#i gotta be an example for my youth kiddos

[littlebluebarista]

Had a conversation with my sister last night, the end result being Dr. Harvey Stardewvalley is my drug of choice

[miss-tc-nova]

Guide - Eraqus & Brain

Yes, I am currently subscribed to the “Brain is Eraqus’s grandpa theory.” When that bit came up, I knew I had to write this. AND, it was originally going to be a lot darker, but I spruced it up a bit and like this version better. 

~~~~~

              “The darkness will not win!” Wooden weapons clash.

              The boy with slate colored hair hits back. “Hiya!”

              While the defender stumbles back, he recovers quickly. He prepares to rejoin the fight but movement in the window catches his eye. There’s someone in his house—someone he recognizes.

              An enormous gasp leaves his mouth, startling his opponent. His weapon falls into the grass as the boy races for the backdoor. Little feet patter across the floor, rushing for the visitor.

              “Grandpa!”

              Granite eyes light up. “There’s my little sunshine!” Reaching down, he scoops up the giggling child who immediately reaches for that worn hat. “What have you been up to today?” he asks, straightening the headwear on the little boy’s head.

              “Me and my friends were playing Keyblade War but I saw you in the window!” he happily states, pointing out the open backdoor.

              “Friends, huh?”

              “Yeah! And—”

              “Eraqus!” A tiny, little blonde pokes her head inside.

              “Come back! We need you to make the teams even!” A white-haired boy runs in, skidding to a halt when he sees the stranger.

              Another girl, this one with silver hair and golden eyes, jumps in. “Are you comin’ or not?!”

              The enemy from earlier spots Eraqus in his grandfather’s arms and gapes. “M-M-Master Brain!”

              A third boy tilts his head of red hair, not very impressed at all. “Hermod, are you sure? He doesn’t look like a master to me.”

              Grandpa simply chuckles but Eraqus is not having his friend’s disrespect. “Yes he does, Bragi! This is my grandpa!”

              “Just because he’s your grandpa doesn’t mean he’s Master Brain,” Bragi huffs, still eyeing the man suspiciously.

              “You pea-brain,” the silver-haired girl snaps. “Teacher told us Eraqus is the grandson of Master Brain. So if that’s Eraqus’s grandpa, then that’s Master Brain.”

              His amber eyes widen. “Oh…”

              Hermod pushes a sheepish Bragi closer. “Say you’re sorry,” he whispers not so subtly.

              Now before a legendary master, the kid doesn’t seem so confident. “S-Sorry, sir.”

              Grandpa laughs, letting his grandson slip to the floor. “Don’t worry about it, kid; I’m not working right now. I just came to visit Eraqus, but I guess he’s already got visitors today.”

              If Eraqus had to pick his favorite person in the whole world, it would be his grandfather. He loves his mother and father but not the same way he loves this man. “But you can stay, right?” he begs, tugging on the jacket. “I want you to meet my friends!”

              “You do, huh?”

              Frantic nodding messes the wavy hair. He’d do anything to spend time with Grandpa and will take every chance given to show him off—not because he’s Master Brain, but because Grandpa is the best.

              “Alright. Do you want to introduce me then?” Grandpa says with a smile.

              His excitement is so great, his words run together in his already small mouth. “This is Bragi and Hermod and Urd and Baldr and Vor and they’re all in my class!”

              Children wave or comment at the mention of their names and then it’s Grandpa’s turn. “It’s nice to meet you all. I’m Brain. So you all want to be keyblade warriors, huh?”

              Baldr is the first to voice their dreams. “Yeah!”

              “We’re gonna be the best!” Urd agrees.

              “Oh ho? Even better than me?”

              Immediately, the little girl’s confidence falters into fear. “N-No sir! Never better than you!”

              A grunt escapes the man as he sits himself on the floor among the kids. “Now that’s not the right answer.” She appears even more distraught. “You should always aspire to be better than the generations that came before. If each and every one of you becomes better warriors than I ever was, then I know the future will be in good hands. So go ahead, be the best, and don’t stop until you are.”

              Urd’s frown turns into a beaming smile and the others start to catch her elation too.

              “Hey, do you have any cool stories about the Keyblade War?” Bragi asks, having recovered from his blunder as if it never happened.

              “Mmm, no, but I do have a great story about this giant Heartless that tried to destroy my favorite bakery.”

              Eraqus exclaims, “The one you beat while eating a tart?!”

              “Yes, that one.”

              “That one’s my favorite!” The kid excitedly sits down, staring up at his grandfather, one hundred percent ready to listen to another telling of his favorite story. Eraqus is an excitable, impatient child but when it comes to his grandfather, he would happily listen to the same story over and over again. Not only is Grandpa his biggest hero, but the relationship he has with his grandfather is the relationship he wishes he shared with his parents.

              The gaggle of children plop on the ground while Grandpa tells his silly tale of fending off a ferocious monster. Before long, the storyteller’s got every one of the rambunctious toddlers hanging on his every word, sparing time to answer excellent questions the curious come up with. Their little expressive faces show every bit of awe and delight as they listen, all the while Eraqus radiates pride.

              “Wait, how did you pay for the tarts if Master Lauriam took your wallet?” Urd asks, ever the perceptive one.

              Hesitation. “Uh…Well…”

              Vor gasps, “Master Brain! Did you steal them?!”

              “No! Nooooo!” Grandpa replies hastily. A warning finger points at them. “Stealing is bad and you should not steal from other people.”

              Eraqus tilts his head. “But didn’t you steal Master Ephemer’s coffee?”

              “No! I did not steal the coffee and when the fight was over, I made Lauriam pay for the tarts since he took my wallet!”

              “Did he steal it?” Baldr asks.

              The master seems to contemplate this new question. “…Yes. And stealing is bad.”

              His grandson decides it’s time for a different topic. “Will you tell us the story about you and Master Skuld and the giant trickster?”

              “You mean the Trickmaster.”

              “Yeah!”

              A hand raises. “What’s a Trickmaster?” questions Hermod.

              “Well it’s this really tall—”

              “Kids.” The interruption comes from the hall where Eraqus’s mother and two more women stand. “Vor, Baldr, your moms are here to pick you up.”

              “Aww!” the pair complain.

              Baldr protests, “But Master Brain was about to tell us about the Trickmaster!”

              “Yeah!” agrees Vor.

              “All you munchkins better listen to your mothers,” Grandpa warns them. “They’re doing their best to make sure you grow big and strong.”

              “Yes Master Brain,” they all drone, each of them having been taught to respect their elders. The unfortunate two scurry off to their mothers who say something before they come running back.

              “Thank you for talking to us.” Vor gives him a bow.

              Baldr follows her example. “Thank you, Master Brain.”

              “No problem.”

              As fantastic fables entertain those remaining, the toddlers are taken away, one by one, by parents until it’s just grandfather and grandson.

              “You got some exciting friends, kid,” Grandpa says, watching Eraqus return from bidding Urd goodbye.  

              “Yeah. They’re all really cool and they don’t treat me funny.”

              Grandpa nods, pushing himself off the floor. Eraqus can see something thrilling in those eyes. “That’s good. Now, you’ve got three seconds to run before I TICKLE YOU!”

              The boy takes off yelling with the man close behind. Shouting, a foreign phenomenon to the home, fills the silence while the pair rushes around in their game. Their antics lead them to Eraqus’s room where there’s running, roughhousing, mock sword fighting, and more fun than the kid has had since Grandpa’s last visit. This is his best friend who knows all his secrets because Eraqus isn’t afraid to tell him everything; even when he knows he’s done something wrong, he knows that Grandpa may scold him but will still be there to help him learn from his mistake. This is what every kid needs and this is the relationship he gets jealous of when he sees his friends with their parents: one full of respect, freedom, and love.

              “Dad.” Grandpa freezes, child above his head, looking to the doorway where his daughter looks on. “Don’t you have a meeting with the council?”

              Arms lower to drop the boy onto his bed. “Oh, right. Man, I forgot about that.”

              “I noticed,” she replies bluntly. “And Eraqus needs to work on his studies before he goes to bed.”

              Said child groans, tugging at Grandpa’s jacket, “Aww, do you have to go?”

              The woman opens her mouth to retort, but the man waves her off and she leaves them be. “Sorry kiddo. People are counting on me to make choices to take care of them. Plus, you heard your mom, you got studies to do.” Era gives a little pout and the man ruffles his grandson’s black hair. “Look, the next time I come visit, if your mom tells me you’ve been good, I’ll take you to see the citadel.”

              Oh he’s been dying to see that. “Where the keyblade warriors train?!”

              Grandpa grins. “That’s the one. But like I said, you gotta behave and do your studies like your mom asks.” A hand extends to the boy. “Deal?”

              The kid puts on a show of considering the offer but slaps his little hand into his elder’s. “Deal!”

              The stolen hat is taken, plopped back onto the owner’s head while they shake hands. “Alrighty then.” A warm, loving expression softens Brain’s smile. “You’re gonna be a great warrior someday, kid, better than me.”

              “You think so?”

              “‘Course I do. Always remember, may your heart be your guiding key.”

