#//it is just...kind of tiny summery of the muses

[fadedflame]

The Deep Dark Blue Epilogue

Detroit: Become Human Prompt Challenge from @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Summery:  Lieutenant Hank Anderson had been a naval officer for years. It was his life, his passion, everything he cared about now. And yet, all it took was one look from the tiny Mer child to make him willing to risk it all. 

Epilogue

Words-1216

Chapter Summery: Finding a new normal.

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Ao3 or read below

"You know," Jeffery mused to Hank. "When I let you keep Connor, I didn't think you were gonna start collecting them."

Hank leaned on the ship's railing, a smirk turning the corners of his mouth. “Can’t expect me to break up the set,” he quipped. “Besides, it’s your own damn fault. You didn’t even try to fight me on this one.”

“As if you would’ve listened,” he grumbled. “I swear, you pick up stray kids like they’re orphaned ducklings.”

He did sort of have a point, Hank would give him that. Sort of. “To be fair, I really don’t think Nines counts.”

“How the hell do you figure that?” The almost insulted tone of the Captain’s voice made him laugh.

“Easy,” he responded with a shrug. “Nines isn’t too sure about humans yet. He doesn’t see me as his dad.”

Jeffery just rolled his eyes. “I don’t care, Hank. He’s your kid and he’s still your responsibility.”

“Alright, fine you win,” He pushed himself from the railing. He really should go check on his boys anyway. Connor was out of danger, but his slow recovery was keeping him confined below deck. Nines was diligent about keeping an eye on him. “I already convinced the kid to start wearing pants, what more do you want from me?”

Jeffery’s expression did not give enough credit to what that ordeal had entailed. “I expect you to keep him in line. If I recall, he bit Gavin just yesterday.”

Ha, yeah he did. That was something he wished he’d been filming. “Ok, yeah. But in Nines’s defense, Gavin was asking for it. Literally. He said ‘bite me’.”

“It’s not a joke, Hank,” Jeffery scolded. “Keep him under control, or he has to go."

It was an empty threat, there was no way he would actually make him send Nines away, but he couldn't really blame him for being frustrated. The boys may look nearly identical but that just made their difference in personality that much more striking. Connor continued to be his sweet and polite self. Nines, on the other hand, was borderline feral.

Sure as hell didn't stop him from loving them both.

"Yeah, yeah," Hank agreed dismissively. "Don't worry, I won't let him slip his leash or anything."

As if talking about him had summoned him, Nines chose that moment to poke his head up from below deck. He scanned each passing human warily, like he expected to need to defend himself at any moment.

The crew, thank god, were kind to him. They gave him space, thought he suspected some of them just didn’t want to get bit, and spoke to him pleasantly. A few, like Tina and Chris, went out of their way to make him feel welcome, though he was not entirely receptive to it.

But he was making progress. And damn if Hank wasn’t proud of him.

He knew Nines was looking for him, but didn’t appear to be in a rush, so it couldn’t be an emergency. He had seen the boy when there was something to actively worry about and it was downright panic inducing. So, while he was calm, he would let Nines come to him leisurely.

Still, he could tell the second he caught sight of him. His eyes locked on with a predatory focus that would unnerve him if he didn’t find it oddly endearing.

“Hello, Nines,” Jeffery greeted him as he approached.

Hank could almost see his thought process as he processed the sentiment directed at him, then dismissed it as unimportant. “Connor needs you,” he said simply, ever straight to the point.

For Jeffery’s sake, Hank tried not to find his clear annoyance at being ignored too funny. “Well,” he said to his Captain. “You heard the kid. Gotta go take care of Connor.”

“As if you weren’t already going to do that,” he waved him off dismissively. “Go on, get the hell out of here.”

Hank grinded to himself as he followed Nines below deck. He did have to be grateful to Jeffery, the man really let him get away with a hell of a lot. He took advantage of them being friends more than he probably should. But he also knew from experience that if it were an actual problem, the Captain would talk to him about it.

Nines pushed the cabin door open silently, revealing a slightly disgruntled, but coherent and healing, Connor. He was sitting on his cot, propped up by multiple pillows. The sight of his son alive and on the mend always warmed Hank’s heart.

“Nines,” Connor complained. “I told you not to get dad.”

Heaven forbid anyone expect the force of nature that was Nines to do as he was told. He ignored Connor’s protest and climbed up onto the cot next to his brother and wrapped himself around him like a protective curtain. Connor, ever the cuddler, leaned into the embrace.

“What’s going on, kiddo?” Hank prompted. Nines had to have thought he was needed for something if he had come to retrieve him. “How are you feeling?”

"I'm doing ok, just bored," Connor admitted with an exasperated sigh.

Nines tucked Connor's head under his chin. "Fix it," he demanded.

"Alright, let's get something straight," Hank scolded, grabbing his tablet off of the desk. "You may not listen to orders, but you sure as hell don't get to issue them. You understand?"

He got a low, threatening hiss in response.

“Nines!” Connor said aghast. “Don’t hiss at Dad!”

Hank laughed lightly. Connor sincerely didn't seem to mind how unhinged his brother could be, unless it affected the other crew members. He scooted himself onto the cot to join his boys. It strained judgmentally under the added weight, but he knew it would hold a hell of a lot more.

“Ah, that’s just how you show affection, right Nines?” he teased. He settled himself so his arm reached around the both of them and made a Connor sandwich.

Nines made an annoyed grunt, but didn’t protest to either the statement or the hug.

Connor settled himself happily between the two of them, but winced slightly as he moved, probably pulling on his still healing wounds. Hank did his best not to fuss. He knew there was nothing he could do to ease Connor’s pain, nor did the kid want him to worry, but he wanted nothing more than to make everything better.

“You ok?” he still asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, finally getting comfortable. “Just sore. I’m ok.”

Nines wrapped his arm around him, drawing himself impossibly closer, apparently sharing Hank’s sentiment of wanting to help in any way possible. Hank pulled the blanket around the three of them effectively turning them into a tightly packed burrito.

“Alright, now the important part,” Hank sighed contently, pulling up the tablet. “What are we all gonna watch?”

The boys debated on it briefly, both of them perking up with the idea of watching a movie and eager to have their choices considered. It was nice, seeing them act like… well, boys. His boys. Yeah, maybe Nines didn’t quite see him as his father, maybe he never would. But he was sure as hell Connor’s brother, and that made the three of them a weird little family.

Hank wouldn’t have it any other way.

[sentofighta]

ship list bias ? update ? 

--

einar: for now single ship with sora ( @/crownofsmiles )

           he is hard to get him to be interested in someone on a romantic level because he puts his uncle then his job first so any other thing is secondary to him. but he is a good boy who likes having a family..someday.

--

eight: cater, deuce. (no ships atm) 

           being a cadet means little time for romance and all that teen fun time. but he is such a sweet boy who loves his friends and mother and wants to do the best in order to make her proud. also no fighting, fighting is bad. but he can knock you out cold. shipping with eito is not hard but it requires time so he can understand that it is ok if he had some...time for himself and not just war only.

--

machina: rem, deuce ( @/oursongofhealing )

            machina is a tricky one. his fears keep him away from a lot of things. he is very faithful and will do his utmost best to secure happiness for his partner. he is a good boy really. please we dont talk about incognito ok?  guys he loves chocobos. ey, ey?? anyone? because of how machi role is, he can be hard to get hold of? after you know a certain timeline if we are going by the game but overall, you need to make him move from his childhood crush. it aint easy but it aint impossible. 

--

zack: cissnei (im rareship trash dont at me), aerith. (no ships atm)

           puppy? literally puppy. a good puppy. he just wants to have a good time and make good memories. and kind of brag to his parents he got a GF lmao. a very sincere and honest guy. tbh shipping with zack is not hard but ...it will gradually grow harder if you cannot keep up with him ofc. 

--

Sohrab: from awakening atm no one. though anna could have a chance. no ships atm.

            sohrab is just sohrab. if you are alchemy he will love you, if you are not he does not have time to waste with you. he prioritizes his life to pursuing his passion, alchemy and anything else is pretty much secondary...maybe less even. he is not entirely against the notion of getting with someone but he got a lot of conditions and points his love interest got to pay attention to, among them his lineage of both ylissean and plegian which can be troublesome to some and he does not want to go into problems because of it. 

--

roland: maybe noire but it needs a lot of communication but atm no ships.

          he got no time for love when is busy doubting everyone and keeping a close eye on lucina and chrom. smh what is love? i got no time for that buffoonery. but aside from that, he is the serious guy who wants everything clear. he does not like hit around the bushes if he found someone he will confess. but you have to gain his trust before his love ;;; save this boy. he is good believe me. he loves animals!!!!!!

--

lucina: owain. (before you speak. i know. it is very ok for me because it is very ok in MY culture. you dont like it. there is a magical button called ‘unfollow’) other s supports are okayish for me. marc/morgan depend heavily on the interpretation. as for Avatar ....same with the interpretation. (no ships atm)

            lucina is just like any other girls. she will love but because she sees everyone else above her own happiness, her duties come first and foremost, she cannot find that free time to be a normal girl and act on her feelings. she has in odd sense of..fashion and humor but if you can tolerate these you are a special being. and ofc you know you will have chrom as a dad-in-law hmm~ (and roland too depend on the verse lmao!!! we make the rules here ehehehehe)

--

aiden: i think she might be interested in Guy (same tragedy vibes yo) no ships atm (or jade. who knows hoho)

         the act to be happy and stuck in acting. she is..conflicted. a complex of emotions because she focuses on acting a lot of time that she sometimes forget what it means like to be ‘actually’ something. she is chill though and not against being with someone but she is dragging some big luggage and needs someone to understand. 

-- 

balan: spyrites project. jokes aside but seriously he is 30 years and just loves science and spyrites. what do you expect of him?

           his personality might be a turn off for some especially if they know he kind of like to gamble....a lot. with ...anything. especially dirt stories. call alvin and ask him. he knows. but aside from these things, he is really a thoughtful and generous man. he is kind and likes to listen when people talk to him because it is part of his job to listen. it often helps him figure out stuff when he listens to others. he may find it hard to love-love someone because he spent all his time in laboratories and dedicated his time to save the spirits and the co-existing, but he will warm up with time. 

--

feiruz: like literary anyone kind and good with animals ?  ? ? ? 

            a very romantic girl. she likes to fall in love, be happy, and all that fuzzy fluffy nice feelings! but not like she will just throw herself at the person but like you know deep sighs when she sees him. try to figure out what he likes and you know just try to have more conversations to know him better. she is a good gal. let me introduce you to my family comes waaaay later. unless there was a need to you know. 

[saladejin]

Admire | 06

Seokjin x Fem!Reader | arranged marriage!au, husband!Seokjin | Strangers to lovers, angst, self discovery, loneliness in luxury, touch starvation (eventual smut), eventual domestic fluff

Summary: You’d never needed anyone else. Growing up alone, living alone, existing alone. It all came naturally and effortlessly, quite like breathing. That was until your somewhat distant parents finally decided it was time to make good on a promise. One they’d made before you were even born.

Warnings: There’s only one bed - but nothing too saucy lol, touching

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Just a mixture of fluff and angst for you guys hehe

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When you came out of the tiny bathroom that night, the lights were already off, and all you could see was the mounded shape of Seokjin underneath the bedcovers. He must have been pretty tired, as he’d been the one with the most hours of driving under his belt so far. You stood and appreciated the way the lamps from outside cast tiny slivers of light across the surface of the duvet.

You climbed in, wishing that the bed was a lot bigger so that you didn’t have to feel or sense his presence anywhere near you, the idea of little proximity making your knees weak … also considering his lack of shirt.

You wanted to be close to him, to feel his skin against yours, to hear the way he inhaled and exhaled small puffs of air as he slept, or even just the sound of his gentle heartbeat. Having that sense of closeness would make you feel so incredibly relaxed. You didn’t know how badly you craved it until now, and you didn’t know why that was.

Then he was turning over, and it was slow enough to make you panic, but not slow enough to give you the time to inch further away or turn yourself around. You were face to face with him, and his cursed eyes as they took in your slightly parted lips frozen from fear. 

Why is he even awake?

He didn’t say a word, just blinked and waited for your tensed up muscles to loosen. As you sighed and ran a hand through your hair in frustration, he lifted one corner of his lips ever so slightly into a knowing smirk.

“You scared me, idiot,” you whined in a low tone, turning to face him again but keeping your eyes fixated to a point above his face. You couldn’t really bear the shame of looking into his amused gaze again. In truth, it didn’t seem like he wasn’t amused but rather just as curious as ever.

