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merryfortune · 3 years

Text

Get Well Soon

Ship: Chiyu/Shindoine

Fandom: Healin’ Good PreCure

Word Count: 2.4k

Tags: Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Redemption Arc, Minor or Implied Relationships

Synopsis: Unrequited feelings are a disease and it sure is going around a lot lately.

She wasn’t sure when reality had slapped her in the face, but it had and it had hard.

It had even left its mark. Again, she wasn’t really sure when it had. Or maybe it had every time and she had been so quick with the blush of denial; she never noticed the pink in her cheeks that wasn’t rouge.

But, at long last and overdue, Shindoine was finally ready to face the facts. King Byougen was not in love with her.

She was madly in love with him, but he did not feel the same way. She was nothing but a nuisance to him. Nothing at all to him. Just another replaceable soldier but he was the one to have named her. To have first called her by Shindoine and when he had spoken that name, she had swooned. To be given meaning and identity and purpose but for what? To be just another token in a losing war?

It was awful. Made Shindoine’s heart twist and turn and knot.

She had listened to that wretched thing for so long in the place of advice more down to Earth, stemming from the likes of Guwaiwaru and Daruizen. Shindoine sighed and suddenly nothing mattered to her. Not the shimmer on her eyelids nor the lipstick that she used; her nails seemed blunt despite having been treated this morning.

Even with all the gloom and misery around her, the bubbling and magmic world of one so thoroughly and endlessly undermined, wasn’t quite good enough for the heavy feelings that Shindoine wallowed in. If she was going to feel sorry for herself, she needed somewhere which wasn’t here because here had nothing but pebbles to kick and no one at all to bully.

Somehow being hit with the I told you so from either of her fellow Generals hurt more than the actual revelation that her feelings towards King Byougen were useless.

So, to the Human World it was.

But it wasn’t the same.

When she was on the rampage before, it had been done in the name of love and there was nothing more invigorating than that. And no, the irony wasn’t lost on Shindoine. She was at her peak, physically, mentally, and emotionally, when she was in love. Doing it all for her precious King Byougen. All healthy and refreshed. Disgusting. Now she only had pity and other pathetic feelings for that Shindoine she had been before she had accepted the reality rather than making herself up with make-up and denial.

It was so much rosier back then. Even if back then was mere hours ago, really.

Shindoine looked around. She hardly knew where she was, just walking around in a daze. Sulky and depressed. Worst still, she was ignored. Or at least she thought she was ignored. She was certainly doing a lot of ignoring as she heavied herself with all the different ways that she could negatively self-talk about herself and her stupid, unrequited love.

But looking up, blinking, getting dazzled by the sunlight, she had to squint but Shindoine was almost certain she knew this place. That she had been here before. The stony steps; the wooden building, and a very, very subtle and well-hidden smell of sulfur.

She growled to herself as she let another terrible realisation dawn on her. This was where the blue, water-themed Pretty Cure hailed from. Cure Fontaine. Shindoine could feel her skin crawl but for some reason, it didn’t repel her. Rather, it further attracted her to this building.

It could be fun to wreck. To rend it with all her angst and loathing. Slipping inside undetected wasn’t too hard, either. Shindoine looked around. It was different to a lot of the other human dwellings that she had been inside of. That a vastly different style, to it. The bamboo on the flooring, the layout that had a natural flow to it. It seemed older. She didn’t necessarily dislike it as she explored it for an idea of something to infect with a Nano Byougen.

Only, she didn’t end up doing that. She ended up in its backyard with nothing speaking to her with inspiration. Not in a destructive way at least. Shindoine found herself mildly intrigued by the hot springs. It had been a long day and the warmth was pleasing to her skin. It was gentle; not like the harsh, raking warmth of her home world.

So, she indulged herself. She deserved it, after all. It had been a horrible past few hours and walking around aimlessly in her high heels had done a number on the soles of her feet so she sat down at the rocks. She took off her shoes, took off her pantyhose too and she tried dipping her toes in the water.

Shindoine could have melted when she broke the tranquil meniscus of the water. She shivered and she sighed. It was wonderful as she let herself go deeper; her toes grazing the scrubbed down bottom of the hot springs. It was soft but still had a rocky feel; it was fun texture. For the first time in hours, Shindoine smiled to herself and she drank in her surrounds. How quiet it was; that hidden smell of sulfur. Oh, it was perfect.

It could have been perfect.

It was perfect, very much so, right up until the moment when she heard a clatter behind her. Something dropped in surprise, buckets and brooms and that sort of thing.

Shindoine turned her head with a scowl. She saw a familiar face that she couldn’t quite place but she knew her luck, even if she didn’t know this girl as that girl was undoubtedly Cure Fontaine, even if she wasn’t in her big, plucky dress and the like. She smiled awkwardly.

“My apologies,” she began and Shindoine was almost about to tell her to save it before she continued, “I didn’t realise that we had a guest.”

She then bent down to pick up what she had dropped - and it had been exactly what Shindoine had thought, a bucket and a mop. Shindoine glared. Pouted, too, chewing the inside of her cheek.

“I can leave, too, if you would prefer privacy. I don’t want to disturb someone whilst they are soaking.” she said.

“If its you, I don’t mind.” Shindoine said. “We can call a truce for today, Fontaine, I’m not bothered enough to go on a rampage today.”

“Oh, dear…” she murmured, and she set aside her cleaning supplies.

Shindoine groaned to herself. Now she had gone and done it. She had a feeling that this was about to be more bothersome than conjuring a Megabyougen and trying to destroy the place. And yet, she didn’t try to do that. To throw dirt in the face of that truce and instead let the Pretty Cure sit down next to her. Her feet dipping into the water and all as she held onto her apron, a look of concern on her face.

It made Shindoine sick to her stomach. The way this girl could just give her a break like this. If it was the other way around, Shindoine knew that she would be merciless. One of the Pretty Cure having a bad day? There wouldn’t be another opportunity like it but the moment she, the villainess and arch-nemesis of this very girl has a bad day?

She sits down with her and makes the most soft-eyed expressions. It revolted Shindoine as she tried to look away from said soft-eyed expressions. She was too pretty, that girl. It irked Shindoine.

She sat down next to her and straightened up her apron that she wore and looked up to Shindoine and said, “You can call me Chiyu, if you like.”

Shindoine very much did not like that but she did anyway.

“What’s got you so down, hm? Do you want to talk about it?” Chiyu asked.

Shindoine very much did not want to talk about it with Chiyu but she did anyway. In a small, uncertain voice, she admitted to this Pretty Cure what the troubles with her bubbles were, making ripples in the water with her foot, Shindoine very simply explained herself, “He’s not in love with me.”

Chiyu’s expression all but shattered. That soft look in her blue eyes hardened, turned almost icy and if Shindoine didn’t know any better, she would say that Chiyu empathesied very much with her crisis.

And sure enough, she did, she mumbled back, “I know the feeling.”

“Oh please,” Shindoine huffed, flicking water about, “as if. Who in the world would turn down you? Me? I can understand. Who would want a no-good villainess around, only useful as cannon fodder, no different to the other two dweebs I hang out with but you? Beautiful, brilliant Pretty Cure who always saves the day? Yeah right, girlie, you are yanking my chain so knock it off.”

“No, really,” Chiyu insisted, “I know the feeling and you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You are beautiful and brilliant in your own right, Shindoine, you always give your all. Its admirable, even if, er, yes you are trying to destroy the planet but, um, perhaps if you are intruding on a party of two… Then yes, you would get turned down.”

Shindoine gasped. “No way.” she exclaimed.

Chiyu nodded and she twiddled her thumbs, “Yes way.” She mumbled.

“Pinkie and Yellow, huh?” Shindoine teased.

“Yes, it seems they have coupled up but knowing they are exclusive does little to quell the crush I have on Nodoka regardless.” Chiyu murmured.

“Here’s to us then.” Shindoine murmured.

“Here’s to us.” Chiyu echoed back.

They were both quiet for a moment. Letting on the hot springs make almost imperceptible noises for them until, eventually, they both had to do something. To move, to make a sound. They both turned their heads at just the right time to catch the other doing the same and there was a genuine understanding of pity and grief of being unrequited between them.

Chiyu smiled, sympathetic. “You’re not too bad when you’re not trying to destroy the world.”

“Gee, thanks.” Shindoine sarcastically replied. “You’re not too bad either, when you’re not trying to save the world.”

Chiyu laughed.

“That makes you laugh?” Shindoine asked.

“Well, um, not really. I prefer puns, actually.” Chiyu admitted.

Now Shindoine was laughing and quite raucously at that. She closed her eyes to it and she tried to imagine Chiyu having a real belly ache over something as stupid as that. Stupider still, she couldn’t think of one to test and when she opened her eyes, Shindoine was caught off guard by how beautiful Chiyu looked in the sunglitter bouncing off the still waters, sitting prim and proper. All whilst emanating this sincerity that almost made Shindoine want to switch sides.

She was just so lost. She couldn’t bring herself to destroy the world for someone who would just destroy her, so she looked longingly onto this girl and she felt almost refreshed. There was a wondering, it lived within the glint of the sunlight and the water of the hot springs, and she took that chance.

Shindoine kissed Chiyu on the lips. Surprising her.

Chiyu was too stunned to kiss back but she couldn’t deny there wasn’t a fizzle to it either. She could feel the skin on her lips literally burn off the longer that Shindoine kissed her. The taste was rancid, but she could feel the kind passion behind it.

Shindoine, meanwhile, sighed into the kiss. Where it was hurting Chiyu, it was healing her. Chiyu’s lips were soft and wet; vaguely tasting of cleanly mint and once upon a time, Shindoine would have been disgusted by that. Right now, in this mid-afternoon moment, it intrigued her. It was all part of the experience as she took this foray into the light and when she broke back, she moaned.

There were burns and blisters on Chiyu’s lips. She instinctively tried to cover up her mouth, now wounded but it just made her seem cuter. Shindoine smiled to herself. She thought they were just the right shade of red tinged with pus; she tilted her head to the side and Chiyu felt flustered by her stare and just how fond it was.

“I’m still not sure what to do with myself but… I like you at the very least.” Shindoine said. She then got up abruptly, she flipped her long hair off her back and generally fussed. “I best be going.”

“Okay then,” Chiyu replied, feeling a little stood up, being kissed and ghosted in one fell swoop, “but will I see you soon?”

“I hope so. If I don’t try and destroy this world, the others will and those two are losers so.” Shindoine murmured.

“I see…” Chiyu murmured, downhearted.

Beginning to walk away from Chiyu, scared of leaving what she was literally created to do despite her apprehensions of her usefulness unto it, Shindoine added, “Healin’ goodbye… That’s what you guys say, yes? Well, I’m feelin’ it, at least a little bit, and its strangely not that bothersome or tiresome.”

Shindoine had no idea if she was giving Chiyu false hope of some redemption in those words. All she wanted was love. Love to infect her and to infect others with love and with those marks on Chiyu’s lips, Shindoine had certainly accomplished something like that.

“I’m glad so, um, get well soon.” Chiyu said, chipper despite her hesitance which dipped into over-confidence because she was making a joke. Her laughter was proof of that even if it made Shindoine roll her eyes.

Chiyu’s demeanour was so bright that Shindoine was glad she had her back turned but she could feel how bright they were. It unsettled her; it made her skin crackle and blister no different to her kiss unto Chiyu because even thoigh bleach was cleansing, it was still a poison.

Shindoine smiled. She disappeared soon after, but she did take Chiyu’s bidding her farewell in good, amused heart. She wanted to get well soon as well as unrequited love was a disease. Though, having said that, she wasn’t too sure what that made her kindling with Chiyu because it didn’t feel like sickness, but it wasn’t a cure either but it was a middle ground that maybe Shindoine could get used to.

#femslash #precure #healin good precure #healin good #shindoine #shindoine (precure)#chiyu sawaizumi #sawaizumi chiyu #cure fontaine #chiyu x shindoine #shindoine x chiyu #shindochiyu #i wasn't gonna post this tongiht but someone booted me up the arse on the precure server im on #because i am a sensitive little baby who is also incredibly vindictive #age gap cw #enemies to lovers cw

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kalgalen · 5 years

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31 jm

I started this before this week’s ep but boy did it give me more fodder

Tell me a nice memory.

Cutting off a part of himself was never going to be easy.

It’s not literal, this time, but it isn’t any less painful. He’s attempting to destroy that which brought him back to life once before, and the process feels like dying all over again - but slowly, this time, as shreds of himself are torn away by the cruel talons of a god that doesn’t give anything for free. The Powers don’t look kindly on the ones who chose to reject them, especially when they’ve embraced them so thoroughly in the past. The Eye will take and take until it’s got everything it has ever given him back, and does not care if everything that’s left once the Archivist is gone is an empty shell.

It’s a choice Jon had to make, though, after the world had not ended. He couldn’t justify keeping his status, after everything they’ve been through; the monster wasn’t needed anymore. Perhaps dying would have been simpler then - and he’d tasted the same thing in Melanie’s thoughts and side glances: we should just kill him.

But Martin had caught it too, and he had taken a sidestep closer to Jon, and glared at Melanie with such ferocious protectiveness Jon had felt his knees weaken.

And so he’s giving up on the monstrous part of himself. It feels like painstakingly picking shards of glass out of an old wound, like rooting out ivy from the old tree it’s keeping together. They’ve locked him in Elias’s old office; it isn’t the most agreeable place to spend his days and nights in, but it’s got a couch that’s comfortable enough, and the others can check on him regularly. They bring him food, as well as books to keep him distracted, but it’s like being offered vegetable scraps when what he craves is a five-courses meal.

Daisy and Basira visit quite often, together or on their own, for mindless chatter - or companionable silence, as they each settle with a book and read quietly for a few hours. Melanie doesn’t come unless she’s on meal duty, and he supposes he should be grateful she agrees to do that at all. She seems to be warming up to him, though; he doubts she’ll ever go as far as calling him a friend, but she sticks around for a bit, once, and tells him Georgie has been asking about him.