~~~~~

              Warm sunlight beats down on the bright world. Despite its dreary nature, the cemetery, too, is actually quite bright. The youth in white strides along the stone pathway, flowers in hand.

              Months ago, he stood in this very vicinity, in the deafening rain, trapped in a bubble of mourning. He cried and screamed and even blew up at the parents he’d never before disrespected. They didn’t understand; they still don’t but the whole thing has managed to blow over. Friends, acquaintances, and even his Master came with condolences, receiving a meager ‘thank you’ in return. Nothing made him feel better and he just couldn’t come to terms with the fact that such a powerful, legendary master—that his grandfather—was dead.

              And then he found the words carved into the headstone: “May your heart be your guiding key.”

              Even now, those words echo in Grandpa’s voice—the mantra he told the boy at least every time they parted ways. Those were his last words to Eraqus.

              Grandpa was the only person who seemed to understand and acknowledge his struggles. The pressure of nobility and responsibility often pressed down on Eraqus but somehow, his grandfather always gave him the support and courage he needed to endure those things. In the face of all his anxieties, it was always his grandfather reaching back to lead him through. Brain was everything Eraqus needed in his life. Even now, in death, he’s still managed to leave his grandson with the strength he needs to move forward.

              It’s because of these words that Eraqus became something his parents aren’t exactly proud of. He began shirking his studies and speaking his mind no matter the company—really the only thing that keeps them off his back is the fact that he’s still a pretty damn good student. Just because he’s happy doesn’t mean he can let his grandpa’s faith go to waste; he’s supposed to become a great warrior after all. But, following his grandfather’s words, Eraqus started becoming the person he wanted to be instead of the person he was expected to be.

              The boy sits down, resting the bouquet before the stone. From his pocket, he also presents a talisman—the mark of keyblade wielders, even those in training—which he finally earned today.

              “There’s so many things I want to tell you.” He expected the tears, but even so, he smiles. “But before I get to all that, I have to say thank you.” The sleeve of his haori drags across his face. “Thanks for guiding me, Grandpa.”

[sengenweek]

SenGen Week: Day 02

Day 02: December 30

Cell phones / clothing/palette/role/etc swap

-’-

Title: Unfulfilled Reality.

-’-

A/N: Five fun facts about this chapter before beginning (you can skip them if you wish, they’re not really relevant, I just wanted to mention them):

01. A key to rescue Aeryn Sun from Katratzi, was John Crichton’s knowledge of unfulfilled realities, that series of episodes and events inspired today’s chapter, hence the title. (Fuck, I love Farscape. I gotta finish ‘Prolonged Insanity’, I’ve been delaying writing it for far too long).

