanji from kodomo before? As it does in joshi, 子 here reads shi. The other kanji, 孫, means grandchild. Thus, literally, grandchild-child—or, in the vernacular, simply descendant.

And then we have the anime website.

So, for comparison’s sake, the anime website uses 息子—the same combination of kanji that I said earlier gives you musuko, son. Heck, it even uses 父, chichi, for Destro—father. It’s as explicit as it’s possible to be, and I just don’t know why or how the anime website could fuck that up so bad when absolutely nothing in the manga describes the two Yotsubashis that way, and, indeed, one specific word choice actually rules out the possibility.

So, that’s all the manga says directly. It’s not the only evidence there is, though. In fact, the next piece makes it even more clear how colossally and impossibly wrong a father/son connection for Destro and his modern successor is.

Timeline

The long and short of this section is, “Since Harima Oji was Sako Atsuhiro’s great-great-grandfather, there is no possible way that Destro—who pre-dated Harima—can be Re-Destro’s father.” If you read that sentence and nodded your complete understanding and agreement, feel free to skip ahead to the last section. If you’d like the full explanation it takes to reach that sentence’s conclusion, though, read on.

So, aside from the word matsuei, the timeline is the most telling piece of evidence to my eye. I address it secondly rather than firstly because it’s less direct than the explicit narration; it relies on drawing conclusions based on things we’ve been told elsewhere rather than on the immediately relevant text. Oh, Mr. Compress’s relationship to Harima is explicit enough, but on what am I basing my claim that Destro predates him?

Regarding that, there’s no explicit year relative to My Hero Academia’s current events given for when Destro and the original Meta Liberation Army were active; the same is true for Harima Oji’s escapades. However, we are given some broad-strokes information, relative not to current events, but rather to the history of heroism as a legal institution in Japan.

We know that there was a widespread, lengthy period of chaos following the rise of quirks—called meta-abilities in those early years. At some point, however, people began to search for a way for meta-humans to live in peace with non-metas. The compromise that was reached was the foundation of professional heroism in Japan—while the use of meta-abilities would be legal in private settings, it was only by becoming licensed by the state as “heroes” that people could use their quirks in public.[3]

The legislation curtailing the use of meta-abilities—and the appropriation of a dead woman’s language to popularize a law establishing exactly the opposite of what she used that language to call for—is what catalyzed the rise of the original MLA. Thus, we can position Destro as being alive and active around the same time that heroism as a legal institution was being formed. Since we further know that he committed suicide in prison, we can assume that his child was conceived at some point prior to his capture. Ergo, Destro’s child, were they alive today, would be as old as Japanese professional heroism itself.

Next, consider Harima Oji, the Peerless Thief, a criminal who targeted the riches of “sham heroes.” We’re specifically told that he was active in the days in which the current system was settling into place—e.g. he only became active once the Hero System was established enough to have produced corrupt heroes. We’re told he preached reformation—he wasn’t just some pre-existing criminal who saw a shiny new target in heroes; he had specific grievances which he wanted addressed by the system, and which the system was not addressing.

The earliest Harima could possibly be active, then, is concurrent with Destro—Harima fighting against the corrupt people who had found their way into the new heroic institution, and Destro fighting against using the institution of heroism to oppress non-heroes. What I think is more likely, though, is that Harima came after Destro—Harima needed to have had time to realize what kinds of fakes had been drawn to this shiny new career path, maybe even to spend some time trying to change things the legal way.

I don’t suspect they were separated by very long—I would imagine Destro was easily within Harima’s living memory, and might well have influenced why he chose the path of protest that he did—but I do think they were separate.

Moving forward, then, Mr. Compress is four generations distant from his famous ancestor. Thus, even if you assume that Harima is of the same generation as Chikara, that’s what you’re looking at for Chikara’s child: someone who, were they alive today, would be old enough to be the great-grandparent of a thirty-two-year-old man.

Re-Destro’s probably a few years older than Mr. C, sure,[4] but that man doesn’t have Ujiko’s slow-aging quirk. Unless you want to start pulling theories about cryogenic stasis the story for some reason never saw fit to mention out of thin air, Re-Destro is in no way old enough to fit the bill.

This is backed up by one other piece of the timeline as well, and one more place we can look at language:

The small child at the center of the image is Rikiya, so young that he’s in schoolboy shorts for a meeting otherwise so formal that he’s been made to wear a tie. He’s, what, six to nine here, tops? And the adults speaking to him say that they’ve been in hiding for generations—代々, daidai, the kanji for generation followed by a kanji that just means, “See that kanji written right before me? Yeah, just read that one again.”

The original MLA was active for only a handful of years, and, per Chapter 218, they didn’t dissolve until Destro was captured. Thus, we can assume they have been in hiding since then, but not before then. With that in mind, this is another line that renders a father/son relationship impossible.

Remember, Chikara already had a child in the world circa his capture. If Rikiya were Chikara’s son, then Destro’s capture and his army’s subsequent dissolution could not have happened any farther back than nine months plus however old Rikiya was in this exact moment of his youth. Rikiya, who we see here as a child of less than ten.

Ten years in hiding doesn’t make one generation; it damn sure doesn’t make multiple ones.

Now, you could make theories about cryogenic statis that would explain this ludicrous discrepancy, sure. You could also theorize about e.g. artificial insemination,[5] or time stop quirks, or any number of other possibilities in the vast panoply the HeroAca world offers. The point is, though, that you don’t need to. There was, in the manga, no discrepancy that needed to be explained. It is only fanon misinterpretation and a glaring disinterest in the series’ villains from official sources that have presented this issue.

I’m praying that it’s all just a misunderstanding on the part of whoever maintains the website, and that the anime itself will render the relevant bits of dialogue correctly. Given the extreme cuts and alterations that My Villain Academia has been subjected to thus far, though, I’m sure you can appreciate my being concerned.

…So that’s the meat of it. The idea that Rikiya is Chikara’s son is wrong simply on the basis of what’s said in the text, and it’s doubly wrong on the basis of the timeline. There is, though, one other thing I think points towards Re-Destro being exactly the descendant he says he is, not a son playing down the connection out of humility or something. This one is a lot more headcanon-y, though, so I saved it for last.

MLA Social Dynamics

It’s quite simple. We have, in the MLA, a group of people that venerates Destro’s bloodline to an obviously unhealthy degree, putting up portraits of him wherever they can get away with it, tagging his successor with a “Re-” as if to invoke reincarnation or miraculous return, entirely willing to throw their lives away for what they think was his cause, and others’ lives if those others say anything too scathing about the words Destro wrote, quite as if they treat Destro’s memoir as some sort of holy writ.

They venerate Destro that much, and you’re trying to tell me that they wouldn’t just call a spade a spade and acknowledge RD as the son of their great leader? Come on.

Since long before I turned up the matsuei factoid in researching this piece, since long before Mr. Compress gave us such a helpful generational comparison, I’ve held the opinion that, given a group that holds their leaders in such high esteem, with such particular regard for bloodline, the only reason Rikiya does just call himself a descendant, rather than citing the specific term for what he is, is that the specific term is distant enough that it actually does sound more impressive to just say “descendant,” rather than something like, “great-great-great-grandson.” That kind of thing just begs the question, “What took you guys so long?” or, “You and how many other people, buddy?”

Mr. Compress may have the panache to carry off a line like that, but Rikiya’s a different story. If he had something so amazing up his sleeve as, “I am the son of the great Destro,” I have to think he’d just say it proudly, not fall back on the impressionistic vaguery of something like chi o tsugu mono. Even if I had no other evidence to work with, I’d think the same—all the evidence you need is right there in the character writing of who Rikiya and the MLA are and how they talk about the man whose dreams Re-Destro was raised to carry.

A closing note: I will allow that Rikiya is being overdramatic when he uses matsuei and its connotation of countless generations. There are a few other things we can use to trace the history of heroism—Ujiko’s age, and the 18-years-or-less periods that One For All was held by its pre-All Might bearers—and running those numbers leads me to believe that it is, in fact, entirely possible to count the number of generations between Rikiya and Chikara, and the number, while higher than one, is probably not all that high. Certainly matsuei is being more dramatic about it than is entirely warranted, hence the poetic flourish of the official translation’s, “His blood runs through these veins!” The theatricality only makes me fonder of him, however.

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

FOOTNOTES

[1] It was changed and reverted on Re-Destro’s page at least twice before it finally stuck in January of this year. Chikara’s page took until July to be corrected, and it’s still wrong on various other subpages.

[2] Or your kids, if you have those. Only the last generation in the bloodline is the matsuei, but that’s a moving goalpost as long as the bloodline is still propagating.

[3] This summary of events combines what we know from both My Hero Academia proper and the Vigilantes spin-off, which I recommend to anyone who’s at all interested in finer-grained worldbuilding on Hero Society Japan than the main series makes time for.

[4] I personally headcanon him as 42.

[5] To which point I would refer back to the word kodomo, and note that that word choice indicates that Destro had a child in the world. Not a sperm sample kept in a freezer somewhere, waiting for the right would-be mother: an actual child. Some quick research on my part says that the farthest that term stretches is in using it to refer to yet-unborn children, fetuses still in the womb. Seeing as Japan doesn’t even allow inmates conjugal visits in real life, much less in a setting where villains are so dehumanized that Tartarus is an acceptable punishment for them, the line about Destro “having a child out in the world” takes us right back to a date of conception no later than Destro’s final night of freedom.

[teyvattherapist]

Hi! Do you remember the headcanons of the god of fate request you had?

Can I request the same but with Kaeya, Venti and Childe.

Still male reader :)

This is a part two to this piece >God of Fate< So for more context, go check that one out first!

Thank you for the request, this whole idea comes somewhat easy to me, then I immediately get nervous it isn't what you want haha! Oh well! I hope you enjoy<3

Tags: m!reader/Kaeya, m!reader/Venti, m!reader/Tartaglia, Khaenri'ah spoilers, Kaeya spoilers, Tartaglia's real name, Venti's real name, God!Reader, angst if you squint, canon typical violence.

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

Khaenri’ah wouldn’t have had any survivors if it hadn’t been for a particular man that seemed unfazed by the battlefield the once prosperous nation of humanity became. Neither Khaenri’ahn nor from Celestia, simply an outlander. Despite showing great fighting prowess and strategic skill, Khaenri’ah had still fallen under the watchful gaze of the man. Of course, this was just a legend, a small rumour only known by the most curious of historians or academics. And even then, it’s debated. With the legacy of Khaenri’ah long gone, all that was left was anecdotal evidence.

Kaeya Alberich

-His biological father told stories of a man dressed in the silk of the Gods that drew steel against steel in the war of Khaenri’ah.

-He didn’t really believe in that though, to him, it was just that. A story. Just a fairytale to explain what time had lost.

-Kaeya had almost completely forgotten these fairytales, his childhood a hazy blip he did his best to forget. But the oddest stranger arriving in Mondstadt made it hard to forget certain aspects of those stories.

Kaeya slid into the seat across from you, sliding a wine glass to you. You raise an eyebrow at the suddenness of the situation, eyes flicking to the glass of glorified grape product. “You’re new to Mondstadt right? I’m the Cavalry Captain, Kaeya, I’d be happy to show you around.” His voice was smooth, suave as if he were hiding something. You picked up the wine glass, sniffing the wine. Mortal food and drink always smelled so weird. Tasted weird too. Kaeya watched you with a curious eye and you hummed, setting the wine glass back down.

"Kaeya Alberich right? I knew your father."

"Master Cr-"

"The other one." You smile at him, sliding the wine glass back. "I don't drink this stuff. Thank you though." You pulled your sleeve up, checking one of the watches on your wrist. Kaeya seemed taken back and you wondered if you perhaps misjudged his ability to lie. He seemed to recover quickly enough, eye narrowing at you. "Do you have questions, Captain? Or may I return to my work?" Work. Yes. That was one way to describe the recording of history and fate itself. A job.

"So it is you. You're real." Kaeya dropped his voice as you picked your book back up. You give him a short nod and he sits back, processing the turn of events. Fascinating, how many people you've run into who know of you. A stark difference to the last time you had been in Teyvat, recording the fall of a nation. "Tell me why you're in Mondstadt." Kaeya dropped his pretense, much preferable to you. You merely shake your head, it isn't your place to discuss the fate of Teyvat and the endless routes that will lead to it.

Venti

-Much like Morax, Barbatos had fought you in the war. Unlike Morax, Barbatos didn’t let his surprise stop him. Barbatos recognised your divinity, but elected to ignore it in favour of drawing the bowstring back.

-What was more surprising was his arrow being deflected by something he hadn’t seen before, that was when he realised you weren’t a rogue from Celestia but an outlander from somewhere else entirely.

-That was years ago though, he didn’t talk about the war, and he wished desperately to forget it. Barbatos opted to up the persona of Venti the Bard instead, but upon his return to Mondstadt, his past would follow.

Venti’s eyes widened when he pushed the tavern door open, his eyes immediately drawn to one of the visible tables, the cavalry captain sitting with a strange and far too familiar man. Feeling eyes on you, you lifted your head, making eye contact with the teal eyed bard. Kaeya turned his head to look over his shoulder at the bard. Venti drew closer when Kaeya beckoned him to do so. You watched as the God of Freedom sat down beside the Khaenri'ahn captain. So many familiar faces indeed.

"Hello Bar-"

"Venti, actually. Long time no see."

"Venti, alright. Yes I believe the last we saw of each other you tried to kill me." You tapped your pen against the leather bound book on the table, a small smile on your face. "No hard feelings, of course. I had stepped out of line anyway." Your revelation surprised the God, the sight somewhat satisfying. Venti swallowed thickly, grabbing the abandoned wine glass, he downed the beverage. "Well fate waits for no one, I have to go." You stood with the book in hand. Venti watched you intently as you left the tavern, the bard gesturing to Charles for more wine.

"Have a bad history?"

"He deflected a flying arrow in the middle of a battlefield, he's terrifying." Venti shuddered, shaking his head. While his Geo counterpart may have been curious of the God's appearance in the warning letter he had sent to Venti. Venti was anything but curious. He didn't want to know why a God from a different world was once more patrolling the land of Teyvat. Especially now that his gnosis was gone, he didn't want to know what it meant or what it could possibly imply.

Tartaglia

-Tartaglia knew the Gods were around, he served one. But regarding Khaenri’ah or that cataclysm he wasn't entirely sure. His time in the Abyss was spent solely focused on surviving.

-He was never really in a position to learn about any of that, living life blissfully aware of worlds outside of his own.

-Then the Traveler showed up and he heard whispers of them being from beyond, then they were followed by a man in a cloak made of material he had never seen before.

-And well the Traveler was a good opponent, why not this other stranger?

You lifted your head, eyes curiously looking ahead. There was a rustling above you and you slipped off the rock just as an arrow hit where you had been sitting. A tall ginger jumped from the tree, drawing his bowstring back once more. You clicked your pen, the item turning into a sword that was then used to skillfully cut the flying arrow in half. "Your form is sloppy.." You sighed, flipping the sword in your hand as he readied another arrow. "I'm not going to fight a human, is there something you need or are you just suicidal?" Another arrow flew by your head, embedding itself into a nearby tree.

Your words seemed to dawn on Tartaglia who lowered his bow slightly. "Human? You're a God? That'll just make this win more rewarding!" The ginger readied his bow once more. You just wanted to take a nice rest in the Snezhnayan forest, but of course it wouldn't be that easy. Before he could knock another arrow something invisible wrapped around his wrists, tightening until he had no choice but to drop his weapon into the snow. When the occasional ray of sun hit the clearing they were in, the invisible thread around his wrists shimmered an ethereal gold.

"I'm just.. a keeper of records. There are more enjoyable Gods to fight. Now if you don't mind." You flicked your wrist and the ginger was brought to his knees much to his chagrin at the turn of events. Your pen returned and you tucked it securely into your pocket. For a moment you just stared at him and he stared back, dull blue eyes boring into your very soul, or perhaps lack of. "Well. Nice meeting you in person, Ajax. You should keep up the work on the anger issues." You turned to leave, listening to him struggle against the binds.

"How do you know my name?"

Oops.

"I know everything and nothing!" You wave over your shoulder, snow crunching underfoot as you leave him in the clearing alone. Tartaglia watched your retreating form until he couldn't see you anymore. And it was then that the invisible threads retracted, allowing him to gather his weapon and give his wrists a quick rub to ease the sudden stiffness.

In your multiple times to Teyvat, it would always be the world that proved most in need of intervention. Though that wasn't part of your job description, you couldn't help it. Even the sky above warned of the brewing storm that would take the continent by storm. Most recently it had been the Cataclysm, this time? You weren't sure which way Teyvat would lean. Too many possibilities, too many options, and none were yours to make.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Can I have a drabble with Thrawn ?

I was thinking about a scene, shortly after the death of the emperor and Vader and the death star explosion. He would summon Reader to tell her they are among the last authority figures of the empire alive and although he has everything under control, it will be difficult and he could really use an hand this time.

Bonus point if they hug.

Thank you Darling (may I call you that way?)

A/N: Okay, so we’re going Original Thrawn Trilogy canon with this. Let me see what I can do. And you absolutely can, if you like.