“Why can’t you sleep?” he wondered aloud with a certain rasp to his tone that you found much too attractive. A loud part of you wanted to ask him to just keep talking, not even caring what or who he talked about. You only realised then that you’d brought a finger up to start tracing the outlines of his shoulders leading into his collarbone, the feeling of his lean muscle putting your mind at ease for some strange reason.

“Physical contact, right?” he then said almost to himself.

Your finger stopped in its tracks and you lifted your eyes to his in confusion. You must have been way too tired to even form rational thoughts. Had you seriously just been touching his bare skin without hesitation?

“What?” was the only thing you could blurt out in your state of conflict.

He didn’t answer, but your shock was soon replaced by a tingling warmth when you felt one of his hands grazing the exposed skin of your waist, precisely where your shirt had ridden up the most. The way you shivered and sighed at the contact was too immediate to be considered normal, and you heard the way he softly inhaled at the reaction.

“You never really mention how badly you need it. I can barely understand it, or you,” he commented calmly.

“Your needs are different from mine. How can you understand something if you’ve never had to think about it? When you’ve never yearned for it so much that you almost lose your mind every time someone looks at you?” you said with a tinge of shame flaring immediately after the quiet outburst. You were too vulnerable, too much like an open book for him to read.

He seemed to be trying to keep his emotions concealed, but it was obvious how intrigued he was to watch your inner turmoil. He continued to run his hand downwards and then followed the slope of your hip back up towards your goose-bumped shoulders.

You were so happy to finally receive the touch and attention you wanted that you couldn’t help but shift closer to him. You heard a tiny murmur of disbelief rumble deep in his throat, but ignored it. You only moved to press your colder hand to his chest and run it upwards, and eventually burrowed your face deep into the crook of his neck. He was so warm, and it made you feel so unbelievably secure. You surrounded yourself with the scent of him and let out a large unbridled sigh of relief.

The wide hand that had stilled on your back from the shock began to move again. He gently brought your figure further into his and let his deft fingers continue tracing patterns onto your back over the fabric of the shirt.

“Since the wedding, I’ve made sure to keep my distance because I was sure we’d be out of this almost as soon as it started. I’ve always been reserved to people in my life and that hasn’t changed,” he said so quietly that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been so close to him.

“So, I don’t get what you’re seeing in me now really. I know you better than to think you’re seeing me as a simple warm body, it’s much deeper than that. Why do you feel the sudden change in attitude, after all this time?” Seokjin murmured. It was questionably the longest time you’d heard his voice speak in succession.

“I guess I just wanted to be this close to someone for once,” you whispered with a sad smile. “It’s like that one time we were dancing but a zillion times worse. Since the start, I’ve battled with loneliness and thought of myself as self-sufficient and independent, but for some reason it’s all suddenly changing, and I don’t really know how to feel.”

Right then was when you’d let your walls crumble into a dusty pile of bricks and stone. You were so exposed; you may as well have been sitting stark naked in front of the man. All your insecurities were laid out on the slab for him to see … One. By. One.

You continued in a breathy voice, one beat away from breaking. “It has nothing to do with how you’re not the warmest or most companionable husband out there. That didn’t matter to me before, and it sure as hell doesn’t matter now. Think of the life I’ve lived…”

It was silent for a few moments as you let him mull over his thoughts. The rhythmic sound of his relaxed breathing soothed you into your next words.

“A partner. That is what you are to me, and that means you’re kind of irreplaceable since I’ve never had one before. It doesn’t matter if you’re distant, or cold, or even confusing at times because at the end of the day we only have each other to come home to. And if you’ll indulge me sometimes, I’d like to see you as the rock that keeps me grounded. The one common denominator reminding me that I’m not alone in that big, empty house.”

You paused, not knowing if you should continue due to the lack of response. When he seemed to still be running it over in his head, your sudden spark of confidence fizzled and almost died out completely.

“I’m probably the most selfish person for this, but to put it simply I’m using you as a security blanket. Wrapping myself up in the familiarity just to feel safe. Because you always just seem to have it together whenever I’m the one breaking down.”

He was just starting to open up to me as well, yet here I am scaring him away like a madwoman.

“That’s why you wanted to stick with me since the beginning, right?” he spoke surprisingly after a few heavy moments. “At all those first parties and balls you had no idea of what you were doing, so you asked to stay beside me because you were the outsider and I was the one stranger out of all of them that you just happened to know a little more.”

he mused, cast into a thoughtful sense of amazement. “I saw that you were scared, but didn’t know that you felt that way back then.”

You couldn’t help but shift your gaze upwards to garner any kind of visual reaction from Seokjin. When you only found his eyes looking down at you with a profound look of shining sympathy, you blinked away the tears pricking at the corners of your own and buried your face deep into the space between his neck and shoulder. He was a like refuge, and you were only hiding from your own disgrace.

The sound of his deep even breathing was lulling you into a sleepiness so strong that you could feel your lashes kissing your cheekbones every few seconds. Your chest was positively alight with a burning bittersweet combination of happiness and regret.

He was holding you close, giving in to your cry for help even though your past self would have never believed it.

~

Days passed, and ultimately so did your roadside adventure.

The last night was proving to be an absolute delight, with the whole group sharing toasted marshmallows on large twigs around a crackling campfire. The vehicles were parked around you, casting long looming shadows along the grass while you all reminisced about your healthy time spent away from work and life in general.

For you, the highlights had definitely been the beach. Feeling the sun-kissed sand underneath your toes and listening to the sounds of rolling ocean waves had almost put you in a trance of sorts, a serenity you could barely describe. Other memories were things such as shopping in the old town stores, dining on the most nostalgic meals, spending the summery nights gathering with family members and catching up on your busy lives.

These were all just some of your favourite moments spent on the trip, but they couldn’t compare to the ones you had experienced with Seokjin. Even now, as you sat near the campfire surrounded by the busy ramblings of your real family, his magnetic field of a presence drew you in.

There he sat next to your grandfather; three fingers pressed firmly to the strings of an acoustic guitar while the older greying man showed him how to strum out the chord. You felt your heart squeeze when Seokjin smiled lightly and took over from the elderly man. He began playing the instrument shyly, fingers still shaky from inexperience but getting the hang of skill as if it were something as simple as breathing.

“(Y/n).” His steady voice broke into your thoughts like a freight train. You brought yourself back into focus to see him tapping the tightened strings of the guitar gently. The warm orange glow of the nearby fire flickering its own cadence of hues onto his flawless features.

“I’m getting one of these when we get home.”

Everything within you stuttered at his matter-of-factly statement, and for some reason the smile plastered on your face began to falter.

‘When we get home.’

Why did these simple words cause your bottom lip to quiver ever so slightly, or your eyes to brim with unbidden salty tears? You couldn’t even pick apart the emotions within you to decipher whether they were ones of happiness or sadness. Everything was a jumble.

“Sorry,” you excused yourself before placing your stick covered in gooey marshmallow remnants on the flat log below. Nobody really took notice as you made your way briskly towards your motorhome, face tingling with pent up feelings and mind a whirring mess.

I’m happy, and surprisingly enough, that’s a bad thing.

You let the motorhome door click shut and threw yourself onto the soft pillowy bed face-first.

I’m happy on this trip, but that isn’t the problem. I’m happy with him…

A lonely tear of frustration escaped the confines of your willpower, trailing a warm path down your cheek in a sad descent. It soaked into the white fabric underneath.

I’m not meant to be happy with him! I’m meant to be just waiting it out until we go our separate ways. I’m meant to be disengaged, disinterested.

You gripped the bedcovers harshly, knowing that your own foolish need for his touch had gotten you into this chaotic disarray. You were so happy to know that he wasn’t an asshole, that he wasn’t some douchebag who had his head stuck up his own ass. You were ecstatic to find out that the man you’d been condemned to marry just wasn’t the whiny juvenile brat you’d expected.

“But why would everything be easier if he was?” you whimpered to yourself.

Then the door was being pulled open and the sounds of the chirping crickets flooded into the van, all the way to your throbbing ears.

“Hey, what’re you doing?”

Hearing Seokjin’s voice after mentally recalling every aspect about him you admired only twisted the knife deeper into your gut. You knew you should have pretended to be tired and needing sleep, but under his watchful eye it just wasn’t going to happen. Slowly, you sat up and combed the flowing hair out of your face with firm unforgiving fingers.  

At the sight of your tear-stained skin and blotchy eyes, Seokjin’s gaze softened and he exhaled loudly before making his way over. You were so upset at yourself for letting things happen the way they had, but this time you didn’t hide your emotions away out of courtesy.

“I’m sorry Seokjin.” You cleared your throat and sniffed. “I’m sorry for letting myself believe... I’ve gotten so used to fooling other people about us that I forgot to exclude myself. So, I’ve been fooled.”

By now the tears were gone, and the only evidence remaining of your explosive breakdown was the hoarse edge to your voice. You knew he probably wouldn’t understand the confession, and it wouldn’t hurt his feelings. You were the only one dumb enough to pull the veil back over your eyes. The veil convincing everyone watching that you were in love, and in turn seeing it all through the same shroud.

You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. You were in love with him. 

Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.

[gigilberry-wips]

the bonds of kinship

(image used can be found here)

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairings: None

Warnings: Brief mentions of fighting and violence, Spoilers for Season 2 Finale

Tags: Reader-Insert, No (Y/N), GN!Reader, Jedi!Reader, Creative Depictions of The Force, Action, Angst, Feels, Character Study, Healthy Relationships, Hopeful Ending

Word Count: 2.9k

Summery:

You’re a Padawan training under Luke Skywalker when your master recieves a distress signal from a Force sensitive child. He follows the lead and brings you along for the ride.

AO3 link

A/N: A few days after the season 2 finale I was lurking in the mandalorian tags, as you do, when one of those “i wish someone would write-” posts (this one) got my muse to drop by long enough to toss this one shot through the window.

- Obligatory disclaimer that I don’t know a thing about Star Wars. This show is my first introduction to the franchise and at the moment I am in absolutely no hurry to enlighten myself further (is there anyone else who’s here for the authentic experience of being as clueless as Din about this show? Because I’m having a blast :D Just about every subtle reference, easter egg, and character mention has gone flying over my head and I honestly find that hilarious)

I don’t know how well I’ve written the Force here, so just ... roll with it, please and thanks.

- Apparently Luke's ship is supposed to be a one seater kind of deal, but for the sake of this fic let's just pretend it has room for two people, yeah? Yeah? Good.

While writing this I thought of the song King of the Fairies, performed by The Dubliners. It'll make more sense near the end bit of this. I hope.

@ctrlmando​ I hope this turned out alright! Enjoy! ^_^

*

The Imperial battle ship made an imposing figure in the vast, glittering expanse of space. Under the cramped confines of your knees, R2D2 stirred, blinking and beeping in a way that made you mildly concerned for your shins.

“… so, this is where he is?”

“It is.” Master Skywalker nodded, his eyes trained on the floating craft. “Do you remember your part of the plan?”

“Get in, find the kid, get out.”

“Correct.” As a port came into view, he added, “Are you sure you’re ready for this? If you want to, you can stay here with R2D2.”

You gripped your saber’s hilt where it was clipped to your belt. In all the years you’d been under your master’s tutelage, there hadn’t been much in the way of students to train with on your level, few and far between as they were. This wasn’t just the first student to contact your master first, and through the Force no less, this was the first time you were being trusted on a mission like this.

For you to pass up such an opportunity? Out of the question. “Born ready,” you said, your tone firm.

“Then by all means, lead the way.”

The ship’s hull passed through the entrance just as the comms came to life. A woman’s voice spoke through it, but neither you nor your master answered. The moment the ship docked, you jumped out and took off at a sprint.

Keeping low to the ground, you focused all your powers on stealth and speed, dodging around the combatants before they had time to react. It wasn’t your job to take care of them, not yet – and from the sounds of it, your master was doing well for himself. While he took the brunt of the fire, you focused on navigating the corridors and opening your mind to the Force.

He was there. The child was a strong, bright little beacon, his presence lighting a path that ran clear as truth. The droids that tried to block your way you shoved aside with your powers, until you were well past them and they were left to face another, far more deadly opponent to charge at.

You hardly registered the fallen bodies you skipped over. Didn’t matter. You’d think about it later. Rescue came first.

The child’s presence led you to a lift. Above your head, a humming, artificial energy grew stronger and stronger the further up you went. When the lift opened, it was to a short corridor lined on either side with battle ready droids.

But by then you had your lightsaber out. Time to fight.