“And… what did you tell her?” he had tentatively asked, voice rough with disuse. Melanie had shrugged.

“I said you were trying.”

Which is probably the most charitable way to describe his situation. There’s not much he can actually do to help with the withdrawal process; he can only hold for dear life when the deprivation hits him badly, and hope he won’t wake up outside of the Institute with several more victims on his conscience - and in his dreams.

The nightmares have never been a fun part of his night, but now, as he loses the favor of the Beholding, they are even less so. He stops being a silent witnesses, living instead through the terrors that happened to other people. Buried, hunted, haunted; he wakes up choking on a scream more than once, spending the rest of the night with all the lights turned on and his back to the wall.

He feels lonely. No one asks how he’s doing in that fight against himself; the memory of the things he’s done is still too raw for them to pity him the way they would a human being. It’s unfair, and it hurts, and he hopes he can earn their forgiveness some day; in the meantime, he can only pretend he does not care when they find him huddled in a corner after a particularly bad attack, skin marred with bloody grooves and cheeks still wet with tears.

Jon misses Martin.

Martin visits a couple of times a week, mostly to bring him food, sometimes to tell him news from the outside. Jon shouldn’t miss him; but even if they’ve won, even now that the distance isn’t necessary anymore, he can’t help but feel like Martin’s avoiding him. He’s avoiding his gaze, for sure - though Jon can’t blame him for this. Martin talks about the weather as if it’s the prelude for something bigger and more important, but then tells Jon to have a good day and disappears. Their meetings are a frustrating ballet of silent apologies and unsaid confessions.

Jon misses Martin.

He knows Martin is fighting battles on his own. On some days - the bad ones, when his Sight is particularly strong - he can still catch glimpses of the fog stuck to the sole of Martin’s shoes, or the gossamer threads of silk caught between his fingers - or the inhuman spark in his eyes, hungry and curious, mirroring Jon’s own. And it feels - silly, and counterproductive, to avoid addressing their common struggle as an attempt to normalcy. What they save in shared awkwardness they suffer in private anguish.

This is no way to heal.

When Jon finally decides to break the ice, it’s more out of necessity than thanks to a spark of bravery. He’s not been having a good day; the Archives are calling to him, promising knowledge and power and relief, and he’s backed himself into a corner of the couch, frowning deeply at the book in his hands. He’s been reading the same paragraph over and over again, unable to focus on the lines; he hungers for more than empty words.

He jumps when the key turns in the lock, but slightly relaxes when Martin slips through, holding a tray.

“Hey,” Martin says, careful.

“Hi,” answers Jon. He closes the book, not bothering to hold it at the right page, and watches as Martin deposit the tray on Elias’ desk.

Martin shuffles in place, uncomfortable but unwilling to leave so soon; Jon finds himself smiling - longing.

“So. How was your…day?” Martin asks, putting on an interested face.

Jon chuckles, makes a show to think about it for a second.

“Oh, you know. Been doing some light reading, mostly? Not much else to do around.”

Martin winces. “Right.” He doesn’t let the short answer stop him, though. “Is it any good?”

Jon looks down on the ornate leather cover. He’s actually not even sure what it is about at all. He shrugs.

“Hard to tell. Did you know there still are two different letters from Adelard Dekker down in the Archives?”

Martin’s optimistic attitude doesn’t withstand this particular blow; he sighs, leans his hip against the desk as he crosses his arms. He’s deadly serious, suddenly, and Jon is reminded once again of how much he’s changed.

“You know you can’t ever see those, right?”

Jon slumps, feeling like a chided child.

“Right. Of course, I know. But I also know they’re here, and I want -” He cuts himself with a frustrated sign. He knows he has to take responsibility for his actions, but the yearning that lives in his chest isn’t his. Not entirely. “It wants to know, and I can’t stop thinking about it, and I swear I’ve been trying -”

The last few words are lost as he chokes on a sob. He swallows hard, tries to blink frustrated tears from his eyes as he looks away. He feels pitiful - the miserable shell of a man, about to crumple on itself if he doesn’t find anything else to fill him soon.

The couch dips when Martin sits next to him, and it takes all of Jon’s frayed will not to shuffle closer to his heat, both metaphorical and literal.

On his lap, Martin’s fingers are fiddling with the fabric of his pants; his hesitation is almost palpable in the silence of the office. Jon can taste his decisiveness on his tongue a split second before he speaks up:

“Alright, come here.”

Jon looks at him, bewildered. Martin has opened his arms for a hug and is staring at him expectantly, resolution in the slope of his eyebrow but apprehension in the set of his mouth. It takes a beat more for Jon to understand what he means, and that he means it, and then he’s closing the distance between them and letting himself being wrapped in an embrace that instantly loosen the knot in his throat.

It occurs to him he’s never hugged Martin before. Slowly, his movements jerky and unsure, he raises his arms - closes them around Martin’s middle and lets his face fall into the crook of Martin’s neck, breathing in deeply.

“You - are you alright, Jon?” Martin asks after a moment. “Or rather, is there anything I can do to help?”

One of his hands has started rubbing soothingly the back of Jon’s head, and with each scrape of fingers in his hair his mind strays further from the hunger in his chest.

“Don’t leave, please,” he mumbles into Martin’s collar.

“I’ll - I can stay with you for a bit. Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Martin hums and keeps petting him, and the tension Jon has been feeling for so long starts to fade. He closes his eyes.

“Do you mind if we - This isn’t the best position,” Martin says, half-pulling away. Jon is confused until he understands what Martin in trying to do. They rearrange themselves until they’re sitting side by side, Jon’s head on Martin’s shoulder, Martin’s fingers still running through Jon’s hair.

“Not that I’m complaining about what we’re doing right now,” Martin chuckles, “but is there anything else I can do?”

“I -” Jon hesitates. There’s an idea forming in his mind, something that might satisfy his hunger without having him giving up on his control. A parody of a statement, something for himself instead of for the Eye. He licks his lips, but in nervousness more that anticipation. “I don’t think I know you well yet, and I think it’s a shame, because we - because I, uh,” missed you love you want you to stay here with me for as long as possible, “care about you, you know? So I was thinking - can you tell me about yourself?”

Martin blinks at him in surprise, then squints.

“This isn’t - like, Beholding-related, right? Because you know I can’t do that.”

“No! Not at all. I just - I truly want to know you. What brings you joy. What makes you happy. That sort of thing. Tell me - tell me a nice memory.”

“A reverse-statement, huh?” Martin smiles, and Jon thinks the sight alone might be enough to bring him back to humanity. “Okay, I can do that. Give me a second.”

Martin thinks for a bit, and Jon closes his eyes again, letting himself enjoy the scrapping of nails against his scalp. When Martin starts speaking again, he is Jon’s only focus.

“So there was that one time, when my dad was still around…”

#ask meme #i'm gonna put in on ao3 as well cuz it's LONGER THAN EXPECTED #the magnus archives #jonmartin #fic tag #therashumoneffect

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teaveetamer · 4 years

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My Issues With TFioS (and Other Elements of John Green)

Alright I’m just going to preface this with two things.

It’s been about six years since I’ve read the entire thing through, so my points are probably not going to be as detailed or precise as they were when I first read it.

If you enjoyed the book, identify with the fanbase, or like John Green in any capacity... Great! You might want to skip this one. This is definitely not the post for you. I’m going to put all of my more controversial thoughts under the cut so if you don’t want to see them you can just move on.

I brought up the book in that other post because I felt it had relevance to the discussion of “authors using characters as a mouthpiece”, but that’s only a small part of my issue with the book itself. I suppose I could have used a fanfiction example, since there’s more than enough fodder there, but I brought up The Fault in our Stars specifically because I feel comfortable criticizing a book in a way that I don’t feel comfortable criticizing fan works. John Green is a public figure that produced a paid product, made money, and does this professionally, while most fanfic authors are amateurs that provide free entertainment and just do it for fun.

Now with that said, we move on to the meat of the post.

Some Background

Perhaps this is not a little known fact, but I absolutely adore love stories. I don’t have incredibly high standards for them by any means, and in fact I actively enjoy them even when they aren’t the deepest, most thought provoking pieces. Someone got me a copy of Red, White, and Royal Blue for my birthday this year and I read the entire thing cover to cover in a day (and I seriously recommend if you’re looking for a pretty easy read with a lot of gay).

The only thing I love more than love stories? Tragic love stories, of course. If anyone has followed my fanfiction or main blog for any amount of time then you know that I love a little bit of tragedy. Usually with a happy ending, but not always. So when one of my friends shoved (and I mean literally shoved) The Fault in Our Stars into my hands and billed it as a “tragic but heartwarming love story” I thought it would be perfect for me.

I was sixteen at the time, the target age demographic, and I was always looking for books with smart, well written teen characters. At this point in my life I’d never heard of John Green or his fanbase before. I tell you this because I disliked the book as I read it, but I think John Green and his fanbase are a major factor in why I disliked it so much I’m willing to sit down and write a blog post about it six years later. Granted, that’s not all on the book, but it is a factor.

Needless to say, I was not all that impressed by it. At some points I was downright infuriated, really.

My Issues With the Book

In summary, it feels very meh and overly pretentious. After about two chapters I just wanted to put it down, and the only reason I pushed through is because my friend insisted that it got better. She said it was funny, relatable, and intelligent, but I found it to be none of these things.

The impression I got was that the author, whoever he was, fancied himself terribly clever and he wanted everyone to know it. You know the type, the kinds of people that go around and assure everyone of how smart they are? It feels like it was made for haughty teens to brag about how intelligent they were because they read a “deep” book. The book itself, despite being a surface level of “witty”, didn’t really have anything to say. In the end it reads like a thirty-something year old man bragging about how smart he is and waxing philosophical about the nature of life (and... Breakfast food..?) and using a fictional teenage girl to do it.

That’s why I brought up the “mouthpiece” thing. I didn’t want to read a book about a thirty-something dressing up his thoughts as a teenage girl. I wanted to read a book about a teenage girl.

Speaking of Hazel Grace… I don’t know if this is a common experience, but can anyone else tell when a man writes a female character? I find that I usually can. Men have a particular voice when they write, and especially when they write women. Every single page hammered me over the head with the fact that this was a man who was trying (and, in my opinion, failing miserably) to write a relatable teenage girl. And, in my opinion, he parroted a lot of very upsetting, dangerous mentalities for young women.

There were quite a few “I’m not like other girls, and not just because of the cancer!” moments (a mentality that I find wholly problematic coming from other women, let alone a man writing for a woman) that just had me rolling my eyes straight out of their sockets. She doesn’t care about shoes, see! She reads books! Isn’t that awesome and unique? Because, apparently, women are not allowed to do both.

These problematic mentalities extend into the book’s romance plot, too. Augustus is, frankly, one of the creepiest motherfuckers I’ve ever had the displeasure to read about. Not only is his aggressive creepiness portrayed as romantic, but Hazel reacts exactly how men wish women would react to their advances. Unfortunately I don’t have a copy of the book in front of me so you won’t get much in the way of direct quotes, but some examples include:

He stares at her, completely unblinking, for the duration of their cancer kids support group meeting… before they’ve even so much as spoken a word to each other. Which also features this gem of a quote: "A nonhot boy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy . . . well." which just perpetuates the disgusting misconception that women are okay with being creeped on as long as a guy is attractive. Spoiler alert: We fucking aren’t.

He repeatedly refers to Hazel as “Hazel Grace”, despite her introducing herself as “Hazel” and asking him to just call her “Hazel”. And not only does he ask for her full name, he demands she give it to him. This rings all kinds of alarm bells for me, because you know who else does that kind of shit? Christian Grey. And it’s manipulative, disrespectful, and downright rude. It is essentially saying “I hear your desires, but I would prefer to address you how I want to address you, not how you would like to be addressed, because my ego is more important than your comfort”.

Hazel is perfectly fine with getting into a complete stranger’s car and spending time at his house mere minutes after meeting with him and after all of the questionable shit he just pulled.

Continuing this book’s litany of problems with women, let’s talk about Isaac’s (ex)girlfriend. The book treats their breakup as this massive betrayal, then even goes on to justify vandalizing her property because of it.

I’m sorry, but no.

You, as an autonomous human being, have the right to end a relationship with someone else whenever, wherever, and for whatever reasons you designate, regardless of previously expressed emotions or promises. How and when she did it was not the most ideal, but she’s an emotionally immature teenager, and there’s never going to be a good time to do something like this. What was she supposed to do, keep pity dating him because she felt sorry for him? Wait until someone invented technology to cure blindness? Assuming she did actually break up with him because of his disability… Are her reasons shitty? Sure. But she’s allowed to have them.

And you know what? He’s allowed to be mad about it. His anger might be completely understandable, if not totally justified. But you know what else? That does not give him the right to take revenge on her by vandalizing her property.

I would have no problem with this scene if it were honest about what it was: a bunch of teenagers with under-developed frontal lobes that are angry and feeling vindictive. But it’s not that. It’s depicted as not only completely justified, but heroic. I’m sorry, no. You are never heroic for harassing another human being.

And Augustus’s dumb little speech to her mom is such garbage. You really expect me to believe that a grown woman was so pwned by some jerk teenager’s super witty justification for destroying her property that she just went inside and, idk, watched TV? Didn’t call the police to report the crime that he and his friends were actively committing against her? Bullshit.

Speaking of bullshit, that scene is pretty egregious, but that doesn’t even begin to cover my issues with this book’s pretentious dialogue. If you told me that they ran every word in this book through Thesaurus.com then I would believe you without hesitation. The one hook, the draw, the thing that kept me reading was supposed to be the relatable characters, but they just aren’t relatable. They’re not realistic in the slightest. Seriously, go read any line of this book out loud and tell me how ridiculous you feel. I kept expecting Augustus to pull off his skinsuit and reveal that he was secretly a robot trying to imitate human speech the entire time.