Also, this turned into a thing because I have no sense of control.

Word Count: 1.4 K

You kept your head high as you walked through the quieted hallways of The Chimaera.

Nobody could focus on their duties and none of the officers had it in them to give orders. The shock of information had dumbfounded the entire ship. The second Death Star was destroyed. Half of the Imperial Fleet was gone. The Emperor was dead.

The rebels had done it. It was the beginning of the end.

But, The Chimaera was still there and all waited on baited breath for their Grand Admiral's orders.

You tried to focus on your steps rather than the whirlwind of emotions threatening to drown you. You had always been sure of who you were and where you stood in the galaxy. You were Commander Y/N of the ISD Chimaera, second to Grand Admiral Thrawn of the Imperial Navy. But what did that mean, if the Empire ceased to exist?

You shook your head.

No. Empire or not, you were still a Commander. The Chimaera was still your ship and so long as it kept flying, that would never change.

With new found resolve, you quickened your pace stopping just in front of Grand Admiral Thrawn's office.

You knocked on the door and a moment later, it opened with a small hiss.

Upon entering, your eyes were drawn to the holo projection in the center of the room. It did not take you long to realize the calamity of the scene before you. The Battle of Endor in all it's fiery disaster.

Thrawn stood in petrified stillness, watching the holo in intense concentration; his glowing red eyes illuminated in the dim blue light.

You stepped forward, focusing your attention on the calmness of his form rather than chaos.

"Has the fleet regrouped?" you asked.

Thrawn turned his eyes toward you, refocusing to the present moment.

"No," he said. "This was sent to me from the Accuser, requesting assistance from all Commanders."

"Should I plot a course, sir?"

He shook his head. "No. We're too far out of range to provide any timely assistance. There are others on their way.”

You nodded, understanding the logic behind the statement. Still a question buzzed in your mind, one that was plaguing everyone on the ship: what do we do next?

You kept quiet all the same, knowing if Thrawn wanted to tell you, he would do so, in his own time.

Thrawn turned off the projector, allowing white lights to fill the darkened space. He then reached behind his desk and pulled out a crystal bottle filled with amber liquid and two glasses.

"Join me, Commander?" he asked.

It wasn't and order, which itself prompted it's own question.

"Depends on what we're drinking to, sir."

"To our fallen officers," he answered, pouring a healthy dose into each glass. "And to the new Empire which will rise from the ashes."

He held out the glass, which you took with caution.

"Implying the Empire has already fallen."

Thrawn raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe it will survive?"

You opened your mouth, with a ready yes on your lips, but stopped. Taking a moment, you looked down, examining the ridges of the glass in idle thought.

"No," you said, slowly. "If it was just the Death Star or just the Executor, that would be one thing. But the loss of both and the Emperor is too much. There is no central leadership, and will all the Navy's resources poured in the second Death Star, I doubt there is enough remaining to maintain control over the rebelling systems."

You looked up to meet Thrawn's approving eye at your assessment.

"Of course," you continued. "If there were someone to take control..."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Thrawn's lip as he bowed his head.

"You flatter me, Commander," he said. "However, how many of the remaining Admirals do you believe would willingly follow my orders?”

Your instinct was to say all of them, but again, you hesitated. As your superior officer, you had learned to trust Thrawn's command implicitly, but a quick review of your history reminded you of how rare that truly was. There was a reason the Emperor had left Thrawn to deal with the fringes of the Empire rather than involve him in Core politics.

Each and every Grand Admiral would see themselves as the successor to the Emperor's legacy, not the alien with nothing but rumors to uphold his reputation.

You let out a sigh. "None, I suppose."

He inclined his head in acknowledgment, just as he raised his glass.

"The Empire is gone," he said, solemnly. "Long live the Empire."

You each took a drink. The expensive liquid both burned and soothed your throat on its way down. It was an odd sensation, but one you hadn't realized you needed until that moment.

"I take it you have a plan," you said.

"The start of one," he assured, with just a hint of a smile. "In the mean time, we shall continue to maintain control of our own systems. Whatever resources available, we will refocus into our fleet. With any luck, others may join us, but we cannot rely on that fact."

You nodded, finally feeling as if your feet were starting to settle on solid ground.

"Shall I inform the crew?" you asked.

He shook is head. "I believe it would be best if they heard it from me."

There was a pause as you waited for him to dismiss you, but, no such order came. He just kept looking at you.

It was a familiar look, but one always caught out of the corner of your eye. The kind of look that left your heart racing and blood warm. Now, so clearly directed at you, it was hard to breath.

"Is there something else, sir," you prompted.

He blinked as if coming back to himself. "How long have we known each other, Commander?"

You frowned, slightly taken aback by the sudden change of subject.

"Ten years, more or less."

He nodded, setting down his drink as he did so. "I could tell you exactly; ten years, seven months, and twelve days. You were a Captain at the time."

The warmth in your cheeks spread, forcing you to put down your glass as well.

"And you were a Commander," you said, the memory coming back to you with the ease. "It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Yes." The word was spoken so softly, you almost wondered if someone else had said it.

Glancing up, you caught a strange gentleness in his expression. It only lasted a moment, but it was there all the same.

"You don't have to stay," he said.

You straightened in bewilderment. "Sir?"

"The reinstatement of the Empire is a task which will take years to complete," he continued, calmly. "It will take dedication and sacrifice. Only complete devotion will allow it to come to fruition. I plan to announce that any who wish to leave the service are free to do so and return home. Those who remain, will likely never see their home worlds again. It is not to be taken lightly, and I will not have anyone on my crew who doubts their resolve.”

He paused, just as a hint of emotion came into his voice.

“I would not force you to stay, if you do not wish it."

You stared at him, mouth gaping in wonder. Your answer came easily.

"I'm not leaving you, sir."

He blinked. Your stomach twisted.

You had said “you”; not the Chimaera, not the service, you.

You wanted to take back the words, but it was no use. You knew the truth and now so did he. You might be willing to give years of your life to the service, but you would give your entire self to Thrawn.

He watched you with an unreadable expression. Slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal, he walked out from behind his desk.

"I thank you, Commander," he murmered. "I admit, I hoped that would be your answer. I could not imagine the next few years without you with me."

Your breath hitched, just as he stopped only a foot from your body.

He had said "me".

Without a word, he reached out a hand and tenderly pressed it to your cheek.

His touch sunk into your skin making your melt into him. You placed your hand, over his, keeping it there. If this was your imagination, you needed to cling to if for as long as you were able.

He stepped closer, his glowing red eyes gazing into yours as the warmth of his breath brushed against your lips.

"There is something else I must ask of you," he whispered.

"Anything."

He leaned a hair closer, his nose brushing against your own. "May I kiss you, now?"

A small smile came to your lips. "You needn't ask."

With that permission, he pressed his lips to yours pulling you into a slow and passionate kiss.

The Emperor was dead. Long live the Emperor. And long live the one at his side.

[lumosinlove]

Relic Keel

Previously on Relic Keel:

Lily and James sneak out to the Lacrosse fields together. Lily learns about the treasure hunt and Luke’s father’s connection with Pascal Dumais. Her and James decide to, if not be together, than have togetherness for as long as they can.

Finn wakes up in Grimmauld and is reunited with Logan. The crew learn that a hurricane is approaching and Dorcas tries to convince Saint and Sirius to go somewhere else other than Grimmauld, which will get dangerous in the storm. Logan is looking forward to Finn meeting Leo, although he’s confused about his feelings for the blonde boy.

Luke and Saint meet in Rowena where Saint reveals he’s been staying up reading Luke’s notes in the books he’s stolen from his room. Luke wants to know more about Pascal Dumais, and learns that he helped raise Saint and Sirius after they both ran away from their homes. They agree to meet at The Lion later to confront Pascal. Saint apparently likes Luke because he hates surprises and Luke is exactly what he expects him to be—mean. He also steals Luke’s sunglasses.

Dorcas goes to Kasey Winter’s ice cream shop—he also is a safer dealer of Crucio, and she tells him she wants out. He was hoping she would go into business with himself and his girlfriend Natalie. They want to create a medicinal, therapy program for Crucio, where people who are struggling can safely use to to deal with past traumas or grief. They want it to be used correctly, not as a quick fix. Dorcas isn’t hesitant about leaving, she wants to follow Marlene, but she likes that idea.

Remus and Sirius run into each other on their way to the meeting at The Lion, and Remus invites Sirius to stay at his house for the duration of the hurricane. Sirius gets proud and angry and declines. They argue.

Pascal reveals to Sirius, Leo, Remus, Luke, and Saint that Luke’s dad, Victor, and Leo’s dad, Wyatt, were hunting the treasure together—Dumo played a smaller role, had less of an interest other than an interesting discussion about history. They figured out that the Voldemort lay off of the Cradle, a ring of rocks and tiny islands off of Hogwarts Island. They learn that there is a current called the Horcrux that escalates during a storm, revealing the bottom of the sea—or a shipwreck. Leo’s dad was killed by the current, Luke’s father was taken away years after, and the map showed up on Pascal’s doorstep a few days after that. Pascal tries to warn them off of going, but Saint and Luke seem bent on it.

Finn and Logan go to Leo’s house, only to find him crying about the truth of his father’s death. Finn learns of the treasure.

***cw: identity issues, not sure how to tag this but wanting to be alive? briefly implied (and happily concluded) past struggles with that, almost death, past death of a father, mention of blood and wounds***

part ix

Saint felt sweat snake down his bare back as he filled sandbags and shoved them up against the far side of the house. The wind already felt bad tempered. Maybe it was just him. Just Saint, the wind, and the ocean that had gone the graying blue that meant a storm. Saint thought the world should catch up already. His storm had been brewing for a long time. The promise of rain brought goosebumps over his bare back, the sun hidden by clouds, and he shoved another sand bag up against the boards, like some sort of parapet. As if they were preparing for a war.

He looked up when the noise of Sirius hammering plywood across the windows stopped. He rolled his eyes.

“Stop staring out at the ocean like a sailor’s widow.”

“Oh, we’re speaking now?” was all Sirius said.

“No,” Saint jammed his shovel into the bag of sand again.

He faintly heard Sirius sigh. “I don’t know what I did.”

Frankly, Saint wasn’t sure what Sirius had done, either. All he knew was that there was rain thrashing inside him, and wind howling in his ears, and there was gold to be had and death to be avoided.

And Luke.

He had let Luke catch him the night of Pascal’s confessions. Or maybe Luke had just caught up. He’d found Saint at the Howler Cliffs. Saint knew he was there, but kept his eyes closed, letting the wind whistle in his ears. Still, the sound of Pascal calling him his son roared louder.

“If I had known that’s all it took to rattle you, I could have saved myself a lot of time,” Luke had said, coming to stand beside him.

Saint had smiled and it felt like it had stretched his cheeks all wrong. “I didn’t know you were trying so hard.”

“You said it yourself,” Luke had replied. “Dumo took care of you.”

“It’s one thing for me to know it,” Saint snapped. “It’s—“ another thing for him to say it.

“Dumo could know more about my father,” Luke said. “Maybe—maybe the treasure can help me find out what happened to him somehow. Why no one will tell me anything. Why I can’t see him.”

“Sure, Deveaux,” Saint had kept his eyes ahead. “Tell me all about your father.”

“I need my father.”

Saint had whipped his head towards him, only to find Luke looking right back.

Luke’s eyes had been more open than Saint had ever seen them. His pain was like the sun coming through a tiny gap in drawn curtains. He didn’t let much of it show, but the mere hint became blinding. Saint felt it push against his own chest. He kept his blinds shut tight.

Luke’s voice was fainter when he repeated his words. “I need my father.”

Saint swallowed. It was nice, somehow, that Luke was self-aware enough to admit it. “What do you expect me to do about that?”

“I can’t—maybe I can’t figure this out alone.”

“I’m sure your Godlings will help with that.”

Luke shook his head. “James doesn’t understand. He’s too…happy.” Luke winced a little, the wind ruffling his tawny hair. “He’s had it too easy.”

“Lupin?”

“Remus only thinks he’s unhappy. Maybe because I am. It’s…abstract for him.”

Saint raised an eyebrow. “That’s a little rich.”

“Maybe I’m wrong,” Luke nodded.

“So, what?” Saint sighed. “Misery helps misery?”

Luke’s smile, so rare, was sad. “If it has nothing better to do.”

“Well?” Sirius said, flipping his hammer in his hand. “Feel like telling me?”

“Is it weird?” Saint asked. “That we aren’t in love?”

Sirius tilted his head at the age old question that they asked each other. It was half a joke. It was half a plea.

“I do love you,” Sirius said. “And I’d be in love with you if I could.”

“I’d be in love with you if I could,” Saint repeated, then sighed.

“We suck,” Sirius said.

“Yeah,” Saint squinted back out at the ocean, where they could see Remus’ boat.

“I do love you, though,” Sirius said, and walked down to sit on the steps, his gray eyes looking at Saint through the splintered, wooden railing. “Don’t do something stupid. I can’t lose you to the ocean. Or to anything at all.”

“And I love you, which is why we need that gold.”

“We don’t,” Sirius shook his head. “The rest of the world isn’t Gods and Hollows. You aren’t nothing or kings.”

“I have nothing better to do. And we have plain nothing—financially speaking.” Saint gestured towards the house. “Dorcas will leave for the states, and then we’ll really have nothing. We both know she’s paying—”

“We’ll go somewhere else—”

Saint tied off a sandbag with a yank. “I’m not leaving.”

“Saint.”

“I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not.”

Sirius stood, eyes cloudy. “You’re not talking to me again.”

“Huh.”

“We don’t do that!” Sirius said, voice raising. “Stop shutting me out.”

“I’m not doors and windows.”

“Saint,” Sirius’ voice held a note of begging. “What is here for us?” He motioned towards the cross that hung around Saint’s neck. “That?”

Saint grit his teeth and began to fill another bag.

“Just,” Sirius took a breath. “Just tell me why—”

Saint hurled the small spade at the side of the house, and it made a satisfying crack. “This is the only place anyone would ever know to look for me.”

The waiting storm seemed to crackle in the air around them at Saint’s words, as though he himself had struck the match to trigger it. Thunder rolled mutedly in the distance. Sirius’ eyes matched the sky.

Sirius walked forward, and Saint let him. He let him press a hand to his face, then their cheeks together as he wrapped him up in his familiar arms.

“Stop waiting for her,” Sirius’ voice was gentle in his ear. “She doesn’t deserve you.”

“We need the gold.”

“We’ll find another way.”

“I don’t want another way. I want a hunt.”

Sirius pulled back just enough to look at him. “One that has killed a man?”

Saint pulled away to retrieve the spade. “Careful is my middle name.”

~

Leo was embarrassed, but Finn didn’t seem to know the meaning of that word.

He watched him and Logan work wires into loops to hold together shards of found lost things that his mother had scooped up from the beach, while he sat at a workbench, repairing an old ship clock that he could hopefully paint to get rid of the wooden chips and then sell. Finn, as he had regained his strength, was laughter in a bottle. He was as fiery as the color of his hair, with lean fingers that Leo found himself watching as they handled materials, or helped him in the kitchen, or turned the pages of one of Leo’s many books. He went through them like a forest on fire.

And all Leo seemed to be able to do was cry in front of him, as he had the first night, or stare at the way him and Logan were together. Logan had opened up, his eyes lighter, his grins broader. Only his laughs remained as they had been, a soft sound, almost private. They made Leo feel as though he were being let in on a secret.

Leo blinked and Finn was standing in front of him.

“We’re making you dinner tonight,” Finn said, those same nimble fingers spread out over Leo’s work space on either side of the clock.

Leo couldn’t help his laugh. “Oh?”

“What do you feel like?” Logan asked, standing a little ways back, arms crossed over his chest. He looked like some hot gardener out of Leo’s daydreams in his tight white t-shirt and his borrowed pair of work gloves.

Leo leaned back, taking a breath. “What are my options?”

Finn looked back at Logan with a grin. “Ah…peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” He raised an eyebrow at Logan.

“Or take-out,” Logan finished with a shrug.

Finn’s smile was teasing. “Aren’t we the best house guests you could ask for?”

Most tormenting, maybe.

Leo laughed. “Better idea—I make dinner and you two stick to clean up.”

Logan put his hands up and walked closer to the work table. “Fine by me. What are you doing again?”

Leo looked back down at the clock. “Trying to fix this. I think it's missing a gear, though.”

Finn just hummed and sat half on the table, knee propped up. It made his cross swing against his neck for a moment, and Leo looked between his and Logan’s. He wondered, not for the first time, why they didn't take them off. They didn’t have a clasp or a tie that he could see, just a thicker area where the two parts of the string had been fused together with heat. They were too short to be pulled over the head.

“Do you want me to cut those for you?” Leo asked.

Finn looked up. “Cut what?”

Leo hesitantly gestured to the spot where the crosses would have rested on his own chest, and then pointed to Finn’s.

It was like cloud cover. Logan actually gripped his protectively in a fist.

“Ah, no,” Finn said slowly. He stood straight again and ran a hand through his hair. It came to rest on the back of his neck. “No, that’s okay.”