In a blur of sparks and tearing metal, you sliced the first droid in half. The next to come at you got its gun tossed out of its grasp through the Force and its head swiped off. One after another you cut them down, using the lightsaber and Force as needed, switching between the two with an efficiency that had been drilled into you until it had become habit.

The last droid fell in a twisted pile at your feet. You stepped past it. You waited.

In the few minutes of sizzling silence, you contemplated the dented metal door before you, so large it encompassed to breadth and hight of the corridor. There were … five? Six? Six adult creatures, all facing the entrance. Or no – one was unconscious. There was also that bright little child. He seemed unharmed, but you couldn’t be sure until you saw for yourself.

The door slid open. You marched into the room with lightsaber in hand and smoke curling at your heels. You allowed your hood to drop, finally showing your face to the gathering.

Front and centre there stood a humanoid clad in armour. Beskar armour. In a style you never thought you’d see more than once in your life.

A Mandalorian.

And it wasn’t just one. There were two more in the back, with slight modifications in their armour design, but distinctly Mandalorian all the same. Save for the first Mandalorian, the rest of the adults had their weapons raised at you.

The Mandalorian spoke. “Are you a Jedi?”

“… I am a Jedi in training.” You tilted you head. “My master should be arriving shortly.”

He had just finished down below. You felt more than heard him board the lift; he would be there in a few moments. Deactivating your lightsaber, you clipped it to your belt and stepped to the side of the entrance, closer to where several monitors idly hummed.

A very long, very green ear peeked out from behind a chair and you were met with the beseeching gaze of a child.

He … was tiny. You doubted he’d even pass your knee. He clung to the seat with tiny, tiny hands, and he was dressed in a brown, smock-like thing that made him look even tinier. But no matter how fragile he looked, no matter how impossibly wide and dewy his eyes were, the presence that radiated out of him was unmistakable. He was the kid.

Curious, you reached your thoughts out to him. A warm, exuberant little mind eagerly found yours, shy and hopeful.

What do you want? You asked.

You were met with a flurry of sensations. A sweet smell, a full belly, a metal ball?, gentle hands, a human chuckle.

… well. That wasn’t … unexpected, per se. He was a baby after all. But he hadn’t quite understood your question.

You tried again. Why did you call my master? Why are we here?

The child’s ears twitched. He opened his mind further and allowed you to see.

There were many emotions there, confusing in how strong they were and how drastically they contrasted. Nostalgia, safety, joy, peace. Sorrow and pain, loss and rage. They all held a strange depth to them, like a mind that had lived far, far longer than its apparent youth suggested.

Eventually, the emotions solidified into thoughts. Make me strong. They said.

… You want strength? Why would he need more? He was already strong, incredibly so.

… I have been hurt and I have been lost. But he protects me. The child looked up and to the side, towards what you now realised was his caregiver. I love him, and he loves me, but I can’t protect him. He fights for me and he saves me and he will die saving me and everyone dies saving me and it’s MY FAULT. Without warning, a barrage of memories flashed through your sight, followed by feelings of fear, panic, and helplessness. So make me strong. If I can protect me, then he doesn’t have to. He can just love me, and we will be happy.

At this, a sudden wave of love flooded out from him. It was a selfish love, needy and possessive. But that wasn’t unexpected either. Most of it was just simple, baby love, a “this is mine to keep and mine forever” love. You would’ve been surprised had it been anything different.

A hand landed on your shoulder. At once you felt your master’s presence, bringing you out of your observations and back to the present.

“… he doesn’t want to go with you.”

You looked up sharply. It was the Mandalorian who’d spoken. He glanced between the two of you and his charge.

“He is waiting for your permission.” Said your master, oddly gentle.

The way you were reading into the Force meant that you could feel a little of the surface emotions coming from those in the room. You imagined that if you could see it, the Mandalorian’s face would’ve taken on a complicated, pained expression.

Not receiving a reply, your master continued. “He is strong with the force, but talent without training is nothing. I will give my life to protect the child. But he will not be safe until he masters his abilities.”

Although he spoke quietly, his words carried a weight and authority that could not be refuted. One that came from being the one and only Luke Skywalker, the Jedi master who had earned the right to use it. And when he spoke, most tended to listen.

Something in the Mandalorian seemed to fall apart at those words. But at the same time, many other things fell together, forming a picture of resolve and acceptance.

He walked to the chair and carefully picked up the child, his hands steady even as his voice shook. He spoke to him and him alone, words so soft you barely heard some of what he said.

“… I’ll see you again … I promise.”

The kid reached for him, an unspoken request. Without hesitation, without a second thought, the Mandalorian did something that shocked what little knowledge you had of the Mandalore right out of you.

He removed his helmet.

Where before there had been a nondescript Mandalorian, there now stood a man. A heartbroken man with tears in his eyes. The tears did not fall, not even when the child touched his cheek and he shut his eyes to them.

“… time to go.”

The kid’s ears drooped.

He said something else and let the child down. Straightening up, he nodded to you and your master.

While your master nodded back, you furrowed your brow. There was something strange about the emotions that came from this man. Not so much that they were bad or wrong, but that they were different from what you knew. It wasn’t just sadness or longing, as it often was in the parents and family of the disciples your master took into his care. It was more … complicated. Deeper, somehow. Even the love that came from him felt different. You couldn’t quite place your finger on how or why.

It perplexed you, made you want to reach into his skull and see what was there. But that would be rude.

“Are you sure you want him to come with us?” You asked.

Because if he didn’t, if he really, truly had a problem with it, then the kid wasn’t coming. Family drama was messy, and your master knew better than anyone else not to get in the way of that.

The man considered you. You crossed your arms. His gaze darted to the monitors, where the view from different parts of the ship still showed.

“… do you know, I took out one of those droids.” He smiled. That is, his lips tilted up at the corners. “One of them. And I barely did it. But you, you took on dozens of them. I saw you. You did it in moments, and you say you are in training.”

Glancing down to where the child clung to his leg, the smile became something sad. “This child has been hunted across the galaxy. I have done what I could, but this … this is more than I can do for him. I cannot give him what he needs me to. I cannot protect him the way he needs me to. He’s made a choice. The least I can do is see that he gets it.”

“Even if it doesn’t make you happy?”

Because it didn’t. It shouldn’t have, not with the bond that stretched between the two of them.

But he only shook his head. “I’d rather he be alive with you than dead with me.”

Before you could think further on that, a loud trill interrupted the air. R2D2 rolled past the doors and came to a stop to the right of where you and your master stood, happily beeping like it either didn’t notice the tension in the room or else didn’t care.

It caught the child’s attention. His entire face lit up – oh. Oh. There was a bond there, too. Something to ask about later that you tucked away in your head.

Letting go of his caregiver’s leg, the kid toddled up to the robot and babbled at it. R2 responded in kind. The sight created a bubble of cuteness strong enough that you didn’t have to look to know that most of the adults had eased their collective guard.

While the two conversed, the unmasked-Mandalorian idly held his helmet. And there was another contradiction – to ask, or not to ask, that was the question. To get it over with now or leave it alone. You didn’t have to; it’s not like knowing the answer would affect you in any way.

But then again, it was the first time you had a Mandalorian to give you an answer. Might as well.

“… You know, I’ve never met a Mandalorian before.” You said conversationally. “Doesn’t taking the helmet off go against your creed?”

He blinked, looking down at the helmet like he’d forgotten about it. Meanwhile, Master Skywalker did the mental equivalent of a tsk, but you ignored it.

“… yes, and no. I thought it did. But there is more to it than that. When you reach the heart of it.” His eyes settled upon the child. “I am a Mandalorian. I have my creed. I have not betrayed it, not in the way that matters. It … took me some time to realise this.”

He sighed, closing his eyes again. When he opened them, it was with a clarity that shone in his emotions. “I trust you. Both of you. Please look after him.”

“We will.”

At the sound of his voice, the child seemed to notice your master for the first time. He tilted his head curiously up at him. After a moment, he shuffled over and lifted his arms up.

Master Skywalker obliged him. Picking him up, he nodded his thanks to the room and walked out the door. Taking one last look around, you gave a slight bow and did the same, not turning back or minding the still sparking heaps of broken metal strewn across the floor. Propped up on your master’s shoulder, the kid had a good view of what you were walking away from, kept in his sights all the way to the lift.

It was when you were in the lift yourself that you saw what he saw. The gathered adults back in the room, but especially, the man who had cared for and protected him. And as you contemplated the two of them, you felt that something again, reflected in the child as he felt it from his guardian and held fast to it.

It stayed with you, as your little rescue party traversed back through the wreckage that was a once heavily armed battle force, as you climbed into your seat and your master guided the ship into the embrace of space.

Of course, he called attention to it first. “Your mind is troubled.”

You shrugged, even if he couldn’t see it. The lights of hyper space flashed by the windows, reflecting in the child’s eyes while you held him securely in your lap.

“I’m just somewhat … confused, is all. I know what I felt, but I don’t know what to make of it.” You bit your lip, giving the kid’s cheek a tap. “You felt it, too. What do you think?”

“Why don’t you ask the little one? He should be the most familiar with it.”

Ah. That reminded you. So far you’d spent the entire time referring to your new fellow disciple as “child” and “kid” and had yet to ask his name.

You mentally nudged him. He twisted around to look up at you and gurgled.

Grogu. He said.

“Grogu.” You nodded, brushing your thumb over his nose. I have a question for you. That person you cherish, he confuses me. When you think of him, what do you see?

Grogu pushed his hands against your chest, and his bright little mind painted a picture of the man who’d come to span the entirety of his world. Who’d lifted him from a life of darkness and pain and given him another, one filled with safety and warmth and home.

Through his eyes you saw what he saw. Through him you felt what he’d felt. A man who bore the marks of loss and terrible grief. A soul that had been shaped by duty, devotion, and sacrifice. Of promises that were honoured, of kindness for the sake of kindness, of extending peace when there was a choice to be had. Of an unconditional, selfless love, that gave itself freely and demanded nothing in return.

That you knew. You knew it in the way you were taught to connect with the Force and all it touched. Because the truth was that being free of attachments did not dictate that there had to be no love. To protect something, you first had to love it enough to protect it. To honour life and all it entailed, you had to accept it and grow with it and still learn to love it, faults and all.

That is what it meant to be on the side of the Light. That is what it meant to take the gift you had and use it to restore balance and peace.

The way that man had loved carried a protectiveness and freedom that was entirely for the one he gave it to. A love that was given freely, that cherished what it held and asked for nothing in return.

And this little child held it in his heart and his hands. He pressed them into your cheek, and his dull claws made indents in your skin. You dazedly blinked out of your thoughts, his face coming into focus and the warm weight of him held against your front.

“… I don’t know that I’ve ever seen such a thing in someone.” Even to your own ears, you sounded faint.

Your master didn’t ask what you were talking about. He’d probably felt it as well as you had. “He has a good example set for himself.”

The ship’s dashboard blinked with lights as it exited hyperspace. It made Grogu perk up and try to turn around to see it, wiggling in your arms. You quietly smiled.

“Yes … yes, he does.”

*

*

*

I have my own thoughts on the finale and people’s reactions to it that I might share eventually, but for now I’ll give credit where credit is due:

Din and his beliefs

Din being a good father: here, here, here, and here

Din being a kind, wonderful person in general

What got me thinking of that song for Din in the first place

R2D2 & Grogu headcanon

From Grogu’s perspective: here and here

From a storytelling perspective: here and here

[sasarahsunshine]

The Sister I Always Wanted

Pairing: (not romance, just sisterly fluff) Emily Prentiss/ Kassidy Hughes (my OC)

Type: Fluff, tiny bit of sadness

Warnings: Self-loathing, anxiety. Kassidy is a mess, okay?

Summery: I just really wanted to write about the relationship between Kassidy and Emily, or how I’d love to imagine it anyways. This takes place during the beginnings of their relationship, soon after they met. It might get mentioned in my main fic at some point, but it isn’t necessary for the story. It’s just self-indulgent fluff for me <3

You can also read this on AO3! <3

It probably wasn’t normal, or sane, to show up at the doorstep of a coworker Kassidy barely knew, especially at 2:00 in the morning, in the rain, soaking wet. But, here she was, arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the apartment building’s front door. She didn’t grab a jacket when she had sought out comfort, and she was regretting it. Her hair was drenched, clinging to her face and the back of her neck. God, she was so stupid. 

Late November in Virginia wasn’t anything like back home. She wasn’t used to the rain, the cold, the wetness of everything. If she were home in Las Vegas, she would still have the air conditioner on during the day; but now she needed a small heater in her bedroom to sleep through the night. She should have known to grab a jacket- or at least a sweater- when she started on her journey to escape the suffocating walls that were closing in on her in her apartment. It wasn’t raining at the time. Now, it was pouring. 