I’m not sure how far I can go into this point without giving you direct quotes, but half the stuff that comes out of these characters mouths is pseudo-intellectual nonsense. “Put the killing thing between your teeth so it can’t kill you”?

It’s not a metaphor.

Putting an unlit cigarette in your mouth is still stupid. I guess it won’t give you lung cancer, but really? It’s still not a great idea.

Augustus has to go buy these cigarettes, which means he’s actively going out and giving money to an industry that has been funding pseudoscience and suppressing health initiatives that would prevent people from suffering what he did (i.e. fucking cancer).

Here’s a clue: Tobacco companies don’t actually care about what you do with the cigarettes. Their transaction stops as soon as you put the money in their hands. I could purchase a hundred packs and throw them in the garbage, and the only thing they know is that they got about $600 from me. Way to “stick it to the man”, asshole. You’re not clever.

With the exception of the Isaac’s-girlfriend thing, all of that is in chapters 1-4, by the way. This book turned me off so thoroughly that early.

So by the time the Amsterdam trip rolled around I was already not enjoying this book, but then this thing happened and it was just the final nail in the coffin for me. You probably know what I’m talking about already, but if you don’t… The Anne Frank Museum kiss.

I honestly cannot even articulate how incredibly tasteless and disrespectful I find the entire thing, and not only does that happen, but it’s followed by an r/ThatHappened “and then everybody stood up and clapped!” Seriously?

There are smarter, more well-versed people than me that have covered this topic, so I’ll leave the analysis for why that’s all kinds of wrong to them.

Those are really my big gripes, though there’s a few smaller ones (like Augustus throwing a pre-funeral like are you a psychopath? Why would you put the people you love through that???) that I’m not going to touch on because they weren’t all that instrumental in putting me off. Instead I’ll move on to the external factors.

The Fanbase

So I finished the book, a little miffed at having just wasted my time, and immediately told my friend that I didn’t like it much, and that I would be returning her copy the next day. Feeling pretty meh-to-slightly-negative about it, but whatever, it happens.

I was essentially met with “wow I can’t believe you didn’t get it.” and “Oh well maybe you’ll finally understand how deep it is when you’re older” from my friend. Which is really just one step away from the wow can’t you read?! BS that I’ve been seeing more and more frequently these days. So immediately I was pissed. All that aside, I was sixteen, the target age demographic? If I didn’t ‘get it’ then John Green was doing a pretty piss poor job of conveying what it is.

So I went online seeking something. Either validation that I wasn’t wrong and that I didn’t miss the point, the book just wasn’t great, or an explanation of what this it was that I’d missed. And let me tell you... Spotting a negative opinion of this book was like looking for a unicorn. There were a few, and many of them were met with the same kind of thing I had experienced. Vitriol, insistence that they were stupid or that they didn’t get it (again, with no explanation of what it was), and, apparently, a lot of harassment and threats.

I discovered that John Green’s target audience had a tendency to be… A bit obsessive. Lots of young, impressionable teenagers that were willing to jump on an opposing opinion with zealous outrage. If I had any interest in pursuing any of John Green’s other works or John Green as an internet personality any further, then it died in that moment. Absolutely nothing turns me off like a rabid, spiteful fanbase.

Now by this point I was already in the rabbit hole, and I began encountering a lot of criticisms of John Green and the things he’s said and done in the past. I did not like what I found.

John Green Himself

To be extremely blunt, the guy put such a bad taste in my mouth that it retroactively soured my opinion of The Fault in Our Stars even more. Since this is a post about my opinions on the book, I’m only going to be discussing things that affected my view at the time I read it. These are all things that happened six years ago, and I have no idea what this man has been up to or what he’s said about any of these topics since.

Let’s just get this out of the way… John Green writes the same book over and over. There’s always a quirky, nerdy white boy that is invariably cisgendered, and almost always straight. He is always an outcast with only a few friends, though apparently never directly bullied. He always meets an edgy girl that he falls in love with the idea of. Usually there is a road trip somewhere in there too.

The Fault in our Stars admittedly doesn’t follow the exact same framework, but it’s close enough in a lot of ways. Instead of the Quirky, Too-Smart-For-His-Own-Good cisboi being the PoV character, it’s the love interest (Hazel also fits this description, albeit a female version). Hazel and Augustus are both still outcasts. Hazel is attracted to Augustus because he’s Deep and Edgy and A Little Larger Than Life. The road trip is a flight to Amsterdam.

Looking at the man... Yeah the entire premise starts to come off as some weird self-insert fanfiction. I can feel the “I was a quirky, bullied teen and I wish this is how my high school life had been!” energy coming through absolutely every pore and every molecule of ink. Every character reads like John Green. John Green has written book after book and the main character always appears to be John Green in a slightly different teenage skinsuit.

And that’s fine, I guess. A little lazy, but I guess it’s working for him since he’s making hella bank? It’s certainly not enough to put me off the guy, just not something I’m interested in reading, and not something I find compelling.

What put me off for good were some of his comments. Dude skeeves me the fuck out. I’ll just go over some of the highlights I found at the time, and why they upset me so much when I heard them.

“Nerd girls are the world's most underutilized romantic resource.”

As a nerdy girl that has been stalked and harassed by men because I’m “good girlfriend material” (aka I like video games and traditionally masculine stuff and I’m pretty! I must be a unicorn!), this statement is disgusting.

I don’t care if it was a joke. I don’t care if he wasn’t being serious. This is the kind of shit that men think is a compliment because they think it makes “quirky” girls feel “unique” and “special”, but that “complement” is also an insult. You know why? Because it makes female interests all about how men perceive their sexual or romantic viability.

John Green’s penchant for writing “special” and “unique” girls (while simultaneously shaming “typical” girls, but I’ll get to that in the next point) and depicting them as the ideal woman just reaffirms my feelings about this quote. I think, on some level, John Green has no idea why this is such a bad take. And that’s not even getting into the fact that he called human beings resources. Women are not objects that exist to be a plot device or for your gratification. Fuck right off with that shit.

“She was incredibly hot, in that popular-girl-with-bleached-teeth-and-anorexia kind of way, which was Colin’s least favourite way of being hot”

This is just one quote of many that shames people with eating disorders and weight problems (on both ends of the spectrum, “too fat” and “too skinny”. Another fun one being: “there’s the weird culturally-constructed definition of hot, which means ‘that individual is malnourished, and has probably had plastic bags inserted into her breasts.’")

Know what this line is? It’s called “negging”, and it’s a popular tactic of incels because it works. You make someone seek your approval by intentionally giving them backhanded compliments to undermine their self esteem. The idea is that the more you insult them, the harder they’ll work to try and impress you. It doesn’t work on everyone, but you know who it does tend to work on? Insecure younger people (usually girls). You know who John Green’s target audience is? Insecure teenage girls.

As for the actual substance of the quote… I hate it. He’s shaming a woman for the choices she makes over her appearance. Which are, fun fact, none of his damn business. Also the idea that “skinny” and “anorexic” somehow need to go hand in hand is just wrong, insulting women for a mental health disorder they have no control over is offensive, and using a serious mental health disorder (did you know that anorexia is the most deadly mental health condition?) as an insult is disgusting.

Coming back to my earlier point about shaming “normal” girls, this quote is just the tip of the iceberg. He repeatedly shames women in his books for looking or behaving “typically”, while quirky girls are lauded as the ideal. Quirky girls are “weird and interesting” and normal girls are “boring”. If this was intended as a compliment, it’s a shitty one. If you have to shame one group to make another feel better, it is not a compliment. You are lowering all women when you pull that shit. You teach them that in order to feel good about themselves another group has to be made to feel worse.

And hey, maybe the pretty girl likes her teeth bleached because it makes her feel confident? Why can’t bleached teeth girl and anime t-shirt girl both be beautiful and unique and confident in their own right? Why is it “powerful” for anime t-shirt girl to wear her nerdy clothes, but scorn-worthy for bleached teeth girl to like bleaching her teeth?

What John Green is doing is simply replacing one ideal (skinny pretty girl) with another (quirky cute girl), and then he pretends like his version is somehow “woke” because it’s not based on physical appearance (though all of the women in his books are also physically attractive. Hmmm. Guess “nerd girls” are only “viable resources” when they aren’t hard to look at?).

And trust me, I’ve been down this path. I’ve been taken in by guys who try to make me feel ~special~ by putting down other women, and it leads to absolutely nothing good. It doesn’t make you feel better. It just makes you feel angry and resentful, and that’s not a place you want to be in. In fact, this was a mentality I had recently escaped from around the time I picked up this book. Seeing someone with as much influence as John Green parroting this specific brand of toxic shit to exactly the audience that would be most likely to feed into it? I was never going to be able to like the guy, sorry.

I know some people are able to “separate the art from the artist”, and I might have been willing to do that had the book actually been good… but it wasn’t. So in the end the book just looked worse for all of the author’s shortcomings.

So yeah, in summary: The book was mediocre at best, the author pushed all of my angry feminist buttons, and elements of the fanbase were annoying, condescending, and spiteful. I didn’t like the book in the first place due to the myriad of problems plaguing it, but everything else just made it look so much worse in hindsight.

Anyways, this probably got kind of ranty, but it was cathartic and I did make this blog to vent about dumb stuff. I think this qualifies.

#Personal stuff #TFioS Opinion Piece #Sorry it took so long #I had a lot to say #A little ranty

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bearingwater · 5 years

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January Forecast for Aquarius

Ease your way into 2019, as gently as you can. The calendar’s turn is always a little weird for you, because the Sun is in Capricorn and your sleepy twelfth house until the third week of January. Going straight from celebration to hibernation is what your system naturally wants to do. But this go-round, that might not be so easy. With two eclipses jolting you into action on January 5 and 21, there are important moves to make…and you don’t want to snooze through those!

On January 5, your twelfth house of closure is activated by a partial solar (new moon) eclipse in Capricorn, which could shut one door firmly so you can open another. What part of your identity or your past no longer serves you, Aquarius? Let it go so you can make way for the new. With structured Saturn traveling close to the Sun for the first week of the year (making an exact meetup on January 2), you may boldly shed an outworn part of your identity or life. Your father or a significant male might factor into events at this eclipse. You may also establish a new relationship with a mentor figure or be trained by a helpful person who’s a seasoned veteran of your industry. Artists and healers could gain unexpected recognition at the solar eclipse, or you might decide to commit yourself to mastering your craft in 2019.

On January 11, the mystical side of this eclipse could reveal itself, when the Sun makes its annual conjunction (meetup) with transformational Pluto in Capricorn. You may feel called to do some deep forgiveness work, especially if you’ve been clinging to resentment or projecting your past pain onto someone you care about. This Sun-Pluto meetup could bring a psychic moment, perhaps through a dream or a session with a healer. If you’ve ever wanted to try a past-life regression or work with a medium, you may get a serendipitous sign from a departed loved one now. Some profound puzzle pieces can come together in the first two weeks of the year, but you’ll have to be receptive to intuitive flashes and “messages” from your subconscious. Journaling, meditation or sound healing could open the channels.

Amid all this right-brained activity, your logical left brain will also have a heyday in January. Your co-ruler Uranus will rocket out of a five-month retrograde on January 6, powering forward in Aries and your third house of communication. Your trailblazing ideas (and possibly your shockingly authentic commentary) will be back on the fast track again. With assertive Mars also in Aries from January 1 to February 14, your feistiness could reach epic levels. Be careful not to get TOO in people’s faces about stuff, Aquarius, even if you’re valiantly defending your creative freedom or beliefs.

Still, it’s important to nail down your messaging now because on March 6, Uranus will depart Aries, not to return again in your lifetime. You’ve got two more months to put yourself out there in a bold and original way. Writing, teaching, social media and communication-based projects get a special boost. With Mars and Uranus in your third house of community, you might suddenly pick up and move to a new neighborhood or take on an unexpected role in a local project. Your inner social-justice warrior could be fired up now, and this is the perfect year to collaborate with like-minded people around a world-bettering cause.

But before you go splashing truth serum on the world or blasting out an opinion you can’t un-Tweet, make sure your thinking is clear. On January 13, the first of this year’s three challenging squares forms between outspoken Jupiter and hazy Neptune, which can lead to confusion and mixed messages. Jupiter is in your eleventh house of groups while Neptune is in your second house of money and security. This could bring anything from a confidence shake-up to disruptive drama in your social circle. Who are your real friends, and who’s just hanging around because they want something from you?

You may start to notice that a certain friendship has become one-sided or codependent, especially with needy Neptune in the mix. Perhaps there’s someone whose ego always needs a boost or who expects you to pick up the pieces (and the tab) when they make a mess out of their lives. Are you relying too heavily on others for validation or to boost your own status? With Jupiter in your technology house, you might need to take a social media break, especially if you’ve gotten overly concerned with counting “likes” at the expense of connection. Jupiter and Neptune will form two more exact squares on June 16 and September 21, but you’ll feel their tension throughout the year.

You’ll be ready to focus on numero uno again starting January 20, when the Sun swings into Aquarius for a month, kicking off your birthday season. Hibernation: interrupted! Those sluggish vibes that started the year will soon be a thing of the past. Unclear about your direction for 2019? The fog lifts, and you’ll radar in on what YOU want to accomplish this year. Any adventures topping your bucket list? Enlist a couple of trustworthy wingpeople and make those into a reality.

Your closest ties come under major scrutiny on January 21, when a Leo full supermoon and total lunar eclipse blaze into your seventh house of committed partnerships. From romance to finance to friendship, this eclipse will shake up the status quo. A budding connection could move swiftly into official status—or end abruptly. Or you could have an epiphany about what you’re willing to accept from a relationship or how to make your bottom line your top priority. If finding love is on your 2019 resolution list, this eclipse will bring a no-BS realization about how you might be blocking that…or what your savviest next steps should be.