02. The tale is 'Jack the Cunning Thief’ (the idea to use this tale came from 'And the Fables of Doom’ an episode of The Librarians. Because I think Senkuu would be just like Ezekiel Jones if he were to switch places with Gen).

03. In Newsradio the chapter 'Led Zeppelin Boxed Set’, Catherine Duke teaches Jimmy James how to beat a crooked 'three card monte’ dealer. During the episode, they repeat 'Find the lucky lady’ 'Where is the lucky lady?’, when practicing the scam.

04. This version of Gen was actually inspired ever so vaguely by Subaru in Houkago No Pleiades (Wish Upon The Pleiades). Mind the word ’vaguely’.

05. 'Black Holes Apocalypse’ is a documentary that explains in simple terms, what black holes are, and their role in the universe. Thanks to this documentary, black holes are briefly mentioned here.

-’-

It had been one of Byakuya’s many attempts to distract the newly arrived boy in his home. He’d read him a story, from a very old book Byakuya had no recolection of ever buying. The story told the tales of a rogue in old times, who used his cunning to deceive people –thieves, farmers, chiefs–, and gain money as well as the hand of a lady in marriage. Senkuu was marveled at the many tricks and ruses the man used to get what he wanted, how he tricked everyone to obtain his goals, with no actual harm done to anyone.

“Byakuya, I want to be like him” he said with sleepy eyes.

“Sure, kiddo. If you go the steady constant route, I’m sure you can be just like that rogue” he answered the boy.

-’-

The very next day, Senkuu went to the library, and he read everything he could find that came close to teaching how to deceive people. Naturally, these were psicology books, explaining human behavior. He absorbed the knowledge as best as he could, and tested it on field experiments.

Like, one time at school, he would tap his desk three times quickly when the teacher announced it was lunch time. He did this constantly for a few weeks, until one day, he did it about an hour before lunch time. A kid was halfway to his things when he realized it wasn’t time to eat yet, several more turned their heads in the general direction of their lunch, and another kid cried, she didn’t understand why it wasn’t lunch time yet. Senkuu was thrilled with his accomplishment.

The next step were deceptions, and what a better example of deceptions, than the ones magicians would pull off. Once more he went to the library, and read. Then he turned to TV to get more information. Then, the field experimentation.

He had practiced a long used scam with cards, a three card monte.

“Find the lucky lady. Where is the lucky lady?” he vociferates.

He scamed a couple older boys at the park, naturally he wasn’t skillful enough just yet, so he ended up being caught. Luckily a kid named Taiju came to his aid. Taiju was marveled when Senkuu’s tricks would work, so he stayed by his side, they became best friends in no time.

Slowly, but surely, Ishigami Senkuu became excellent at his field of work, especializing mostly on human behavior, he wrote a few books about it –some of them aimed just for sales–, he did presentations, and became well known amongst the youth. He was cunning, and arrived at the top not only with hard work, but with tricks and deceptions. Just like Jack had done.

-’-

Gen would often be lonely at night, so he counted the few visible stars that he could make out, the many artificial lights of the city making them almost invisible, so he had to use a telescope to see properly. He tried counting them one by one, until he knew their place –and their names– by heart. It all begun with stars, and loneliness for him.

When the stars were no longer enough, he had to find another thing to occupy his mind with, so he started to formulate questions about the sky, the typical ones, like: ’what’s out there?’, ’why is there so much color?’, ’why is it so quiet in outer space?’.

So he searched, finding answers with numbers and big complicated words he does not understand, and he goes from physics to chemistry to biology, and from there on onto everything else that a rhymes with the stars, with the sky, with the world. He reads, and writes, until he can trace some sense into this chaotic nonsense of unintelligible words and equations.

He dismantles –dissects– the mechanical devices he has on hand until their busted organs are bleeding out from their torn coppery veins. And like a mortician, he finds the cause of death: ’Curiosity’. It hangs from their plastic –sometimes metallic– toes.

-’-

’What is the world made of?’

The periodic table answers this question, with it’s many elements lined up in their ranks, subdued into their defined hierarchy. And Gen wants to bring this hierarchy down. He is unsuccessful. So he simply goes back to watching above him. And he finally dives into the dark stars. The dead ones, the collapsed supernovas that made points of amassed gravity –black holes–. He thinks they are as beautiful as the ones that still have light.

He wonders if his curiosity will end up crushing him one day –tampering with the elements until he creates iron–, and he will go out in a violent explosion of light, creating so much strain in the fabric of space-time that a black hole will be born where he stood.

He writes all of this down, going from his curious dissections, to his anarchistic tendencies, unto the flickering thoughts of destruction. He makes one or two important discoveries, which put him in a spotlight. But he remains as anonymous as he can, writing books, and papers, giving a conference here and there. Traveling around, making the name Asagiri Gen to be noticed.

-’-

Awards. They mean recognition for one’s actions. And people like recognition so much they make a big fuss about it, throwing parties, and making a show of being given an award. Such events tend to gather recognizable names into one place, mixing them up and stirring them together. There is no need to specify that parties are the favorite go-to method.

Asagiri Gen didn’t hate parties, rather he simply had a distaste for being around so many people, he had so little knowledge about social interactions that he grew awkward with each passing minute. Naturally, he pulled away from everyone else, and went out into a balcony, he did what he always did, he observed the sky.

He wore an elegant suit, a purple bowtie strangling his neck. He heard the crystal door to the balcony being opened and closed, heard the faint footsteps approaching; still, he didn’t turn back.

“Lovely night isn’t it?” questions a sultry voice behind him.