At least the freezing sheets of water that were soaking her to the bone was good for something: it hid her tears rather well. Her red face and puffy cheeks could be explained by the cold and the rain. 

She still hadn’t made a move to enter the building, instead choosing to stare at the little buttons beside the door. Each one had a number on it, corresponding to the apartment number inside. She knew which one she needed but couldn’t make herself press it. 

God, why was she here? She lifted her chin towards the sky and closed her eyes, letting the sting of the water wash away her tears. Maybe moving to Quantico was a bad idea after all. She couldn’t handle the pressure of not being able to save everyone. She couldn’t be the woman her father wanted her to be. She couldn’t-

“Kass?” 

Snapping her head towards the door, she saw Emily standing there, a black nightgown hugging her figure, a gun in her hands. She lowered her weapon gracefully and grabbed Kassidy’s arm, tugging her into the foyer of the building and out of the rain, “What are you doing here? My neighbor woke me saying some homeless person was standing on the steps- God, why aren’t you wearing a jacket?”

Kassidy didn’t realize she was shivering until she was suddenly out of the rain. She blinked a couple of times, her hands trembling as she fumbled to grab the hem of her shirt for comfort, “I-I’m so so sorry… so sorry Em,” she started, her bottom lip quivering from emotion, “I um, didn’t mean to scare anyone-”

Emily wrapped her arm around her shoulders and started leading her towards a set of stairs, “Come on, let’s get you dry and warm. You’re going to get hypothermia.” 

Kassidy didn’t have it in her to fight, so she allowed herself to be walked up two flights of stairs and down a hallway into Emily’s apartment. The whole way, with every step, she wondered if she should just apologize and leave. But the words wouldn’t come out. Her mouth was dry.

The apartment was warm and cozy, although not very lived in. The furniture was mostly neutral in color, and there didn’t seem to be many personalized possessions, just a photo of the team from a dinner outing on her coffee table. She sat Kassidy down on her couch and started to pull her shirt over her head, gaining a surprised gasp from the younger woman, “What are you-?”

“You’re soaked to the bone, Kass. I’m going to get you into some dry clothes. I’m sure I have something that fits,” she mused as she pulled the t-shirt free from Kassidy’s arms. Standing, she walked towards the open bedroom door, “Go ahead and take off your pants too. I should have some sweats that you can sleep in.”

Kassidy did as she was told, suddenly very self-aware at how vulnerable she was in this moment. Sitting on what was essentially a strangers couch in nothing but her bra and underwear, soaking wet and without any way to protect herself, she resigned to wrapping her arms around her middle and fought against her shivering. She shouldn’t even be here. She should have stayed home, in her bed, and tossed and turned all night as a normal person would. But, she supposed, she wasn’t normal. She was weird and odd, and dumb, and very un-normal. 

Emily reappeared a moment later, handing her a pair of deep blue sweatpants that said ‘FBI Academy’ in white along one of the legs, and a matching shirt. Kassidy took them thankfully, dressing as quickly as her shaking hands would let her (they were definitely a couple of sizes too big, but that didn’t bother her). In that time, Emily had disappeared again, coming back with a towel and a large blanket. She signaled for Kassidy to lean forward and wrapped her hair up in the towel. Gentle, soft. Her hands were so warm, touching the sides of Kassidy’s face and pushing any stray hair out of the way. 

And then, finally, Emily draped the blanket around Kassidy’s shoulders before sitting beside her on the couch, wrapping her arms around her and tugging her closer. The young agent didn’t resist- even though her mind told her to- leaning into Emily’s lap. She rested her head on her shoulder. Why was she letting Emily be so friendly to her? Why was she here, ruining her night? She felt the burn of tears trying to form in the corners of her eyes and brought her shaking hand to her face, wiping at them. 

Emily started petting Kassidy’s head, her fingers gently tracing over the towel. She hummed softly for a while, waiting until the shivers that wracked through Kass’s body calmed down. Although Kassidy knew it had only been maybe 30 to 40 minutes before she allowed herself to take a deep breath, it had felt like hours.

Emily’s humming stopped. She shifted a little, causing Kassidy to sit up. The two faced each other, Emily taking Kassidy’s hands, running her thumbs over her palms. After a beat, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, “Kass? Why did you walk to my apartment in the middle of the night, in the rain? You’re lucky you didn’t get sick.”

Kassidy swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She could feel her eyes threatening to water again, pulling one of her hands away from Emily and wiping at them, sniffling, “I um,” she started, her voice quivering slightly. She gulped, “I couldn’t sleep. I can’t sleep, I mean. I keep seeing those kids,” she took a shaky breath, closing her eyes, “And um… I went for a walk to clear my head. But then I ended up here and I…” she paused, opening her eyes and letting some stray tears streak down her face, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come. You need your sleep, and I just ruined your night. I’m so sorry,” she hiccupped. 

She was expecting anger, or confusion, or maybe even annoyance from Emily. Maybe pity. But instead, she saw understanding. Emily’s dark eyes were soft, warm, and comforting. She let out a breath she had been holding, “Oh, honey,” she replied, using her thumb to wipe a tear away, “you aren’t the first one to end up on my doorstep because of nightmares.”

Kassidy shook her head, “Not nightmares,” she insisted, “Just… bad thoughts.”

“Ah,” Emily started to undo the towel from Kassidy’s head and pulled it away, revealing mostly-dry somewhat-damp and unruly curls. She brushed some of those blonde curls from Kassidy’s face, tucking a strand behind her ear, “Bad thoughts, or nightmares, or whatever demons you’re fighting; you’re not alone. You’re so young and so inexperienced to this side of the world,” she hummed, focusing now on tugging the blanket tighter around Kassidy’s shoulders, “you remind me of me.”

“I do?” Kassidy sniffled, wiping at her nose. Emily smiled, and her eyes shimmered with memories, “Yes. When I was your age, I wanted to save the world too. I wanted to put away all the bad guys and be a hero. I think everyone in the BAU was like that,” she thought for a moment, her eyes glancing towards the only photo in the room. “We all want to be heroes,” she said again, “and we all learn in time that we can’t always be the hero in every case. We don’t win them all. But, it’s worth going back to work every single day for the ones we do win.” 

Kassidy nodded slowly, her eyes feeling warm and puffy. She used the blanket to wipe at her face. She was exhausted. The walk to Emily’s apartment had taken maybe 45 minutes, most of it spent crying in the rain. Her body was feeling heavy. 

“I’m just so sorry that your first case with us wasn’t a good one,” Emily said quietly, pulling Kassidy to her in an embrace. Kassidy snaked her hands out of the blanket and wrapped them around Emily’s waist, her head landing heavily on her chest. 

“I’m sorry that you saw those kids- you weren’t supposed to be at the scene. That was a decision I made because I wanted you to see what it was like to work in the field. Hotch took my advice, and it was wrong. And for that, I am so, so sorry.”

Kassidy didn’t know why, but she felt herself smile a little, “No, it’s not your fault. You um, kind of reminded me of a sibling convincing their parents that your little sister could do big kid stuff too, you know?” She was thinking back to how Hotch had his arms crossed over his chest, his lips in a thin frown. It was such a disapproving dad look. He kept shaking his head, telling Emily that Kassidy hadn’t even received her gun yet, let alone ever been in the field before. But Emily had insisted, saying she would watch over Kassidy. It felt like watching a big sister beg to allow the little sister to go to the movies too. “I’ll be responsible for her,” Emily had said. Hotch finally caved, telling Kassidy to be careful. And she had been extra careful, actually. They just didn’t know what would be waiting for them at the UNSUBs home.

Emily chuckled a little, a hand coming to the back of Kassidy’s head and petting her hair. It felt nice, comforting. She found herself closing her eyes, relaxing into the embrace even further. The tension in her shoulders released.

“Do you have siblings?” Emily asked. She shook her head, mumbling, “No. I’m a single child. I remember begging my mom for an older sister when I was 6 or 7, though. I didn’t understand that she couldn’t just go get one for me,” she smiled more at the memory. She was so tired.

Emily giggled again, humming in thought, “Yeah, I’m a single child too. I kind of wished I had siblings when I was young. We moved around a lot, so it would have been nice to have a friend everywhere I went,” she mused. 

Kassidy spoke quietly before thinking, her words coming out in a whisper, “You can be the big sister I always wanted if you want.”

Emily froze, her hand still in Kassidy’s hair. She blinked once, twice, before glancing down at the young woman who was curling into her lap. Kassidy’s lips were barely parted, her breathing even and deep. She had fallen asleep- in what- a second after saying that?

Emily watched her for a moment, thinking about this situation she somehow ended up in. This wasn’t the first time she comforted a coworker or friend after a bad case. Hell, it wasn’t the first time she had a girl wearing her clothes curled up in her lap. But, this was the first time someone suggested that their relationship could be more meaningful than friends. Not lovers, but something else beautiful and special: family. 

It was an odd feeling, but nothing unwelcome. It wasn’t scary or unsettling, like she thought it might be, especially considering she barely knew the girl sleeping in her lap at almost 4:00 in the morning. But something felt kind of right about it, about the idea of being her “big sister.” She recalled the first time she met Kassidy only a month ago and knowing from that moment on that she wanted to protect her, to teach her, to be her friend. 

Kassidy was shy and awkward, much like Spencer had been at the beginning. But after opening up a little, she was also sweet, colorful, and friendly. She memorized everyone’s favorite coffee orders in the first week at the office, and she tried oh so hard to make Hotch like her, doing everything in her power to get on his good side. She was funny, quirky, and smart. During her second week, she had convinced everyone to go out to dinner; even Spencer came along. She convinced the team to make weekly dinners when they could, and Hotch agreed to it. She was someone that Emily was glad to have on the team, and as her friend. 

And maybe, as a little sister too. 

So, she smiled, laying the sleeping girl down on the couch and placing a pillow under her head. She went back to her own bed, where Sergio was curled up in her spot, and she fell asleep wondering what this might mean for her. 

In the morning, Kassidy awoke to the smell of coffee. She stared at the room before her, blinking a few times, her mind trying desperately to catch up with the events of the previous night. Where was she?

Oh right, at Emily’s. She must have fallen asleep. Sitting up with a yawn, she glanced over the edge of the couch towards the kitchen. Emily smiled and approached her with a steaming mug, “Here. I don’t have any creamer here, but I put a lot of sugar in it like I’ve seen you do,” she offered. Kassidy took it carefully, her face warming up with embarrassment, “Oh, um, thank you,” she replied. 

Emily sat down in a chair, sipping her own coffee, “So, how did you sleep?”

“Um,” Kassidy bit her lip, her embarrassment growing. The prickling of anxiety was beginning in her chest, making her feel trapped. “I um,” she swallowed, “fine, I think. I am so sorry for falling asleep here, Em- I didn’t mean to. Gosh, I can’t believe I did that- I’ll go home right now if you want me too-”

“Kass,” Emily leaned forward, placing a hand on Kassidy’s shoulder, “It’s okay. You’re fine. I’m glad you stayed the night.” 

Kassidy blinked in surprise. Her anxiety didn’t disappear fully, but it lessened a little. She was so confused, Emily didn’t hate her or think she was weird for showing up unannounced in the middle of the night? Then she had to borrow her clothes, and fell asleep on her couch, in her space. God, she was just being nice. Clearly, Kassidy overstepped some boundaries and-

A cat rubbed against her leg. She looked down at the black creature as it meowed at her, its big eyes looking right into hers. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she reached down and pet along it’s back, eliciting a purr from it. 

“His name is Sergio,” Emily said, smiling over her mug. “He likes you.”

“Hi Sergio,” Kassidy spoke carefully, rubbing under his chin. He jumped onto the couch and started kneading at the blanket that still covered half of her body, his claws going in and out of the material. “Are you making biscuits?” She giggled a little and kept petting him. She actually felt calm. 

Emily watched the two of them for a moment before speaking again, “Kass, do you remember what you said to me last night, before falling asleep?”

Kassidy glanced up at her and shook her head, “No? I don’t know. I remember we were talking about being single kids, though,” she hummed, feeling the soft fur of Sergio under her palm. He laid down in her lap. 

“Yeah,” Emily confirmed. She seemed to be debating something, but chose to smile instead, “Do you wanna go get some breakfast? There’s this cute little café nearby that I like to go to when I get the chance. I can text Penelope and JJ and see if they want to come too?”

Kassidy’s eyes lit up, the idea of food making her stomach growl, “Oh yes, that sounds good. Um, maybe I should go home and take a shower first?” She glanced down at herself, “And get some of my own clothes?”