This is the grand finale in a two-year series of eclipses that’s lit up the Leo-Aquarius axis since February 2017, transforming your personal identity as well as your approach to commitment. You’ve gotten so much clearer about who you are and what you stand for, since every six months an eclipse would nearly force you to assert yourself or step into the spotlight. Your interpersonal dynamics have naturally shifted, and as a result there could have been a reshuffling on Team Aquarius. You won’t experience eclipses here again until 2026, so use this powerful portal to make sure your relationships are on solid ground.

Once again, you may have to put on some filters before you clear the air, though. Also on January 21, intense Mars in your communication house locks into an embattled square with rigid Saturn in your twelfth house of closure. Even if you need to set a firm boundary or let someone know that you’re upset, watch your tone: This cosmic clash can either make you overly aggressive or the host of an epic pity party. Instead of hurling accusations or playing the blame game, try to begin any statement with “I feel” rather than “You.”

Or just wait a couple days until January 25, when Mars will form a harmonizing trine with authentic Jupiter, helping you serve up the #realtalk with love and generosity. The blissful union of these courageous planets will activate your interpersonal sectors, helping you step into other people’s shoes and listen with much more acceptance. It’s an amazing day to branch out and network, sparking up new dialogues and friendships.

Redirect your attention if you’re angry. Who knows? That person or issue that seemed SO infuriating a few days ago may now become comedic fodder. Your tale of woe could be a story so outrageous it sends you and a rapt audience into side-splitting hysterics when you reenact it. Laughter is truly the best medicine, and you might enjoy a hearty dose of it as the month ends.

Love & Romance

Witty banter and stimulating conversations are your most effective aphrodisiacs this month as lusty Mars blazes through Aries and your mental, expressive third house until February 14. This can have the effect of drawing people to you like moths to a tiki flame. If you’re looking for romance—or just some fun, flirty times—this is one exciting transit!

But if you’re coupled up, or just not feeling it, you may want to lay a little low because you WILL be found! You might be attracted to a brainy geek or wordsmith; “boring” is not going to cut it for you! With aggro Mars heating up your communication corner, watch for a tendency to be a bit argumentative or sarcastic. If you’re in a relationship, don’t take your beloved for granted or make the rookie error of dumping your stuff on them. It will NOT be appreciated!

The first week of January, when fellow lovebird Venus is flitting through Scorpio and your prominent tenth house, you might be stuck on being “right” or hammering home a point at the expense of getting along. Try to catch yourself in action and nip that behavior in the bud before it spins out of control and you foster resentment. On the upside, this is a great transit for talking about shared future plans and maybe launching a sideline business together. Single? You could be drawn to someone older or more established than you.

Then, from January 7 to February 3, Venus will sweep through Sagittarius and your eleventh house of socializing and technology. If you’re not attached at the hip, you’ll prefer to keep your interpersonal interactions on the light-and-breezy side and put off getting into anything too serious. Since this zone rules your digital life, this is a particularly good time for online dating. But focus on the fun and adventure of it, not the “end zone.”

January brings a pair of romantic red-letter days, so watch for them. On January 18, and Venus and Mars align in a harmonious trine that could set the stage for meeting someone through mutual friends or a dating site—which could catch you totally off-guard! On January 22, Venus makes her once-a-year merger with fellow “benefic” Jupiter. You might spark a new connection with a person from another culture, who lives in another time zone or works remotely from various location. But if the chemistry (and other qualities) are there, you won’t mind. Couples could travel together, perhaps with mutual friends. Rally your favorite people and book a ski lodge chalet or a cool Airbnb rental.

Love Days: 17, 21 Money Days: 27, 10 Luck Days: 25, 7 Off Days: 19, 23, 5

#aquarius #astrology #horoscope #horoscopes #zodiac #aquarius monthly

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technoskittles · 5 years

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till I disappear ch. 1 - Catradora fic

Rating: T

Word count: 5897

Summary: She was getting progressively worse.

Shadow Weaver said that erasing Adora's memories of She-Ra and the Rebellion would fix things. And Catra was naive enough to believe her. No, desperate enough to believe her.

Catra just wanted things to be normal again.

Story below the cut

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It was a rarity to be the first one awake. Normally she was the one that overslept and had to be kicked awake by a frantic Adora rushing her to get changed for their morning drills. She'd always been the more studious one - obedient.

But when Catra woke up today, she turned around to see Adora still curled up in bed, sleeping soundly. A quick cursory glance around the barracks revealed that they were alone; the others must've already gotten up and headed to the training grounds. Taking some time for a leisurely stretch, Catra yawned and pushed away the tendrils of sleep clinging to her frame. With a audible pop of the joints in her shoulders and a grunt of relief, she finally turned to Adora and nudged her shoulder.

"Hey loser. Time to get up before we're late."

Adora stirred with a groan but other than that she didn't budge a single inch. Catra's eyebrow twitched.

"Adora! We gotta get up and go before Shadow Weaver busts an artery. Come on." When no answer came she crawled over so that she was hovering over her, arms on either side of Adora's head to support her as she leaned close. "I think you're close to finally becoming Force Captain, but you'll never get there if you don't. Wake! Up!" she said, shouting the last bit.

Finally, Adora rolled over onto her back and her hands flew up to press to her ears. "Catra! Shut. Up!" Her face was twisted in pain and she whimpered softly before her eyes cracked open to peer at Catra. She could tell that she was trying to send her a glare, but there wasn't any actual heat to back it. "I have a headache."

Catra flinched back, reeling onto her haunches. "Again?" she asked in exasperation, trying to hide the nauseating guilt that retched in her stomach.

Adora nodded.

With a sigh, Catra rocked herself to her feet and stretched her arms above her head again. "Alright. I'll go get you some water. But you better be dressed when I get back!" And without another word she headed towards the door, only pausing to look at Adora one last time. She was still laying there, clutching her head and breathing slowly.

Catra walked briskly through the hall towards the latrines, knowing that time was of the essence. They needed to get to training on time, otherwise their supervisor would be pissed. And then he'd tell Shadow Weaver who'd be even more pissed and would inevitably blame it all on Catra. Even though it was all her fault.

Upon entering the bathroom, Catra beelined for the sink, grabbing a cup and filling it up with the tap. As the water sloshed into the cup, she stared, lost in thought. The past few months had been….long. Long and painful and crazy and all she wanted was for things to go back to normal already. Shadow Weaver assured her and the others that they would soon enough, but as days passed and the side effects worsened, Catra was beginning to have her doubts.

When the cup filled she turned off the tap and walked quickly back to the barracks. When she arrived she wasn't very surprised to see Adora still laying in bed cradling her head, not having moved an inch. Catra's brow creased in worry when she noticed that her breathing had grown more erratic and saw the fist clenched around the thin blanket covering her.

Catra walked over and crouched down beside Adora and extended the cup of water out. "Here. Drink up and get dressed. We gotta get going."

Blue eyes fluttered open and Adora winced but sat up regardless and took the water from Catra. She downed it in a few gulps, not taking a moment for air until she was finished. Catra watched her, scrutinizing her actions as if she could pinpoint exactly what was ailing her to beat it away. Adora must have noticed from the corner of her eye because she sighed and shoved the cup into Catra's chest as she kicked off her blanket.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Feeling better now, are we?" Catra quipped with a smirk. She chuckled when Adora huffed and ripped her jacket from her bed post, whipping it on and buckling it as Catra stood.

"Hardly. Let's go." And then she was marching out of the barracks, leaving Catra to stumble after her.

The walk to the training grounds was mostly silent - an oddity for them. Normally they laughed and joked, working to push the others' buttons in order to get them riled up for a good fight, but lately those days were fewer and further between. Nowadays, it was mostly silence and strained tension. Now, Adora was just never in the mood and Catra didn't have the heart.

They arrived just in time, walking in to see the rest of their team grouped together and just before their supervisor arrived clutching a clipboard. A hush befell the room when they entered. Lonnie shot them a heated glare and Catra returned it tenfold.

Lonnie had been the most reluctant to accept Adora back. In fact, she'd been the one to stir up a major fuss about it, but one sharp look from Shadow Weaver and a harsh biting command had been enough to shut her up. At least, temporarily. When Adora wasn't around, Catra always overheard her complaining to the rest of the team, and though none of the others said anything out loud, she knew that they all agreed with her.

But they were all afraid of what Shadow Weaver would do to them if they questioned her to her face and were terrified of what would become of them if they were to accidentally let the truth slip.

So they remained distant and cold as a consolation, leaving Adora confused and Catra seething.

"Alright team," announced their supervisor, his deep booming voice captivating them all. "Today will be some standard drills. Nothing flashy. You'll be sparring one-on-one. We'll divvy you up into pairs: winner will move on to fight the next, and so on and so forth until we have a final victor." He looked over all the cadets standing at attention. "Catra and Kyle will go first."

Kyle whimpered and Catra smirked. Now that was just too easy.

She felt a nudge to her side and looked over to Adora who was giving her a small, mischievous grin. "Go easy on him, yeah?"

Catra shrugged and returned the smile, briefly elated to see Adora look so much like her old self. "And where would the fun be in that?"

Adora laughed then hissed in pain a second later, her hand coming up to her head. The smile melted off Catra's face immediately and that sickening feeling returned with a vengeance. She brought her grin back with a great deal of effort and nudged Adora back. "Then again, I can always toss it and let you handle the easy fodder."

Adora frowned and Catra knew immediately she'd said the wrong thing. Dammit. "You don't have to pity me, you know." And then she walked to the side of the arena with the rest of the cadets, standing with her arms crossed.

Catra sighed before walking out to the middle of the arena to stand across from Kyle who was looking at her with an indeterminate amount of fear wracking his entire body. It would've been hilarious on another occasion, but right now it was pathetically sad and Catra just wasn't in a mood to revel in it.

Once the supervisor gave them the go, Catra lunged and Kyle recoiled, only remembering at the last second to throw up his staff to feebly block Catra's attack. It didn't take much strength to push past the weak defense and in record time, the match was over, Kyle laying on the ground and Catra standing over him, not even a hitch in her breath.

"Kyle that was lame!" Lonnie called from the sidelines with a smirk. The rest of the team laughed while Kyle groaned in humiliation. He shakily got to his feet, dejectedly handing off his staff to the supervisor who was writing on his clipboard.

Catra looked over to Adora whose arms were still crossed, but she was smiling so that had to at least be a good sign.

"Okay, up next: Lonnie and Adora!"

Catra sauntered over to Adora and passed off her staff and patted her on the shoulder. "Don't disappoint me, babe."

Adora rolled her eyes at the nickname before taking the staff and twirling it a couple times before resting it on her other shoulder. "When have I ever?"

Catra remained silent at that, instead stepping out of the way and removing her hand to let Adora step up to the playing field. Lonnie was already there, staff gripped tightly in her fists and a determined scowl set on her face. A fire burned behind her eyes - she was out for blood. Normally, Catra wouldn't have been concerned in the slightest; in all their years, Adora has been able to wipe the floor with each and every one of them without hardly breaking a sweat. But now…

Her eyes flicked over to Adora who stood with her own bout of confidence about her, but there was a shakiness to her stance and something just wasn't...right. Her claws dug into her arm, breath held in anticipation as they all awaited the command to sound out.

"Go!"

Lonnie was the first to react, springing into action with her staff out to her side. Adora didn't move, waiting for Lonnie to approach before side stepping and swinging around her staff to block Lonnie's blow from her left. Her feet skidded across the floor with the force, but before she had even regained solid footing, she ducked low and threw her hands to the ground, knees bent before extending one out to knock Lonnie off her feet.

But her movements were slow and unsteady and Lonnie jumped over with ease, bringing her staff high with both hands before bringing it down with shout. Adora tucked and rolled out of the way, narrowly missing the brunt of the force that landed on the floor instead. She recovered quickly and sprung up, but she wasn't quick enough because Lonnie was on her again, staff swiping at her feet now. She leapt over cleanly, landing on one foot and spinning around to deliver a swift kick to Lonnie's midsection and knocking her aside, landing the first hit of the fight.

Catra swelled with a semblance of pride, her muscles tense and heart aflutter as she silently cheered her on. In the past, she'd always watched Adora fight with a hint of resentment, always hating how much of a natural she was in the battlefield. Yet now, Lonnie totally had it coming.

Speak of the devil, Lonnie had just recovered from the blow, stance terse, ready to go on the offense again, but Adora was already on her, thrusting her staff forward to deliver another blow. Lonnie raised her staff to block, but Adora changed tactics without warning, twirling on her feet and side stepping around her to whack her across the shoulder blades. Lonnie cried out in a mixture of pain and frustration before whipping around, blindly swinging her staff in an attempt to desperately land her first blow, but Adora had moved again. Now she was on Lonnie's left, catching her neck with her elbow, then moving around again while she was stunned and using the advantage she'd gained to hook her staff around the back of her neck to bring her down enough for Adora to knee her in the nose.

Lonnie cried out as she stumbled backwards, disoriented and getting increasingly pissed. Adora stood a few bounds away and brought her staff in front of her, gripping it with both hands and pointing it outwards as if she were holding….

A flash of glowing blonde hair and piercing blue eyes intruded Catra's thoughts and she bit her lip.

It took another second for Lonnie to recover and Adora stood stoically in wait while she did. If anything, this only served to infuriate Lonnie more, knowing that Adora was so ahead in the fight that she could just patiently wait for her opponent to regain their bearings. Catra could see the rage take over and she felt some semblance of satisfaction that amongst everything else, Adora hadn't lost her touch.