He turns to look at the newcomer out of the corner of his eye. It’s a young man, a strand of white-green hair falling in his face, the rest of it tied down in a ponytail. His suit is black, with a white shirt that lacks a tie –the first button is undone–. The young man gives an image of formal-casual, leaning more towards casual, given that his hands rest inside his pockets. He knew him. ’Ishigami Senkuu’. A sort of mentalist, a magician, he’d read one of his books out of curiosity –as he did most things–, it didn’t perk his interest.

“Yes, it’s unusually clear” he answers out of politeness.

“Why are you so secluded, the party is inside” he asks halting to a stop next to Gen.

“I get anxious around crowds”

“Hmm”

Senkuu gives him a sideways glance, as he leans his forearms on the railing, looking down at the fast moving vehicules that leave a stele of red-orange-yellow lights in their wake. Gen’s eyes are locked up into the inky mass of heavens, clouds gathering around the moon like a nightdress.

“You know corals get stressed too”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, they get real stressed because of the current events”

Gen looked at him dumbfounded for a second, and then laughed.

“You know, if you’re stressed, they say laughter is the best medicine” says Senkuu.

“That is a terrible joke!”

“It made you laugh” he points out pleased. “Ishigami Senkuu” he introduces himself as he extends his hand.

“Asagiri Gen” Gen takes the offered hand.

“So, Asagiri Gen, why did you come if you dislike it so much?”

The scientist grimaces a bit.

“I was sorta… ” he begins. “Blackmailed, a co-worker stole my favorite bracelet, and she’d only give it back if I came tonight”

Senkuu laughed –it was a throaty, raspy laugh–.

“Clever woman” he praises.

“Unfair woman. She insists I have to get out more”

“These kinda parties aren’t so bad”

“They’re okay, I guess. They just don’t have anything I like to drink”

“Oh. And what do you like to drink, Gen?”

“Cola” he smiles.

Senkuu looks strangely delighted, as he pulls out a medium bottle of cola out of his suit. He offers it to Gen, who practically beams with happiness.

“Thank you!”

He opens it, and takes a long swig. Then he gets aware of himself, sheepishly, he offers the bottle back to Senkuu, who takes a gulp.

“I prefer cola myself, too” explains the magician.

“Sweet black nectar of life” sighes Gen.

The other laughs again. They share the drink, until it runs out, and the scientist fumbles lazily with it in his hands. His phone rings, his co-worker send him a text. And he sighes.

“What’s the matter?”

“My co-worker. The one who blackmailed me. Well, she’s asking where I’m hiding”

“Hmm” Senkuu holds his chin. “I think I can help you out with that. Give you an excuse not to answer yet”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Give me your phone”

Gen cautiously gives it to him, and Senkuu then takes the emptied bottle of cola. He presents both objects in his hands, as if he were in front of a crowd. He clanks them together a few times, before hitting them hard against one another. When he hands them back to Gen, his cellphone rests within the plastic bottle. He examines the bottle astonished, the phone is indeed inside, the bottle has no damage on the outside.

“How did you even do that?!”

“A magician never reveals his tricks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a producer in there that I must go charm up” he parts, while blowing Gen a kiss.

He stared at his back, both amused and annoyed, holding a cola bottle with his cellphone inside. Gen decided he preferred to stick to his science and his stars –although, magic didn’t seem so bad–.

-’-

A/N: Also on fanfiction:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13464121/2/SenGen-Week-2019-2020

[missweber]

@lardo-week

For Day 6 of Lardo Week - Friends and Lovers

(Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5)

(FYI, I’ll start posting these to AO3 tomorrow after I get the last chapter up tomorrow and give everything a good scrubbing for lurking typos and the like)

the practical thing to do

It wasn't that Lardo wasn't earning money. She had two decent part-time jobs and had even picked up a couple of freelance assignments. 

One of the freelance assignments (painting the risers of a staircase in an old house-turned-bookstore to resemble shelves of children's books) had been fun and had paid fairly well, but it hadn't led to any nibbles from potential patrons.

She had time, she reminded herself. There was nothing wrong with working part-time for a gallery and for a local youth hockey organization. There was nothing wrong with creating some stability for herself.

But something was wrong.

"Can I vent?" She had timed her question for when Ransom and Holster were home and Shitty was at an evening seminar. As for She-Who-Would-Not-Be-Named, Lardo didn't really give a shit if she was home or not.

"Lay it on us, so we may ease your troubled mind," Holster intoned, affecting an air of wisdom and concern. Ransom didn't say anything, but he closed his laptop and put it aside so he could pay full attention.

Wanting to vent didn't mean knowing what to say. Instead, she just plopped herself down on the couch right between them. There wasn't quite enough room, but they made it work.

"I feel like a fucking parasite," she said at last.

The chorus of no no no! and we're fine with how things are divvied up, honest! weren't as comforting as they were meant to be.

"I'm venting, okay? That means you gotta let me vent! Don't..." She took a deep breath. "Don't just tell me not to worry, okay?"

Part of her could hear Shitty explaining how being told not to worry was sometimes the same as 'go away and don't bother me with your pesky emotions,' and that, she found comforting.

"My bad," Holster said. 

Ransom pulled her into a side hug. "Sorry about that, Lards. Go ahead. Why are you comparing yourself to a tapeworm?"

"Gross, dude," she and Holster said in perfect unison, and that led to a giggle fit that totally killed the mood.

"Now I'm not feeling ranty. I'm just going to whine instead."

"Would you like some wine with that wine?" Holster asked in a horrible faux-British accent.

"Oh, hell yes!"

The occasion apparently called for a bottle of good wine that had been 'liberated' from Shitty's grandparents, and the novelty wine glasses. Lardo noted that her glass said 'Wine is cheaper than therapy' and tried not to read too much into it. After all, Ransom's said 'I just can't adult today' and Holster's glass proclaimed that he was 'Sotally Tober.'