“Nah,” Emily laughed, “You look fine. I’ll drop you off at home after we get breakfast. Come on, I’ll text them now. I’m sure Penelope will want to come, at least.”

Kassidy smiled, nodding. The ball of anxiety that made itself known in her chest was still there, but it was much smaller now. Maybe Emily did actually like her, and didn’t think she was weird or strange or stupid? 

Maybe they could be friends, after all. And, maybe, Emily could always be there for her like she was last night. Like an older sister would be, she thought. 

That would be nice. 

[geronimomo-spd]

the grown up that i always wanted to be

I wrote a Matilda the musical fanfic at 3 am yesterday, and my amazing friend @the-book-life-chose-me​ helped me to edit it! 

my first fic ever i am so proud of myself

Relationships: Miss Honey x (musical) Mrs.Phelps. Miss Honey x Miss Phelps

 (me and my friend started shipping them together a couple of days ago, an overly exited Librerian and a timid and sweet teacher?? yes, we have more about them that we hope to post soon)

Rating: G

Words: 980

Warnings: hinted at past child abuse, but never actually mentioned.

Summery:  Jenny stops at the Libary after being a bit overwhelmed at her day as the principal of Matilda's school, and ends up getting something a little bit more precious than a good book. a better understanding of a part of herself that she never thought about. and it's delivered from the nice and charming librarian? well, it can't hurt.

**we named Mrs. Phelps fist name as Brianna here. and here she is Miss Phelps of course :)

read at ao3! 

fic:

"But you still did it, didn't you?"

The words startled Jenny from her crying session. With her eyes still burning with shame and her throat still tight, she gripped her tissue and stared into Bri's warm eyes, fighting back the rest of her tears.

"What?"

"You still did it though!" Brianna cried, opening her hands in a 'well there you go!' gesture. She smiled brightly at Jenny, or at least it looked like a smile from Jenny's corner view of the librarian.

It was a less than busy day at the library; it always tended to be a quiet day whenever Jenny visited, go figure. But Jenny was not about to complain about the much needed peace and quiet: She never got it when she was teaching her loud and happy kids- she loved them all, of course, but sometimes the sudden shouting still made her jump and hunch inwards for protection, and that… became exhausting 24/7. So the quiet library was always a refuge for Jenny to go when she felt a little overwhelmed (a little too overwhelmed, but she is not ready to admit it to herself yet) and have some tea with the nice (sometimes overly excited) librarian.

"You don’t have to make sense all the time dear- (oh dear, did she really say all of that out loud-) but at least I see you got a smile on your face now! Are my words finally sinking in?"

Steam from the tea she was holding wafted upwards. Still hot, she hadn't had any of it yet, more focused on the conversation with the happy librarian, who as always, was waiting at the desk for Jenny; tea pot already warming on the stove, making Jenny smile for the first time that day with her exuberance. It's always nice to have someone excited to actually spend time with her, other than Matilda at home. And while Jenny loves her very dearly, it's just nice to have that with someone mature! Or- well, Matilda's certainly mature but-

Jenny quelled her runaway thoughts before she could make a fool of herself, snapping back to reality as she heard Bri laugh.

Jenny felt herself blushing bright red and averted her eyes, blowing a little on her hot cuppa as a distraction. Glancing up at Brianna's expecting gaze "I might… have forgotten what you said, my apologies-"

"You told me what happened when you went to this horrible principal's office, how you were so scared of everything happening to Matilda because of your request... of something happening to you." At that she gave a stern look to Jenny, before continuing, "And how you felt "pathetic" and "useless", at that Bri shook her head in disagreement, "Because you couldn't just bring yourself to just knock on the door faster?"

"No, it's OK! Miss Hon-Jenny, it tends to be like that with things we hold within ourselves, we wait so long to say them that when we do, it's hard to really take anything else in, as we enjoy our relief so much."

Bri smiled, rocking back and forth to help her focus on the conversation better herself.

Jenny didn't get it, where was Bri going with this?

"Because… I am? If I could have just went into her office right away I could maybe have stood up to her better and-"

"Ah ah ah!" Bri shook her finger at Jenny, her fond and concerned look that dominated this conversation being replaced by a stern and more focused look that Jenny haven't seen too often on the excited and energetic librarian.

"But you did it! Jenny, we all have fears. And your fear…" she paused, her eyes filled with… care, from what Jenny can gather because she felt her eyes tearing up again, she couldn't look away from Bri's kind and caring look (Bri's eyes were fascinating… no one had ever looked at Jenny like that before).

"Your fear comes from your experiences; it's more realistic than most... and I am so sorry that you had to experience that, Jenny." Bri actually rubbed her eyes, apparently tearing up as well, and stopped to take a couple of tissues to blow her nose loudly.

"But my point is! My point is, that you still did it!! That's what you did! That's what you do everyday!! You face your fears!! Kicking them in the ass, more like! Uh, wait, you’re a teacher, you can't kick people in the ass-"

Bri's musings were interrupted by Jenny's tiny laugh, "It seems that both of us have let our minds wander today." Jenny snorted, which brought out Brianna's own booming laugh. They sat there, laughing together as the clouds flew up above the little library. And Miss Honey had her first true laugh of the day as well, thanks to the magic of tiny libraries and enchanting librarians.

"You faced your fear, Jenny! You did it! No matter whether your fear and anxiety was justified or not-which it was, don't look at me like that-you still did it! You were met with a tough situation and you persevered! And later, when you went and tried to talk to Matilda's…" she sighed, "apparently awful parents, you still went there and tried! And for that, you are one of the bravest people I know!"

Jenny smiled, finally drinking from her now lukewarm tea. But it didn't matter; her heart was warmed by the effusive and charming librarian by her side. A true miracle. As Bri started to go on a completely different rant of her own, Jenny smiled, already feeling a little more like the grown-up she always wanted to be.

[cheeky-kookie]

Muse | K.T.H

Taehyung/Reader | Fluff, Slice of Life | Photographer!Taehyung x Artist!Reader

Word count: 3.7K

Summery: Run dry from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, you find yourself without inspiration and a blank page of your sketchbook in front of you. That is until your eyes fall on a handsome stranger who sees through a lens of a camera.

A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve written but I’ve felt so inspired by writers on here that I began to write again. So if you are reading this one, thank you for the support!

It was a sunny day, one of those days where all you want to do is in some way spend it outside. You had decided when you had woken up that it was exactly what you were going to do; spend it outside. It wasn’t out of your element to spend every nice day you encounter outside, since nature seemed to be constantly changing. It gave you new things to be inspired by. Yet, with work and school, finding the time to go out and enjoy yourself and create some art had became almost absent. It had started to drain you, being in a cycle of classes, work, then sleep. All you needed was a little kick to get back into the thing you loved.

You had decided on going to this park located somewhere in the middle of town. It was a few blocks down from this coffee shop you really liked that served the best muffins. It was a guilty pleasure of yours to stop by there on the way home and snag one of those pastries, whether it be coming home from classes or spending the day sketching in your pad. There was just something about how moist and fluffy those muffins were that made you want to keep going back for more.

Searching the park, you looked for a spot to sit and pull out your sketch pad. You were waiting for something to catch your eye and trigger inspiration. You didn’t necessarily need to draw what was sitting in front of your face. Honestly, you were looking for a certain feeling to pull you to where you needed to be.

Defeated, you went and sat by this giant oak tree located in a clearing, farther away from the chatter of the park. It was off the main path of the park, so no one seemed to be around it. The closer you got the more it seemed to feel like a good decision. It was quiet and had a great view of the rest of the park. You let your bag drop down your arm and land in the soft grass by the roots of the giant. You followed suit, plopping down next to your bag and tucking yourself comfortably into the trunk of the tree.

You rummaged through your bag before pulling out a black spiraled book you purchased a few months back when your other one had become so full with sketches you hadn’t had room to continue to use that one. The old one was safely tucked away at home on your desk, waiting to be picked up and examined someday in the future. The current one you had in your hands held nothing on the pages because there had been no time or inspiration to do anything with it. Flipping to the first page, you stared at the blank paper in front of you.

With pencil in hand, you let the tip rest on the paper without movement. You waited for something to strike you but again, nothing did. Sighing, you leaned your head against the trunk of the tree and closed your eyes. You heard a distant scream of some kid playing on the playground on the other side of the park causing you to reopen your eyes.

 That’s when you saw him.

He stood out, but not in the obvious way. It wasn’t like he was trying to stand out. But even from the distance, you could tell he had a face that made people want to keep looking at him. His caramel skin was complemented by his dark curly hair and brown coat. In his hands he held a large camera, strap slug around his neck. You watched as his eyes scanned the surroundings and he slowly brought the camera up to his face, finding just the right image he wanted to capture.

 Part of you was jealous he was able to find inspiration while you sat by yourself at the base of a tree wallowing in your own self-pity. Shaking your head, you looked down at the blank page in front of you and started sketching him. You had spent a good while at the park, and he seemed to be the only thing to truly catch your attention. You weren’t about to let that go to waste.

This was how your sketchbook started to become filled with nothing but a few pages of this handsome stranger who seemed to love to take pictures of nature.

Another day free from the stress of adulthood and you had found yourself back at the park; your eyes catching a yellow flower and finding yourself wandering over to it in wonderment. You sat down on your knees, taking your bag off your shoulder and pulling your sketchbook out. You started sketching the flower out on the blank page, a small smile creeping on your face as you found inspiration far easier than the other day.

Even with the inspiration flowing, your mind wandered back to the handsome man you had sketched the other day. For some reason something about him intrigued you. Maybe it was because he carried himself in such a way that he exuded confidence but didn’t come off as cocky. Or maybe it was because you felt like your drawings were incomplete knowing you couldn’t get the tiny details from the distance you sat at. You could only really imagine the small features his face might have held.

When you arrived home that day from the park, you confided in your roommate about the handsome man you came across and sketched. Of course, she had gotten all excited, telling you to make contact with him if you ran into him again. If you remembered correctly, her choice of words were ‘If he was as handsome as you sketched him, I would take the chance’  though you realized that in reality things don’t necessarily line up how they do in stories. She reminded you that sometimes things do indeed line up.

 You did owe him for sparking the creative flow that had taken over your body. You weren’t sure if there would ever be a time to thank him in person so you were left appreciating him in your own head and thanking him mentally every time you drew something new within the pages of the spiral book in your hands now.

The flower was on the page after a few minutes. Nodding in approval of your art, you closed the sketchbook and held it to your chest. You then proceeded to throw your bag back over your shoulder before making your way in the direction of the tree you had found solitude at a few days prior.

You felt a buzz in your back pocket. Grabbing the source of the buzzing, you peered at the reminder going off on your phone. Rolling your eyes, you swiped away the reminder your roommate had snuck onto your phone before you had left to the park. It was a reminder to introduce yourself to the guy if you saw him. Sighing, you put your phone back into your back pocket to be forgotten about.

Once back at the tree, your bag was back on the ground and you sunk back into the spot you found comfortable the other day. You pulled the sketchbook from your chest and opened it back up, looking at the new addition to the book. You lightly shaded part of the flower you deemed not shaded well enough.

 When you peered up from the page, your heart sipped a beat. He was back. Again, he was sporting the brown coat which you were sure was protecting him from the cool air of spring. He seemed preoccupied with one of the trees of the park, finding it interesting enough to capture in picture.

You thought briefly about setting your sketchpad down and walking over there to introduce yourself but the idea was soon discarded as you determined that you may have all the confidence int he world of your art and were comfortable and confident with yourself, but there was just not enough to convince you to speak to him without rhyme or reason. Yet you couldn’t keep your mind off him. There was just something about him you couldn’t shake, and it didn’t help that he kept showing up. You hummed to yourself and shook your head, bringing your pencil back down to shade the flower.

What you didn’t notice while your head was buried deep in your sketches was the curly haired man’s attention had landed on you.

He had been capturing a picture that had pleased him when he turned around and saw you sitting against the tree, pencil in hand, and attention focused in some kind of book. He couldn’t determine what kind of book, though you seemed very invested in what you were doing. He could see your passion from the distance and he himself was kind of envious of you. Your hair had fallen in your face and he watched you tuck it behind your ear, still completely focused at your task in hand.

Though you had a majority of his attention, his artistic mind had also noticed how perfect the image was in general. He noticed how you fit perfectly leaned against the trunk and how the tree was placed in the perfect spot where no bystanders could get in the way of the image. The tree itself was magnificent. It was quite old, he had determined by size, and the branches framed it well.