Leo watched Finn glance at the wire clippers resting near them, and reached out to put them back in the tool box. “Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”

Logan turned away and Finn watched him, too. He swallowed. “Thanks, Leo.”

Leo flushed. It didn’t feel like a thank you. More like an appeasement. “Yeah…”

“Oh,” came a voice from the shop’s open garage door. Leo jumped a little, and looked to see Saint leaning against the side, and Luke, with his arms crossed, a little behind him, looking like a very grumpy sort of bodyguard.

Saint feigned a shiver. “The room just got colder.”

“Saint,” Finn still said the name like he was tasting something knew, but Saint looked almost pleased each time he heard it. “And…”

“Tweedle, meet Finn. Finn, meet Tweedle.”

“Luke,” Luke snapped.

Finn snorted. “Okay?”

Leo was still stuck on the necklaces, eyeing Saint’s still intact one now. He figured the numbers were a way of keeping track of the kids—but burning the string seemed like a bit much.

“What do you want?” Leo sighed. Seeing Saint made him feel raw about the news of his father’s death all over again.

“Well, you ran a little quickly from Dumo’s,” Saint replied, picking up an old lobster trap that they used for spare wire now. “Should’ve stayed. Missed some good stuff.”

“Don’t act like he’s the only one who ran,” Luke mumbled. He and Logan were eyeing each other suspiciously, no doubt remembering the night in Luke’s father’s study when Logan had nearly burned his father’s letter.

“The first wave will come tonight,” Saint said, ignoring Luke. “But if we really want our shot at the Horcrux current, we’ll need the full throttle. Boom, crack, all that.”

“Full storm hits tomorrow,” Finn said from his place beside Leo. Leo looked over at him. He was still torn between embarrassment about crying and something else. Relief? Thankfulness?

Leo tapped his fingers against the clock. “We should figure out what we need for a trip like that. The shops will be boarding up by this afternoon.”

“Kris will have what we need,” Saint replied. “A boat.”

“Kris?” Luke asked.

“He runs the marina,” Leo said.

“What I was going to say,” Saint cut in. “Was that we should run a test trip. Tonight. Before the storm is at its worst.”

“See what we’re dealing with,” Logan nodded.

“I don’t see why we need this treasure, or whatever,” Finn said. He was still fingering his necklace. “I mean…if the trip is as dangerous as it sounds…why risk it?”

Saint laughed a single note, and looked at Logan. “Oh, Lolo. You haven’t told him?”

Logan stiffened, and Finn blinked. “Told me what?”

Saint made a tisking sound. “Logan. All that trouble to get him out and you’re keeping secrets.”

“Fuck off,” Logan growled.

“Oh, you sound like Luke.”

Finn took a step forward. “Lo?”

Logan sent him a pained look, but turned away. Leo glanced at where Logan’s backpack was resting in the corner of the workshop. It had been there for days, he hadn’t been dealing, but that didn’t mean any of the problems it had caused had gone away.

“I think you’re right as far as boats go,” Leo said carefully, trying to draw the attention away from Saint’s jabs. "But he doesn’t have any equipment. Visual or otherwise. If we need that.”

Saint grinned and clapped a hand on Luke’s shoulder, having to reach up a bit to do it. “That’s where this one comes in.”

Luke scoffed. “This one?”

“We’re going to visit your too-happy friend, Tweedle.”

~

James was staring at his computer, trying to will himself into college, when the sliding glass kitchen door, leading in from the pool, flew open. Saint was there, along with Luke, and three boys James didn’t recognize—or no, he knew the brunette and the blond from the restaurant in The Hollow.

“You have two hundred of my dollars,” he said, pointing his pencil at the brunette. The redhead beside him narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“That you offered,” the brown haired boy crossed his arms.

“Yeah, as part of a bargain,” James looked at Luke over his glasses. “Was the other end held up? Don’t think so.”

Luke just rolled his eyes.

“Well you’re going to have to pay up again, Potter,” Saint said, sliding onto the kitchen island stool across from James.

“Excuse me?”

“Not in money this time.”

James looked around at them all warily for a moment before sighing and knocking his computer shut. “Well, you’re already in my kitchen. And I’m already miserable.”

Luke coughed out a laugh and Saint seemed to bite back a smile, too.

“You need what exactly?” James asked.

“Lights Diving equipment. Don’t go running to Sirius, though.”

James raised an eyebrow. “I’d drive.”

“Ha, ha,” Saint rolled his eyes. “Now, can we borrow it?”

“Is this about that treasure?” James asked. “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the ocean is fucking deep. Deeper than my summer of sophomore year scuba pastime will get you.”

“Deeper than you?” Logan mumbled, and James glared.

Luke let out a laugh and Saint paused in whatever he had been about to say and turned to look at him. It was almost—awkward.

“What?” Luke snapped, rubbing a hand over some stubble on his cheek. “That was a very Potter statement.”

James had never seen Saint stutter before, or fidget, but that’s what he did when he turned back around to face James.

“Can you get it?” Saint sighed.

James snorted and gestured to the TV mounted above the microwave playing the news. “I’m sorry, am I the only one who knows about the quickly approaching hurricane?”

“Details,” the brunette mumbled.

“It’s for later,” Saint said.

“Then I’ll give it to you later.”

Saint scowled.

James sighed and pushed himself from his stool. “You’re not actually going out into that storm with my help.”

“For Luke,” Saint said. “For his father. This might be our only lead, and our only chance. Until the next storm, at least, at which point you won’t be able to stop us because we won’t come to you for help.”

James yanked the refrigerator open. “Don’t guilt me.”

“James,” Luke said and James didn’t look at him. “Please. I—”

“And this will fix what, exactly?” James sighed. He closed the refrigerator harder than necessary, and the sound of rattling bottles from within filled the silence as he turned on Luke. Luke, who he’d known forever. Luke, who he’d tried to help. Luke, who had done everything except try recently. It frustrated James more than he knew it should.

“It could,” Luke bit out haltingly. “Fix something.”

“What?”

He could practically feel the anger in Luke’s next breath. “My dad was all but—stolen away in the night. No explanation. No goodbye. And now this? A letter, a name, a treasure hunt that turns out to be something more than the fucking bedtime story? J, come on, please.”

James cracked the seal on his drink. “Once again. Hurricane.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Luke said. “We need a storm.”

“You need to get a fucking grip,” James felt heat building behind his words. “Luke, this isn’t—you’re just trying to…distract yourself, or something, and I get it, I do, but—”

“You don’t,” Luke snapped, voice raising.” You don't know what it’s like. You’ve been wrapped in fucking silk and fleece for your entire life. Your parents love you more than anything. You don’t understand what it’s like. You don’t understand anything beyond your own fucking front porch.”

Luke’s words sapped the air from the room like lightning and a dead fuse. His brown eyes widened, just a little, the green dark today. His chest moved rapidly, his cheeks flushed. The three other boys glanced at each other from Luke’s shoulder.

James cleared his throat. He set his drink on the counter.

“How long have you been holding that in, huh?” he said.

“I…” Luke began. He pushed his hair off of his forehead, but it feathered back into place. “I haven’t, I…J, I’m—”

“And the Crucio?” James asked.

“I’m,” Luke’s eyes shifted away. “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

Saint seemed to be holding himself very still. They all were.

“J,” Luke had a pleading note to his voice now.

“They’re in the basement,” James cut him off, sliding back on his stool and opening his laptop. “My mom labels everything down there. But I don’t think it’ll help you.”

“Great,” Saint knocked his knuckles on the countertop and was off, the other three following.

James could feel Luke standing there, frozen and hesitant. He kept his eyes trained on his screen, and his blank page, the cursor blinking.

“Just go,” James mumbled, and Luke did.

James didn’t look up when they left.

He didn’t look up as evening turned into night, or when the sky opened up for the winds and rain to begin their thrashing on the island.

~

Kris Lavolie had his boats and his daughter. The marina was shut tight when they got there, Logan running behind the others as they dashed through the rain to the door. Logan expected Saint to pound on the glass, but instead they only used the slight shard of roof the ran along the edge of the building as protection, the five of them racing in a line around the property until they got to the marina. All of the boats were dry-docked and covered tightly with pinned tarps. Saint surveyed them with steely eyes for a moment. His hair looked like molten gold in its drenched state.

Logan shivered and felt Finn press him against his side. He glanced at Leo, who had his arms wrapped around himself.

“This one,” Luke said. “It’s like my dad’s. I can drive it.”

Saint gave a nod and the two of them didn’t wait to see if Logan and the others would follow before they were walking down the swaying dock. They didn’t have to worry about making noise and drawing Kris out. The storm hid them.

Logan eyed the waves as he stood between Finn and Leo. They were rolling and white-capped. He looked up at Leo to see him staring, too.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Logan asked. He tried to think of a way to tell Leo that, if he did, he was with him. He also tried to think of a kind way to tell him he thought they were insane, now that he was face-to-face with the raging winds. He needed the money, sure, but he wanted his life, too. He didn’t think the Carrows would kill him, but he didn’t know. The wind stung his eyes and whipped his hair off his forehead. He’d lost his hat somewhere, he didn’t know when. He reached up to his temple, his shirt sticking to his skin. He hadn’t even felt it blow away.

Leo shook his head as they approached the boat where Saint and Luke were efficiently untying the tarp.

“No.” Leo took a shaky breath. “He died out there. He wouldn’t want me to—”

Saint looked up, blinking hard against the lashing rain, from where he was shoving the tarp into a storage compartment. “You cannot back out now.”

Leo’s blue eyes matched the dark waves. He put a hand on Logan’s shoulder, a slight pressure to turn him around. “Yes, we can. This is insane, the winds are too strong.”

“Your dad—” Saint began, both of them yelling over the howling wind.

“Didn’t raise me to be stupid,” Leo said. “Or to get my friends killed. I’m sorry, I know you’re doing this for me.”

Saint scoffed. “For you? This isn’t for you. We all do things for ourselves. Bail-outs,” he gestured to Logan, and then to Luke. “Answers. I thought you wanted a few of those yourself.”

“And what would my mom think? Both of us, my dad and me, drowned?”

Saint’s jaw muscles jumped from where he stood beside Luke in the boat. “You wouldn’t be there to know what she thought, would you? What does it matter?”

Logan thought he saw Luke flinch a little, but he kept his head down, fishing the keys from the glovebox.

Logan followed Leo another step back, looking frantically for Finn, only to find him already at his side.

“We shouldn’t,” Finn whispered right in Logan’s ear, breath warm. “Lo…”

“Saint,” Logan yelled. “Leo’s right.”

“Come on,” Finn shook his head. “Let’s go. This is insane.”

“We’re going,” Luke said, eyes on Saint. “We got this far.”

Logan hesitated. He didn’t know Luke. He certainly didn’t like him.

“Don’t be stupid,” he still found himself saying, then swallowed beneath the weight of his next words. “You’re selfish, to risk your friend’s life.”

Logan couldn’t hear Saint’s laugh beneath the wind, but he could see the smile. “Bold words, coming form you, Logan.”

Logan felt Finn’s cold fingers slip into his own and squeeze.

“Come back with us,” Leo shouted over the storm. “Come—”

But Luke pressed the button that would lower them into the water. Logan only just could hear the hum of the machine. Logan watched as Luke jammed the keys into the ignition and lowered the motor. The second the bottom hit water the engine roared to life. Finn took a halting step forward, and Logan had the brief thought of doing the same, prying them from the boat. Leo’s father’s story flooded through him. He felt like he was watching someone die. He gripped Finn’s hand tighter, his other raising on its own to fist the back of Leo’s t-shirt. He didn’t want either of them getting stuck on that boat if they couldn’t get to the keys. The boat rocked dangerously as it tried to get a crest over the violent waves. With one last dark look from Saint, they took off over the wild water.

“They made their choice,” Logan said. “God, they’re going to get themselves killed, I…”

“We need to get the coast guard,” Leo said, and then turned down the dock and ran.

Logan looked up at Finn, whose wild expression matched his own.

“I’m glad we’re not…” Finn said. “I didn’t understand…I don’t understand this.”

Logan pressed a hand to his cheek. “I’m not risking you. Not again.”

Finn pressed his palm over Logan’s. “What aren’t you telling me, Lo?”

Logan closed his eyes. “I will. I will tell you.”

And then they turned after Leo.

It was like the wind was trying to rip the Hollow free of the island. The coast guard boats had been out, and Leo had figured they’d be by the point and so they’d ran half across the islands to The Hollow, where it would be the most dangerous. Sure enough, trees were down, and wires lay in dangerous puddles. Sandbags lay soaked and spilled across the ground.

Logan’s eye caught on the red of the police cars’ lights flashing across Finn’s face, made fragmented and liquid by the heavy rain. He couldn’t help but feel the surreality of having Finn beside him all over again. There had been a time where he had been positive that he would get caught, that he would be sent back to St. Clair in a heartbeat. He had spent so long avoiding any sight of the police. It felt strange to be seeking them now, but Leo was on a mission. His tall frame looked above heads, but the guards weren’t anywhere near their cars. Logan spied Sirius’ familiar dark hair only seconds before Leo did.

“Sirius!” Leo shouted, and Logan and Finn ran after him. Sirius was in the street with so many of the other Hollows, watching the storm try to rip at their homes.

“What are you guys doing out?” Sirius yelled, trying to see them through the rain.

“It’s Saint,” Logan said. “It’s Saint and Luke. Where are the police, where—”

But Logan didn’t think Sirius was listening anymore. Sirius’ face dropped to an expression Logan recognized, one he had felt on his own face when he realized that he had escaped St. Clair, and Finn had sacrificed himself and stayed.

Sirius pushed through them and took off towards Godric at a run.

~

Luke knew they were insane. He could barely keep his footing the closer they got to the Cradle. The wind was skewing the rain so much that it seemed like they were driving through water, too, the headlights making the steam and pellets seem like a solid wall to be breached.

“Third rock from the left point,” Saint shouted over the roar. “Closest to the Salazar coast!”

“We can’t get caught up in it,” Luke shouted back, wrists aching with the effort of keeping the boat on course.

Saint shook his head, hair plastered down and falling in his eyes. “We won’t be able to see any other way. If it can carry us, we’ll be safer from the rocks.”

They hit a particularly brutal wave and Saint was jolted forward, without the stability that the driver’s seat provided Luke, and right into Luke’s side.

Luke caught him with one arm. Saint’s hand shot out to replace Luke’s, now around his waist, on the wheel, and they steadied the craft together.

“We’re fucking insane,” Luke shouted.

“Insanity likes company.”

Luke looked at him, risking taking his eyes away from the approaching rocks for a moment. “That’s misery.”

Saint glanced up at him. “We’re that, too.” Then his eyes widened as he looked out over the dark waves.

“The Horcrux,” Saint breathed, and Luke could barely speak.

“The middle,” he managed. “Look.”

There was bare sand in the middle of the circle of rocks, the wet grains being whipped into a frenzy as if by magic, the water pulling outwards. He didn’t know how that was possible. It was bizarre. It was too strange.

“There,” Saint pointed as they inched closer. Luke’s neck hurt from the jerk of being lifted up by the waves and crashed back down again. Luke squinted, trying to see through the rain and the small sand storm alike. They were right at the rocks now. “Do you see it? Are they planks? That looks like—”

Luke jolted as he felt the steering wheel stutter and then go loose in his hands. He turned it once, twice, but it was as though the mechanism had snapped. The boat lurched forward.

“We’re being pulled!” Luke said, panic clawing up his throat. “I can’t—”

Luke slipped from the wet leather seats, landing hard on his back on the deck of the boat, Saint beside him.

The steering wheel was useless. They were being carried now. By the waves. By the current. Maybe by chance. It was almost like floating, had it not been for the wind and rain. That made it feel like a free-fall.

Luke had his arms around Saint’s waist, Saint’s around his. It felt like they were pinned to the deck.

“Either the storm will pass,” Luke breathed. He couldn’t keep his mouth from brushing Saint’s temple, with the motion and the way they clutched each other. “And the current will slow, and we’ll be dashed against the rocks from momentum.”

“Or?” Saint’s breath brushed his jaw.

Salt sprayed as the boat jostled and knocked them together. “I didn’t think that far.”

“That Greek myth,” Saint said. Luke could feel his fingers digging into his back. “The whirlpool.”

“Maybe a monster would be a quicker death.”

Saint’s laugh sounded strained. “Quicker than rocks?”

“A better story, then,” Luke replied. “No one to tell, though.” 

“We’ll know.”

Luke gripped him tighter as the wind seemed to pick up, howling. His breathing came fast. “You told Leo the dead know nothing.”

Saint picked his head up, looking at Luke through the rain. Their foreheads pressed together. Luke’s eyes burned.

“I don’t want to know nothing,” Luke choked out.

Saint didn’t say anything. Luke had never known him to be silent, but he just stared as the boat lurched beneath them. Then, Saint tilted his chin forward, only a few centimeters, but it brought their mouths together in a firm kiss. It was warm, against the chilling rage above. Luke closed his eyes, and let the feeling of lightning brush through him. Warm heat.

They didn’t pull away so much as were pulled apart then knocked back together, Luke’s lips pressing to the corner of Saint’s mouth, then his cheek. Saint brought his hand up to Luke’s jaw to steady him. For a moment, it had felt like they had stopped spinning round and round.