Lonnie lunged forward again with a battle cry, staff outstretched to her side as she ran. At the last second she raised it to bring it down on Adora's head but her reflexes saved her with time to spare when she twisted her arms to block the blow, still holding her staff like a sword. Lonnie's midsection was wide open now and Adora seized the opportunity, thrusting her arms up and knocking Lonnie's weapon from her hands, effectively disarming her. Then she delivered a solid kick to her stomach, knocking her down and causing her to slide across the floor.

The rest of the team awed over the feat, cheering before they were quickly silenced by the supervisor. Lonnie raised herself to her elbows, delivering a heated glare to the sidelines, before gasping and rolling out of the way of Adora's next blow. Before Adora could right herself, Lonnie was on her feet, running towards her discarded staff.

Stupid.

Her back was to Adora now, so she didn't see her rush up on her running form, swinging her staff to knock her off her path and causing her to stumble and clutch her side in pain. But she stood firm, bent over and huffing with exertion but eyes still burning with fight in them.

Catra had to hand it to her. She was a formidable opponent. A hotheaded one, but formidable nonetheless.

The two stood there, facing off, a weighted tension in the air. It was like this for a few seconds, long enough Catra was sure the supervisor was going to say something to get them moving again when Lonnie spoke.

"So even with all that time away you're still so cocky because you're Shadow Weaver's favorite?" When Adora didn't respond, she scoffed. "I honestly don't get what she sees in you that she's so desperate to keep you around despite everything."

"Cadets!"

Adora looked confused now but she didn't let up her guard for a second. Her silence only seemed to spur Lonnie's anger, enough so that it prompted her to attack armless. Catra smirked. Game, set, and match. She always knew that Lonnie's hotheadedness would be her downfall, but it was still sad to watch.

When Lonnie approached, Adora was ready, her staff was at the ready and her footing was solid enough to block any weak blow that she would deliver. Lonnie reeled her fist back to try and land a punch and Adora raised her staff to block, but this left her torso wide open. Clearly, Lonnie was expecting that reaction because while she allowed her punch to be blocked, her other hand reached out and grabbed the front of Adora's shirt and pulled her forward. This knocked Adora off balance, allowing Lonnie to easily pull her down to her knees and swivel around her and deliver a resounding kick to the back of Adora's head. Adora screamed in pain, falling forward onto her stomach, face scrunched in undeniable pain.

Catra gasped and stepped forward, her eyes wide. Oh no.

Lonnie then bent over and wrenched Adora's staff from her limp hands before delivering another harsh kick to her side. Adora cried out again, but Catra knew that the blow to her side had hardly registered with the way that she was whimpering and clutching her head.

Oh no oh no oh no.

Satisfaction fell on Lonnie like a crown bestowed upon a queen and Catra wanted to claw the haughty smirk off her dumb face. They all stood there with baited breath, waiting for the supervisor to call the match and end it all.

He didn't.

Anticipation hung in the air like the sweltering heat of the desert, suffocating them all as they watched the two on the field, neither moving.

Adora wasn't getting up.

Oh god oh no.

Catra looked over to the supervisor, expecting him - no, silently begging him - to fucking call the match already, but he stood there silently, watching the other two closely, clipboard clutched in his hands. Waiting.

Waiting for what?

Catra didn't have to wait long for her answer because eventually, with a grunt and pained whimper, Adora stirred and slowly, agonizingly slowly rose up to her knees. Her breathing was erratic and labored and she still hadn't opened her eyes, but she was still getting up. She was still trying to fight.

That dumbass.

Adora's persistence only seemed to amuse Lonnie who looked down at her with a victorious smirk, knowing what they all already knew - Lonnie had won this time. For once, Adora was on her knees, defeated and in pain and Lonnie had been the one to put her there. The victory must've been sweet, but Catra could only taste the bitterness of the bile threatening to rise up her throat.

After a few more moments of kneeling there in pain, Adora finally rose her chin to look Lonnie square in the eyes, brow furrowed in mostly pain, but Catra could see the ounce of defiance powering her forward. That stupid, dumb, stubborn defiance that was exactly the reason she was even here to begin with.

"You know," she huffed out. "Green isn't a good color on you, Lonnie."

The smile on Lonnie's face faded away, shadowed by a rising anger. Her muscles tensed and her grip around the staff tightened. Catra could see from a mile away what was about to go down.

"Lonnie, wait!" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. But her words fell on deaf ears because Lonnie had already poised her staff high, knuckles white from clutching it so tightly and her eyes were dead set on her target.

Before Catra knew what she was doing, her legs were moving. She hardly heard the mangle of shouts behind her as she closed in on the two and barely registered the pain from cold, biting metal impacting her forearm, brought down with enough force to bruise her to the bone and enough inertia to rebound off her cheekbone. Pain blossomed in both spots, but they were dull compared to the raging fire that engulfed her in Lonnie's eyes.

There was a stunned silence throughout the room as everyone took time to collect themselves and come to terms with what happened. Lonnie exploded at the same time as their commanding officer.

"Interference!"

"Catra what the fuck!"

In moments their supervisor had approached them and roughly yanked Catra away and tossed her aside. He glared daggers at her, but Catra wasn't swayed in the slightest. In fact, she ignored him entirely to look down at Adora who was staring at her with a neutral, stunned expression. As if she were entirely unable to comprehend what she had done.

Catra wasn't sure she was able to either.

"Cadet Catra that was highly inappropriate. You are hereby disqualified from the rest of the tournament." His bark had massive bite, but Catra found herself brushing it off a lot easier than she thought she would. He then turned to Lonnie and Adora and raised his hand high. "This match ends in a draw!"

Lonnie exploded again. "A draw? I beat her! She's on her knees!"

Normally Catra would've taken time to revel in Lonnie's frustration and maybe even laugh at it, but she was still staring intently at Adora, who was beginning to look more and more queasy by the second. Her stunned expression gave way to one of immense pain and she wasn't even looking at Catra anymore; her head was hung low and she clutched at her head again, nails biting into her scalp as she pushed through shaky breathing.

While Lonnie continued to argue with their commanding officer, insisting how she was clearly the sole victor, Catra walked over and placed her hands gently on Adora's shoulders, wincing at how she flinched. She looked up at their commanding officer and cleared her throat.

"Sir, I think Adora's unwell. I'm going to take her to the locker room so that she can recover."

He turned to look at her before dropping his clipboard to his side and giving her a curt nod. "Very well. I'll send someone to look in on her briefly."

Catra nodded and began working on getting Adora to her feet, blatantly ignoring Lonnie's continued outbursts. She snickered when their commanding officer shut her down, ordering her to go back to the line-up so that he could call the next pair up and she had to bite down her laughter when Lonnie did so begrudgingly.

For now, she kept all focus on Adora as she got her to unsteadily to rise to her feet and prompted her to use her as a crutch so they could both get to the locker room. Catra was sure the team was watching them leave with unchecked curiosity, but for the moment, she couldn't give less of a damn about any of them.

They only knew half of the entire clusterfuck they were in. In the end, none of them really mattered.

Soon enough, they were alone in the locker room and Catra was helping Adora to sit on one of the benches. Once she was sure that Adora wasn't going to fall over, she rushed over to the sink and filled up another cup with some water and brought it back to her. Initially Adora refused with a groan, but Catra pushed it forward with unbridled insistence.

"Adora you need to drink something."

Reluctantly, Adora complied and gingerly took the cup from her, feebly sipping on it while cradling her head. Catra remained kneeled by her side, watching her to make sure she finished it completely and propped her elbows on her knees.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

Adora didn't answer.

"You can't just goad Lonnie on like that. That girl's a short fuse. Next time I might not be there to drag your ass away when she explodes."

She half expected Adora to scoff and tell her off, saying things how she could handle herself and how she didn't need Catra to protect her. She was stubborn that way and while it was infuriating, it would at least keep her awake and talking. And with how hard she was hit in the head alongside everything else...well, Catra just didn't know what to expect anymore. It was better to stay on the safe side.

However, much to her surprise, Adora only chuckled and brought her hand down to hold the cup with two hands and raised her head to give Catra a smile. "Yeah you will. You're always there for me when I need you."

Not knowing how to respond to that, Catra remained silent. What made it worse is that she knew that wasn't actually true. But of course, Adora wouldn't know that.

She squirmed uncomfortably. She wanted to get out of there now. Away from those heartfelt eyes, away from the sincere smile that she didn't even deserve, away from the culminating lies that continued to build up every day that Adora was here, every day they were together again. She thought that having Adora back would be fun. That it would somehow reverse time and everything would go back to normal. But it was difficult when Adora wasn't here because she wanted to be. It was hard when she had memories that Adora didn't.

Memories of heartbreak. Memories of betrayal. Memories that should have separated them forever. Memories that would make Adora hate her all over again (and already have).

"You're the best friend someone like me could ask for, you know that?"

Catra choked and looked down, taking a couple seconds to collect herself before scoffing and shaking her head. She raised her head to look at Adora, brushing off the earnestness in her eyes in favor of cracking a joke. "Don't get all sappy on me now. I know it's just the brain damage talking."

"No really." Adora took another small sip of water before leaning forward until she was in Catra's space. "You've always been there for me. You're always looking out for me. Today is just an example of that."

The lump in Catra's throat made it difficult to speak and she didn't even try to fight to. Instead she sat there silently, staring at Adora, seeing a brand new person that wasn't the old Adora from before, wasn't the Adora that was She-Ra but….someone else entirely. She didn't know what to make of any of it.

So of course she deflected. "Someone will be here soon to take a look at you. You need to have that water finished before they get here."

Adora rolled her eyes before making a show of taking a longer drink of water. When she was finished she reached out to flick her forehead. "There. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," she said dryly.

Adora laughed and Catra, despite herself, found that she was smiling too. After the laughter died out, the room returned to a comfortable silence, one that was much more comfortable than before. It was all an illusion of course, one bound to end sooner or later, but Catra found that she didn't want to think about the later part. Instead she opted to relish this closeness and savor this time to keep close when those intrusive, guilty thoughts returned.

Now Adora was staring at her with a deep set frown and Catra quirked a single eyebrow. "What?"

Without a word, Adora extended her hand and used it to cup her cheek. Catra instinctively pulled away but halted when Adora's thumb brushed along her cheekbone and a stinging sensation surged through her system. She hissed.

"Lonnie's staff cut you."

Catra tentatively prodded the cut with her finger, bringing it away to inspect it. No blood. "I'm fine. It's just a shallow graze."

Adora didn't seem entirely convinced but she didn't press the matter. Instead, she seemed to be lost in the action of brushing her thumb over her cheek repeatedly, careful to avoid the cut now. Catra stared at her weirdly, opening her mouth to ask just how much brain damage Adora possibly suffered. But then Adora leaned closer and all trains of thought derailed.

She smelled….sweaty. It was an overpowering scent, one that make Catra's nose wrinkle but she stayed still nonetheless. She was at a loss for words and unsure of what was going on anymore. She opted to just let Adora do what she wanted without questioning every movement. Besides, she was so close now that she wasn't even sure she'd be able to form the words to phrase a proper question if she tried.

"I know I've been weird lately," she whispered and Catra shivered because she could feel her breath on her nose. "Everything just feels...off. I have these weird dreams every night with all these...faces that I don't recognize but they still feel familiar. And I hear voices in and out of my dreams and they're so loud. And my head always hurts and I don't know how to make it stop…" As if on cue, she winced and Catra raised a hand to her shoulder to steady her. Adora smiled appreciatively and Catra stopped breathing.

"But you've been there for me through all of it. All my weirdness, all this dumb stuff...you're there helping and protecting me. Sometimes it feels like I don't deserve any of it. Or you."

Catra shook her head, but just barely, wanting to spew denial or crack a joke or just walk away entirely. Because Adora was wrong about all of that. And if she knew, if she remembered, Catra knew she'd take all of what she was saying back in a heartbeat.

But she didn't stop her. She couldn't. Shadow Weaver forbid it.

And maybe...maybe she was afraid of what would happen if she did. Not because of Shadow Weaver. But because of Adora. She didn't want her getting hurt again. She didn't want to sit through another night of one of her fitful sleeps post-mind wipe, the guilt gnawing at her and leaving her raw.

And most of all….maybe she didn't want her to stop. This is what she always wanted to hear.

Would it be so wrong for her to be happy, even if just for a little while?

(Even if it was at the expense of her friend's suffering?)

Catra tightly shut her eyes, willing the intrusive thoughts away and restraining the urge to reveal everything there and then. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

When did she become so soft?

Soft.

She could feel something soft. Pressing. It was...nice.

She leaned into it, responding in kind to the pressure, not giving thought or care to what it was. She let it consume her, comfort and console her, and soon enough she was wrapped in the sensation that was chasing the darkness of her thoughts away.

Something tickled her cheek, caressing it gently and the pressure increased following it. She pressed back harder, not wanting to be outmatched.

Her lungs burned something fierce but the coolness of Adora's hand still on her cheek quelled it, dampening it down to a sputtering spark that lit her heart aflame as it fluttered in her chest. Instinctively her hands reached out, wanted to bring that softness closer, to capture it and make it hers forever. She never wanted it to end. She never wanted to let it go.

Her hand landed on something warm and after a few seconds of consideration she deduced that she was clutching the back of Adora's neck. Her skin burned her fingertips. She didn't care.

Soon enough, a fire began to burn in her lungs, reignited and charring. She let it burn.

Adora suddenly winced, causing Catra to wince too when a sharp pain clamped down on her bottom lip. Adora pulled away, a hiss of pain leaving her lips and bouncing off Catra's own tingling ones. She absently licked her bottom lip, running her tongue over the part where Adora's teeth had dug in.

Her eyes flew open and she watched Adora in concern as her brow furrowed and she ducked her head against the pain. Catra noticed that her hand still rested on the nape of Adora's neck and slowly, hesitantly, she let it slide away.

"Adora…"

Blue eyes blinked open and she offered a breathless smile. "S-sorry."