He slowly brought his camera up to his face and snapped a picture of the tree, and you. He looked down at the image he took and nodded in approval. It was the first picture he truly felt confident about in a while and he had gotten it first try, which he deemed a success on top of it.

It had been a week or so since you had found time to do art. Though you had somehow found time to escape your apartment and your responsibilities for a bit today. You had wandered the park for a little bit adding a few pages to your sketchbook before you had made your way to the coffee shop you were so fond of.

You smiled, peeling the wrapper of the muffin back so you could take a bite. It was just as great as you remembered it; Moist and fluffy. It was exactly what you were craving after a long day of sketching, along with the cup of coca placed on the right side of you. Setting the muffin down onto the plate they provided for you, you flipped your sketchbook to an empty page. You sighed to yourself as you bent down to your feet to access your bag, wondering where you had put your pencil. Finding it, you resurfaced to the table and started to put your imagination down on paper.

You heard the bell of the front door of the café echo throughout the business and out of curiosity, you looked up to see who had entered.

It was like time had stopped. The murmur of the other customers had been drowned out by the own sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You didn’t even notice your mouth dropping slightly at the person who had entered.

He looked like he always had, perfect. His dark hair falling in curls around his face, almost blinding him because of the length. He hadn’t worn his jacket today which you could only assume was because it was a warmer day, but he still opted for an oversized grey sweater. He also didn’t have his camera, but you were more than willing to bet your life savings that the bag he was carrying around his arm held the camera in question.

You were too preoccupied with him being there; you didn’t notice that he too was shocked to see you. You didn’t notice the way he paused when you two met eyes, or how his own lips parted at the sight of you. And you for sure didn’t notice how his eyes grew huge and he had to quickly look away to hide his own reaction. Instead, you just saw him turn his attention towards the barista and proceeded to move in that direction.

You shook your own head, staring at the almost blank piece of paper in front of your face unable to focus anymore. You could still hear your own heartbeat in your ears as the adrenaline slowly ran its course through your body. You took a deep breath to calm you down, before trying to go back to working on what was in front of you. Well, until you heard the chair on the other side of the table slide out and the sound of a bag being set on the floor.

You didn’t want to look up because you knew. You knew that the mysterious and oh so handsome man you had been thinking about for weeks was sitting across from you. You could feel his stare bare into you as you focused on the page at hand. You could also smell his cologne which was musky but not at all overwhelming. It was almost a comforting smell.

“Who comes to a coffee shop for hot coca?” A voice said, sending shivers down your spine at how deep and smooth it sounded. You took a deep breath and looked up at him for the first time since he had sat down moments before.

 Up close, you realized your assumptions about him being attractive were very right. You realized that when he walked in the shop, but now that he was only a mere tables width away you really knew. He sat with confidence, leaned back with his legs parted covering as much space as possible. He seemed to make that chair his own and it really was a show of confidence. His plump lips held a small smirk, the corner tilted only slightly upward. His eyes were a deep brown that you felt you could melt into. And on his perfectly shaped nose, was a faint beauty mark which seemed to actually make him seem less god like and more human. Though in your professional opinion, you still found it attractive.

The worst part wasn’t that you were suddenly confronted with this inhumanly attractive male you’ve been mulling over but the fact that you were totally right before. The smaller details mattered, and your sketches were rightfully incomplete.

“I’m not a huge coffee drinker but these muffins are to die for.” You respond, setting the pencil down. You watched as he nodded, taking a sip of his coffee before setting his cup back on the table.

“I don’t like coffee either,” He said. He watched one of your eyebrows raise and your eyes zoned in on the cup at the table. A laugh escaped his lips, “It’s tea. But now I might have to go back up there and get myself one of those muffins since you’ve talked so highly of them.”

“I recommend,” You said, a small smile playing on your lips.

“You know,” He said, pausing for a second, “I’ve been wanted to talk to you for a while, but I just haven’t had the opportunity to do so.”

You felt your heart start pounding again, and just when you thought you had gotten it back under control. How long had he known you existed? You had gone to the park for a few weeks now and you seemed to always find him there as well.

“I’ve been wanting to since I saw you sitting underneath that huge oak tree at the park down the street. You seemed so engrossed by whatever you were doing that the world didn’t seem to matter to you. It’s sort of driven me to start getting absorbed by photography again. I had quit for a while and I had been going to that park for some time before and I just couldn’t get past the judgement I put on myself. But I saw your passion and I wanted that back.”

He reached down in his bag and pulled out his camera. He seemed to be looking for something specific, skipping through picture after pictures until his eyes grew wide when he found what he was looking for, “I sort of ended up taking a picture of you under the tree that day. It just reminded me to be as passionate as the girl under the tree. I will delete it of course, if you don’t want me to have it.”

You looked at the picture he had pulled up on his camera. It was just like he said, you were perched in your usual spot under the old oak at the park. The way the shot was framed was exquisite to say the least. The branches of the tree framed the picture perfectly and the way the sun peaked through them had added a really nice contrast to the very green picture. Overall, your artistic brain could see why he couldn’t pass up the picture. Your average human brain was on fire with the idea that you had sparked passion within such a talented person without even speaking to him. You also couldn’t shake the similarities.

 “I love it,” You said to him, watching his tanned skin be graced with a twinge of pink. He smiled and shut his camera off. You sighed as he did, “I have to admit something to you too.”

 You flipped to the front of your sketchbook and opened the first page before turning it around, so it faced him. You watched as he slowly grabbed it, his face becoming slightly pinker at the realization that his own features were sketched onto the first few pages of the sketchbook.

 “I had this huge creative drought. I was staring that the first page of this sketchpad for weeks hoping something would catch my attention or my mind would drum up so cool idea to put down, but nothing came to me. I had gone to the park and sat down at this huge oak tree and stared at the page some more. I saw you. You seemed to be so sure of what you were picturing. I guess distance could be misleading, but you still were the first thing that truly caught my attention that day and I just had to draw you. I’ve been able to sketch since so, I guess, thank you.” You spoke softly, watching him slowly leaf through the pages.

 “You are talented,” He hummed, still absorbed within the pages.

 “I sure would hope so, I’m an art major. If I wasn’t my teachers have been lying to me for years,” You joked, “Though I probably could have done better.”

“You’re your own biggest critic, or so the saying goes,” He closed the book and slid it back over to you. He then leaned forward, looking you in the eyes, “So, girl under the tree, do you have a name?”

 “Y/N.” You told him, ripping a piece of the almost forgotten muffin off and popping it in your mouth, “Do I get the pleasure of knowing yours?”

 “Taehyung,” He introduced, “I’m happy to finally get to meet you.”

You were back under the oak tree, this time the leaves were finally turning shades of red and yellow and the cool breeze was knocking them loose causing them to fall to the ground. The ground had become cooler, but you had reminded yourself to bring a blanket to sit on instead of the dirt.

Your pencil danced on the page before you, sketching an individual who you could probably draw from memory now. You could remember exactly how his hair falls into his face and how the corners of his mouth turn upwards when he spots something he likes. You knew just how his eyes sparked in wonderment and where exactly that faint mole sat on his nose.

You could sketch him from memory but why would you give up the chance to keep looking at him any chance you got.

 You heard a click of a camera and you looked up at him slowly from the page you were focusing on, a huge smile gracing his face making him seem almost childlike. You raised an eyebrow at him, and he plopped down on the blanket next to you, peering at the paper in front of you.

 “Don’t you ever get tired of drawing me?” Taehyung asked, meeting your eyes. You could feel your pulse quicken. You had known this man for seven months now and you still couldn’t get over how your body reacts to the way he looked at you.

  “Don’t you have a billion pictures of me on that camera of yours?” You asked. He licked his lips and looked away knowing damn well he did have many pictures of you on his camera and you had proven your point.

 He then looked back into your eyes, “So, girl under the tree, is there any way I could talk you into kissing me on the lips right now or is it too much to ask?”

  You rolled your eyes at him and pushed his chest away from you. He chuckled and turned back towards you, eyes finding yours again. He slowly closed in the gap between the two of you and placed a soft kiss on your own. Even the smallest thing could make your heart soar. If there was any problem, it would be that you were absolutely and utterly engulfed in everything that Taehyung was. He was genuine and passionate, and it fueled your own drive. You both fed off each other’s energy and to be honest, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “Just go take pictures of something,” You mumbled, his face still inches away from your own. He cracked a lopsided smile and backed away, pushing himself back off the ground and putting his camera back around his neck.

 “Don’t miss me too much,” He teased, and you were just happy that he had turned around quick enough he couldn’t see the red in your face because the last thing you needed was another reason for him to keep flustering you.

[melforbes]

Restrained

post Founder’s Mutation

Her hands are tied behind her back, the tethers invisible but tight, her wrists aching against their everlasting pull. Though she rarely sleeps on her stomach - he noticed that too, furrowed his brow as she shifted positions in bed, wondered what other habits she’d picked up of late - she lies chest-down now, her cheek hot against the starched pillow, her lungs heavy upon the mattress. He’s still awake, so of course, he knows she’s still awake.

Once upon a time - he used to always begin his stories like that, once upon a time, two agents named Mulder and Scully scurried out to the far reaches of the planet and learned that, in the end, it doesn’t matter what we see but with whom we see it - they shared a bed like this. Not in the romantic way, no, but in the incidental and apologetic way that two non-lovers subdued daily by mutual but silent attraction would. Once upon a time, they checked into a Motel 6 and found, well, damn it, there’s one room left, only a queen-size open. Though she knew better than to believe in the law of averages, she still mused the statistical improbability, the way that the theorems of the world should at least have allowed for one or two cancellations that night; last week, she read a theory on how the world is all Matrix - she still knows where that DVD is in their home, wedged up between Contact and Interstellar on the shelf - and just a computer simulation, and if that’s true, then the mathematical modeling that binds everyone together should have given them another option. They could have driven to another hotel even though it was past midnight, or they could have crashed on the local sheriff’s couch, or they could have slept in the car while parked alongside two RVs and a truck in a starkly-lit Walmart lot. Instead, Mulder looked to her, then agreed to one room, and the way her heart had stopped at the prospect made her wonder if morals could ever be absolute; if pain and terror could be so exciting, then why are the body’s warning signs? Why are the things that terrify us so indulgent? 

But she digressed and came into bed with him and silenced her scientific mind while he stayed above the sheets. He slept in sweats and a tee shirt while she wore all-too-proper pajamas, a night suit as he’d once called them. Then, she slid onto her side and stared toward the motel room’s window, one blocked off by a shabby curtain that let flickers of parking lot light in, and she waited for something she couldn’t identify.

“You’re still awake,” he said after minutes, hours, days, she couldn’t tell.

“You are too,” she gave softly, hesitantly.

“Of course I am,” he said. “I don’t sleep.”

Uncomfortably, she lay there, her body tense in a workday kind of way: shoulders up, eyes wide open and stinging with tiredness, stomach empty, legs aching. Back then, her restraints were looser around her wrists, and sometimes, they threatened to fall beyond her fingers, so regularly, she tightened them. Occam’s Razor, she used to explain to herself; it was far more likely that she was simply unsexed and bored with her personal life than that she was silently but genuinely in love with him, so she kept her professional rigidity, left her mask of scientific indifference on.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause.

Though she too was sorry, she knew their reasonings wouldn’t align, so she kept quiet. In the morning, they didn’t discuss how he curled up against her back at some point in the night, and they didn’t make a big deal about how she stared a second too long after walking in on him while he was in the shower. Most of all, they never talked about what they would do if such a thing happened again.

And it did happen again, though new context forced previous awkwardness away. Instead of wasting money on two required hotel rooms, they were forced into one when they would’ve used only one anyway; with his hands strong around her hips, his mouth warm and wet against her skin, she found those nights similar to any other night of that time, the room situation disregarded. For a while, she only stayed in hotels during medical conferences in far-off places, so she reserved one room with one bed, the practice easy and simple and everyday. Nowadays, they’re back to two rooms, one bed each, and as they did once upon a time, they both retreat to their own rooms at night, only now she wears his old shirts to bed while she doubts he wears anything at all.

Tonight, she asked for two rooms, and, what do you know, they’re booked. After all, this motel’s tiny, and up here in the Adirondacks during on-season, kitschy cabin-style places that are cheap and have enough parking for a boat rack sell out quickly. Though there are eight units total, seven were full upon their arrival, only one left to boot. The next closest establishment is at least twenty miles away, and here in lake-and-land country, the roads are dark and narrow, begging a driver to lose control. In terms of probability, it seems the world wants her to lose control in some way or another. This time, she accepted the one room while he stared on blankly. 