"So anyway, I feel like a total mooch. I know you guys say it doesn't bother you that I'm paying a smaller share of rent than you are, but it still bugs me. I feel... I feel kept."

"Does it help if we tell you we don't think of it that way at all?" Ransom asked gently.

She shrugged. "In theory."

Shitty, Ransom, and Holster had each told her over and over and over they didn't mind paying bigger shares of the rent. They all either had or made enough money to cover it, and how the hell was Lardo supposed to do art on the side if she didn't have the time or energy to do art?

"We've got your back, bro," Holster said as if that explained everything.

She knew it should. She wished it did.

"Did anything in particular stir this up?" Ransom asked. His eyes narrowed. "Shitty's dad didn't say anything again, did he? Or Claire?"

Holster shushed him, and cast furtive looks at the hallway. "Don't say her name! She'll know we're talking about her!"

Ransom leaned in close and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I know I always said I was team attic, but if the person who's hiding in the attic is you-know-who? Then fuck it. I'm changing my answer."

"Dude," Holster said solemnly. "What if she's actually a thousand roaches in a trench coat?"

"Huh. That actually makes a lot of sense."

Watching their back and forth helped more than their concern. "No one said anything, guys." Well, George had said something in an email, but not in the way the guys meant it. "Just some job stuff came up today that... well, it stirred some shit up."

The point of having a job was to earn a living. Yes, you should do something you liked to do, but you needed to be practical about it. Lardo's parents had never been poor, but for as long as she could remember, they always had to be mindful. She had never gone hungry, but her mother and her bà ngoại had.

They had always encouraged and celebrated her artwork, but they had also been very clear that she was expected to get a real job.

There had also been sly hints about how finding a husband with a real job was a possible alternative, but she forced the thought from her mind because while a wine hangover was bad, a rage hangover was even worse.

The three of them killed off a bottle and a half of wine. It was weaksauce compared to their kegster days, but while Lardo had gone to several classes hungover and still in her pajamas, she didn't think that would fly at the Newbury Street gallery where she worked.

Where she worked for now, at least.

"I'm done guys," she said with a yawn that was only a little exaggerated. "Thanks for letting me dump on you. And don't say it's no problem or anything stupid like that."

She really hoped Shitty got home soon. Now that she had vented, she actually wanted to talk.

It was good to crawl into bed. It was only half-made, as usual, but Duckie and Mr. Steggy were in their proper places as they should be. She smiled, remembering how Shitty had literally squeed with delight when she first introduced him to her childhood plushie.

She hugged both stuffed animals to her and fell asleep.

She was woken up what felt like just a minute later when a naked Shitty tried to pry Mr. Steggy out of her grasp.

"You're hogging the cuddle-buddies," he whispered.

"You snooze, you lose."

"Excuse you, but I was not the one snoozing, Ms. Duan."

She laughed and let Shitty take the plush stegosaurus. He slid into bed and snuggled close. She leaned in and kissed him deep, curling one hand around the back of his head so she could play with his hair. God, she was so glad he was growing it out again.

He ran his fingers down the curve of her waist and up the rise of her hip, but it was an inquiry rather than a request. She kissed him again, then pulled back. "Just this," she said. "And can I talk to you about something?"

She felt him tense defensively but then relax. The first had been automatic, the second, deliberate. "Okay?"

"First of all, yes, there is some money shit tied up in all of this, so I need to know it's okay to talk about money. Otherwise, this is going to be frustrating as hell."

It said something that all he did was nod in agreement. They had figured out quickly that their difference in background made financial discussions a big-ass mine field. They'd had a rough start, but now they used safe words more when talking about money than they did when having sex. 

Lardo thought more couples should follow their example.

"I got a solid lead on a job today."

His face lit up. "What! That's–"

She covered his mouth with her hand. "Let me finish, okay? And if you lick my hand, I will pluck your mustache out hair by hair. Nod if you understand."

He nodded. She removed her hand.

"Here's the problem. If I take this job, I'll have to quit the gallery job and cut back my time with the Rockets. Maybe even quit."

"Okay," he said. She could tell he had a question, but was holding it. For now.

"Starting out, it would mean less money. Not a lot less, but..." But it had been enough to trigger a crisis that required copious amounts of wine to solve. "And the commute would suck."

"Okay." 

He wanted to say he would fix it, that he would make up the difference. She could see it. But he stayed quiet, and she loved him all the more for it.

"But that would only be at first. Part of what I'd be doing is training to take on someone else's job when he retires next year. And it would be decent money. I...”

She let go.

“I thought that wasn't important to me! I know I'm worth more than the money I make! I know my art is damned good art even if it takes me forever to get to where I can do it full time! So what's wrong with me that I'm ready to throw away an art gallery job—a fucking Newbury Street gallery job!—so I can make more money a whole year from now!"

Shitty actually raised his hand sheepishly, as if he was a student in her class. "Um, so what is this job, anyway?"

That was enough to get her to laugh, and laughing gave her an excuse to wipe away the tears that had started to well. "Details, details... Yeah. George Martin said she's got an opening for an assistant equipment manager-slash-logistics person."

"George Martin? As in Jack's George? Falcs George?" Shitty's eyes were wide. "Holy guacamole doesn't even begin to cover it. So, what are you thinking?"

"In a lot of ways, it makes sense to keep the gallery job. No, it's not my kind of art." Honestly, it was more the sort of thing she imagined hanging in Shitty's grandparent's house. "But it's good experience to see that side of things for when I start selling my own things. And then there's the networking. It would be the practical thing to–"

She stopped, listening to what she was about to say, and hearing the echo of her mother's voice.

"Lards?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you still have time to do your art? If you take this other job?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. I don't see why not."

Shitty reached out and took her hand. He rubbed his thumb up and down her wrist, stroking and soothing. "When you said you would have to quit your gallery job and maybe not work as much with the kiddos on the Rockets, I almost said something."