"No it's-"

"Catra. Adora."

Both girls jumped apart and a cold dread washed over Catra, extinguishing the fire immediately.

No.

No no no no no no no.

She whipped around to turn to the entrance of the locker room, eyes widening in fear and heart sinking when she recognized the person standing there.

Goddammit no.

She leapt to her feet and turned to Shadow Weaver fully, standing at full attention and praying that she hadn't seen anything. She pleaded silently, asking whatever benevolent forces of the universe that still cared for her that she hadn't…

"I'm here for Adora."

Catra sputtered. "They sent you to look at her?"

Shadow Weaver fixed her with a chilling glare and Catra's body was wracked with shivers. Looking into those soulless eyes behind the mask, Catra knew in that moment that she had seen everything.

No please why.

"I'm her caretaker. The better question is why they entrusted you to look after her."

She wanted to retort back with something defiant, something snarky. But right now she was rooted in her own horror of realization on what had happened and what was going to happen.

Why now?

Ignoring her in favor of turning to Adora who sat there silently on the bench, still clutching her cup of water, Shadow Weaver held out her hand with her palm turned upwards. "Come with me, Adora. I'll fix everything."

"No!"

The word was out of her mouth before she could catch herself. Her fists were clenched by her sides, shaking, nails biting into the skin of her palms. Shadow Weaver turned to her coolly, uncaring.

"You're in no place to deny me, girl."

"You can't keep doing this!" she shouted. "You can't do this every time something happens that you don't like! You're hurting her!"

The shadows in the room flared and threw the room into darkness, wrapping around her and constraining her with their icy, suffocating hold. She gasped for air and struggled against them, but it was fruitless. All of it was.

"I will do this as many times necessary. Adora will be obedient. Any signs that show otherwise will be snuffed out. And if you are going to get in my way, I will dispose of you. I have no qualms against doing so." Her eyes narrowed and she leaned dangerously close, her imposing form towering over her. "Do I make myself clear?"

Catra scowled. "If Lord Hordak knew what you were doing…"

"He's already given me all the permission I need. Your threats are futile, little girl."

Catra scoffed. "He said you had one chance! You've been doing this over and over again for months! If he really knew…."

"But he won't because I've strictly forbidden you to say a word to him. And you know what I'll do to you and Adora if he ever finds out."

Catra pressed her lips together. She wanted to keep fighting this. She couldn't take it anymore. She was just so done with all of it. But out of fear, for herself and for Adora….she remained silent.

Shadow Weaver took that as compliance and released her. She fell to her knees and watched helplessly as Shadow Weaver collected a confused Adora from the bench. The two girls locked eyes as Shadow Weaver escorted her out and Catra felt physically sick at the unhidden fear in Adora's eyes.

She wanted help. She needed it. Instead, Catra shut her eyes to block it all out, listening as Adora began to frantically ask questions, only for Shadow Weaver to effectively sidestep them all and insist on how she was going to make everything better shortly.

Soon enough, she was alone. Her chest ached and her throat was so locked that she struggled to breathe. She didn't want to think about what was about to happen, about what Adora was about to go through for what must've been the dozenth time.

And it was all her fault.

Her breath hitched and she realized she was outright sobbing. Her breath fell short and she clawed at the floor, trying to grasp onto some semblance of control but no matter how much she reached out, there was nothing to grab onto.

She didn't want to be apart of this anymore.

This was not what she wanted at all. It was always about what Shadow Weaver wanted. And she was too selfish and caught up in her own desires to realize that.

What kind of "best" friend did that?

#she ra #catradora #adora #catra #spop #she ra and the princesses of power #ash writes

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cinnamonsugarsheith-blog · 6 years

Text

(jail)Bait and Switch

Pairing: Sheith, bg onesided Allurance, bg onesided HunkShay

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Student/Teacher, Kissing, mild dirty talk and Keith’s filthy 18 year old brain, implied blowjobs, quite a bit of curse words, Keith is A Tease

Summary: Keith’s physics class gets a new student teacher. Keith has every intention of being as annoying as possible, but Oh Shit He’s Hot.

Keith fucking hates this class. He hates math. He hates fucking "I did not spend twenty years in school for you to call me Mister" Dr Slav. He hates that it's fucking first period. He hates that fucking Lance McClain sits behind him and pokes him in the back of the neck with a pencil whenever he falls asleep.

If this class wasn't literally required for him to take for the degree he needed to work at Space X he Would Not be taking it.

So when they come back from spring break and Dr Slav introduces his new student teacher he has decided he is going to at the very least have a little fun during it by annoying the shit out of them.

He damn near chokes on his own tongue when Dr Slav introduces Mister Takashi Shirogane as his new student teacher though. No one should be able to make purple argyle look that fucking good. No one. Mister Takashi "call me Mister Shiro" Shirogane had silver hair that made Keith question if he needed to change his career path to sugar baby and dark eyes that hid behind glasses and a sharp scar across his nose that made him look just a little bit dangerous and fuck if that wasn't a thousand watt smile. Ugh. Yeah. He needed to change his plans. Scratch operation annoy the shit out of the peppy student teacher. Begin operation get the student teacher to bend him over the desk. And from the looks of the rest of the class. He had competition.

Something was on his side though, because the next day Dr Slav asked him to hang back after class. "Mister Shirogane, this is the top of the class, Keith Kogane. He has a bit of a disciplinary problem. And a mouth." Keith could feel Slav glaring. " But if you're looking at my seniors for a research assistant. This is the only one worth glancing at." Shiro laughed good naturedly. "I think you have a great group of student, Dr Slav." He adjusted his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. "But, it's good to meet you Keith. You must be some student to catch Slav's attention." Keith hoped he looked as effortlessly cool as he was trying to with his hands in his pockets and his gaze towards the door. "Yeah. Same." "Um, I'm looking for a research assistant to help me with my senior thesis. I'm an astrophysics major and I'm really hoping to help send the first manned mission to Kerberos... Its--" "One of Pluto's moons. Is it paid?" That seemed to catch Shiro off guard and he blushed. "N-no! But I'd be happy to give you rides to the lab at campus and meals and stuff while you're there. I uh... Yeah. The schedule is flexible, but you look like you're a flexible kinda guy and well if you're interested..." Keith had to mentally force himself not to Flip Out at the student teachers seemingly completely unintentional double entendre. He had no problem showing Shiro just how flexible he could be. He grunted. "Guess I'm interested. What are the hours." Shiro scribbled down his number on a sticky note with a quick "text me tonight, you're going to be late to English!" It wasn't until half way through English that he questioned how Shiro knew that’s what he had next.

The new english lit student teacher was here on a visa if her accent was anything to go by. He thought about annoying her since Shiro had been a busy, but Lance wouldn't stop hitting on her. He pitied the heck out of her for that. Thank God his next class was not with Lance. "Heard you new student teacher is hot," Pidge stated without pretense. "Yeah, Lance says he looks like a nerdy Adonis." Keith shrugged, and passed Pidge a white powder to mix into their solution. "I guess." "And then slav asked you to hang back." Pidge wriggled her eyebrows at him. "What's up with that?" Keith smirked, hand reaching into his pocket for the sticky with Shiro's number. "Wouldn’t you like to know.

He texts Shiro an "its Keith from Slavs class" that night and falls asleep thinking about Shiro's strong hands pinning him to the chalkboard and asking him why his homework is late. When he wakes up he has a text "Hey Keith, Hope We can meet up soon to discuss specific hours. I'd love to give you a tour of the lab and observatory! --Shiro" What kind of dork signed their texts? He'd see him in class today. No point in texting back now. He scrounged through the closet for the jeans that were both the least dirty but also the tightest, a black pair, and grabbed the first shirt he found. He'd wear his jacket all day anyways. When he pulled into the school he was early and he strategically hung out on his motorcycle near the teachers lot until he saw Shiro get out of the noisiest station wagon the school had ever seen. He was shocked the thing was still running. Time to make his entrance.

Keith ran full force into his student teacher. And then proceeded to cuss as said student teachers nose started bleeding where he’d for all intents and purposes headbutted him. “Shit, Mr Shiro!” He was helping pull the man up and pressing the sleeve of his hoodie to his nose before the older man could stop him. “You okay?” He straightened the man’s bangs as he continued to press the cotton of his hoodie to his face. “Maybe we should go to the nurses office?” Shiro looked defeated, clearly not wanting to talk with his students hand pinching his nose shut. “’s go to the nurse.” Shay helped Keith slip off his black hoodie and continued to keep the pressure on Shiro’s nose. “You’re lucky Keith here knows a decent amount about first aid.” She smiled. “He’s gotten his fair share of bloody noses.” Keith snorted. “I give more than I get.” “Well I can see that.” The secretary ruffled his hair. “Now what happened here? I really hope you’re not picking fights with teachers.” “It was an accident, just ran into each other in the parking lot not paying attention.” Shiro nodded in agreement, slowly releasing the pressure on his nose to see if the bleeding had stopped. “Keith, I’ve got to go field attendance calls. You take good care of Mister Shirogane.” With that Shay slipped out of the room. “I think it’s stopped,” Shiro said hesitantly. “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay. It was an accident.” It wasn’t. But they were in the basically closet that served as a nurses office and he was close enough to see the creases next to Shiro’s eyes when he smiled and he couldn’t feel even a little bit bad. “Yeah–” Keith wetted some paper towels in the small sink and passed them to Shiro “– but I should’ve been more careful.” Shiro shrugged, and then gave a small smile as he wiped at his face and hands. “I mean if you really want to make it up to me, you can always take me up on that assistant position.” Keith took another step into the man’s space and held his hand out for the red tinged paper towel he was holding. Shiro handed it to him. He put two fingers under Shiro’s chin and tilted it up. He licked his bottom lip and dabbed the damp towel under Shiro’s nose again, gently, and then across his bottom lip. "Missed a spot.” He smiled. Shiro flushed the most brilliant red and gaped. Keith stepped back easy, tossing the bloody towels into the trash can under the sink. “And I think I’d like to see that lab, Mister Shiro.” Keith skipped first period and spent it hiding on the roof with Ezor, who was doing an art independent study and had her corner litteredp with paints and bright stained puddles where chalk pastels had been left in the rain and a smattering of scarf scraps that had been hacked up for their fringes. He couldn’t pretend to be cool in front of Shiro any more today than he had. Maybe skipping class would make think Shiro think he was mysterious or something though. Fuck it. “Ugh I wish the models Mr Iverson used in class had your bone structure. "M not modeling Ezor, I’m ditching. "Well you’re sitting perfectly still in my space, so I think that makes you my model.” She winked. He grunted and made an effort to move every thirty seconds after that. By the time lunch rolled around Lance still hadn’t seen him that day and was shocked when he plopped down next to Pidge and started shoving fries into his mouth. “Dude where were you this morning? Mr Shiro said he needed to give back your hoodie. You left it with him this morning?” Hunk choked on his milk and Pidge gave him the most conspiratorial of grins. “Yeah, so? Didn’t feel like listening to the Slave driver. Sorry.” “Are you…?” He waved his hands vaguely in the direction of the building where their physics classroom was. “Waving my hands?” Lance glared and lowered his voice. “Are you sleeping with the student teacher?” “Not your business, Lance.” Lance looked like his head was going to explode. “I’m gonna have to ditch game night, by the way, guys,” he changed topics, sort of. “Shiro has something to show me at campus.” He was definitely going to give Lance an aneurysm. “Okay. Suit yourself. We were gonna plan Monsters and Mana. Matt even volunteered to be the Dungeon Keeper.” Pidge got up to bus her tray. “Damn.” Keith did love M&M… But hot TA and fodder to hang over Lance’s head. “I’ll have to catch it next week.” He waited until most of the students had left the school to move his bike to the teachers lot next to Shiro’s car. He debated the pros and cons of positioning himself leaning against the hood of the car or straddling his bike when Shiro came out and opted for the bike. When Shiro stepped out of the school he caught Shiro’s swallow even as far away as he was. Keith grinned to himself and pocketed his phone. “Follow you?” “Yeah, it’s not too far.” Keith pulled his helmet on and waited for Shiro to get into his car before revving his engine just slightly more than he maybe necessarily needed to. It was indeed not too far. He was pretty sure this was the school Pidge’s brother went too. They parked in a garage and Shiro let him stash his helmet in his back seat while they toured the lab. Shiro talked animatedly about rocket ships most of the walk to the building and he promised he would wash his hoodie and get it back to him tomorrow. Keith shrugged.

"So you'd have to be in the lab at the same time as me since you're not a student but I'm usually here by myself unless Dr Holt comes in on the weekends--" "As in Sam?" Keith cut him off "Uh... Yeah. Samuel Holt." "Sorry, I'm just. His daughter is one of my best friends." "Oh yeah! Katie’s a sophomore now, right? And at your school too." "She goes by Pidge now, but yeah." Shiro laughed. "She used to hate when Matt called her that." Well. There went all his grand plans for trying to be the The Cool Guy. As soon as he talked to the Holts, that was going to be out the window. Shit. Might as well do what he could while he could then.

He perched on the side of Shiro's L desk kitty corner an ancient desktop as he pulled up data spreadsheet after data spreadsheet. "What--" he leaned forward, bracing one arm on the back of Shiro's chair and letting his breath ghost over the side of Shiro's neck and ear "--does this spike here mean?" He pointed out a blip in the data on the screen. He could see Shiro's shoulder tense under his thin sweater. "Um, it's a fraunhofer line from an element suspected to come from Kerberos." He leaned in a little closer. "Doesn't look like one I've ever seen." Shiro swallowed and turned his head to look at Keith. "No. No, it doesn't. Is this. Um are... Am I reading into this?" His face was positively red. Keith tilted his head just enough to question and seized this perfectly presented moment. "No, Mister Shirogane, I'm really interested in accepting this position under you..." There was only a few inches between their faces and Keith wanted nothing more to kiss this adorable man, but it was too soon. He sat up, never breaking the eye contact he had with Shiro, and slid off the desk. "What hours are you wanting me here?"