“Why did you do that?” Luke breathed. He didn’t know how Saint heard him over the roar, but he did.

“What do you mean?” Saint said. His eyes were molten and—afraid, Luke realized. The rain on his face looked like tears, and he traced his thumb over Luke’s lip. “I steal things from you all the time.”

There was a horrible, jagged wrenching sound, and Luke found himself plunged into the water, Saint ripped from his arms.

~

The rain lashed against the windows of Remus’ bedroom, and Remus looked out into the falling dark.

“What a dick,” he mumbled aloud to himself.

He couldn’t figure Sirius out. He didn’t seem unkind—until someone was kind to him, at least.

It made Remus want to kill him with kindness and just kill him period. He’d been so happy on the Wolfsbane. He’d been horrible at The Lion. Proud.

Remus rubbed his eyes, closing his laptop. It was the storm. That was all. He looked towards the direction of the docks. He hoped the planks survived. He’d kept his boat as safe as he could, cranked up the tracks onto the grass, sails down, tarped up.

He smirked. Luke would laugh at him if he could see him worrying like a mother. Sirius, on the other hand…Remus thought Sirius might have worried, too. Remus sighed. There Sirius was again. Popping up.

It was why he thought he must be imagining it when he looked down and saw Sirius standing at the door he had named to him, in the side of Bane Tower, soaking wet and staring behind him, out at the ocean.

“Shit,” Remus threw his computer to the side, and his bedroom door open.

The old wooden tower stairs groaned beneath his quick feet, and he winced as a splinter ripped at his palm as he threw himself around the bend at the bottom and pulled open the door.

Rain hit him immediately. Sirius jolted around. His eyes were like gray moonlight.

“I…” Sirius began, but didn’t seem able to say any more, just blinked at Remus through the heavy wind and rain. Remus didn’t hesitate, just pulled Sirius inside and slammed the door shut again.

“Are you okay?” Remus asked.

Sirius was just staring at the door. Maybe thinking of the rough ocean still.

“Sirius,” Remus pressed, taking Sirius’ broad shoulders in his hands and giving him a shake. He was hot, even feverish, despite the frigid rain. “Are you hurt?”

Sirius just looked at him with wild eyes and shook his head. His dark hair clung to his forehead, his gray eyes cat-like and afraid.

“Is anyone else at your house? In the Hollow?”

Sirius shook his head again—his entire body was shaking, Remus realized. “No, Dorcas went to Marlene’s. The—everyone’s in the street—Saint—”

“Saint?”

“Saint is out there,” Sirius’ words practically tore out of his throat. He pushed his soaked hair out of his face. “He went out there and—and—the treasure. The—”

“The current,” Remus repeated, and Sirius pressed a hand over his eyes.

“I should have know. I should have known he’d never listen. He’d never—”

Remus didn’t pause to listen to more. He swore and snatched two windbreakers from the hooks by the door, plus a fleece. He shoved the fleece and jacket into Sirius’ chest.

“Put those on.”

“We can’t,” Sirius’ words choked off to catch his breath. “How will we follow them? I didn’t think you would—”

“Why else would you be here?” Remus said. He shoved gloves over his hands. The rope would be wet, slippery, and he didn’t want to deal with blisters and ripped up palms for weeks to come. He handed Sirius a pair, too. “I don’t know why I’m doing this for you. We should call the police.”

“Leo is trying to find them.”

Remus shoved a sweatshirt over his head. “Is that how you found out?”

Sirius nodded, zipping the breaker up. “Leo, Logan, and Finn. They came running up, and said Saint and Luke—”

“Luke?” Remus froze. His stomach dropped. “Luke is out there.”

Sirius’ eyes flickered, but he nodded after a moment.

Remus didn’t have the time to try and figure him out. Not now. He reached for the door. “Come on—”

“Remus?”

Remus froze all over again, his hand on the handle. He felt Sirius shift uncomfortably beside him, and then Remus turned to see his little brother standing there on the bottom step, in his pajamas.

“Jules,” Remus breathed. “What are you doing awake?”

Julian’s eyes flicked from Sirius and back. “I heard you. There’s a storm.” He looked at their outfits. “Where are you going?”

“We have…” Remus trailed off. “We have to pick up a friend. I’ll be right back.”

Julian stepped down the last stair. “I want to come with you. Your gloves. Are you going—on the water?”

“No,” Remus said. “No, no, we’re—It’s…”

“I want to go with you. Can I?” Julian looked at the door. “I never get to. Mom says—“

“Jules,” Remus said, bending down and pressed his hand through Julian’s sleep mussed hair. “Julian. You have to stay. You have to stay here, okay? It’s really, really dangerous outside.”

“But you’re going outside.”

“I know,” Remus let his eyes fall shut for a moment. “I know I am.”

“I’ll tell mom.”

“No,” Remus pleaded. “Jules, please. We have to go and you have—you need to stay. Please. I’ll take you out on the Wolfsbane. I’ll do whatever you want, just—Please.”

Julian didn’t look convinced. 

“We have to go,” Sirius’ rough voice came. “Remus.”

Remus rose. “Julian, do not follow us. Wolfsbane, super early, mom never has to know. I’ll teach you. You know I’ve always wanted to teach you.”

Remus ruffled Julian’s hair, and then rose, turning to Sirius.

“Now,” he nodded towards the door.

It was a struggle, getting the tarp off while the wind whipped it back in their faces. Getting the sails straightened, but loose enough so that the mast wouldn’t swing right around once they cranked it back into the water. He kept them low.

Remus peered at Sirius, swiping a hand over his eyes. “We’ll have to use the motor. There’s no way I can control too much of this wind.”

Sirius nodded, but he looked panicked. “They could be—anywhere, already in the water.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Remus snapped. Sirius was all nerves, and they couldn’t afford that. “At least they won’t freeze to death. They’re not far from the coast.”

Remus was breathing hard by the time they swung themselves into the boat and were jetting haltingly away from the dock. The nose bowed this way and that, and Remus risked raising the sails, just a little. It seemed to straighten them out enough. His fingers already ached from the tight, adrenaline-filled grip he held on the lines. He didn’t dare tie it off, the might need to drop them quickly.

“The Cradle,” Sirius shouted against the wind.

“I know,” Remus yelled back. “We can’t go in the Horcrux. We’ll just get stuck. The boat won’t survive it, we’ll tip.”

“Fine,” Sirius said. He was just sitting there, water splashing over the sides and soaking their shoes.

Remus tossed him a bucket. “Bail.”

Sirius did, and pretty quickly, too, but the waves were high.

“This was fucking stupid,” Remus muttered to himself.

The Cradle rose up as if out of mist, and Remus could see its ring of water, swirling within. It was practically a tide-pool, vicious and smooth. It almost looked inviting, like some water-park ride. Remus eyed the sands swirling in the middle with half a mind going to the bedtime stories his grandfather had told him.

“A desert storm in the sea,” he breathed.

The rocks looked like jagged death sentences, and that was when he spied the two shapes, one on the rock closest to them, and the other all the way on the other side of the ring.

“There!” he shouted, and Sirius jolted up. “On the rocks, can you see them?”

Sirius nodded and tossed the bucket down in favor of catching up a rope. He began to fashion it into a sort of hook, a circle that could be slipped around the waist.

Remus wondered where he’d learned that, and Sirius seemed to read it on his face.

“Dumo,” he said, and wiped his sleeve over his face, trying to clear the rain. “How close can we get?”

“I don’t know,” Remus shouted, turning the boat into the next wave and letting it crest more safely over the nose. “Let’s go around, the rocks could wreck us.”

They came to Luke first.

Remus shouted his name twice before Luke looked up. He was clinging to one of the rocks, soaked to the bone and bleeding from a cut to his head. Remus looked to the water. There was no sign of their boat.

“Luke!” Remus shouted.

“Remus,” Luke’s voice sounded far away, though he was just feet from them. “Saint—I—I don’t see—”

“He’s there!” Sirius shouted, eyes trained on Saint’s figure on the other side of the ring. It was perfectly still. Sirius seemed to shake himself and held the rope high, feet spread wide to keep his balance as Remus kept having to turn the boat this way and that to keep their place in the waves. “Can you grab this if I throw it?”

Luke nodded, and his eyes slipped shut. Remus felt panic seize him.

“Yes,” Luke shouted. “Yes.”

“Hurry!” Remus urged. His arms were shaking already, and he still needed to get them over to Saint.

Sirius tossed the rope out. It was a good throw, but he nearly lost his balance doing it. Remus nearly let go of the sails going to catch him, the rope slipping dangerously through his fingers as he lunged to grab the back of Sirius’ jacket.

Sirius shook him off. “The sails!”

Remus leaned back on his heels to get the rope to stop pulling, his teeth clenched. “Just saved your life, your welcome,” he mumbled.

Sirius didn’t hear him.

“Around your waist!” he was shouting, and kept the rope free of the tiller as Remus brought them about again.

Luke followed his instructions shakily, slipping into the water on the outside of the rocks, where the pull would be straight instead of sideways. Sirius hauled him through the waves, and Luke pulled himself up onto the deck coughing.

“Luke,” Remus’ voice broke. He wanted to go to him, but he couldn’t let go. “Luke, Luke—”

“I’m okay,” Luke coughed out.

“Your head,” Remus couldn’t look to long as he let the changing wind guide them out farther towards the horizon, trying to find a calmer path.

Luke touched his fingers to his temple and looked down at the red that came away with them. “Oh.”

“Saint!” Sirius was shouting, but the moonlit silhouette on the rock wasn’t so much as stirring.

Remus had to weave them out four more times before they got close enough to the rock to see Saint’s face. He had a nasty slice that ran from his forehead to his cheek, the red dripping down his jaw and mouth in jagged, rain-washed lines.

“Saint!”

It was Sirius and Luke’s voice in unison this time.

Sirius cursed and tore off his jackets and gloves, then took the looped rope from around Luke, securing it tightly around his own waist instead. He looked at Luke. “You have to—”

“Pull him in,” Luke said, eyes on Saint. “I know.”

“And me,” Sirius snapped, then shouted Saint’s name again. There was still no response.

Remus was struck with the thought that Saint looked like something out of a myth. Odysseus, washed ashore, or a deadly Siren, luring them in, the passing sailors, for his next meal.

Sirius looked back at Remus, who could only stare back, horrified, as he dove into the water.

He surfaced farther away than Remus expected, carried towards the rocks by the powerful current. Luke cursed as the rope slid quickly through his hands.

“The gloves!” Remus shouted, and Luke tied the rope off for a moment, to shove them onto his hands. He kept it hooked around one of the boat railings, letting the boat bear some of Sirius and the sea’s weight.

There was a terrifying moment where Sirius nearly slipped right past the rock, but he held on, hauling himself up beside Saint’s body.

Remus brought the boat about again and whipped his head back to see if they were in the water yet. Sirius was touching Saint’s cheek, his mouth, and then he was wrapping him up in his arms. He slipped messily back into the water and Luke pulled hard. Remus could see his muscles shaking, his wound bleeding. Remus squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of all the times they’d played pirate. This wasn’t any sort of make-believe.

It was harder, getting Saint into the boat. Sirius had to cling to the side with one hand and try to lift him from the water with the other. Luke reached down and hauled Saint up by his arms, knocking Saint’s head against the rails in the process.

“Fuck,” Luke’s wind-snatched voice came.

Sirius tumbled over a moment later, spitting salt water and crawling on his hands and knees towards Saint. Luke was already there, listening for breath. Remus had never seen him look so scared. Not even when his father was taken away.

“Get us out of here!” Sirius shouted at him, and Remus didn’t waste energy being angry at him.

The closer they got to shore, the more scared Remus felt. Without the wildness of the storm would come the stillness of land. And if Saint—if he was—

“Breathe,” Luke was shouting as he pressed in even strokes on Saint’s chest. He plugged Saint’s nose and blew air into his lungs. “Breathe you fucking thief.”

Remus couldn’t watch. His eyes stung but he looked into the full-mooned dark—and he saw a shape. There was a silhouette of a boat, a rowboat, moving back and forth dangerously with the waves. Its sides were so low that it had to be filled with inches in water. They got closer, and Remus heard someone crying.

His heart gave a painful squeeze.

He knew that cry. He knew that boat.

“Julian!” the shout all but shredded his throat.

Julian’s small figure was barely keeping the oars in their nooks. The sailboat’s weak light lit his face in red. His hair was plastered against his forehead and his face was screwed up in fear.

“Remus!” his voice barely carried. “I—”

Remus didn’t even have time to see the wave before it threw Julian dangerously to the side. He screamed, and Remus thought he heard himself scream, too.

The rope slid along his palms as the sails swung around. He ducked beneath the metal bar and drove for the rowboat.

“Julian! Don’t move! Try to stay in the center!”

Sirius was at his side, rope in his hands.

Julian had his eyes squeezed shut as he felt his way through the water, up to his knees now, in the boat.

“Julian look at me! Look at me!” Remus shouted. “You have to catch this. Sirius is going to throw this to you, and you’re going to slip it around your waist—”

Julian’s eyes were wide and golden. “The sharks—”

Remus shook his head, a sob ripping from his throat. “There aren’t sharks now. There aren’t, now listen. You’re—“ The sails swung and he felt Sirius’ palm cover his head and push him down as the boat came around again. “You’re going to put this around your waist and make sure it’s tight, okay?” Then you’re going to jump in and we’re going to pull you up.”

Remus’ throat ached from shouting, but thin tendrils of relief shot through him when Julian nodded.

Sirius’ aim was true, and Julian almost lost it over the side, but he grabbed it quickly. He put it over his head, and pulled it tight, but look over the side of the boat timidly, then up at Remus.

“I can’t see the bottom,” Julian cried. “I don’t like not being able to—”

“Julian, you jump right now,” Remus said. “Right now, come to me, Jules.”

Julian closed his eyes and leapt.

He disappeared beneath the surface for a terrifying second, and then his head broke through again, gasping and spluttering when a wave hit him right away.

Remus distinctly heard coughing from behind him—Saint—and Luke cursing him out in a broken voice.

Sirius leaned over the side and pulled Julian up and into his arms.

“The sails,” Remus shouted at him, and Sirius took the ropes from his hands wordlessly. Remus dropped to his knees and pulled Julian, larger with his life-jacket on, against his chest.

“The row—” Julian began.

“Let it go,” Remus held onto him, maybe too tightly. “Let it go.”

~

Remus shut the door to Bane Tower too hard. It was blissfully warm inside. Julian was wrapped in every blanket that Remus had been able to find and clutching a cup of hot chocolate from the electric kettle they kept down here. Sirius was crouched beside him, having been holding Remus’ place until he returned from securing the Wolfsbane. Saint and Luke were standing by the stairs, still dripping, with more blankets around their shoulders. There were clusters of bloody paper towels where Luke had been taping up Saint’s gash when Remus had left for the boat after letting them in. Luke’s own wound looked clean now, and more like a bruise.

Remus didn’t look at any of them, just stared at Julian, sitting there with a tear stained face, safe. He’d never known relief and guilt could feel so similar.

“Lupin,” Saint broke the silence softly, then cleared his throat. It was still rough from the salt water that had been in his lungs. He stepped forward “Remus—”

“I almost lost my little brother,” Remus said lowly, and then it was like he really realized it, and he crossed the room to shove Saint backwards. “And you would not have been worth it. You never would have been worth it.”

“Re—“ Luke stepped forward.

“No,” Remus shouted. “No.”

Saint’s lips pressed into a thin line. He swallowed. “I know. I’m sorry, Remus.”

Remus turned his back, trying to catch his breath. Sirius stepped out of his way as he went to Julian, clutching his shivering body close to him. He couldn’t look at them, at Luke. Not now.

“I won’t tell mom,” Julian mumbled through his chattering teeth.

“Shh,” Remus whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head. He smelled like he had always smelled, even when Remus had first held him as a baby. Even through the salt of the sea. He felt his own lip tremble. “It’s okay.”

The walls creaked dangerously in the winds. At least it was dry. They were all silent, the only sound their panting breaths, until Remus looked up when Sirius rose. He walked straight at Saint and shoved him hard in the chest, too. Saint stumbled backwards like he had expected it. His eyes looked gold in the dim light, and understanding.

“I know,” Saint said.

“What were you thinking?” Sirius’ voice was uneven. Luke looked down.

“Sometimes I don’t,” Saint replied with his familiar evenness.

Sirius just let out a shuddering sound, pushed Saint again, but caught his blanket hem at the last minute and pulled him against his chest. He cupped a hand against Saint’s cheek and kissed him with a bruising pressure. Remus let his eyes trail over the way Saint’s fingers knotted in the back of Sirius’ shirt. Luke turned away. Remus wished he could, but instead he watched Sirius pull away slowly, then brush their lips together once more, with a pain in his chest.

Remus was so angry with himself for feeling any of that at all right now that he almost didn’t stop them from leaving when it was time. But this was just the beginning, the first wave.

“There’s going to be more and it’s only going to get worse,” he sighed instead. Sirius looked up at him. He was at Saint’s shoulder like he couldn’t move away. “You can’t stay in the Hollow.”

