a hero was needed...

***

Donna smiled and pulled back from the hug. “Well, have you done any sight seeing? I know America is nothing like Brazil or Paradise Island, but there are some interesting places to visit if you have the time.” She reached over and grabbed one of her smaller, more portable cameras. “And, I can always use a new model.”

/

“I could probably use a tour guide,” Yara replied, eyes bright at the idea of walking around the city with her sister. Donna was sure to know all the best places to go, but even if she didn’t, Yara would enjoy herself. Just Donna’s company was sure to be enough to make any afternoon worthwhile. “I’ll model for you if you’ll have lunch with me.”

[ ✉ ⟹ Wonder Babe #3 ] : You get to look at this handsome face all night. What could be better? [ ✉ ⟹ Wonder Babe #3 ] : Alright fine. We get drunk, watch David Copperfield and laugh about how stupid his puffy shirt was. [ ✉ ⟹ Wonder Babe #3 ] : Maybe I’ll teach you a card trick if you’re nice.

/

Yara gave her a choice on what she wanted in this conversation, something blunt or something to make her feel more at ease. And Rachel let out an awkward laugh. “Blunt is okay, I prefer honesty over… something to spare my feelings.” Rachel almost let it slip that Yara had always been blunt — her best form was being direct, and imagining anything else coming from Yara’s mouth was strange. 

And Yara, as Rachel remembered, didn’t hide who she was. (And briefly, Rachel felt guilty for not being up front right away with her.) “I know,” Rachel said awkwardly. “I mean — I — my name is Rachel Summers. And when I say different world and time… I mean that. I knew you there.” She was explaining poorly, but she was trying. Because Yara had been a force of such good in Rachel’s life, she didn’t want to be without it here. 

How much was too much information? Rachel was looking at Yara like a hero because she was and she wondered if it was too much to be as blunt as Yara was. To allow her to know what impact she had on Rachel’s life. “Where I’m from you helped me when I was in a bad place. The kind of place most people don’t make it out alive from.” And the kind of place that when you got out, even if you had a clear head, most people didn’t welcome you with trust and open arms. But Yara had offered her all of those things. Gave her a place to land, even if it was brief. “That’s why I was looking at you like you had two heads. I didn’t even think about looking you up when I got here. I didn’t think I’d find you.”

She said she wanted blunt, and there was a relief that came along with that because Yara wasn’t good at subtlety. She wasn’t built to be tactful. She was good at saying things as they were, even when this wasn’t necessarily the best --- or wisest --- course of action. To be given permission to do so without having to worry about the other person’s comfort... It was nice. It was comforting, in its way.

But when the woman spoke again, it put Yara on edge. She said she knew, and Yara narrowed her eyes... until she explained herself. The explanation may have seemed odd to anyone else, but to Yara? Other worlds were a given, a thing she had known was true for as long as she could remember. “Rachel Summers,” she repeated with a faint smile. “Okay. Tell me, how was I in the other world? What was I like? A friend, I hope.”

The heat and frustration in the woman’s voice faded quicky. Like something else was pulling her apart at the seams. Because Zatanna might have pressed gently, but she didn’t think it was harsh enough to break a spirit. (But then again, some days, even a gust of wind could blow Zatanna over.) If it wasn’t the travel that had her reeling… then it was what she had seen. And Zatanna could only imagine what had happened in the Underworld. Of all the places that Zatanna had been, the ones that were defined by their cruelty often lived up to their harsh names.

They were realms of horrors. And if this woman was to be trusted, she had just walked through one and came out here — her exhaustion, her grief, the fading anger, all of it made sense with her story. Each detail made Zatanna wonder who she was less and less, she wasn’t sure if she trusted her, but she believed what she was saying.

“Do you really believe that, that you’re not?” Zatanna asked, her head tilting to the side as she tried to get a better look at her face. It would have been easier to pretend, she imagined, not to feel anything if you claimed you weren’t human. That you were untouched by all human emotions and not confined to the same rules as others. “Depends on the day. A protector, mostly.” That was why she was there to greet Yara. Why she didn’t back down when Yara started telling her off — because she had a responsibility. (And she’d never claim the word hero.) “Then stop carving that path,” Zatanna said plainly. The conversation reminded her of one she had with Illyana after she had stepped out of Limbo. How Zatanna stood there and had to tell her over and over again that she got to make her own way. “There’s a lot out there beyond this forest. Where do you want to go? Where do you need to go?”