“You’re still awake,” he says, and she feels the restraints grow tighter.

“I am,” she says blandly.

“I can feel you thinking.”

“That’s an absurd thing to say.”

Her eyes close. She pictures a time not so long ago, a morning in their house back when they’d hung white summery curtains in their bedroom; she imagines how he would nuzzle up against her collarbone and ask what was on that exquisite mind of hers.

“What’s keeping you up?” he asks with bored interest. Way out here in the country, they don’t put TVs in motel rooms because, apparently, technology takes away from the experience; for now, she’s his only entertainment, that irony hardly lost on her.

She takes a deep breath, feels the press of her lungs against the top-sheet beneath her. Cloth barriers cover their skin. He smells like himself again.

And what is keeping her up? Was it the way he offered to sleep on the floor as though they’d never shared a bed before, as though such a thing would never be commonplace again? Or was it how lonely she’d felt after their last case together, after thoughts of their son returned to the front of her mind? Or was it the way she now stayed awake until the small hours of the morning, her bed too big and her apartment too quiet, her heart rate quickening when she wondered if, now that they’re back at the Bureau, he would start calling her at two am just to ask her opinion on an arbitrary extraterrestrial matter again? Was it how he could take his medications in front of her without second-guessing himself? Or was it the serendipity of the evening, how the one room left at the motel meant her craving to sleep next to him would finally, finally, be nourished? 

Occam’s razor, she thinks. 

“I read this theory on humanity,” she explains, “about how we’re all in some big computer simulation. It makes sense in certain ways. After all, the world can be reduced to series of patterns if we really need it to be. However, it doesn’t account for the inaccuracies, the places where our theorems aren’t fully held.”

“Huh,” he says.

Huh. In her imagining, he kisses where her neck meets her jaw and says tell me more.

“I don’t know,” she continues. This room is small and creaky, the wood cheap and painted a muddy brown, the one window shielded by ungodly curtains. Side by side, their suitcases sit close to the door, her 360-degree wheels and his hell-and-back duffel a modest distance apart. Absentmindedly, she wonders which one is hardier, more applicable to the kind of travel they do: the expensive and ergonomic bag or the bag that’s been to worse places but survived nonetheless. “There are some things that seem mathematically unpredictable to me.”

“Like what?”

Softly, her wrists relax. She turns onto her side so that she can face him, but suddenly, she stares down at his chest, at the shirt she washed so many times that it got holes in the sleeves; a man so close to her in bed is an indulgence she’s foregone since she left him. With late-night scruff and eyes renewed with light, he looks younger somehow. 

“Like…” she furrows her brow and looks down as she searches for an example. “Like meeting you that first time. Statistically improbable. There’s got to be some other explanation.”

Giving that half-smile he used to shoot her from across the console of a cheap rental car, he shifts in bed, asks, “And why do you think that was an anomaly?”

“Well,” she continues, “there were plenty of other agents around my age with scientific backgrounds at that time, and in the end, they wanted logic to derail your findings, not science. Science is the language of change; logic is the language of control. We both know which of those they wanted more.”

He nods against his pillow. In the darkness, his face is a greyscale, all age-lines and soft eyes and timelessness, a sense that he’s always been looking at her in this way. As her restraints loosen, she reaches her arms forward, folds them in front of her chest.

“What if your assignment was part of the math of it all?” he asks, and she remembers how he told her he failed his one statistics course in college. “What if that is the most logical thing that could have happened? What if anything other than that would have been statistically improbable?”

“Fate?” she asks with a dry laugh. “You’re really bringing fate into this?”

“Well, if you put it that way-”

“The second law of thermodynamics,” she states. “The disorder in a system tends to stay the same. It’s more likely that things will go wrong than that they’ll go right.”

“So meeting me was cosmically right.”

I don’t know, she thinks, but his words set her wrists free, so she reaches toward him, places a single hand on his chest.

“Newton’s third law,” she says quietly; through his shirt, she can feel his pulse quicken.

“Scully,” he warns but simultaneously begs.

“We haven’t share a bed in-”

He mumbles a number of days that she pretends not to hear, not to already know.

“If it’s all fake, just some number-cruncher putting in values,” he says, trying to sound casual as he places his hand over hers, “then why did this happen?”

Defining that indeterminate why, she says, “God creates man.”

He huffs. “You and that God of yours.”

“There was no room for Mary and Joseph at the inn.”

“We’re not at an inn, and they had room for us here.”

"There’s only eight units, and it’s on-season,” she explains. “Statistically speaking, this was likely to happen.”

“Two probabilities walk into a bar,” he quips.

“Occam’s razor,” she supplies.

“The simplest explanation is often the correct one.”

“Yes,” she says, then leans forward to kiss him.

[iosihexa]

petals for your efforts

ao3 link

warnings: none

ship: dan / phil

wordcount: 1757

extra stuff: tiny trace of pastel dan, dreaded 2nd person POV but according to a few people i pull it off In A Manner That Is Readable, soft, high school setting (ish), i recommend reading on ao3

You catch your first glimpse of him – the real him, you think, or at least a part of him that is a little more raw – at the far end of an overground station platform. Granted, you’re perhaps a bit more than distracted given the dismal weather, everything feeling blurry and a little too bright against the glary pale grey of the clouds, but. He’s there. And he looks miserable, clutching what looks like a delicately wired flower crown with sad, wet petals between his fingers.

For a brief moment, you’re highly tempted to wax poetic about his hands, because they’re beautiful, but there are other issues at hand.

“Hey,” you begin, and wince because you absolutely did not think this through. “Dan, right? Doing alright?”

He stares back at you, hair curling slightly from the moisture – he must straighten it every day, you muse – and then promptly looks back down to his shoes. “Hello, Phil.”

The two of you aren’t really in the same friendship circles. You have been vaguely aware of Dan since the beginning of the school year, but it’s a whole new experience to see him out of uniform and wearing – well.

“That colour looks nice on you,” you comment, gesturing vaguely towards the pale pink jumper he’s wearing, and squint, leaning closer to the little design in the centre of the shirt. “Is that an egg?”

He looks at you again, and you’re satisfied to note that he looks happier now, if a little amused. “Yes. Sunny-side up, so the egg’s name has been delegated Sunny. Also, thanks,” he surveys your own attire carefully, “your, uh. Subtle selection of black clothing is pretty neat, I guess.”

A nervous laugh manages to escape you lips as you gesture towards the flower crown still grasped gently between his fingers. “Can I take that? Perhaps it’ll be good to have some colour on me for a little while. I’ll return it on Monday at school?”

He looks surprised, to say the least. You blame the general concept of toxic masculinity and also the fact that he probably thinks you are the strangest, most uncouth person to have ever interacted with him.

Nonetheless, reaches up and places the flowers in your hair, and studies you evenly. “Looking good,” he says, and winks, and you think that you like him a bit.

DAN: look im just saying but you have to get your priorities straight WATCH THE CLASSICS FIRST god I cant believe you havent even watched fmab yet PHIL: Ok, ok, but sometimes I can’t help but go into the weird obscure things my friends recommend me, you know? PHIL: like it’s not like I know any better PHIL: anyways fine!!! I’ll watch your weird animes. But you have to read that novel I recommended to you. DAN: if it’s along the same lines as a john green novel phil i swear to god i’m never trusting your recs again PHIL: hey! John green’s books aren’t that bad. romance isn’t as bad as you make it out to be. PHIL: and it’s a good book, I promise. It’s exactly the kind of hipstery thing you’d like DAN: what on earth are you insinuating DAN: ok one of the protags isn’t straight I can get behind this PHIL: I can’t believe I managed to peg your interests just like that. DAN: hey, now. PHIL: Just read it. Tell me if you cry at the end :D DAN: i wont DAN: we must discuss this book when ive finished reading on saturday

Your mother is probably extremely glad that you’re getting out of the house of your own accord to meet up with friends for once. Or just a friend. Singular. You’re not about to admit it, but you’re very ready to see Dan in soft, colourful, non-school related clothing again.

He’s sitting in the very corner of the café you agreed to meet at, hunched away over what looks like a milkshake, and you take the opportunity to admire the robin’s egg blue of his shirt, and the demeanour of calmness he seems to have cast over himself, still reading the book you lent him. It’s just starting to sprinkle as you make your way into the shop and order.

“Hello,” you say, and he looks up and his smile stretches across his face languidly, dark eyes making contact with yours – he seemed awkward with eye contact the first time you talked to him at the station those few weeks back, but now it’s fine.

You curse the existence of involuntary physical responses as you heart beats a tiny bit faster, because it’s only been a few weeks, but you do like him. You’re not in denial, just frustrated and perhaps wishing that you could have a highschool romance story like any silly romcom film you’ve watched.

“Thought you were going to abandon me, like the terrible person you are,” he says, still grinning as he pats the seat next to him. “Sit down. We have some important themes and subtextual information from within this book we need to discuss.”

He slides the novel over to you, finger tracing a few lines. “Here, see this? And,” he flips a few pages over, “this? They only talk twice in the whole book – yes, I’ve been rereading – and yet everyone is convinced they’re in love. Remind me why, again?”

You smile back, and push his hand off the book. “You’re reading into it wrong,” and from the way his gaze challenges you, you’re willing to bet you’ll have a fun discussion.

Dan leans his head back on your blanket, somehow already at ease. The late afternoon light is filtering in through the windows, casting hazy, shattered beams of sun onto the bed.

“Your room is exactly as nerdy as I thought it would be,” he laughs a bit, and reaches over to examine the cactus you have placed on your desk. “You’re absolutely the type to name your plants, aren’t you? What’s this one’s name?”

You glance over. “Alistaire the Second,” you say. He lets out his soft, quiet laugh, the one that makes you feel a little bit more intimate and as if he trusts you.

“Of course,” he mutters quietly, then stares at you, not for the first time today. “Let’s paint our nails.”

“Our- what?”

He seems almost disappointed. Almost. “My sister let me take her collection of polishes, and I figured since I’m sleeping over, we should do cliche teenager sleepover things. And, since all the stuff boys are probably supposed to do during sleepovers are a lot less interesting than, say, gossiping about dudes and painting nails, we should do this.” He looks nervous for a moment. “Unless you don’t want to. We can put on a movie whilst we do it though, that’d be cool.”

Nodding vigorously, you set up your laptop and he brings out a suspicious number of glass bottles from his bag, looking a little relieved. You examine his array of colours, laughing a little bit. “Fluorescent yellow, a dodgy shade of mauve, this awful olive colour - this is quite a selection.”

He just does his grin again, and holds up a nice, bright, RGB colour wheel-worthy shade of blue. “This one for you. Actually,” he says, pushing another few bottles forwards, “you can have a rainbow.”

You end up playing Mulan in the background (Disney never fails), and he paints each nail on your left hand a different, horribly bright colour. In turn, you paint all his nails a wobbly black, except his pinkies, which he insists are painted a nice, glossy white. He wiggles his hands in front of your face. You have the urge to lick his hand, just because it’d be gross and maybe annoy him a little bit.

“Piano hands, Philly,” he says, and you look down at your own nails, which have very wobbly jobs as well.

“Uh. Vaporwave unicorn hands, Danny,” you reply, and he does his soft laugh again. Your gut clenches, and you decide you have to tell him before you regret staying quiet for months and months.

“Listen, D-”

“Oh yeah, heck,” he interrupts, jumping off the bed. “Look here, I got you a flower crown, I nearly forgot. We don’t talk about my favour for pastel clothing much, but you seemed to like the one I gave you at the train station a few months back, so you can have this.” He’s holding out a different crown, with slightly smaller roses on it, petals stained pink and orange and looping neatly with a few small leaves. “You don’t wear enough warm colours. Look, even your room is just blues, greens, black and white.”

“Thanks, Dan,” you say, almost whisper, and slot the flowers on your head. There’s a wash of fizzling happiness that rushes over you, and then you steel your nerves, pausing the film. “Listen, Dan,” you start again, and he looks ridiculously concerned for you, a tenebrous expression that you want to wipe off his face and replace with warmth again.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing super terrible. Although I guess it depends on how you take it, but…”

“Oh, come on, Phil, you’re not allowed to keep me in suspense like this,” he jokes, wavering.

Your brain just a one-eighty and you collapse back onto your pillow. The flower crown is dislodged slightly, flipping back and resting against the headboard. “I can’t do this,” you groan, and stretch out your hand. “Here, take it.”

“What?”

“My hand. hold it.”