~

Sirius couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a room with AC, and, as if reading his mind, Saint suddenly threw their covers back and cracked both of the windows open, just enough to let the humid night air in without the rain. Thunder rolled. Sirius watched his silhouette squint at the thermostat in the dark, and heard the faint beep as he turned it off. He hadn’t realized how loud the machine had been until all was quiet save for the storm, and Saint was slipping back beneath the covers.

They lay there beside each other, a feeling that was as familiar to Sirius as breathing. So, why did it feel so strange?

“You could have died,” Sirius said into the dark.

“I’m sorry.”

Sirius looked over at him. Saint didn’t often apologize. That was twice in one night.

“I don’t even know…” Sirius shook his head up at the ceiling, trying to get the image of Saint’s lifeless body out of his head. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“I kissed him,” Saint said, and Sirius turned his head. Saint was staring at him already. “I kissed him.”

“You kiss me all the time.”

“You kissed me in front of him.”

“And you wish I hadn’t?” Sirius asked.

Saint seemed to be trying to play it all out in his head, eyes far away. He looked back at the ceiling.

“No. I love being with you. Touching you. Laughing or fucking or surfing. I was just scared. You were just scared, though. Maybe I’m always just scared.”

“Being scared isn’t really a just feeling. It’s important.”

“Maybe he’ll get the wrong impression. Go all—soft on me.” Saint flicked his eyes towards Sirius. “You never do that. You just treat me like I’m me. Not a boyfriend or a girlfriend or a best friend or a lover just…two people.” Saint closed his eyes. “Just two people who are doing what makes them happy. What feels good or right.”

“This is what you’re thinking about right now?” Sirius scoffed. “You almost died.”

Saint took a slow breath in. “I didn’t want to. I wanted live so badly. But for what?” Saint looked at Sirius again, and this time, there was fear there. “I don’t even know who I am. Why should I want things if I don’t even know that?”

Sirius let that sink in. He wanted everything for Saint, but, most of all, he wanted to see that cross ripped from around his neck.

“Maybe living is about finding out who you are. You’re allowed to change, Saint. Your name…anything.” Sirius reached for Saint’s hands beneath the covers and Saint held on tight. “And I’m going to love you through it all. In whatever way, in all the ways, we do love.”

Saint stayed quiet for a moment, and then he turned onto his side and Sirius mirrored him. They rested their foreheads together. Saint’s free hand clutched his cross.

“I’m so tired of being number seven,” Saint whispered.

“You were never number seven,” Sirius whispered back, stroking a hand through Saint’s hair. “You’re you.”

~

Remus and Luke lay in Remus’ bed. Remus had Julian tucked against his outer side, sound asleep, and Luke may not have been as close, but Remus could feel his body heat as they stared up at the ceiling in silence.

“Thanks for not making me go home,” Luke broke the quiet.

Remus nodded. “Yeah.”

“Saint’s probably going to steal something from your guest bedroom,” Luke mumbled.

“Hasn’t he taken enough?” Remus replied quietly.

He could see that Luke looked at him from the corner of his eye.

“It wasn’t just his fault,” he said insistently. “I went out there, too.”

“And the others?”

“Leo wouldn’t let them go. He said it was too dangerous. Which,” Luke sighed. “Which of course only made Saint want to go more.”

“And you went with him?” Remus turned to look at him, too. They were so close that their noses nearly brushed. “Luke.”

“I need answers, Re,” Luke whispered urgently. His brown-green eyes were pleading. “I can’t stay in that house, not with the way it is. I need…”

“We need to get off of this island.”

“Leaving won’t help my dad.”

“Neither will getting yourself killed,” Remus snapped, then closed his eyes. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry.”

Luke shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You’re right.”

Remus swallowed, focusing on the green in Luke’s eye. He reached up with the hand resting between them, and brushed his finger just below it. “Captain Green-Sea.”

Luke blinked, and the faintest of smiles crossed his face. It had been his pirate name, when they were younger, named after the sliver of green that shone out of the brown in his right iris.

“Captain Wolfsbane,” Luke whispered back. “We loved that game.”

“I’m worried you thought it was a game tonight.”

Luke’s brows drew together. “No. It’s the opposite. I feel—like I’m missing something he left me, Re. Like my dad is trying to…Saint helped me.” Luke swallowed and brought his hand up to Remus’ cheek. “You helped me. Thank you.”

Remus didn’t dare move when he felt Luke’s thumb brush his lower lip.

“You know,” Luke whispered. “Sometimes I wish we…”

Remus nodded gently. “I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

“You’re mine,” Remus replied, then smiled, just a little. “That means more to me than anything else.”

Luke smiled, too, and tapped his thumb twice on Remus’ chin before slipping their hands together and squeezing tight. Remus closed his eyes, feeling more settled than he expected to tonight.

“My head fucking hurts,” Luke said after a while.

Remus snorted and held Julian closer. “That’s your own fault.”

“I do love you, you know,” Luke added after another moment.

Remus squeezed his hand again. “I love you, too.”

“Captain Wolfsbane,” Luke’s voice sounded more asleep now.

Remus just smiled.

[bittersweetcandybowl]

ik this is FAR from being a new development, but how do you handle all the grown adults screaming in the comments at fictional teenage cats?? sometimes I forget how bad it is and then a dramatic arc starts and suddenly everyone's taking the characters' actions personally as if the cast is reading the comments after each page is posted lmao. and then they demonize the shit out of the cast for not being perfect, like...??? does it take a toll on you or are you just used to it at this point? :(

Oliver: As community moderators we want to keep things welcoming and inclusive of divergent viewpoints when feelings get intense.

This is often at odds with the way people behave — tribes emerge, memes are deployed, and all of a sudden you’re reading every page with “Mike is awful” or “Lucy is awful” glasses, loudly proclaiming how objectively correct you are, forming bonds with your compatriots and rallying against the dissenters. Making good friends! But scaring off everyone else as you do so.

And various troublesome habits can spice it up and make it even harder to maintain a healthy space — personal experiences can make for extreme opinions that are basically unassailable without demeaning the person sharing them, therapyspeak can lend unwarranted scientific certainty to the diagnosis of this or that Bad Teenager, etc and etc.

It seems that the more time people connect with each other, the more likely people are to take sides and stop listening to others. I think the Patreon commenters are pretty good. But on Facebook and on Discord, battle lines are drawn and people start to lose that spirit of generosity and openness to others that I think makes for a good community. It’s hard and we need to do better shaping those discussions.

As authors following public reactions, it’s easy to say “wow, it’s great that people are going apeshit!! Shows they really care!” but there’s a fair bit more to it than that.

Bittersweet Candy Bowl isn’t supposed to be a black-and-white morality tale where there’s a Designated Bad One To Hate, so it does feel like a bit of a storytelling failure when a bunch of readers can’t connect with a character who's intended to be multifaceted and relatable. In some sense, extreme opinions can hurt, and it makes you think “oh, did we fuck this one up?”

So the hope is that people who have demonised a character will eventually come around. They’re just emotional. Consumed in the moment. Or maybe not a good fit for a story like this? There’s a few spicier alternatives I also keep in mind, too, but it starts to sound infantilising to air those out, I guess. But in the end, we gauge how we’re doing by hearing from those who engage with the story thoughtfully. And who like the sort of stories we like.

And as a simple comic reader, someone who loves the characters and likes talking about them... well, it's just fun that so many takes are out there, isn't it? I like reading people flesh out interpretations that align with mine. I like reading challenges from people who have different takes and seeing if they give me reason to rethink things. The intensity of it all doesn't matter to me so much as the volume of thoughtful, considered commentary. And for BCB, there's a lot!

Veronica: My basic stance when it comes to this is that you’re allowed to hate a character.. you’re allowed to hate them a lot, in fact! But it gets out of hand when you hate a character so much that you’re judgemental about other readers who don’t hate that character, and use words to imply there is something morally bad about those people. That’s when it becomes less analysing characters in a comic to personally attacking other readers.

“Mike has been horrible to Lucy and that’s why I hate him” is different from “Mike has been horrible to Lucy and that’s why I side-eye the people who relate to him..”, this is made even worse when words like “abuser” and “manipulator” are used. You don’t know the other readers! You don’t know their history! You don’t know why they might empathise with Mike!

At the end of the day, BCB doesn’t have villains. Mike doesn’t make mistakes because it’s his life goal to hurt Lucy, but that being said, you’re allowed to hate him! That’s not what the issue is! Just be mindful of who you might be targeting when it comes to implying there’s something wrong with you if you even have a semblance of empathy for Mike, and that goes for any other controversial character.

[hawkland]

My (mostly) Destiel Recs, Round-up #6

Well, between working like crazy on my DCBB fic and GISH and injuring my neck last month I haven’t kept up with my rec posts, so this one is going to be LONG and have a LOT and I’m going to try to break it up into sections, from oldies but goodies (some things I found on very old rec lists) to smutty delights to just tasty little bits of fluff, hopefully there’s something or everyone here. Most of these are not super-long, largely in the 10-25k range, though there are a few beyond that. With all the stuff I’ve had going on I haven’t wanted to lose sleep diving into 100k epics (especially when I’m writing my own right now, lol.)

“Oldies” but Goodies:  Here are two great fics written some time way back when but that still definitely slap.

Theodicy by manic_intent (11k) - Probably the most brilliant Godstiel fic I’ve read to date. One of Cas’s first acts as the new god is to make a new archangel. Dean isn’t exactly on board with having his soul re-sculpted into wings he hates on sight (especially as they seem magnetically drawn to Cas), but he isn’t exactly given a choice. He, Sam and Bobby struggle with how to handle their former friend suddenly becoming a vindictive deity - trying to make plans to kill him if they must, which is pretty hard when it seems like Cas is always one step ahead of him. Can Dean hold on to enough of his humanity to provide a conscience to Cas and try to steer him toward good acts instead of destruction? This is one that I can’t say has a perfectly happy ending, but it’s a hopeful and imperfect one that’s just right for how the story plays out. 

My Eyes Are An Ocean by entanglednow (10k) - Season 5 AU where Dean averts the apocalypse through a spell that “powers up” all the angels and he sees Cas’s true form - before being rendered blind. Dean tries to adjust to his blindness, Cas tries to deal with his guilt, and it’s just a lovely little read with an ending that’s... *chef’s kiss*

Lots more recs below the cut:

More great reads from some of my favorite authors I’ve recced before:

The Cabin on the Lake by DeanRH (21k) - This may be my new favorite DeanRH fic...at least for the moment. The year is 2152, Sam and Dean are long gone to Heaven, while Cas - stuck somewhere between mortal and angel - remains on Earth keeping vigil, keeping up the hunt, assuming he’ll never see either Winchester ever again. But when he starts hearing things, and imagining Dean visiting him as an angel himself, he starts losing grip on what is and isn’t real, and whether he can trust anything he sees or believes to be the truth. This is one hell of a psychological rollercoaster that kept me guessing right along with Cas until the very end. It also has some super-creepy horror elements, a novel “monster of the week”, and the hot-as-sin smut scenes I always expect from this author.

X Marks the Scot by DeanRH (15.9k) A fun little romp through history in one of this author’s great not-quite-au fics. Crowley sends Dean and Sam back in history to the Scottish Highlands to stop a monster, and while there they meet a blue-eyed clan chief who makes Dean weak in the knees. There’s something familiar about him, too. a very clever au that ties back to canon for an unexpected fix-it. Also, Cas in a kilt. Enough said.

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon by DeanRH (12k) - Sweet and slightly angsty AU. What if Dean was a gardener in ancient Babylon when a strange dignitary came to warn that the tower under construction was to be destroyed by angels? Lush, romantic and sexy with some wonderful tie-ins to canon characterizations (of Dean, Sam, John and of course Cas).

sufficient for thee by angelfishofthelord (21k) - This is a beautiful Cas angst-fest and character study that reimagines how angel grace works, particularly in regards to healing others. It covers the whole of Cas’s arc from Season 4 through a post-series fix-it, is absolutely stunning and features some great world-building in regards to the angels. (One important TW: those with cutting/self-harm issues may wish to skip or at least proceed with caution). I love that I can always count on angelfishofthelord when I need a good dose of Cas!whump and pain.

And laugh at gilded butterflies by ireallydidthistomyself (13k) - another great Dadstiel fic from this author featuring one of my favorite angsty subjects! I don’t know how I missed reading this one before. An AU where Cas is raising (baby)Jack on his own until the angels find the two of them and prepare to seal Jack away in the Ma’lak box. Cas begs them to let him go with Jack, so at least Jack won’t be alone for eternity. Meanwhile Dean is frantically trying to find what happened to Cas, and he gets some unexpected help from Crowley.  It’s sad and sweet and all the characterizations are great. A+ Crowley use here, too.

what stays (and what fades away) by dothraki_shieldmaiden (64k) - a fabulous read with some great art, too, that started me reading a bunch of fic from this author. Cas goes missing, and when he’s found he seems deep under a spell. When they finally manage to awaken him, he doesn’t remember anything of this life with Dean, Sam and Cas in the bunker. The last thing he knew he was a nurse living with his wonderful husband, Dean, and their two adopted children, Jack and Claire. What I loved about this one was the clever twist as to who was behind Cas’s curse and also how well-developed his AU world/existence was. I’m not generally keen on mundane aus or the one-dimensional way a lot of djinn dream fics tend to go for them, but this one managed to capture a believable version of Dean and Cas living a “normal” life without monsters without making it sugary/too-sweet. 

before knowing remembers by dothraki_shieldmaiden (14k) Post 15x04, a wonderful fic that plays with some meta topics in a clever way. Dean and Sam are happy - they have free will and they’ve won against Chuck, even if they suffered some big losses along the way (including Jack). But Dean can’t help but think he’s forgetting something...or rather, someone. Yet every time he thinks he remembers, the name and face of that someone slips from his mind. 

weights on my ankles by dothraki_shieldmaiden (9k) Post-15x03 where Cas ends up going back to the Gas ‘n Sip and working with Nora after leaving the bunker. A bitter sweet divorce-arc AU and what I love the most is how it ends - not perfect, not tragic, just very real and believable. 

15x18 and Post-canon fix-it fics:

Orbital Velocity Around a Celestial Body by LeverDrift (26k) - An angsty but lovely fix-it fic, one where it gets worse for a while before it gets better. Dean pulls Cas from the Empty, where he’d been living in a fantasy world with a dream!Dean who was giving him everything real!Dean is certain he can’t. Dean has to struggle with wondering if Cas would have been better off with dream!Dean instead of him. This is one that will break your heart before putting it back together again as Dean struggles with his self-worth issues.

so good at crashing in by Wintertree (36k) - Another post-finale fix-it where Cas is back, the world is saved, and things are still...not as easy as it should be for either Dean nor Cas. Monsters are gone, there’s no more hunting to be done, and Cas wants to move out of the bunker somewhere closer to Claire, to move on with a proper human life. Dean thinks he can move there with Cas and stay as “best friends”, even to the extent that Cas encourages him to go out and have sex with others/women. (And wants to hear about it after the fact!) But can Dean figure out what he really wants, and what Cas wants as well? A refreshingly unique take on what a post-series life could have looked like for them.

Delicious smut:

Empty by squirrelofcelestialintent (43k) - Every day this fandom makes me rethink my previous squicks and DNWs in fanfic. Here I find myself enjoying quite a bit more dom/sub elements than I normally ever would! I think because I was absolutely drawn in by the breathtaking first chapter, capturing beautifully the emotions of Cas returning from the Empty in Season 13 if he and Dean had confessed their feelings right then and there. But Dean’s self-worth is all fucked up, he feels there’s no way he can be good enough for Cas, especially when his sexual desires run a little bit...let’s just say outside the vanilla and he’s struggling with shame over doing sex work when he was younger. This was HOT and POOR SAM really gets stuck in the middle of, well, hearing more about his brother’s sex life than he ever needed to.

He's My Mate by Hatsonhamburgers (22k) - This fic manages the delightful combination of humor and extreme hotness perfectly. Dean and Cas catch each other in some questionable masturbation situations. This leads Cas to decide he needs to buy Dean some proper sex toys. He’s just helping his best friend out, right? Sure. As I said, hysterical AND hot as hell. 

Generals by nanoochka (9k) - Cas/Dean, Cas/Balthazar/Dean, implied past-Cas/Balthazar. An old LJ fic I found on an ancient rec list that is just scorching hot and a brilliant character study of Cas and Dean. Balthazar decides to invite himself in when he catches Dean and Cas engaging in some frisky business, and it turns into a bit of a power-play between the two soldiers of Heaven. Cas gets DP’ed and it’s all...well. It’s fucking good, read it.

The One With The Preening by HolyFuckingHell (5.5k) Can I do a rec post without including some wing!kink/wing!grooming in it? No, I can’t. (I also really enjoyed some of the other fics in this author’s series including The One With Dean's Horny Movies).

A Single Point of Light by Destina (2.4k) - This is a gorgeous Cas/Dean/Benny Purgatory short! A delicious balance of the two each caring for and caring about Dean in their own, protective ways, definitely a delight for any fans of this threesome.