An Amazon. Zatanna had been right on her first guess. There was a fraction of a smile that came with it. “I have. I worked with Diana for a while in the Justice League.” Zatanna didn’t know where their home island was located, no one knew outside of the Amazons and those they chose to let find them — so Zatanna couldn’t offer her a quick trip to Themyscira. But Zatanna was sure that she could contact Diana if that’s what Yara wanted. “Amazons are also the only ones that openly talk about things like the Underworld… and Gods and Hades.”

Yara had not had many conversations with her father, throughout her life. Gods were busy things, and they rarely made time for such insignificant people as their half human children. Perhaps the most significant talk she had had with Tupã came after her mother’s death, when she was young and angry at the world. She remembered her father’s cold attempt at comfort, remembered the way he had sat beside her so careful to leave enough space between them that she couldn’t feel the warmth of his body. You are a goddess, Yara, he’d told her, sounding so angry. You will lose more people than this. You will outlive them all. You shouldn’t be touched by such foolish things as grief. There is no place for it. And it wasn’t what she needed to hear, but gods rarely offered that. There was a reason less and less people found comfort through prayer these days.

She found herself wishing now that she had learned whatever lesson he’d been trying to teach then. She found herself longing to be as he was then, a cold and calculating creature unbothered by grief. It was unimaginable, in this moment. When you were grieving, the idea of a life without grief seemed utterly impossible, even if you knew you’d had one only moments before the tragedy ripped it apart, even if you knew you’d see it again when the pain of loss faded. Grief was a vicious phenomenon, and it made itself the only thing in your life, the only feeling.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, which she supposed was an answer all its own. If she weren’t a person, she’d know that. It would be undeniable, simple. And this was anything but that. This was complex and painful and confusing. It was so different than when her mother had died, and Yara had never known that it would be like that. She’d never realized that grief could vary quite so much. “What do you protect?” A second, more tentative question lurked beneath it. Are you here to protect me, or are you protecting something from me? Yara thought she might know the answer. She let out a laugh, hollow and empty. “That’s easier said than done, isn’t it?” It could be impossible to get off a path, once you were on it. It could be terrifying. But... She was right. Yara couldn’t go on like this. She closed her eyes for a moment, considering the question as if the answer weren’t an obvious one. As if she didn’t know exactly where she needed to be and exactly who she needed to be with. “My sisters,” she choked out quietly. “I need to be with my sisters.” Donna and Cassie and Diana, too, if she could find her. Samanta was gone, but they were not.

/

It was surprising to hear, actually. Tabitha had gotten so used to the world wanting to knock her on her ass simply for existing, that when someone claimed otherwise, she was left there shrugging her shoulders because she didn’t understand. Belonging — in any form — was a foreign concept to Tabitha. Even among mutants, she was a black sheep. She had never thought anyone outside that community would look at her with some level of understanding.

Or maybe that was a push — but the other woman looked less like she was about to deck her, and that was a step in a… different direction. One that Tabitha didn’t move in often. “You’re not human?” Tabitha repeated, shifting suddenly because not mutant meant what exactly? Alien? But she supplied the name quickly.

Amazon.

Arching a brow, Tabitha was actually surprised. She hadn’t imagined that but there was something fun in finding a new kind of danger in a person. Chances were, if they did end up in a fist fight, Tabitha would have gotten laid out. (It still sounded like a good time, regardless.) “I think I could get you some lift at least.” But the grin on her face found a comfortable spot, and she nodded her head. “Yeah, mine is making bombs. If I have enough time… big fucking boom.”

The way the other woman was looking at her now... she was shocked. Yara could see it etched onto her face, the surprise subtle as if she was trying to hide it but undeniably present all the same. She wondered if it was this rare that someone knew what she was and didn’t hate her for it, if it was something so unusual that it was met with abject shock each time it happened. And then, perhaps selfishly, Yara thought after herself, or Donna, or Cassie, or Jon. Was this something she should worry about too? Natasha had told her she should tell people about her Amazonian heritage, Jon said she ought to wear a hoodie over her head when flying, even at night. Were people here so cruel that they would attack someone for the crime of being different? 

Yara shook her head at the question, smiling faintly. “I’m not human,” she repeated. It was strange --- moments ago, she’d been prepared to come to blows with this woman, and now... There was a bond there, something binding them together. They weren’t quite like each other, Amazon and mutant being two vastly different descriptors, but they were similar in their strangeness. Neither of them was human, and that gave them a big, blaring thing to have in common. 