His student teacher couldn't look him in the eyes the rest of the week. His hoodie was folded neatly on his desk Friday morning, smelling of detergent and Shiro. He was probably making up that last part because he was crushing like a thirteen year-old girl. But fuck it.

His friends teased him about this as he burrowed his nose into it for the tenth time during lunch. He begrudgingly called Lance for help that night. "Black or blue jeans?" "Uh...." "Lance just tell me which one makes my ass look better. I know you know." Keith could practically see Lance putting the pieces together in his head. "Why~?" "Just tell me." "You're going to go see Mr Shiro, aren't you~?" Lance sing-songed into the phone. "Lance." Keith warned. Lance laughed. "Nah man, if this works, there's hope for me and Allura. Blue jeans. The dark ones. They bring out your eyes. And wear that baseball tee you think makes you look girly. The red one. Don't wear your bike boots. Sneakers. You've been doing that bad boy thing and it's dumb." "Have not." He hope Lance couldn't hear him pouting. "Have too. Mr Shiro is a nerd. Bad boy will catch his attention, but it won't keep it." Okay so maybe Lance had a point. "Thanks." "No problem! Let me know how it goes tomorrow!"

Keith bused to campus bright and early the next morning and could have kissed Shiro when he pressed a large iced coffee into his hands. Shiro laughed as he sucked down half the drink in five minutes. "I know, but it's best we get as much done in training as we can before Matt gets here and tries to tell you how to use a 'flux capacitor.'" Keith nodded and leaned against the wall of the elevator. "I think this is the first time I've seen you without your bike jacket. Didn't ride today?" "Too tired." "I'll give you a ride home when we are done here then." It wasn't a question, so he didn't respond, but he tried not to think too hard about how Shiro had noticed that he wasn't wearing his jacketo They ended up at a diner off campus and Keith was mildly less attracted to Shiro watching him try and fail to fit a burger covered in mac and cheese into his mouth without making a mess.

However this gave him the opportunity to reach out and wipe cheese sauce off off Shiro's cheek with his thumb and the bunny in headlights look he got in response was so worth how disgusting he thought it was to lick it off his thumb. "What?" He asked when Shiro put his flushed face into his hands. "That was um..." "It's not my fault you're a messy eater." Keith did his best impression of Shiro's thousand watt smile. Shiro just nodded, then squeaked when he felt Keith's sneakered foot rest gently on his knee under the table. "So how do you like student teaching?" "Uh, it's good. Overall I mean. Everyone has been really great. Slav’s difficult, but..." Shiro shrugged. "And the students?" "Oh, um. You guys are a good class?" He offered weakly. Keith grinned. "Nah, I skip once a week and Lance is an ass. And I'm pretty sure half the girls have given you love letters by now." Shiro squirmed in his seat. "Well I'm not..." "Straight?" "How...?" "Straight men do not wear argyle, Mr. Shiro." "Um... You can just call me Shiro. When we aren't at school. All my friends do." "Are we friends?" Keith didn't bother to hide his smirk. "I'd like us to be.... Friends" Shiro said thickly. "Yeah?" Keith let his foot fall --dragged it-- down the inside of Shiro's calf. "Is this something..?" "I mean I'd say an assistant is more of a working relationship, but if you wanna be friends we maybe do something fun sometime." Smooth, Keith, so smooth. "Ah, I guess you're right... Maybe a movie? Or the arcade? What do people do to socialize these days?" Keith smiled. "Too much time in your books?" "You have no idea."

When Shiro pulled up to his house to drop him off he wasn't quite sure what to do. A hug seemed too forward, but nothing weird too? "See you Monday, right?" Shiro asked. "Yeah. Monday." He nodded. He hesitated for a moment, but reached for the door handle, opting to not push his luck any further than he already had. He stretched as he got out, feeling his shirt lift a bit and smiled to himself where Shiro couldn't see him when he made a noise in his throat. He'd have to make it a point to wear this shirt more often. He almost had the door shut when Shiro blurted out his name. "Mmm?" He hummed and reopened the door. "Do you uh... Maybe want to catch a movie tomorrow?" "I think I'd like that a lot," he paused, "Takashi...." And gave Shiro what he really hoped was a sweet smile. Pidge would probably tell him he looked constipated. Definitely the most red he'd ever seen Shiro's face. Noted. "Co-ol," his voice caught half way through the word. "Text me?" "Sure thing." This time he shut the door and walked into the house before Shiro could respond. He was going to have his own personal flailing freak out and he needed the door between them when that happened.

Keith text Lance to tell him it went well and put his phone in his desk drawer to avoid texting Shiro too soon. When he did text Shiro, an hour later, it was with a short "you have anything you want to see tomorrow?" Fantasy Shiro in his head responded "You, baby, in my sheets." Real Shiro text back "there's a new horror movie out that looks pretty intense, but there's a sci-fi one that Matt says is really good too" Keith looked at the movie at their tiny local theater and could not find any horror movies. What the heck. "Horror sounds good, I can pick you up on my bike if you're not scared of riding." Also because Shiro's thighs around his hips. Keith groaned at the thought. Hell yeah. Shiro sent back an excited smiley and a "3:30 or 6?" Shiros thighs around his hips and his arms tight around him in the cool spring evening. 6:00pm. DEFINITELY 6:00pm.

He arrived at 5:30 on the dot the next evening, back in his usual leather riding gear, hair tied up in a ponytail. He handed Shiro a helmet and let him get situated before warning him he was going to want to hang on, smirk entirely devious. He was a speed demon without the desire to get Shiro to curl around him as he took sharp turns and whipped through yellow lights. Shiro was a surprisingly good sport about it whooping excitedly and shifting his body smoothly behind Keith. Having Shiro pressed against him felt as good as expected and he may have done a few unnecessary turns in the parking lot just to enjoy it an extra moment. Keith bought the tickets despite Shiro insisting that he had been the one to invite Keith. "You can get popcorn." "We are getting popcorn? What do you think I am, made of money?" Shiro tease, poking him in the ribs. Keith swatted his prosthetic hand away with a yelp. "Well I was kidding, but clearly not, since my assistantship isn't paid." Keith pouted "Hey, I offered to pay for the tickets!!" Shiro put a hand on his lower back and guided him towards the concession lines. Keith leaned into it, and practically melted when he didn't move his hand as they came to a stop at the back of the line. "Soda?" Shiro asked when they were up next. "Coke. I'm not an animal." Keith replied without hesitation. "God, you're perfect. Matt always makes us get diet fanta. I didn't know there was diet fanta." Shiro gave a shiver. Keith laughed. "Yeah, that's Pidge's favorite too. Nasty." They collected their things and Keith strategically lead them to a set of seats that already had the middle armrest raised so he wouldn't have to try to be sneaky about it. They sat shoulder to shoulder with the popcorn on Shiro's lap and the soda balanced between Keith's thighs. Shiro knew a shocking amount of movie preview trivia, which he blamed on Matt. And Keith insisted that he was unfit to teach physics because he liked Star Wars better than Star Trek.

It was not nearly as thick as he had been laying it on, which, he would later decide after a four way call that lasted the better part of two hours, was probably good. This was fun and easy and even though less direct "Takashi" was still blushing and smiling an awful lot. He did set his hand on Shiro's thigh about halfway through the movie though. And to his credit Shiro only tensed for a second before realizing Keith wasn't going to do anything else, and relaxing. The "horror movie" was actually a thriller with ghosts. It was not scary, but Shiro startled repeatedly, and Keith could feel him twitching every time a character did Something Very Stupid onscreen. Keith shifted and leaned over to whisper in Shiro's ear, "Ya know, he looks kind of like Slav... And the blonde guy looks like Mr Iverson with hair." Shiro snickered and turned to whisper back, "You're totally right!”

Keith leaned into Shiro's shoulder a little more after that. When it was over it was completely dark outside. "You want to grab food or...?" Keith let the question hang, holding the extra helmet out to Shiro again. "Sure, there's a Waffle House a few streets over?" Keith hummed and lifted his leg over his bike. "And I will pay!" Shiro readily settles his hands on Keith's hips when he situated himself again. And his brain was telling him how easily those hands.... Ugh. Why did he think riding his bike was a good idea again?! But then Shiro's legs settled along side his and he remembered exactly why. He just had not very thoroughly thought out the nuances of this decision.

Thankfully it was a short ride to the Waffle House, but it was bittersweet. He had to turn things back up juuuuust a little when the waitress told them they were just the cutest couple. "Yeah, Takashi is gorgeous. I'm a lucky guy." Shiro fumbled, clearly wanting to play along, but missing the beat as she asked for their drink order. "It's uh... I'm sorry." Shiro fiddled with his placemat. "For what?" Keith raised an eyebrow. "That she thinks we are a couple." Keith shrugged, trying to figure out how to best play that. "I don't mind. I meant that... You're gorgeous. And smart to boot? You're a hell of a catch." He winked. "Like you're not." And there was the hand over his mouth. "Takashi, are you flirting with me?" Well that sulky glare was probably deserved.

"Are you?" He pushed. "Are you?" Shiro hedged back. "You're too smart to have any doubt that I'm not." Shiro let out a huge sigh. "Oh thank fuck. I thought I was being a creepy pervert." Keith laughed aloud at that.

"I'm 18. No harm, right?" He gave Shiro a lopsided grin. "I know. Your birthday is on the class roster." Shiro sighed. "If you weren't 18, I wouldn't have asked you to be my research assistant. Matt can get a little... Weird.... Sometimes. " "Yeah he gets it from his sister." "Wouldn't it be the other way around?" "Absolutely not." "So um...." Shiro started after the waitress interrupted to take their orders. "I know you're 18, and it's not for lack of... Ah... Attraction. " He cleared his throat. "But I think it may be best to wait until after you graduate to uh... Start anything." Keith raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Think you can keep your hands off me for that long?" "No, but I'm going to try." Shiro sulked.

"Challenge accepted." Keith grinned wolfishly and took a drink for his water Shiro groaned. "You're gonna kill me.” Keith tongued at his straw between his teeth, still grinning. "Only if you don't fuck me." "KEITH!" He laughed again. "What?"

Keith drove Shiro back to the apartment where he apparently lived with the Lit student teacher, Allura, and leaned back against him, dreading the moment Shiro would uncurl from around him and get off the bike. They took their helmets off and Shiro twirled his short pony tail, humming thoughtfully. "I had a lot of fun tonight." "I did too..." He tilted his head up a bit and Shiro made a noise of protest before he pressed a firm kiss to Keith's cheek. "See you tomorrow?" "Yeah..." Shiro watched as Keith secured the spare helmet. "See that star up there?" Shiro nuzzled his neck, a little hesitant. "Between the far one on this constellation here..." He took Keith's hand and pointed. "And this real dull one here?" "Yeah?' "That one's ours, baby..." Keith blushed and sunk back against the solid mass behind him. "It should be about... There" he took Keith's hand to another point in the sky. "When you graduate." Keith nodded, understanding. Shiro pressed a kiss beneath his ear. "That's when I bend you over Slav's desk and fuck you until you forget everything but my name." "Oh fuck." Keith felt like the wind got knocked out of him as Shiro got off the bike. "What?" Shiro winked and grinned, looking at him over his glasses. "You started it." Keith swore the entire way home.

And that is how the next two months went, they would whisper salacious something's into each other's ears and press kisses along jaw lines and go home and pant the others name until they were an utter wreck, but Shiro kept fast on his promise of not until Keith graduated. And Keith was doing his best to break him. Prom night was close. Matt had bought Pidge a shitty handle of vodka and she had split it between the four of them before forcing her brother to drive them to the dance. They were all sloshed and he absolutely stole his chance to ask Shiro to dance with him. Shiro twirled him around, innocently enough, while Allura led Lance with a hand on his waist and Hunk roped Pidge into some semblance of sober slow dancing, staring longingly at secretary-slash-nurse Ms Shay. Shiro leaned close, and his hand tensed over the thin sweater covering Shiro's muscles. "Exams are next week. Have you thought about what you want if you get an A?" His lips just closed the barest bit over the edge of Keith's ear lobe and he about died in Thace's borrowed suit. "Shit. Whatever you're willing to give me." Shiro chuckled. "Now where's that cool, in control Keith I met the first week of class?" "You've fuckin ruined him," Keith huffed. "Tell me, baby." Shiro spun him and pulled him close. God, this man. "Want you to--" "My turn!" "Pidge, we are--" "Shhhhhhhhhhh. Best friend privileges. I have to protect your honor. Go dance with Hunk. Help him impress Miss Shay. He's trying. But it sucks." "Hi, Katie," Shiro greeted evenly. "If you hurt him, I will ruin your fucking life. Takashi Shirogane. Born 2/29/2031 to Mira and Kunikazu Shirogane in Osaka Japan. Immigrated to America in 2035. Dropped out of Galaxy Garrison's pilot program due to a suspicious training accident and relegated to Altea Tech's Astrophysics undergrad." "You've done you research?" "My brothers labmate or not. Keith is special." "I know, Katie. I mean to do right by him. I swear." She nodded and settled her head on top of his chest for the remainder of the song. "I'm gonna hold you to that...." Shiro held his pinky up. "I swear, Katie." She nodded and linked her pinky. "I trust you."