Short and sweet, fluff to angst:

Snugglebird by almaasi (5.3k) - So, so soft and sweet and snuggly, just like the title. Dean’s things are disappearing from the bunker...and so, suddenly, has Cas. What’s going on? I do love my nesting!Cas fics, so...yeah. If you need a smile this is a good one to read :)

And Cleanse Me From My Sin by thisisapaige (1.6k) - another one for my beloveds who also enjoy wing grooming and sweet Dean-taking-care-of-Cas fluff.

Needle and Thread by Misachan (4k) - Season 5 wing!fic hurt/comfort. Cas’s wings are badly injured, Dean doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but he’s stitched up Sam and himself enough times. He can do this. If you love caretaker!Dean and vulnerable!Cas don’t overlook this little gem.

Deceptive Preludes by sp8ce (2.7k) - One of those stories that delves into some of the difficulties Cas might have after coming back from the Empty a second time, especially in regards to accepting what’s real or not, understanding Dean, and how both of their communication issues can add to their struggles. Painful but hopeful for the future, felt very believable as I read it.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

General Hux x Female Reader/Kylo Ren x Female Reader

A/N: I have been sitting on this chapter for so long I know @daydreamsofren is not looking forward to this one even though she’s read some of it already 😢

Warnings: Implied abuse, don’t judge Hux too harshly, Kylo knows more than he lets on. Many, many people die.

Word Count: 3195

Read Chapter 17 here on AO3.

Judging by the amount of meals you’d been served, you had been in this dank cell for two weeks. Either they didn’t know what to do with you or they had forgotten you, leaving your shivering form in the bowels of the ship to rot. No one had stopped by, everytime the door opened, hope flared that it was Hux, even Kylo but it was always just a trooper holding a tray of food or a quick trip to the shower, until today.

The troopers roughly grabbed you from the corner in your cell. You resisted until one raised his hand to strike you across the face, cowering, your eyes closed, you waited for the pain but it never came.

“Think about where we’re taking her.” You cracked your eye open to see the trooper drop his hand, the other one half body blocking you. “She may be a treasonous bitch but there’s nothing to stop the Grand Marshal from killing us if we lay a hand on her.” He stooped down and hauled you up by your arm. “She will cooperate.” You winced at the right grip he had on your arm. “Right?” You nodded slightly as hope surged through you.

Were they taking you to see Armitage?

Has some information come to light?

Maybe some evidence to help clear your name?

Your feet skimmed the floor in uneven steps as the troopers dragged you through the ship, the cuffs binding your wrists were unforgiving against your skin but you took the hurt. Your excitement grew the closer you got to the bridge, officers, admirals and lieutenants littered the corridors all speaking in hushed tones as you were dragged passed but the spark of hope burned brightly inside you. If you could just see Armitage’s face you’d know what fate awaited you.

You were thrown onto the floor at their feet, Kylo Ren had his mask on, barely casting a glance in your direction but you didn’t care about him. Your attention was solely on Armitage, his overcoat hid his body but you could see from the tension in his neck and the way he ignored the sound of you falling to the floor that this wasn’t good.

A blue holo-image of General Pryde was standing before them, a knowing smirk on his face as he cast a glance in Hux’s direction at your undignified arrival. You wanted to spit at the man’s feet, knowing what he’d done to your husband all those years ago but you didn’t dare. If only you’d known before, maybe if you survived this you could finally tell him what you really thought of him.

“We are ready, Allegiant General Pryde.” Rumbled Kylo from his mask. “You may begin.” The blue image paced to the left and he shouted an order to prime the cannon, now your gaze was drawn to the planet that loomed below you. The permanent grey clouds roiled across the surface, the rich green land and the deep blue seas hidden beneath the thick blanket of weather, but you knew it was there. This was Arkanis, your home planet, Hux’s home planet.

You flinched as Kylo moved, stepping behind Hux to haul you to your feet, the cuffs falling away to your surprise. His mask dipped to your eye level, the black sightless pits seemingly boring into your soul and you tried not to shiver at the feeling.

“Behave.” His grip on your sore wrist emphasised his command and you gave a single nod in understanding. He dragged you to stand next to Hux and you sneaked a look at your husband's face. He was wearing a blank expression, his eyes glassed over as though he was bored with this whole show but you saw the muscle twitch in his cheek, the subtle flex of his jaw and you knew he was stressed. Maybe seeing Arkanis again was enough to bring this reaction out of him, but you got the sense something else was at play here. The amount of personnel on the bridge made you slightly nervous, you’d never seen it so busy before. Mitaka stood rigidly to the side, his gaze sliding over you like you weren’t even there.

Kylo pointed and your gaze followed the line of his arm seeing another destroyer in orbit next to the Finalizer, the resurgent-class ship was facing the planet, a huge axial super-laser cannon nestled on the underbelly started to glow and your gaze flitted to the holo image of General Pryde. Horror dawned on you as soon as the word “Fire” left his mouth and without thinking your hand snatched Hux's in a tight grip. The shots flew from the gun, firing with extreme accuracy and power, penetrating the surface of your homeworld.

The reaction was slow, the wound in the crust ripped at an agonising pace from up here, debris rose high into the atmosphere, the red lava from the centre of the planet was evident through the clouds and you blinked tears out of your eyes at the sight. All those people, your people. No warning, an entire planet eradicated before you, a planet whose allegiance was to the First Order. You felt Armitage’s fingers close around yours and a slight gasp escaped you at the sensation. It felt like your entire life was being wiped before your very eyes, your history, your home, friends, family, everything that had made you was burning away.

“Isn’t it glorious?” Someone mumbled and you wanted to whip round and say something scathing but Hux’s hand tightened even more around yours in warning. You couldn’t help the soft sob that made your chest heave, your gaze pulling away from the destruction to look at your husband. The reflection of the growing fireball highlighted in his eyes, his mouth set in a hard line as he tried desperately not to react. You looked down at your feet before turning to look up at Kylo, his mask turning to see your tear stained face and you wished you could see his face. Just this once, so you could read his emotions, but all he did was tilt his head towards the spectacle that everyone else was watching with a sick sense of awe.

Memories echo at the back of your mind, the sound of the Arkanis rain on the leaves, the rippling water on the pond you had stood next to when you first met Armitage. The house you had grown up in ringing with your childhood laughter, your mother’s grave, your friend's wedding, all blown out of existence. A blinding light made you inhale sharply as the planet began to collapse, the surface in burning turmoil until it became so unstable it finally exploded. You hoped the debris that was left would knock into the ships and kill everyone but they were too far away, the shields protecting them from any that did make it and they were out of the gravitational pull of the destroyed planet.

You closed your eyes, the tears still falling unchecked as the intense light of your dying world shone through your eyelids. You went to lean against Armitage, curling your other hand around his arm to seek some comfort for you and him but he moved, his hand untangling from yours as he went to check on the status of his ship leaving you standing alone. You heard General Pryde chuckle and anger blazed through you, your eyes fixed on the smirking form and you went to take a step forward, your mouth open to unleash your fury but a pressure started in your throat making you pause. You could still breathe, but the blockage rendered you speechless, you turned your fury onto Kylo but he just regarded you coolly from the protection of his mask.

“Take her back to her cell.” He commanded with indifference. The troopers grabbed you giving you no choice but to leave, making you realise this had been a show to get to you and Armitage. To make you realise that now you had nowhere to go, no homeworld to run to, no support system to hide you, in this vast Galaxy you and your husband were now more alone than you had ever been before.

You wanted to lean on him and let him lean on you, but that would never happen. He had made up his mind about you, he had what he wanted with his position within the First Order. He never needed you, he had said as much in Canto Bight. You wondered if those words you’d heard him say held more truth than the ones that followed, that supposed declaration of love. You were shoved along the corridors, your heart flaking away with each thought, knowing that you were going to die here. No one to save you, no evidence to clear your name and hopelessness fell heavily on you. When the door to your cell closed leaving you in darkness you wept, feeling the grief of loss at everything you had ever known and the knowledge that hope was just a dream for children.

After you had been dragged away Hux had taken his leave from the bridge, highly aware of Ren’s hidden gaze on his retreating back but he didn’t care. He needed privacy. He stood in the quiet of his own quarters, his hand flexing as he remembered the way your fingers curled around it. The feel of your trembling body against his as you both watched the destruction of your home world, obliterated in moments, everything you’d both ever known eradicated in a blaze of fire. He hadn’t expected his feelings to be so strong on this, he had hated Arkanis and the awful memories it possessed for him but also it held memories he cherished. His mother, the maze where he spent most of his childhood and meeting you, who made him realise he was allowed to have a moment of happiness. A foolish, fleeting moment. Your marriage had been filled with war and he wished he had not been blindsided, this is what his father had been trying to teach him. Weakness would bring his downfall and he had fallen into that trap and not even realised. If you’d stayed on Arkanis after the wedding none of this would have happened….or maybe it would have. His wife, you would have still been on the planet, moving in the same circles and probably moved over to the Resistance a lot sooner.

And you’d be dead. But he wouldn’t have felt the love for you growing in his own chest, he wouldn’t have experienced your warmth, he wouldn’t have felt your body shiver under his. He never would have breathed in your scent, or touched your soft skin and your death would have been easier to cope with. Because he wouldn’t miss you, he wouldn’t miss what you had shown him.

His hand flexed again, the shadow of your touch still affecting him even now. He stood silently staring at the table top, his gloved fingertips gently resting on the surface lost in his swirling thoughts. You were going to die anyway, you had performed an act of treason and he couldn't save you from this, not without losing everything he had worked so desperately hard for. Was it worth it? He clearly didn’t deserve the happiness you had bestowed upon him, and now he had to make the decision if he could live with or without you. He felt anger manifest in his chest, he shouldn’t have to make this decision, if only Ren had kept his hands to himself, the petty jealousy that the oaf harboured had ruined this for him…..hadn’t it? Hux visibly deflated with a sigh, he was the one that agreed to be a suitor for you. His father had owed your father a favour and Hux had agreed to repay, so he was responsible for this, all of these events that had led…to this. He had the power to say no, he had the wealth to pay your father off but he knew it would be squandered and you’d still be left with nothing. And now….you only had your life left and he was probably going to take that too. He had lost the few people that were close to him, the Galaxy just proving his father was right yet again.

Raising you is such a waste of my time.

You are such a waste of space, a useless fool!

What are you good for boy if you can’t even carry a tray of drinks?!

You are an embarrassment!

So disappointing…

You think I would turn this project over to you? Brainless idiot, you are not worthy of the glory it would bring.

You are not worthy of anything…

You don’t deserve the life I have given you.

No one could ever love you….

But you had. Even if it was fleeting, it had been there blazing, alive, existing. And it was going to end like everything else.

A notification made the screen of his datapad light up and his gaze was drawn to it, your prisoner number leaping out at him and the decision he had to make was now upon him. He straightened, clearing his thoughts and focussing on the task at hand. He adjusted his cuff, his gloved hand brushing the material in such a simple, comforting motion and he felt everything falling away. He slipped behind the mask that had protected him all through his life, the blank face that showed nothing of his inner turmoil. The armour he placed over himself had grown impenetrable over the years and he leaned on it heavily. He was going to need it now, more than ever.

He hated it, the way your face lit up when you saw him at the door of your cell. You were huddled in the corner, your head buried in your hands, tears streaming down your face and he nearly, nearly halted this whole thing. But he couldn’t, he had no choice, the wheels were in motion, there were rules, regulations. He had to harden himself more, if anyone else under his command had performed the treason you had they would be dead already. Because that's what it was, an act of treason. You rushed to him, hushed pleas falling from your lips as you begged him not to go through with this, you were innocent, you didn’t know what you were doing even though he’d found you at a Resistance sympathisers wedding. He concentrated on the evidence and how it stacked against you, he couldn’t ignore it, he couldn’t forget the echoes of pain that clawed at his heart. You had done this, you. Betraying him, the First Order, the Supreme Leader…

You pawed at his paralysed form, tugging on his uniform with your desperate hands as he just stood there staring at the wall over your head. Finally his hands grabbed yours in a vice like grip to stop you touching him, he needed you to stop. He said your name in a deadpan voice, listing off your treasonous act followed by the sentence. Death. You were frozen, your mouth open in horror that he would go this far, that he would allow this to happen but he had no choice. You had gone against him, you had sided with the scum of the Galaxy and he would treat you as such no matter how much it obliterated his soul. The troopers moved into the cell, ripping you from his grip and he found himself holding on for just a moment, to feel your soft skin, to smell your wonderful hair. Just a moment, frozen in time so he could remember the feeling of you for the rest of his life and then you were being dragged away. Your screams echoed down the hallway but he couldn’t move, his boots were rooted to the grated floor, tears threatened to fall but he grit his teeth and fought them.

Please! Please no! Armitage! Please, please! He could not show weakness, he could not show feeling, if he did he would lose everything. But you were his everything…

He blocked out the inner voice, wishing for the first time in his life that his fathers voice would override his feelings like it always did, snapping him back onto the right path with the brutality he needed, but it didn’t come. Just your pleading screams, still echoing around him tearing pieces of him away with every screech. He finally moved to the cell door, leaning against the frame heavily as his breath left his body. He couldn’t get enough air in, he needed you. Where were you? He whispered your name, but you weren’t here and he couldn’t hear you anymore.

A shot rang out down the hallway and Hux's head snapped towards the sound.

“No….” He had to see. He stumbled forward, the corridor swimming before him and he had to use the sides to steady himself. The troopers closed the trash shoot just as he got there, Kylo Ren standing watching, making sure the task was done. Making sure you no longer existed. The pain that lanced from his heart was excruciating, making his legs give way so he fell hard to the floor drawing all their attention.

“You, take the General back to his quarters and get a medic, you, come with me.” Kylo went to turn away but the trooper just stood there staring at Hux. “Trooper! Don’t make me send you for reconditioning!” The trooper jumped and hurried to Kylo’s side leaving a struggling Hux in the arms of the other.

Kylo marched through the corridors of the Finalizer, the trooper hot on his heels. He could tell no one knew what he’d done, the other trooper he had bent to his will, he’d have no recollection of what had transpired. He could still feel the ripples through the force from Hux no matter how hard he tried to shut him out until finally a medic sedated him and the waves stopped, the force becoming still once more. Or so he thought, the chaotic energy that followed the trooper behind him was distracting but he had to focus. At the far end of the hangar TIE’s lined the bays and he paused at the stairs, the trooper nearly colliding with his back.

“Take this TIE.”

“I-I can’t fly it!” Kylo looked round seeing a pilot and called him over.

“You! FL-6194!”

“Supreme Leader?” Kylo raised his hand, feeling the pilot's mind and taking control, it was so easy bending them to his will, they were all so weak minded, so ready to obey.

“You will take this trooper and fly to these coordinates. Once you arrive at your destination you will terminate yourself.” Kylo could feel the thoughts falling into place, the settling of the mind, stripping the pilot of his panic and replacing it with purpose.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“K-Kylo!”

“Go. Now.” He turned with a flare of cloak, you needed to leave. Before anyone knew what he’d done, before anyone suspected, you needed to go.

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 16)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2694 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 15 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Six weeks. That’s how much notice Bucky gave you until the wedding. You said yes to being his date before you had actually confirmed anything with work. The wedding was on the first Saturday in June but you would need to take off of work that Friday as well.

Technically one day off from Stark Industries wouldn’t be so bad and as predicted you were given the day easily. Unfortunately, you would have to take two days off at Metro-General and you really hoped that would be alright.

You hadn’t taken many days off since you began; a day for when you had food poisoning, another on the day of Wanda’s museum exhibit, but the hospital was a busy place and Elena was notoriously strict. Plus the more days you took off meant the more hours you would have to make up, which meant the longer it would take to fulfill your final requirement before graduating.

Once again, Marya’s words come to mind. Life will not wait for you so you needed to live it in the moment. It’s only two days.

With renewed confidence you knocked on Elena’s door and asked for the days off.

“Vacation?” she wondered.

“It’s for a wedding actually.”

Her dark eyes lit up at your answer. “Oh very nice. Where is it?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Somewhere in Long Island,” you chuckled, explaining that you were asked by a close friend to be his date.

After all these months of working together you realized this was the most personal conversation you’ve ever had with Elena. You had always tried to respect the boundaries of her as your boss but it was surprising as she seemed to open up first, letting down the guard she had carefully built up to protect herself while working in this field. Her approach carried over with her co-workers up until now.

“Mack was a close friend of mine once...” she said, turning the picture frame on her desk around towards you.

The photo showed her in the arms of a medium-brown skinned man with a dark beard and shaved head. Her whole face was smiling as she stared into his eyes and he was looking back at her like she was the only thing that gave meaning to life. Judging by their clothes you realized this was a wedding photo.

“You’re married? Since when?” You may have blurted that out a little bit louder than you expected but it was a bit of a shock considering she doesn’t wear a ring.

“Since I asked him,” she laughed. “Two years now, but we’ve been together for six and friends for a lot longer than that.”

Ahh now you understand what she was implying. “It’s not like that with me and Bucky. Well…” You bit your lip with uncertainty. “I don’t know. We’re friends and we kissed once but he’s dating other people and–”

“Yet he asked you to be his date.” She smirked, giving you a knowing stare.