She nodded. She had caught that.

"What I almost said was that you sounded more upset about cutting back your work with the kids than you did about quitting the gallery completely."

"Holy shit," she whispered. It was as if someone had pulled aside the curtain hiding Oz the Great and Terrible. 

She didn't like the gallery. She liked the idea of the gallery. She liked that even after she had decided that the world wouldn't end if she didn't get a job in the arts right away, this opportunity dropped in her lap. She liked what she had been learning from her boss and the new appreciation she had for mid-century American art.

What she didn't like was dressing up like she worked in a law office. She didn't like the way some buyers treated paintings like investment properties. She didn't like being a salesperson/hostess.

And she really didn't like how many clients reminded her of Shitty's grandparents.

But she loved her hockey kids.

"You're right. But..."

"But?"

She gently plucked Mr. Steggy from Shitty's grasp and set him on the nightstand. Duckie followed a second later, and Lardo wriggled as close to Shitty as she could. "But you've given me a lot to think about." She tilted her head so she could kiss his chin. "G'night." 

There was no need to make a decision just then, even though she was pretty sure what it would be. There were just a few things she had to think through, first. 

She felt like something big had shifted, or was about to shift, and that the future was going to be something she had never imagined. But that was okay.

She had Shitty. And in a different way, she had Ransom and Holster, and Jack and Bitty. 

And, as Holster had said, they had her back.

[honeylikewords]

I may have...drooled. Slightly. He looks gorgeous. I don't think I've seen anything about Poe and kids, like your Santi post. so, got any HCs?

He DOES look gorgeous, doesn’t he? I always joke that he looks like an even handsomer version of Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid. So handsome… 

Anyway, yeah, I have loads of HCs about how Poe is with kids! My Santi post wasn’t actually a headcanons post, though, of course– it was an analytical look at the recurring theme of Santi interacting with children within the canon of the film itself– so this post will be a little different, given that the current Star Wars films that Poe has appeared in haven’t featured that many children, much less children Poe has canonically interacted with.

However, Poe has appeared as the mentor figure in the newest Star Wars animated series, Star Wars: Resistance, where he helps a young, child-age pilot and Resistance member. From that and a few other peripheral instances– from the comics and novelizations, for example– one can build a pretty good picture of what Poe is like with kids. That, and his relationship with BB-8 is very paternal, as he understands that BB is a relatively young and childlike droid, and cares for him as such! Therefore, that information is going to be the basis of my opinion about how Poe is with kiddos.

Anyway, enough about canonicity this and that. Let’s get into the HCs!

Poe is wonderful with kids. He’s so good at being playful and encouraging, just as he is with his adult teammates, so that translates well to how he works with children. He has a great sense of humor and can roll with the punches and find something to smile about and laugh over in any situation. Nothing fazes him, and he’s 100% ready to tackle anything any kid throws at him, metaphorically or literally.

With babies, Poe is very much about the tactile fun of interacting with wee ones. He cradles the baby and rocks them around, tosses them up, swings them around, makes them giggle with tickles and raspberries to the tummy, loving every moment. He finds the laughter of children super invigorating, and it always so infectious for him; if a child is laughing, so is Poe, grinning back at them. He has a warm, loving smile, meaning that if he smiles at a baby who is crying in public, that baby will calm and soothe, smiling back at him. Some people wonder if it’s magic that he has: Poe just knows it’s love.

With toddlers, Poe has a lot of fun chasing them around, watching them run from him, happily shrieking as he follows behind making monster noises and cooing “I’m gonna getcha! I-I-I’m gonna getcha!” before scooping them up in his arms and blowing raspberries into their chubby cheeks. He will play any imaginary game with them, whether he’s meant to act out the role of knight or mountain giant or horsey for cowboys: he’s happy to play along, as if it’s all one big improv show, smiling the whole time. 

Poe is also very protective and careful with these little folks, making sure to scoop them up by their round little tummies if they start wandering too far away or climbing into something they ought not play with. He’s particular about how he handles these things, knowing that kids need to explore (and that such exploration will naturally come with falls down and booboos and bumps and scrapes), but also being deeply concerned with protecting them and keeping them safe. He wants them to be able to be adventurous and learn about the world around them, but safely, and with him standing nearby to keep the real dangers at bay. Plus, if the wee one falls over and cries over their ouchie knee, someone’s gotta smooch it better and put a bandaid on it, after all!

Oh, and Poe is a diaper changing master. He’s learned to dress combat wounds in tense situations and get it done cleanly and efficiently, so that translates surprisingly well into how he handles diapers. He’s not grossed out by the stinky diapers or wiping or anything: he just buckles down and does it, cooing at the little one and smiling at them, making baby-voiced jokes about “someone being a messy, messy baby!” as he cleans them up and sends them on their way. He’s the best.

With slightly older but still quite young children, he loves listening to them learning new words, and will often try to teach them new things. He brings them with him as he works on his X-Wing, having them sit on a crate while he shows them various wires and gears and switches, explaining what they do and helping them pronounce the big words.

“Do you remember what this is called?”

“Cah-pah-see-tor.”

“Great job! Yes! Capacitor! Somebody’s gettin’ real smart– you might just be so good at this that you put me out of a job!”

Poe also loves telling stories about his adventures to children of all ages, especially when they’re sitting around him in circles or on his knee. He talks with his hands, miming the dips, dives, and soars of the X-Wing, flashing his fingers out to model explosions, wiggling his hands to show the flow of the Force. He keeps their attention rapt with his boisterous voice and captivating manner of speech, his eyes bright and vivid as his words. 