Silently, he acquiesces. “Um, Phil-”

“Look,” you say, staring at the ceiling fan, watching it spin lazy circles above you, “I kind of fancy you. In, yeah, that kind of way. I don’t know, but I like you a lot, so I guess that’s that. I mean,” you mumble, beginning to ramble, “I know you’re my friend and you probably don’t- ah.” You’re cut off by Dan flopping down next to you, lacing his fingers with yours.

“It’s alright, Phil.” he says, flicking your head. “I think you’re pretty neat too,” and he gives your hand a squeeze. You think about how nice you thought his hands were when you first saw him at the station. Outside, the summery orange tint of sunset has darkened into a shadowy navy, and the sky flashes white and blue with lightning, a thunderstorm carving patterns of rain down the window. “No kissing till the third date, though,” he teases.

You can accept that.

[fadedflame]

The Deep Dark Blue Day 22

Detroit: Become Human Prompt Challenge from @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Summery:  Lieutenant Hank Anderson had been a naval officer for years. It was his life, his passion, everything he cared about now. And yet, all it took was one look from the tiny Mer child to make him willing to risk it all.  

Day Twenty Two - Atlantis

Words-1194

Chapter Summery: A snuggly recap.

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Ao3 or read below

Connor had his own cot. They had set the thing up in Hank’s cabin as soon as the boy was able to toddle around on his own. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to make a stink about his boy choosing to share his.

Hank shifted, ever so slightly, to relieve an uncomfortable pressure building in his arm. Connor responded by cuddling closer. He tucked his head under his chin, soft brown hair smushed into the scraggly gray of his beard.

His little fish wasn't so little anymore, that was for sure, but he still fit in Hank’s arms like he was made to be there.

He sighed contently, ready to let the rest of the night pass him by in a haze of warm snuggles. Instead, they were interrupted by a bright light flashing through the dim room and a loud pinging noise.

Connor sat up and Hank immediately missed the warmth of holding his kid. He grabbed the small device from the table just beside the cot, looking at the message that had popped up on the screen.

Hank wasn’t one to be nosy, but he was a curious bastard. “Text?” he asked.

Connor nodded and settled back into Hank’s arms. “It’s from Markus. He’s letting me know they made it safely to…” he squinted at the screen, “Hart harbor. Wherever that is.”

He had met Markus shortly after Connor had come back. The older Mer had been sure to introduce himself and seemed particularly serious about ensuring the kid was in good hands. Hank liked the guy. He especially liked that Connor had another person, one of his own kind to boot, looking out for him.

But he wasn’t so sure he liked that he had given the kid his own cell phone. At almost one year old, he felt he was a bit young yet.

“If I’m thinking of the right place, it’s off the coast of Florida,” he told him. “They made good time.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Connor agreed before putting the phone back down.

Hank wondered just how much he missed him. Besides Rose, Connor didn’t really have friends that weren’t on the ship with them. It must be hard, making a connection only to part ways so soon.

Maybe the phone wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“You know,” Hank mused, trying to lighten the mood. “Since Markus gave that thing to you, does that make it a shell phone?”

“Really?” He could see Connor’s unamused expression even in the dim half-light of the cabin.

“Hey, you want a dad, you get dad jokes,” he laughed. If the kid couldn’t appreciate his wit, he had clearly failed him as a parent. “That’s how this works.”

He expected a roll of the eyes, or a scoff, or some sort of witty comeback from his strong-minded teenager. What he didn’t expect was him to tense, then pull himself closer as though he thought Hank might disappear.

“You ok?” Hank asked quietly, concerned by the odd response.

"Yeah, I'm ok," he insisted, unconvincingly.

"Alright." Yeah, he didn't buy that one bit. Hank had sincerely hoped to skip the hiding how he was feeling stage of adolescence, but here they were. " But you've got something on your mind. What's up?"

Connor seemed to hesitate for a few moments, considering what, if anything he wanted to say. He sat up, then switched on the nearby lamp sending a warm glow across the room. "I do want a dad," he said at last. "You. I want you. I want you as my dad."

"I know, kiddo." Hank sat up too, snaking an arm around him. "I was just teasing you, I know you want to be here." He pulled him close enough to kiss his head. "No need to get all worked up. It's ok."

He settled into Hank's hug with a shaky sigh. "Yeah, I know. I do. I'm just…" Connor held him tight. "I didn't realize how lucky I was that you found me."

Honestly, Hank felt like he was the one who was lucky. "Ok, where's this coming from?" he questioned. "You never worried about shit like this before. Is it… did something happen when you were away?"

"I guess?" he bit his lip, chewing on it like it would help him work out whatever was going through his mind. "Did you know there's an underwater city not far from the last port?"

"Seriously?" An underwater city. A Mer city. Full of Connor's people. He didn't know what to think about that.

"Yeah, it's called Atlantis."

Fitting, he supposed. He wasn’t sure where this was going. Connor didn’t want to leave again, did he? “Alright?” he prompted.

Connor seemed to fidget. He broke the hug, stood up and paced for a few moments before continuing. “Markus took me there, to see it,” he said at last. “It… wasn’t what I expected.”

“How’s that?” Hank asked. He wanted to hold him again, but stayed put.

“They don’t really do families,” he confided, stilling in his pacing and voice falling. “They’ll bond with their mates, but that’s about it. Apparently the mortality rate for fry is so large, they just… don’t get attached. They’ll just leave them to fend for themselves and hope some will make it.”

“Oh, Connor…” That was horrible. Worse than he even thought. Here Hank was worried that somewhere out there, a Mer couple was missing their little boy. This was worse.

Connor’s eyes were wet and he returned to Hank’s arms as soon as he beckoned him in. “If you hadn’t found me,” he sobbed, “I wouldn’t even know what it’s like to have a dad.”

He rubbed at his boy’s back as he cried. “Then I’m sure as hell glad I found you. For lots of reasons.”

Hank hated seeing Connor upset. He hated even more that, without him, he wouldn’t have had anyone to comfort him. He held him close and let him cry for several long minutes.

“There was a Mer there, his name is Nines,” Connor said quietly after a while. “He looked like me, a lot like me. We even hatched around the same time, best we can tell. Markus said it’s likely we were part of the same clutch.”

“Same clutch?” Hank asked. “You mean you’re brothers?”

“Yeah,” Connor nodded. He could feel his hair rubbing against his cheek. “At least we should have been. But he didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Well that is his fuckin’ loss,” Hank said immediately. Brother or not, he didn’t deserve Connor if that’s how he was going to be. “You’re great.”

“You’re great,” Connor insisted, turning his words around. “I… really, I’m… I’m grateful to have you. Even if your jokes are terrible.”

“My jokes are fuckin’ comedy gold,” he insisted. He pulled away to smile at his boy and give his hair a good ruffle. He could see the disagreement Connor was holding back written all over his expression. “And you’re gonna have to put up with them for a long-ass time.”

Connor returned the smile, then laid back down on Hank’s cot. “I think I can manage that.”

[fadedflame]

The Deep Dark Blue Day 21

Detroit: Become Human Prompt Challenge from @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Summery:  Lieutenant Hank Anderson had been a naval officer for years. It was his life, his passion, everything he cared about now. And yet, all it took was one look from the tiny Mer child to make him willing to risk it all.  

Day Twenty One - Harbor

Words-1163

Chapter Summery: Reunion.

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Ao3 or read below

Numb.

That was really the only word Hank could use to describe himself at this point. He was numb.

It was all he could let himself be, really. If he felt anything else, he would need to feel everything. And if he felt that, there was no way he could handle it. He would crawl back inside a bottle of whisky and drown himself and anyone who dared come too close.

So he was numb.

Hank remembered with bitter clarity what it felt like to lose Cole. Something like that wasn’t easily forgotten. Now, losing Connor too…

It felt different.

Not better. Not worse. Just different. Cole had been the result of a tragedy, a life ripped away from the world far too soon. Connor…

Connor had left on his own.

He had managed to fuck up so badly, so thoroughly, that his son had run from him willingly. He had chosen to be anywhere that wasn’t with Hank. And that… that was a new kind of pain.

He stared out over the harbor where they had docked, not really taking in what he was sure was a beautiful scene. The sun was setting, casting an amber glow over the water.

Hank didn't care.

They had stopped the ship after Connor had gone overboard. They had no chance of going after the boy, but Jeffery had called for them to stay where they were in hopes that he would come back. They’d waited the rest of the day and all through the night, ladders deployed and at least two people scanning the waters for any sign of him.

But he didn’t return.

And they had to move on.

Pulling into the harbor had felt like a crushing finality. Like coming aground was rooting in the reality that he was never going to see his son again.

“Hank?” A voice addressed him, only barely pulling him from his musings.

“What is it, Reed?” Hank responded, not bothering to look at the man who had spoken.

The man moved so he was in his line of sight, but he pointedly didn’t look at him. He could still see his disapproving frown. “We’ve docked,” he said uselessly. “You should… I mean, you’re cleared for some shore leave. You should take it.”

“Don’t need it,” he countered easily. He had to keep working, had to keep his mind on something else…

Gavin was quiet, but only for a moment. “That bookshop you like is here, isn’t it? You could-”

“I said I don’t need it,” Hank snapped, not trying to be pleasant anymore. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Look,” he tried, ignoring the demand. “I know you’re upset about what happened, but-”

“Shut the fuck up,” he ordered, finally looking at him. He gave him the angriest scowl he could muster while maintaining his numb interior. “Don’t you talk about him. Don’t you dare.”

“I know-”

“You don’t know shit.” Dammit, his neutrality was breaking. Without it, he would shatter. But he couldn’t stop himself from chewing out his crewmate. “You wanted him gone from the start. You don’t get to stand there and pretend you give a fuck how I feel.”

“I do care,” Gavin insisted, almost angrily. “Dammit, Hank, I care. I… Hell, I’ve got my own problems with Mer, but I didn’t want this. I know what he means to you.”

“Meant,” Hank corrected him bitterly. He looked away again, pain welling up inside of him.

Gavin didn’t speak for a beat, then two. “He’s still out there,” he said at last. “I know he left, but… he’s still out there. I’m sure the kid’s ok.”

Hank tried not to let that comfort him. He didn’t want to be comforted. He wanted to stay frozen in his bitter numbness until he withered away. But Reed was right. Connor was still out there. And that thought comforted him just enough to be painful.

“I’ll take my shore leave eventually,” he said, deflating. “Just… I wanna be alone right now.”

“Alright,” Gavin conceded. “But if you're not off the boat in an hour, I’m coming back to drag your ass off, you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank waved at him nonchalantly as he walked away. It was touching that Gavin cared, it was. But it also pissed him off. He didn’t want anyone to care. Not anymore.

But he’d put on an act. He’d drag himself through life just like he did before, even though his reason to live had left. He’d just take his goddamn time about it.

Hank leaned on the railing, watching the sun set over the harbor and fully intending to use every minute of that hour of solitude. But that wasn’t how things would go.

"Dad!"

The call reached his ears, loud and sweet and painfully impossible. But when he indulged in his delusion and looked in the direction of the sound, the one person he thought he would never see again was standing on the docks below.

Connor.

He was there, staring up at him with a disbelief that matched his own, but he was there.

“Connor,” Hank said, quietly to himself, like he was afraid it was an illusion that could shatter if he were to speak too loudly.

Maybe Connor heard him. Or, maybe it didn’t matter. But like a shot, the boy was running, charging across the dock towards the ship like his life depended on it. Hank matched his pace, only a beat behind, rushing to meet him and only mostly believing his kid was actually there.

He met him at the top of the gangplank. Connor didn’t even try to slow down, running into Hank’s awaiting arms at full speed. It took the wind out of him, nearly knocked him over, but he didn’t give two shits. Hank held him tight, half afraid he would disappear if he dared to let him go.

“I’m sorry,” Connor sobbed into his chest.

He was pretty sure that apology was supposed to be going the other direction. He forced back his own tears and kissed the top of his head as though he could force all the love he felt for his boy into him through the action. “Connor,” he breathed.

“I’m sorry,” his son repeated, sounding almost frantic. “I shouldn’t have run. I was just so scared, and I didn’t know what to do. And then I couldn’t find the ship-”

“It’s ok,” Hank soothed. He kissed his head again before pressing his cheek to Connor’s soft hair. “You’re ok. That’s what matters. You’re ok.”

Connor shook from his sobbs clinging to Hank impossibly tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry,” he rubbed at his boy’s back, massaging comforting circles into his tense muscles. “You’re ok.”

“I want to come home,” he hiccupped, finally beginning to relax into the hug.

The painful numbness finally melted from Hank’s heart, breaking away to a calm contented joy. Connor was finally back where he belonged. “You are home.”