Elena had given you the days off but part of you wished she didn’t. On the surface, Bucky was just a friend asking another friend for a favor but the more you thought about your history the more conflicted you felt.

From the moment he’s come into your life you’ve felt something towards Bucky. Sure his looks were undeniable but there was so much more about him. The passion he had for music matched what you felt for social work, and you connected, both of you realizing that each field plays an important role in helping people.

The more your friendship grew it felt like you were always meant to be in each other’s lives and you couldn’t imagine life without Bucky since he had become such a huge part of it. But you weren’t anything more than friends. That’s all.

The warm sun shines directly into your eyes as you exit the subway, trying your best to hear Peggy over the increased amount of people on the street. New York was always crowded but warm weather was a magnet that seemed to pull everyone out of their homes, drawing them outdoors to enjoy the beautiful day.

With Wanda on your left the three of you talk plans for Memorial Day weekend; it’s two weeks away and you’re trying to organize something for everyone to do together.

“I’m not sure if Sam has off or not yet but I do have some news,” Wanda said enticingly, biting her lip to contain her excitement. So many thoughts ran through your head as you waited for her to drop the details. “Sam and I are gonna move in together!”

“Oh Wanda, that’s brilliant!” Peggy said, her red painted lips stretching across her face in a beaming smile.

“I’m so happy for you two! When are you moving? And where?” you asked.

“His apartment is bigger so I’m moving there, hopefully by the end of the month but we’ll see. It’s hard with his schedule sometimes but I definitely want to be out as soon as possible.”

You offered assistance to help her pack and Peggy suggested making it a night with girls, with wine as a little motivation. “Yes, perfect!” Wanda agreed.

If only finding a dress for the wedding was as easy as helping Wanda move. You had already made a few trips to the department stores, trying on the perfect dress that fit like a dream and made you look incredible. Unfortunately, it cost more than your rent so it went back on the rack.

Your disappointing trip was made a little better by the promise of your friends to help you which is what you were doing now. One more block to go and you would be at the boutique you’ve never heard of before where Natasha was meeting you.

Opening the doors made you a little concerned. The place looked like it was from another planet. The glossy black ceiling stood in contrast to the bright white walls that were made up of three dimensional geometric tiles.

Silver accented the space from the large framed mirrors that leaned against the walls to the velvet pewter asymmetrically curved couch outside the dressing room. The clothes themselves looked normal at least, dresses of all kinds displayed on racks within silver frames, making them look like they were encased in glass.

Peggy and Wanda spread out to look for dresses, trying to find ones that resembled the overpriced gown you had only taken a selfie of to remember it by. Immediately you were drawn to a rack of flowy pastel colored ones, draping a few different styles over your arm.

In the middle of your search you heard Natasha call your name, and turning around to greet her you didn’t expect to see an unfamiliar face. She stood next to a man that towered over her small frame. A shock of ice blonde hair and matching bleached eyebrows caught your attention first before you moved on to his outfit, a red vest, leather pants and fur coat that seemed to only have one sleeve.

“Y/N, this is Taneleer Tivan, owner of The Tivan Collection,” she whispered the last line in a way as if you were meant to know who he was.

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you,” you said, though his facial expression didn’t change.

Though his eyes were surrounded by a smudge of dark liner you were able to see clearly the way he looked down in disgust at the dresses you held.

“Carina!” he shouted, and a moment later a girl came running forward. She wore a white vinyl dress that looked more like something you expected the store to sell, although her outfit is much more subdued than her boss’s.

She waited in silence with her hands clasped in front of her, in what seemed like a routine she was quite familiar with. “These are all wrong,” Taneleer said to you and suddenly the dresses were being taken out of your hands by his assistant. “I have much better in my collection.”

To your shock Carina was beside you again, ushering you towards a different section of racks that had more appropriate gowns despite neither her or her boss knowing what event you were shopping for. Thinking back, the pastels might have been a bit too casual anyway.

As you perused the new section you found an assortment of beautiful dresses, some absolutely stunning ones that had you worrying about the price. Natasha can certainly afford a lot more than you but glancing down at the tag you were surprised to see how reasonable things were. You took out a few jewel toned ones to try on that caught your eye.

“Y/N, what do you think of these?”

Peggy’s soft voice made you turn around. The first dress she held up was a satin one shoulder gown in black.

“Oh I like the design,” you said, pointing to the ruffles falling from the shoulder.

The next one she held up was a shimmering emerald dress whose classic mermaid style made you feel like you should be going to the Oscars instead of a wedding.

“Peggy, that’s too formal!” Wanda chimed in, huffing as she came over with more than a half dozen sparkly dresses.

She made room on the nearest rack to hang them, excitedly showing each one off to you. The first was a gorgeous sequined dress, rose gold sparkling in the light. It was undeniably beautiful but you had reservations. You were a guest at someone’s wedding and didn’t want to draw too much attention.

“This one is similar but you’ll see the difference,” she added, holding up another rose gold sequined dress, this one with a plunging V-neckline and a low open back.

“Wanda, that’s…” You stopped yourself from saying anything, grimacing uncomfortably at the dress that was so wrong.

“That looks like a slutty prom dress,” Natasha laughed, saying the thoughts you didn’t say aloud.

Wanda scrunched her face at Natasha before continuing with the next set of dresses. They were less eye catching as the others but still in the sparkly realm. You set aside a shimmering off the shoulder dress in turquoise that looked more like the ocean glittering in sunshine. The neckline was still a bit low but the back was more appropriately cut.

Natasha handed you one dress, a stunning red gown of flowing chiffon with a beautifully embellished bodice of lace and beading. The high neck of the dress complimented the tasteful open back design.

“Okay I’m getting overwhelmed. I have to start trying things on.”

With dresses in tow you made your way inside the fitting room and closed the curtain. Natasha sat across from Peggy and Wanda, checking work emails from her phone despite it being Sunday.

“Nat, did you get your wedding dress from here?” Wanda curiously wondered as her eyes roamed the store.

Her lips pursed as she took a deep breath. “I haven’t found a dress yet. I think we might have to push off the wedding again.”

“What was that?” you said, pushing open the curtains.

Peggy’s face lit up with a smile as you stepped out in a purple dress with lace detailing on the bodice. “You look beautiful!”

Your head turned towards the larger mirrors for a second to admire how you looked in the dress before you remembered the muffled conversation you heard through the curtain.

“Wait, Tash, did you say you’re pushing off the wedding again?”

She huffed loudly, leaning over and covering the frustration on her face with her hands. When she finally lifted her head you saw the desperation in her eyes. “I’m ready to say ‘fuck it’ and go to the courthouse.”

With Natasha’s ever increasing workload you’re quite surprised she hasn’t done this already. It doesn’t seem like she and Clint have made any progress since you’ve known them.

“Forget me,” she said, waving her hand as if to push the burdensome thoughts away. “That dress is pretty but there’s no wow factor.”

You looked in the mirror, realizing she was right. The next dress you put on was the red one Natasha picked out and that one definitely wowed but not in a good way. The bodice of the dress had an uneven cut that exposed part of your sides making you feel uncomfortable.

The one shoulder dress Peggy picked out was too tight but even if there was another size you didn’t like the satin. Wanda’s sparkly dress was a maybe but you weren’t completely sold on it yet. After changing in and out of a few more dresses you started to sweat and all you wanted to do was leave.

While hanging the dress you just stepped out of back up you saw there was one more left and your eyes lit up. You don’t remember grabbing this dress but it was meant to be from the moment you slipped it on.

It was a beautiful navy blue gown, with fluttering ruffles down the modest V-neck that also mirrored the back. Compared to some of the others this was a much simpler dress but there was something about it that felt right. It fit like a dream, flattering every part of you while still allowing for movement. Weddings mean dancing and the thought of dancing with Bucky made goosebumps prickle all over your skin.

As you opened the curtain you saw everyone’s jaws drop, their eyes lighting up as you stood in front of them.

“This! This is it!”

“You really think?” you asked, looking over your shoulder to see how it looks from behind.

Peggy nodded her head, “Definitely. It’s perfect.”

“Bucky’s going to love it,” Natasha added.

You rolled your eyes, missing the knowing look the three of them shared. “Guys, this isn’t for Bucky. I want to look good for myself.”

“And you do,” Wanda said, “But he’ll also appreciate how good your ass looks in that, damn!”

Rolling your eyes as they burst out laughing, you admired yourself in the dress a little longer knowing this is the one. You went back into the dressing room with Bucky on your mind. Sure, he might stare at you all night in this dress but the truth is it doesn’t mean much more than that.

Bucky was actively dating and the only reason you’re going with him to the wedding is so he doesn’t spend a weekend with someone he really doesn’t know. Panic washes over you as you worry about the near future. What if he meets someone he really gets along with before the wedding and he resents the fact that he asked you to go. What if he uninvites you? What if–

“Hey I found a really cute clutch to go with the dress,” Wanda said through the curtain.

You finished getting dressed, grabbing the dresses you didn’t want first. Opening the curtain you found Carina waiting beside Wanda, ready to take the dresses from you. You thanked her and took the dress you were buying, holding it up next to the clutch Wanda found. It was glittering gold with a metal trim on the opening.

“Oooh I love it.”

Carina was waiting silently at the register in anticipation of you bringing everything up to pay. As you took care of that Natasha said goodbye to Taneleer, kissing him on both cheeks. You thanked him as well before leaving and his mouth curved into the slightest smile.

Late lunch with the girls went by faster than you expected and you were happy to finally be home, hanging up the dress in your closet. You knew you had shoes that would pair well with it somewhere in your closet, a search meant for another day.

Before bed you decided to text Bucky, even though part of you was hesitant about it. You typed away quickly, sending the text and turning off your phone before he could respond. From the other side of the wall Bucky smiled when he saw a notification with your name.

You: Hope your suit game is good because I just bought my dress and it’s 🔥🔥

He couldn’t wait.

PART 17

[ofbloodandbullets]

So it’s recently come to my attention that not everyone in the world has actually watched The Old Guard (WHO KNEW?!) so I’m going to try and do some info dumps about the world, the general canon and Andy’s history, personality, powers etc.  This will ... probably get kinda lengthy. 

Also: MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS FOR COMICS & MOVIE.

The first thing you need to know is that for the main part, the history and the world that TOG takes place in is the exact same one as the real history of the world.  It’s set in modern day, though the plot points stretch back to 7k+ years ago.  It’s also important to note that there is a lot of historical inaccuracies and some things in canon that conflict themselves so it’s best to just take it all with a grain of salt and just go with what works best for your particular preferences etc. 

The main difference between reality and TOG is that in TOG there are a very minute like .00000000002% of the population that are immortals.  Now, it’s important to note that these people can die but they resurrect pretty close to immediately after they die no matter the amount of damage done.  Now it can take some time to fully heal or reform, depending on how extensive the trauma (being blown to bits or burned etc. will take longer to fix but there’s no amount of damage that we know of that can actually keep them dead).  

There are times when, for reasons unknown to the characters in character (or to us as readers  of the comics / viewers of the movie etc) that the immortality just stops.  There’ll just be a time that they suffer injuries that just don’t heal, and they die.  There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to this, be it age, number of times they’ve died, whatever.  Now, I have my own entirely headcanon and personal preference based theory which you can find HERE but it’s totally just a random idea that I had that I liked to explain the loss of Andy’s immortality in the movie (that doesn’t happen in the comics) and lets me say that she regains her immortality post canon so that I can nudge things back in the direction of the comics for post movie plots and so on.

Andy is, as far as we know, and as far as she knows, the oldest (human) immortal, coming in at around 7,000 years old.  She was born into a tribe, the Scythia (hence what she’s generally called: Andromache the Scythian).  A nomadic warrior tribe that I headcanon to be a matriarchy, Andy was betrayed by the ‘queen mother’ when she was sixteen and killed in battle because the leader feared that Andy posed a danger to her continuing rule.  This person was practically a mother to Andy and it was a horrific betrayal.  What was almost as shocking to Andy was the fact that she got back up again after being literally stabbed in the back and killed.

In the vein of trying to thwart prophecies making them happen, Andy killed the matriarch and took her placce ruling the tribe, eventually becoming a God King to her people and ruling over them for hundreds of years until her loneliness absolutely overwhelmed her and one day she just vanished.

At some point after this, she began to dream of a woman, feeling a pull towards this stranger that she couldn’t begin to explain.  After dozens, maybe hundreds of years, she managed to track down the woman in question (Noriko in the comics, Quynh in the movie) and realized that they’d been dreaming of each other.  (In the comics she meets Lykon before Quynh/Noriko, whom she had also been dreaming of).  

Now, the connection between these immortals isn’t explained in canon, and for a long time, Andy, Lykon, Noriko (and eventually Joe, Nicky, Book) thought they were the only ones but there is a scene in the second set of comics that implies that there are other ‘packs’ of immortals.  I headcanon that it’s a ‘like calls to like’ / kind of Sense8 simpatico type thing - like minded souls drawn to each other, which is why Andy and the others didn’t know about the other immortals, but again, that’s just entirely my thoughts on the matter. 

Lykon is the first to succumb to the loss of immortality, a short couple hundreds years after he and Andy find each other.   He dies on a battlefield, one that he and Quynh/Noriko and Andy fought on like a hundred/thousand before, champions for the abused etc.  Skip forward a couple hundred years again and enter Joe & Nicky, a Knight and a Muslim warrior who kill each other on the battlefield only to both wake up and spend (an unspecified amount of time) hunting and killing each other before eventually Andy & Quynh/Noriko find them.  In time, Joe & Nicky realize that they love each other.   (Important to note that Quynh/Noriko and Andy were also lovers).  In the movie, when the first major surge of witch hunts began, Quynh/Noriko and Andy go to help the women that stood accused, only to be captured and accused of witchcraft themselves.  After being hung, drowned, burned at the stake and coming back to life every time, the witch hunters settled on locking Quynh into an iron coffin and dropping her into the ocean.  (In the comics, Noriko is lost at sea during a massive storm that had thrown their ship entirely off course with Andy having no clue where they actually were at the time.) 

Joe & Nicky arrive in time to rescue Andy, but Noriko is already gone and despite spending decades tracking down every person even remotely involved in the so called ‘investigation’ into the women’s inquisition and punishment, Andy wasn’t able to find anything about where Quynh could be. 

Cue angst & depression & guilt for ages after.

The trio still steps in over the following decades, trying to help prevent the worst of atrocities, but Andy quickly begins to spiral into an, at best apathetic, at worst, entirely distant and withdrawn mindset and steadily begins to lose hope that they’re actually making any difference at all.

Skip ahead a century or two and enter Book; a Russian conscript who had been forced into the fight after being convicted of forgery.  Hung for desertion, Book spend days dying over and over again as he hung there, unable to attempt an escape until the troops finally packed up and moved on.   He and Andy, Nicky and Joe meet up and Book kinda reluctantly joins their little group.  It’s revealed that Book dreams, still, of Noriko/Quynh and while he can’t tell where hse is, dreams of her still dying, drowning on the floor of the ocean over and over and over like she had been for the last hundred or two years.  

Book returns at some point to his mortal family which ended in disaster when his last remaining son was dying of cancer, cursing and screaming at Book for ‘choosing not to save him’ by making him immortal too, even though it’s something Book had no ability to transfer or make happen.  Between his nightmares, losing his son and a number of other factors, Book decides he wants to end it all but no matter what he tries, doesn’t die and stay dead.

Eventually he’s approached by a pharmaceutical company that has figured out what he is and wants to run tests on him to see if they can unlock his healing / immortality for other people.  Merrick’s company works in league with an ex CIA agent whose wife died of a horrific terminal disease who hopes that they can find a way to keep anyone else from dying if they don’t have to.    Initially it was just supposed to be him, but he’d set up a display to stream for proof of what he was / they were and the corp decided they wanted all of the immortals.   Book ends up betraying the team, and he and the others end up locked up and tested on / killed / experimented on etc.  

There’s another character introduced in the meantime, the first new immortals in centuries, an American soldier named Niles.  There’s a lot more that goes on here, but the main point is that in the movie, Andy stops healing from her wounds shortly after she tracks down Nile and is put into incredible amounts of danger when Merrick (the leader of the pharmaceutical company) captures Andy, Joe, Book, Nicky.  Book is devastated, Nicky and Joe are furious, Andy’s just tired.

Eventually, Andy and the others break free with Niles’ help, destroy the lab they were originally held in etc and set out to try and hunt down any other proof, lab results, anything that Merrick got his hands on during the tests.

The group meets and settles on a hundred year exile for Booker (which I think is one of the stupidest things - like, the man’s clearly desperate and depressed and lonely and mentally unstable so by all means let’s isolate him for a fully century) and at the end of the movie we see him stumbling home to his apartment six months later to find Quynh standing in his apartment, pouring and drinking a glass of water which is a whole power move considering how many millions of times she died by drowning.

In the comics, Quynh/Noriko was driven entirely mad and to the point of wanting vengeance against Andy for abandoning her and spends a while gaslighting Andy and torturing her physically and emotionally and what not until she manages to isolate Andy from the other immortals and scoops in to ‘rescue’ Andy.  IDK what they’re going to adapt this to in the second movie, 

Again, via the link posted above, my Andy slowly begins to regain her immortality (again, IDK what they’re going to do with the next movie).  