With older children (think 4th to 7th graders), Poe is there to answer any question. He knows they’re developing their own opinions and minds, learning about the wide, amazing world they live in, and he owes it to them to share his experiences and wisdom with them. He always takes their questions seriously, as well as their feelings. He knows things are changing for them and getting complicated, so even if it’s something as minuscule as “my friends are acting weird because I still cut the crust off my sandwiches and I feel bad about it”, Poe takes it seriously and hears them out, giving his advice. He also does his best to bring their spirits up and make them smile, reminding them that he’s there for them if they need him, and that he’ll be their friend and mentor if they want his help. 

With older kids and teens, Poe is a great friend. His youthful sense of humor and playfulness puts them at ease, and they don’t feel as intimidated by him as they might feel around someone like General Organa. He’s high-ranking but humble and open about his follies and missteps, so the kids know he’s someone they can reach out to if they’re in trouble. Lots of teens come to him for romance advice, since Poe is a trustworthy adult and pretty smart about his own relationships. He’s great at being a listening ear, and also great at helping kids take their minds off things that are stressing them. Sometimes, if it’s a quiet day and the kid he’s with seems really down, Poe will take them flying with him and let them be in control of the X-Wing for a few minutes. He laughs and grins back at them to tell them how great they’re doing, even if they’re a shaky pilot. He’s supportive (and definitely has his hand on the controls to make sure nothing goes wrong, so there’s no real danger), and that support helps these kids feel so much more confident in themselves.

Now, of course, Poe isn’t all just goofers with kids. He knows when to be serious and put down hard “no”s and limitations, knowing that children need boundaries in order to be safe. While Poe himself may play fast and loose with rules and orders, he knows that he needs to protect kids, even if that means from themselves, so he intervenes. He knows when to scold and when to set an order in place, but he always does it with their best interests in mind. Poe doesn’t lose his temper too quickly with young folks– he gets pissed fast with adults, since they ought to know better, but children can’t possibly know better so he always cuts them a little slack– but he does know when to raise his voice into his firm “commander’s voice”. He didn’t rise to the rank he’s in by being a pushover, after all. 

That being said, even if a kid feels put out by his scolding, he always makes sure to visit them afterwards and explain himself, to make them smile and feel better. He hates to think he hurt their feelings, and if he ever steps out of line by scolding too harshly or by losing his temper, he’s not afraid to apologize. He knows the value of an honest and truthful “I’m sorry”, and the kids can tell he’s sincere. It’s part of what makes them love him so much. 

The thing is, Poe just really wants to be a father and have a family of his own. Family has always been important to him, and that doesn’t mean only biological family. Leia is his family. Finn is his family. The entire Resistance is his family. Every kid he takes under his wing is part of his family. And, sure, yeah, he wants to have biological kids, but he’s not limited to just that. He’d be overjoyed to adopt, too, and not just babies, but children from all ages. Poe wants everyone to have the chance to feel loved and supported and like they belong somewhere, and the ability to give that to someone makes him feel like he’s doing something right.

Poe has a lot of love to give, and he’s great at sharing that love with the children he meets and helps, and the chance to guide them into being happy, healthy, joyful adults brings him the greatest warmth of all!

Send Me Asks While I’m On My Roadtrip!

[thejordipie]