They left Shiro's station wagon in the teachers lot and Keith drove Shiro back to his house just off campus on his bike. "You uh... Want to come in?" Keith got off without question. "So uh... Katie....?" Shiro started, cracking open a beer and passing it to Keith. It was prom night. Fuck it. Keith groaned and took a long drag. "What did she do?" "More or less? She is going to fuck me up if I hurt you...?" Keith nodded sagely, staring into the distance. "Holts scare the shit out of me." Shiro lifted his beer and they clinked in a cheers. "Shiro....?" "Yeah?" "I don't want to be cliche as hell... But... Could you. At least kiss me tonight? I mean… for real?" Shiro wasn't half a step away before he finished the question. "Thought you would never ask." Shiro sealed their lips together, trying in all his pent up frustration to not push too much, and hoping the last two months of WANT came through.. And it did, Keith was practically melting with Shiro's hand cupping his neck and his prosthetic tight around his waist.

Shiro pulled away heavily. "You have me so fucked up..." "Huh?" Keith wanted back. Shiro snorted and spoke against Keith's plush lips. "'m torn between wanting our first time to be slow and loving, on my bed 'pstairs... Show you how beautiful you are to me... And fucking you stupid over that fucking morons desk. For spite." Keith groaned and dropped to his knees in an instant. "Let me show you instead?"

Shiro couldn't look Keith in the eye during class after that and Keith took joy in asking a ridiculous amount of questions during prep for the AP exams. He passed with a 4. Probably because Slav was insane and force them to know exceptions to the exceptions. Thace and Ulaz threw a modest graduation part for him, and he was glad for the year to fucking FINALLY BE OVER WITH.

Shiro took him on an official proper date. Where he drove. To a restaurant with cloth napkins. And then to a bar with a band. Shiro twirled him around the dance floor again. Except neither of them wore an an uncomfortable suit and he could definitely roll his hips against Shiro's without another chaperone flipping their shit. Shiro nips at his earlobe when he does that. He did it again. Smirked when Shiro's thumbs dig into his hips to pull him closer. "You are the worst." "You're not my student teacher." Shiro growled against the column of his throat. "You're right, Baby. I'm not."

#sheith #sheith au #sheith parade #voltron au #vld au #vld sheith #studentteacher fic

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littleshebear · 7 years

Text

Destiny Fanfiction: ‘A Killing Thing.’

When Jolder and saladin are dispatched to intercept a Warlord’s raiding party, Saladin struggles with what it means to be Risen.

Ao3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11793537/chapters/26598690

You are a dead thing made by a dead power in the shape of the dead. All you will ever do is kill.

-Legend: The Black Garden (Legends and Mysteries)

Jolder and Saladin lie at the crest of a hill, observing a group of soldiers pick their way through a lightly-wooded area below them. Jolder studies the group through a high-magnification scope.

“How many?”

“About a dozen.” Jolder passes her scope to Saladin. “Perun’s sources said there’d be a Lightbearer among them. Any ideas which one it is?”

Saladin studies each of the fighters in turn. They’re lightly armed, a mix of auto-rifles and pistols, nothing too heavy-hitting. Not that they need it. Their target is a small farming settlement, they mean to raid their winter stores. The presence of a Lightbearer would be more than enough to cow their victims into submission.

“Hard to tell from this distance,” he replies. “I don’t see a Ghost anywhere. Might be the one taking point?”

“Maybe.” Jolder chuckles softly. “Kinda stupid, just strolling along the low ground for all to see, like that.”

“Or arrogant. They think they’re untouchable.” He turns to her, smirking. “I mean, who would dare take on a Warlord’s forces?”

Jolder points to Saladin and then herself. “We would.” She grins widely. “You’re talking about us, right?”

“How do you want to play this?” He already knows what her answer will be. Charge. Rush in without a care in the world. Scare Saladin to death.

“We’ve got the element of surprise. I’ll rush them-”

Saladin sighs and doesn’t quite manage to suppress a roll of his eyes.

“Oh don’t be like that,” Jolder chides. “Don’t fuss, you’re like an old hen. I’ll be fine.” She packs away the scope into her utility belt. “As I was saying, I’ll rush them, let them think I’m lone-wolfing it. I’ll draw out the Lightbearer, then you flank him or her. Shut ‘em down. Sound like a plan?”

“It sounds like, ‘you stand back while I hurl myself headlong into danger.’ As usual.”

“Yes.” She shrugs. “What’s your point? I’m faster, you’re a heavy-hitter, it makes sense to do it this way.” She pushes herself up into a kneeling position and puts on her helmet. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll mop up the rabble, you just concentrate on that Lightbearer.”

Saladin follows suit and dons his helm. “Stay in contact, keep your Ghost linked with mine.”

“Yes, Mom.” With that, she readies her gun and sets off at speed.

He watches her run, no, gambol down the hill. She allows herself to slide on the snow, seemingly for the fun of it. There’s so much joy in her gait. If Saladin didn’t know she was hurrying to intercept a raiding party, he could be forgiven for thinking she was rushing to challenge them to a snowball fight. She makes for the footsoldier at the back of the group and she shoulder-charges into him, knocking him into another before they even realise what’s happening. The others take a moment to rally, in which time Jolder has raised her machine gun and begun firing into the group. As much as she worries him, as much as he thinks her reckless, Saladin can’t help but marvel at her. She uses the trees for cover, moving between them with a fluid grace that would give any Hunter pause. The shots she manages to get off while she’s out of cover are precise and never wasted. She keeps the group too off-balance to formulate a decent defensive formation. Not for the first time, Saladin thanks the Traveler that they’re on the same side. If he ever faced her in battle, he’d probably be too transfixed to fight her.

The rumored Light-Bearer in the group finally makes his presence known, yelling at his men to rally to him. He raises a Void shield and the soldiers that haven’t been felled by Jolder scurry towards it. Saladin picks his way along the hill, moving into a flanking position. He stays low, but he needn’t worry, they’re all far too focused on Jolder. Her plan is working. Why does she always have to be right?

Jolder unloads the bulk of her current clip on the shield and the caster stumbles backwards. He’s having trouble maintaining the shield. Saladin feels a stab of pity. This one’s Light isn’t strong; he’s inexperienced, that or his Lord has been remiss with his training. Saladin suspects it’s the latter and deliberately so. Why let your lackeys reach their full potential when you can keep them weak and use them as cannon fodder?

Saladin charges down the hill towards the shield, readying his battle-axe as he goes. He leaps from the base of the hill to within striking distance, smashing the axe on the ground, sending a gout of flame towards the shield. The Ward shatters and many of its denizens scatter to find more reliable cover. Saladin draws himself up to his full height, but doesn’t attack straight away.

“Yield,” Saladin calls out. “No one else needs to die.”

The Light-Bearer draws a gun and snarls. “You’re outnumbered.”

“And you’re outmatched. Don’t be stupid.” His opponent raises his weapon and Saladin leaps out of harm’s way. Stupid it is then, he muses to himself as he lands, making another ground attack with his axe.

“Forge!” Jolder’s voice comes through via his Ghost. “Stop being a bleeding heart, put him down! He won’t hesitate to do the same to you.”

As if to prove Jolder’s point, the Lightbearer hurls a grenade in Saladin’s direction, who rasies a Ward in response. The Light grenade batters uselessly off the shield and the Lightbearer stares in dismay. Saladin takes this unguarded moment as an opportunity to rush him, swinging his axe in a figure eight pattern, not letting his oppontent regain his compsure. The Lightbearer stumbles backwards, until he falls over a tree root and in the next moment, Saladin’s axe falls, caving in his chest.

Saladin steps backwards and steels himself for what he has to do next. This was too easy, he would have felt better if had been more of a fight. Saladin wonders how long this, poor, soon-to-be-permanently-dead lad has been a Lightbearer. Not long, probably. He was woefully unprepared. His Warlord had obviously never given him the chance to hone his Light. He was good enough to intimidate a bunch of farmers but to take on an Iron Lord? There was never any contest. He paces back and forth, warring with himself. It’s a waste. He didn’t stand a chance. But he chose this. He was being used. He’d do the same to you, Jolder’s right.

But it’s such a waste.

He hears the tell-tale whirr of an emerging Ghost and swings his axe. The blade drives the little robot up against the tree its master fell over, before slicing through its shell. Its light fades and it drops to the ground with a sad little clinking sound.

“I’m sorry,” Saladin whispers to the dead shell at his feet. “I wish you’d chosen better.” He yanks his axe free of the tree, shoulders it and begins walking towards where he last saw Jolder. He draws his sidearm when he hears a rustling off to the side. A footsoldier stumbles out from behind the tree,cowering on his knees. He’s young, his skin is chalk-white and his trousers are wet. That could be from falling in the snow, it could be from something else.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, please don’t shoot,” he babbles with one of his hands up. “I’m not armed, I threw my gun away, I didn’t even get off a shot, please…” He scrabbles away from Saladin on his backside.

Saladin stomps towards him catching up easily. He growls wolfishly, deep in his throat. “How old are you?”

The boy just whimpers.

“Speak!”

“Nineteen.”

“Traveler’s Light…” Saladin shakes his head in disbelief. “Nineteen. This your first raiding party?”

The terrified boy nods.

“Is it going to be your last?”

He nods again, vigorously.

“You still have family nearby?”

“My parents.”

“Go home to them. Now, before I change my mind. Don’t let me see you out here again. Run!” The boy scrambles to his feet, and tears off just as soon as he can find purchase on the snow. Saladin waits until he is out of sight before turning to search for Jolder again. He thought she would have caught up with him by now. He expects to see her standing behind him, calling him a bleeing heart again, with a smile and a shake of her head. She’s nowhere to be seen.

“Jolder?” There’s no response. He casts around, listening for any sign of her. He calls after her again, his voice and the soft crunch of his feet in the snow the only sounds breaking the silence. He begins to quarter the ground, half expecting her to leap out from behind a tree any moment, she’ll find his concern amusing, no doubt. She’ll laugh, punch him on the shoulder then go through a routine of gentle admonishments; ‘You worry too much’ and ‘I told you so,’ until she’ll manage to coax a smile from him. His frown deepens. He tells himself she won’t stir him from his mood, not this time.

“Jolder! Jolder, this isn’t funny!” He lengthens his stride, anxious to find her. He glances to his left and right as he goes, checking the bodies scattered around, making sure she isn’t among them. He eventually spots a flash of silver and gold, and discerns a figure lying crumpled on the ground in the distance. He breaks into a run, nearly falling on his face as he loses his footing on the wet snow.

Panicked thoughts run through Saladin’s head as he closes the distance, She’s not moving. Why isn’t her Ghost reviving her? Where’s her Ghost? He slides to a halt next to her prone form and falls to his knees. He pulls off his helmet and tosses it unceremoniously to the side before gently turning Jolder to face him.

“Jolder? Talk to me.” He feels carefully for the seals around her neck and eases her helmet from her head. Her eyes flicker open and she regards him with a glassy stare for a moment, before looking down her right arm. Saladin follows her gaze to see her hand clamped over a gaping wound in her abdomen.

“Y’should see th’other guy.” She draws her bloodstained lips back. It could be a smile, it could be a grimace but if anyone could smile through such an agonising injury, it’s Jolder. Saladin glances over at the nearby corpse of a footsoldier. The knife that probably caused Jolder’s wound is now embedded in the unfortunate attacker’s throat. He should never have been allowed to get that close to her. Saladin should have been with her. “We need to be more careful.” Every trace of anger has gone from his voice, only the worry remains. “From now on, we stick together.” “Oh, don’make those sad puppy eyes at me, I’ll be fine. I just need to…” She reaches awkwardly across her body with her free hand, which is on the opposite side from her sidearm holster. She doesn’t dare take away the hand on the wound to reach for the gun, Saladin suspects it’s the only thing keeping her innards from sliding out. He swallows hard, willing his gorge not to rise. This is the sort of injury that’s certainly fatal but she’d endure hours of pain before expiring, hours of agony before her Ghost could bring her back as fresh as the day the Traveller chose her.

Jolder stifles a sob. She’s twisting herself awkwardly as she tries to reach her gun. Saladin doubts she’d have the dexterity to open the holster even if she could reach it. Her fingers are curling up, her body is shutting down the blood supply to the extremities in a last-ditch survival attempt. Human nervous systems haven’t adapted to the idea of healing through Ghost-via-suicide.

Saladin catches her hand in his and lays it down. “It’s all right. I’ve got it.”

“‘m okay,” she protests in a faint voice. “I can…”

“Jolder. I can do it.” He unclips the holster, takes out the sidearm, checks the ammo and cocks it. He turns his attention back to her, brushing his thumb lightly across her lower lip to catch a drop of blood that threatens to spill onto her chin. She locks her eyes with his. He’s caressing her cheek now, softly running his knuckles back and forth over her skin. He speaks to her, comforting “shh,” sounds, barely audible whispers. The words are less important than the tone, it’s like he’s trying to lull her to sleep.

“Do you trust me?” He says this clearly, this is important. He’s asking her to allow him to oversee her resurrection, to trust him with her Ghost. He could understand if she didn’t, trust is a hard commodity to come by in Warlord territory. The sickening crunch of the Ghost he destroyed earlier is still ringing in his ears. She doesn’t say anything, she just reaches for his wrist and pulls weakly upwards until the gun is level with her head. Saladin takes a deep breath, readies one finger at the trigger and cups the stock with his other hand. He exhales slowly and presses the barrel to her forehead.

“I’ll see you soon,” he tells her earnestly. Jolder finds a smile for him but this time, it isn’t forced. There’s no bravado now, just warmth and faith. She nods once and screws her eyes shut. He pulls the trigger.

Saladin slumps backward as the sound of the shot dies away. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He replays the carnage they unleashed today in his mind and thinks on what it means to be a living weapon, on why the Traveller saw fit to bring back the dead to slaughter the living. When he opens his eyes, that soft smile is still playing on Jolder’s lifeless lips, while the snow is slowly turning into a scarlet pillow beneath her head. As he waits for her Ghost to bring her back to him, he contemplates what it means to live in a world where killing has become an act of love.

#saladin sunday #lord saladin #lady jolder #cw: assisted suicide #cw: violence #cw: puppy #destiny fanfiction #destiny

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