Uhhhh yeah.  So I .. think that’s the majority of what you need to know for canon info about Andy.  THIS is also an important PSA regarding my Andy’s history & her longest lasting relationship that has nothing to do with canon at all but that is part of Andy’s bg in every verse, even if it never comes into play.

[ushidoux]

What’s In a (Nick) Name? - Reon Ohira x Reader

Summary: Reon doesn’t take too kindly to a nickname, even if he pretends it doesn’t bother him. (~1.3k words)

Warnings: talk of insecurity, fluff, super brief implied racism (not what you think), sfw

A/N: I wish people paid more attention to Reon so now I will unload my headcanons about him.

---

“Reon, left!”

Moving fluidly and carefully, he kept the ball in play long enough for the star player of the team to spike and score yet another point against their opponents, undeniably assuring their victory.

Despite being drowned out by the roar of the crowd, Reon’s cheers were just as loud and heartfelt as the rest of his team when they immediately celebrated their win. He hadn’t scored the winning point, and in fact, the number of points he had individually scored was middling in comparison to the total they’d amassed as a team, but he was still elated beyond comparison as the team collapsed on each other in a huddle. 

Being a support character wasn’t all bad. Even if he wasn’t as obvious a team support as Shirabu who meticulously laid plans as the team’s setter, he was crucial in his own way.

---

“Oi, Benkei!”

Reon closed his locker only to reveal Tendou beside him, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he gathered his things up for home. 

“I’m not Benkei,” He said for the nth time, allowing a mild irritation to affect his tone as he bent down to change into his sneakers so he could walk home. He, of course, wasn’t upset (there are much worse nicknames to be had), but this particular nickname had stuck ever since a certain history class and he was maybe just a little tired of it.

He wasn’t sure exactly why this nickname bothered him more in particular. He’d run the gamut from lazy nicknames like Lion-kun, cute nicknames like Rin-chan from the small kids he volunteered with who couldn’t pronounce his name, and names frankly as offensive as Sambo* (luckily that had been just a one off), but for some reason, Benkei got under his skin.

Nevertheless, he knew Tendou didn’t mean to annoy and was more highlighting the fact that he was such a great assist to Ushijima, so it was fine.

He sighed, and Tendou continued.

“We’re still waiting on you outside though - you’re walking home with us, right?” 

Reon smiled.

“Of course.”

Tendou followed him out of the gym, talking animatedly about a horror movie he’d seen last weekend and highly recommended while Reon indulged him with a sympathetic listening ear before they met up with other team members.

He shifted his gym bag idly from one side to another, only to see something large and white flutter to the ground.

Tendou’s eyes grew wide as Reon bent to pick it up and revealed it to be a card of some sort.

Handmade and one-sided, in semi-neat but large, bubbly characters in a mix of English and Japanese was a note of some sort.

You did a GREAT JOB on the court today! I’m always cheering for you!

Fondly, your secret admirer~ ❤

Beneath the message was a small cartoon of a cheering girl drawn with clear attention to detail, and as Reon took a careful look at the picture as though it were possibly the sender’s self-portrait, he could feel his heart start to race.

It didn’t help that Tendou started to hoot and holler, which only drew more attention to the situation as the rest of the team approached.

“You seem very excited, Satori,” Shirabu quipped, immediately as he stopped before them. Ushijima, affect neutral as usual, raised an eyebrow at Tendou before looking at Reon who still was trying to come to the grips with the idea of someone noticing him. 

Maybe it wasn’t him. There wasn’t a specific name on it, and a locker was close enough to Ushijima’s or Semi’s, who seemed like better candidates… maybe they were mistaken? 

Yeah, that made much more sense.

“Someone’s obsessed with our very own Reon-kun~!” Tendou cheered.

Quickly backtracking, Reon laughed, stuffing the card into his backpack out of sheer embarrassment, and shaking his head.

“There’s no evidence it’s for me, so we can just forget it.”

Quickly changing the subject, he congratulated Ushijima on a good final point and suggested ramen on the way home.

—-

“What? Why wouldn’t it be for you, babe?”

The look of confusion on your face, still the prettiest he’d ever seen since the day you finally revealed yourself as the card sender, was so genuine that he was almost embarrassed to explain that back then in high school, much more than now, he’d never really thought of himself as noteworthy.

And somehow it had come up, more than two years after graduation, over a casual dessert date on a lovely spring afternoon.

Well, you’d brought it up, flicking the tiniest bit of vanilla ice cream onto his nose before leaning over to kiss it off, then telling him you couldn’t believe he was so shy when you’d first introduced yourself. 

“It should have been worse for me, I’d already made it clear I had a crush on you! You had complete control of the situation!” You’d exclaimed.

And then he’d replied with that he wasn’t sure you’d gotten the right locker.

You frowned.

Reon’s natural sweetness and peacemaking tendencies befitting a middle child were what had drawn you to him once you’d gotten to know him, but what you hadn’t anticipated were the small ripples of insecurity he hid with a calming smile and soft words.

It was hard for you to understand why. He had been part of a particularly intimidating group in high school, was following his dreams of playing volleyball, was gainfully employed, and loved by his family, friends and you alike. 

But still, you couldn’t ignore the worry lines that graced his features every once in a while when he was preoccupied with something, when he thought you weren’t looking. 

Or the very slight tenseness in his shoulders when you got too friendly with someone new - not that he was ever really jealous.

Just unsure if he was good enough. 

Your fingers intertwined with his as you left the ice cream bar for a walk in the park. 

“You know my nickname once was Benkei…,” he spoke up, suddenly. 

You slowed to a stop, again confused, then let out a giggle.

“What the hell does that mean?” 

Your grip on his hand remained loose but steady, and he ended up smiling because your face was so radiant in the sun as you cracked up in laughter, cheering him up.

“Something about a legendary sidekick to a samurai or something… at least in short,” Reon replied.

“Sidekick?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow. You took a couple paces forward, and shook your head.

“You’re not a sidekick,” you immediately said with a huff. “That’s a lame name.”

Your remark was mildly annoyed, and so he chuckled, pulling you closer to him so that he could wrap his arm around your shoulder.

“It was meant to be endearing, I think,” he mused, pressing his lips to the top of your head. The idea of you immediately rejecting the joke made his heart soar, but it was too silly to explain.

“But it bothered you!”

“A little,” he agreed. “But it wasn’t a big deal,” he added.

“Even so, next time they should be more creative,” you dug in. “You’re not Benkei, you’re Reon, and you’re the most wonderful man in the entire world, no competition,” you proclaimed without hesitation.

Despite considering for a split second that maybe it was just because it was you who had noticed him from the start, your words of reassurance compelled him into wrapping his arms around your neck affectionately.

“I love you.”

Even if you were the only one who saw him as more than a background character, it was truly enough for him.

[notapaladin]

Obsidian and Blood, an overview

Do you like fantasy? Do you like mysteries? Do you like Mesoamerican mythology? Do you like ALL OF THOSE THINGS TOGETHER, set against the lush backdrop of Tenochtitlan in 1480? (Or maybe you just want to know more about the series I have been going feral over since August.) Then buckle up, because oh boy have I got a series for you!

*drumroll, please*

OBSIDIAN AND BLOOD, written by Aliette de Bodard (better known for her Xuya and Dominion of the Fallen series)

There are two kinds of people: Those who see the words “Aztec fantasy/murder mysteries set in very well-researched 1480s Tenochtitlan BUT WITH MAGIC, investigated by the HIGH PRIEST OF THE GOD OF DEATH” and immediately ran off to buy them, and those who clearly need convincing. So here I am, shamelessly plugging my new hyperfixation!

Obsidian and Blood consists of three semi-standalone novels and three (free!) prequel short stories, all featuring 30-year-old Acatl as our first-person POV mystery solver. Acatl is not, however, your average historical detective; aside from being set firmly in Tenochtitlan in 1480 with all that implies re. the acceptability of slavery and human sacrifice, he also is the High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli in a universe where the gods regularly meddle in mortal affairs and magic spells are powered largely by rituals and blood—animal, human, or your own. You’d think this would make Acatl really, really good at solving murders, but you’d be wrong. He is the least of the Triple Alliance’s three High Priests, and his god doesn’t come at his servant’s beck and call. Not to mention the other gods, who have their own deadly agendas. That’s not even getting into the people around him, who might be the most dangerous of all. Luckily, he has more allies than he thinks—if he has the strength to actually reach out to them and admit he could use the help!

(He doesn’t need to reach out to his student Teomitl. Teomitl, a confident young warrior of imperial blood, keeps volunteering. This gives Acatl roughly one heart attack per book.)

You will like them if…

I did just say “magic murder mysteries in 1480s Tenochtitlan,” right? It’s real Precolumbian Mexico hours up in here! The history of the Aztec Empire and their Triple Alliance actually forms multiple key plot points throughout the series!

you’re into Aztec history/culture in general

if a DnD fan, you are REALLY into the Raven Queen

you think blood magic is super cool and wish it wasn’t treated as the realm of The Bad Guys

you get incredibly hyped over lesser-known mythologies treated respectfully but also very awesomely (the thing where the Aztecs thought human sacrifice kept the sun in the sky? Yeah, in this universe it is literally true and plot-relevant)

you are big into chaste heroes, lots of snarky asides, highly opinionated narrators who let their own prejudices destroy them, “from an outside perspective this is cosmic horror but for the characters it is a Tuesday,” mysteries with twists you will NOT see coming, and themes of trauma/memories/family legacies

you love reading about dysfunctional family relationships in various states of repair/further destruction

you’ve ever thought “hey this historical mystery is cool but what if there was MAGIC”

you like noir detective stories but want them with magic

you like urban fantasy but want them to have historical settings instead of vaguely modern-day ones

Plot/character summaries below!

SHORT STORIES (prequels to the novels, blurbs by me)

Obsidian Shards

Warriors have been found dead in the town of Colhuacan, obsidian shards embedded in their hearts. Acatl, priest of Mictlantecuhtli, suspects a creature of the Underworld—one he already calls a foe, for it slew his first and last apprentice.

Beneath the Mask

In the Tenochtitlan suburb of Coyoacan, Acatl’s childhood friend Huchimitl begs him to save her only son’s war captive; the man whose sacrifice will make the boy a proper warrior is paralyzed from an unknown curse, unable even to rise from the floor. But who could have cursed him, and is it connected to the mask Huchimitl now wears?

Safe, Child, Safe

A toddler is slowly wasting away, the mark of the Underworld on him, and Acatl is tasked with finding the cause. But no creature of the Underworld kills so slowly, and so Acatl must turn his investigation to the living.

THE BOOKS (blurbs taken directly from the book listings, you don’t HAVE to read them in order but I do recommend it)

Servant of the Underworld

Year One-Knife, Tenochtitlan; the capital of the Mexica Empire. Human sacrifice and the magic of living blood are the only things keeping the sun in the sky and the earth fertile. A Priestess disappears from an empty room drenched in blood. It should be a usual investigation for Acatl, High Priest of the Dead—except that his estranged brother is involved, and the more he digs, the deeper he is drawn into the political and magical intrigues of noblemen, soldiers, and priests—and of the gods themselves...

(Neutemoc: I didn't mean to sleep with her! It was an accident! Acatl: I don't understand. Did you trip?) (Acatl: I don't want a new apprentice! Teomitl: :D? Acatl: ...I will make an exception)

Harbinger of the Storm

The year is Two House, and the Emperor of the Mexica has just died. The protections he afforded the Empire are crumbling, and the way lies wide open to flesh-eating star-demons—and to the return of their creator, a malevolent goddess only held in check by the War God's power. The council should convene to choose a new Emperor, but they are too busy plotting against each other. And then someone starts summoning star-demons within the palace, to kill councilmen...Acatl, High Priest of the Dead, must find the culprit before everything is torn apart.

(Teomitl: I've only had Acatl and Mihmatini for a year, but if anything happens to them I'll kill everyone in this room and then myself) (Quenami: Playing With The Big Boys.mp3)

Master of the House of Darts

The year is Three Rabbit, and the storm is coming. The Mexica Empire now has a new Emperor, but his coronation war has just ended in a failure: the armies have retreated with a paltry forty prisoners of war, not near enough sacrifices to satisfy the gods. Acatl, High Priest for the Dead, has no desire to involve himself yet again in the intrigues of the powerful. However, when one of the prisoners dies of a magical illness, he has little choice but to investigate. For it is only one death, but it will not be the last. As the bodies pile up and the imperial court tears itself apart, dragging Teomitl, Acatl's beloved student, into the eye of the storm, the High Priest for the Dead is going to have to choose whom he can afford to trust; and where, in the end, his loyalties ultimately lie...

(Teomitl: I am no longer Baby I want Power) (Acatl, to Teomitl: What have you got there? Nezahual, gleefully: A coup! Acatl: NO!)

THE MAIN CHARACTERS (in order of appearance)

ACATL “By my face and by my heart, I’ll bring you justice.” High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli, god of death and the underworld. As such, his duties include both the obvious ones of arranging funerals and standing vigils for the dead, and the less obvious ones of investigating magical crimes and keeping the boundaries between the heavens, Earth, and the underworld intact. When Servant of the Underworld begins, he’s only recently been promoted and hates it. Has a strained relationship with his living family, due largely to not having lived up to his (dead) parents’ desires for him to become a warrior like his brother Neutemoc. Bitter, cynical, and grumpy, but devoted to justice and fairness.

Has an official character sheet.

CEYAXOCHITL “Everyone has to grow up and take responsibilities. Even small, humble priests.” Guardian of the Sacred Precinct and wielder of the power of the Duality (Ometeotl), which makes her the sworn protector of the Mexica Empire and its Revered Speaker from all sorts of mainly-magical threats. Somewhat past middle age but still very strong in her magical abilities, and something of an antagonistic mentor to Acatl. (She nominated him for the position of High Priest. He is not appreciative.) Serious and devoted to her duty, with a keen eye for potential in others. Dies in Harbinger of the Storm and you WILL cry.

NEUTEMOC “Priests hide and run away. Warriors don’t.” Acatl’s older brother, a Jaguar Knight with five children and a failing marriage. Resents Acatl for not helping to support their aging parents by becoming a warrior like he did. The central suspect during most of Servant of the Underworld’s plot, though by the end he and Acatl have begun to repair their relationship. He is strict, stern, and bitter, but truly loves his family. (In the case of his younger brother, that love is buried very deep down.)

TEOMITL “If we don’t believe in ourselves, who is going to?” Acatl’s student, an enthusiastic warrior who yearns to prove himself worthy of his power and noble rank, as well as live up to the memory of the mother who died birthing him. During Servant of the Underworld he swears himself to Chalchiuhtlicue, goddess of fresh water and lakes, gaining (among other things) command over the man-eating water monsters called ahuitzotls. He is courting Mihmatini during Harbinger of the Storm; by the time Master of the House of Darts takes place, they are married. He is abrasive and proud, but also honest, loyal, and brave. And very, very ambitious. You will want to punch him several times. This is normal. (Also, I will swear that it's not just my ship-goggles being on too tight that has me thinking his relationship with Acatl is much more weighty and personal than the one he has with his ACTUAL WIFE.)

MIHMATINI “Better laugh, and smile at the flowers and jade. Life is too short to be spent grieving.” Acatl and Neutemoc’s youngest sister, a powerful magic-user who finds herself thrust into the position of Guardian during Harbinger of the Storm. Though she has no great ambitions herself—she mostly just wants to be a mother and raise children—she is ferociously protective of her family and will fight anything that threatens them. Even themselves. (Especially themselves.) Kind, caring, and light-hearted, but her acid tongue and sharp temper are not to be dismissed. "Fuck Around And Find Out" given human form.

ACAMAPICHTLI “We have always endured.” High priest of Tlaloc and a reoccurring thorn in Acatl’s side. Though he’s primarily out for his own gain and has no patience for Acatl’s refusal to play on the field of Imperial politics, they eventually form something like an uneasy truce following the end of Harbinger of the Storm. He is snarky and sardonic, but truly cares for his clergy. During Master of the House of Darts he somehow became one of my favorite characters.

TIZOC "I've always known that priests couldn't be trusted. You have just exceeded my expectations." Teomitl’s older brother, first Master of the House of Darts and then Revered Speaker. (Look, it’s not a spoiler if you can Google it.) He is cowardly, ambitious, and the closest thing this series has to an overarching antagonist. Among other things, tries to have Acatl executed during Harbinger of the Storm. Events at the end of that book only manage to make him measurably worse. "Ah There He Is, That Motherfucker, What A Tool" #1.

QUENAMI “Oh, Acatl. Such lack of tact. You are so unsuited for the Court.” High Priest of Huitzilpochtli, appointed by Tizoc between Servant of the Underworld and Harbinger of the Storm. Comes from a noble family, and is much better at diplomacy and playing politics than he is at magic. When push comes to shove, however, he can display some surprising determination. He is arrogant, scheming, and takes joy in cutting Acatl down, but presumably has some good qualities...somewhere. "Ah There He Is, That Motherfucker, What A Tool" #2.

Maps of the series’ primary setting

Setting Primers

Official Character Index

Glossary