(✉️ ➡️ rednow ): [unsent] i don’t think we’re talking about the same things anymore— (✉️ ➡️ rednow ): i’m not going to bring anyone here without their consent (✉️ ➡️ rednow ): [unsent] who are you talking about? what are you— (✉️ ➡️ rednow ): it’s not about leaving people behind, yara. it’s learning how to live without them and carrying their memory (✉️ ➡️ rednow ): i think that’s different, at least

[…] (✉️ ➡️ rednow ): grief isn’t that easy (✉️ ➡️ rednow ): it’s not fair, but it hurts because it matters 

(✉️ ➡️ sorceress zatara): how do you get a dead person’s consent? it’s an oxymoron. you have to bring them back to get it (✉️ ➡️ sorceress zatara): and if the memory isn’t enough? (✉️ ➡️ sorceress zatara): [UNSENT] i am /lonely/ and i just (✉️ ➡️ sorceress zatara): i don’t like it.

it’s clearly not nothing. || @futurewonder​

Donna thought she had the apartment to herself and had thrown herself into a solitary kind of pity party with blankets piled on top of her and a movie put on in the background while she looked through her phone at pictures she’d taken… of Illyana in those rare moments when the other girl was smiling or not looking. No one was supposed to see Donna Troy looking anything less than strong and secure in herself, but suddenly a nose was peeking around the door.

Donna sat up and ran her hands through her tangled hair. “I’m fine!” she pouted at her youngest sister. “You didn’t need to check in on me, Yara. It’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around.” But, since Yara had already flown through the window (or broken the door), she pulled back the blankets to make room for her sister to come join her.

/

Matters of the heart were hardly Yara’s expertise. She’d had encounters through her life, had loved and been loved, but at the end of the day, when all was said and done, Yara was usually the one who ended things. She cut ties, she slipped out in the middle of the night, she walked away. She’d never had her heart broken before, not truly. But she knew what it looked like. She’d seen it on other people. On Samanta, when a fisherman told her he loved her but sailed off to sea anyways. On Cassie, when she thought Yara wasn’t looking, when Conner left angry. And on Donna, ever since her conversation with Illyana had ended poorly. Yara hated seeing her sisters upset, ached with them just as surely as if she were the one grieving. She’d never had her heart broken, but she imagined she knew what it felt like. She imagined she’d had good teachers.

“You don’t look fine,” Yara hummed, making her way over to sit down on the sofa beside her sister. She stole a glance at Donna’s phone in the process, caught sight of photo after photo of Illyana. Probably not a good sign, was it? “I can worry about you, too. The worrying goes both ways, you know.” She’d yet to tell anyone about Samanta, yet to utter what had happened aloud, but since her return from the Underworld... worrying about her sisters was something of a second nature. “What can I do, Donna? How can I help?”

Most of the Lanterns, Yara had decided, were supremely annoying. Jessica was the exception, and the only reason Yara had yet to throw the other woman’s partner into the sun was Jessica’s fondness for him. She wondered if a similar fondness would save this particular Lantern from such a fate. She narrowed her eyes at him, taking in the costume, the light, the ring, and scoffing lightly.

“Six months is six months,” she said flatly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Unless your life expectancy is far shorter than the average human’s. Is it?” She’d been practicing mimicking Natasha’s ‘unamused’ expression. She was pretty sure she wasn’t nailing it, but... She thought she was doing an okay job.

— Donika Kelly, from Bestiary: Poems; “Self-Portrait as a Block of Ice”

Yara read that when something terrible happened, the people involved often returned to the ‘scene of the crime.’ They were drawn to it, in a way. It was addictive, almost. She’d always thought it sounded foolish, always wondered how anyone could do such a silly thing, but now...

The woman she and Jon failed to save died outside a community center. There was still a stain on the sidewalk, though that was all that was left of the horrible event now. Yara stared down at it, chest aching, and she wondered how something so complex as a human life could be simplified down to a stain on the sidewalk. There wasn’t even police tape to mark it, wasn’t anything that would let you know what happened unless you’d been there. And Yara had. 

She heard someone approaching, but she assumed they’d just... walk by. People did that, in New York. They saw someone caught in a moment, and they let them be. Yara wasn’t sure if she loved that or loathed it. This woman, however, didn’t leave. Instead, she paused. She spoke. And Yara wanted to scream. “There was,” she said instead, taking a breath. It felt as if she was trying to breathe underwater. “There was. You don’t... What happened here, I could have stopped it. I should have.”

(✉️ ➡️ baby wonder): perhaps the limit does not exist, but that doesn’t mean that it /shouldn’t/ exist.