in efforts to stave off boredom and to avoid doing dishes it is time to tell a STORY that's right! bunker down kiddos, it is s t o r y t i m e . This is a tale about ghosts, murders, and being abandoned in a moment of need and you bet your buttons it's not only all true, it happened to ME: It was the first night of moving, and by that I mean we had driven all freaking day and had only managed to get only 7 or so hours away, maybe. So we had split into two vehicles; the van, which Thing 2 had dubbed "The Man Van" since it housed The Father, The Brother, The Brother II and Dogs 1, 2 and 3. The Mother and the Me followed close behind in the suzuki that I tried to dub "Suzy" but it never quite caught on like " The Man Van". I do suck at naming things. Except for /my/ car, the SS Huckleberry aka Frankencar aka heart of my hearts and love of my life. But I digress. So Me, in the smaller car, watching Iron Man on my laptop (because that's just who I am (this week, lie in the grass next to the mausoleum i'm just a notch in your bedpost you're just a line in this song)) and I notice on the radio chatter (sidenote, it was legit radio chatter, we had walkie talkies we used to communicate across vehicles since this is The Olden Days and phones did Not Exist) that they're choosing a place to settle in for the night. This is a welcome plan for me, since I am good at one thing and one thing only, and it is Sleeping. So then we pull up to the motel. Now, couple things to know about me: 1) upon seeing this hotel, my Spidey Senses kicked in. I know I just said that I am only good at sleeping, but my spidey sense is nothing to turn your nose up at. This thing is freaky accurate. Some examples: the morning my grandma died, everything was off and felt a little hazy and I felt like I was supposed to be sad; this was before my Grandpa called to tell my mom. Another time, I was walking back from a wedding reception to my airbnb and every time I tried to turn down a specific road, I got sick to my stomach and so uneasy and every time I turned around and walked away, I immediately felt fine. Another time I was following a thunderstorm down a gravel road and the rain hit HARD and I knew if I didn't turn around something was going to Happen and I kept going trying to live my Twister Dreams (tm) and almost got stuck before I had the good sense to turn back and get myself out of that mudslide I was driving into. So when we pull up to the motel and my caveman brain starts yelling "NO TURN BACK" I am on edge and on guard from the start. 2) I am a Percy Jackson aficionado and, by extension, Greek mythology. And I think the place was called Osoyos or something else unintelligible and unpronounceable but my brain immediately snapped to "CIRCE" due to the similarities in spelling between "Odyssey" and this motel. For those of you that don't know, Circe is not exactly the b e s t host and a place that reminds you of her does not leave you with warm, fuzzy, "oh boy i can't wait to be willingly unconscious in there" feelings. I was not the only one to share these misgivings. Thing 1 and Thing 2 and Me the Perfect, tried to convince the Parentals to keep driving. The Fathbert got all "hURrrAHG we Stay HeRe" and started to bring all the things into the room. But even Mothership was sort of considering sleeping in the car to make sure none of the Unsavory Youths of the area tried to steal any of our loot. But Father and his, "HrAr hRUgH I deCiDe" mood decreed that we stay there. But here's the thing. The Parentals, Thing 2, and dogs 1, 2, 3 all had a room together. Thing 1 and I? a b a n d o n e d . They might as well have drawn a pentagon/pentagram/whichever one summons the devil on the floor and opened a portal to Outer Darkness and rolled us in. Because they got us a DIFFERENT ROOM. The mothership, still retaining a semblance of maternal instinct while father had clearly left his behind on the island we fled not 6 hours ago, walked us to the room next door. It felt much like a walk to the gallows must have. We opened the door and the musty air hit us. I was just about to make an excuse about seeing bugs in the bed and let's sue the place and leave, when I actually! saw! a bug! on the bed! Just! Jumping? It was jumping on the bed. Mother and Brother saw it too, and yet she made us stay, What did we look like, I wonder, the 17 and 14 year old BEGGING our mother to stay and not leave us while she backed out the room, swatting off my clinging hands and yelling that she loves us while she clearly proved the opposite. The door shut. Thing 1 and I stood alone. The decision was quickly made to not even bother brushing our teeth or changing into sleeping outfits; the sooner we were asleep, the sooner we were awake, the sooner we were leaving. I remarked that the place looked like the Bates Motel. Thing 1 straightened up, marched into the kitchenette and started opening cupboards and drawers at an intense speed. It wasn't until he started on the freezer/fridge that I asked what he was doing. "Looking for body parts," he says, while holding an opaque container he pulled from the otherwise empty fridge. Our eyes slowly drop to the closed lid. We stare at it for a moment, exchange a wide eyed stare with each other. He purses his lips, shakes his head, and then he puts it back in the fridge. I don't think we ever actually opened it. I promise something terrible was in it though, because the spectacular Spider-Dan (it's me, I am Spider- Dan-- I tried to make a play on Jordan and Spider-Man and that was the best I could do) was in full precognition mode. My teeth felt ridiculously grimey from a day of snacking and I eventually opted to brush my teeth while Brother watched the trailer for Psycho on his phone to compare my analysis of it looking like the Bates Motel with what footage he could find (in the end he agreed, and I'm to this day not sure if that counts as a win in that particular debate for me or not). Let me tell you though, I walked into that bathroom, toothbrush in hand, saw that clear shower curtain closed around the tub, and turned and walked back out. Thing 1 stood on the same spot I left him. He looked up from his phone where I can hear the familiar SCREE SCREE SCREE of the Psycho theme and says, monotonously and with very wide eyes, "Ahhh." I let loose a garbled giggle/scream and plucked up all the courage I pretended I ever had and marched back into the bathroom. But you folks better believe I gave that tub a wide berth lest I stumble upon the remains of whoever owned whatever organs were in that container in the fridge, and I kept the door open, and I brushed my teeth for maybe 7 seconds and I kept my back to the mirror so nothing could POP UP behind my shoulder suddenly. I come out of the bathroom, probably still foaming at the mouth with with toothpaste and Thing 1 and I stare distastefully at the beds. I lunge for the non-bug one but the brat gets there first so I tromp over to the other one, convinced I am about to become that outlier who should not have been counted and eat 10000000 bugs in my sleep in one night. I start to ask Thing 1 to turn off the light I left on in the bathroom in my haste to claim a bed since he's closest and our eyes meet again and a wordless communication that only siblings can understand is passed between us-- the light stays ON. Well into our teen years we may be, but we have been abandoned by our parents and not given any of the guard dogs for protection and dadgummit we are pretty sure we're about to be murdered and if anyone is going to judge us for sleeping with the lights on it is NOT gonna be Norman "Mummy's Boy" Bates as he chops us to bits. Brother/Thing suddenly yells, "OW" and I yell "AHHHH" and I start to think that this is it, this is how we go out, will people ever know how cool I was beneath this thick layer of lame. Then I yell, "WHAT??" because no further, "help I'm being murdered" sounds came from the corpse that used to be my brother. Instead he says, "It just.... felt like someone poked me in the eye." And I am so relieved that we are Not Dead, that I try to make a joke. It backfires. "Oh. Ha. Maybe it's the ghost of whoever stayed here last." We both start to laugh and then cut off abruptly and at the same time as the terror and potential truth to the statement sink in. The eerie silence of the sudden absence of uncomfortable laughter haunts me to this day. I got chills just typing about it. I normally cannot ever sleep on my back. I gotta be facedown like a starfish or I will not sleep. That night I lay flat on my back, ready to kick upwards (STREET SMARTS) at whatever entity tried to do me in overnight. I was closest to the door and the window which meant I was either a) gonna get eaten first or b) could make a better run for it while it ate Thing 1. I fell asleep contemplating whether or not he was worth saving; I had a spare brother after all, how many does one really need? As suddenly as I fell asleep, I woke up. And I slept with my glasses on, but they had shifted through the night, so I could see /something/ at the foot of my bed and I started to run through the whole, "here we go, take me quickly Death, I have a very embarrassing need to not annoy the neighbours with my screams and death gargles" thing again when I focused and realized it was just Thing 1. He only looked like he was hovering at the foot of my bed. He was actually stood at the door with his face pressed to the peephole. "What.... what are you doing?" I ask. He peels his face from the peephole and turns what can only be described as a wild and unhinged eyes on me. "Waiting," he says simply, and turns back to the door and smacks his face back to the peephole. I decided then and there that he got possessed through the night. Good bye brother, you annoyed me only most of the time, and your dry wit was appreciated, but I always said there could be only one middle child and here I am, still standing, while your soul has been devoured by a demon. C'est la vie. I do remember that the night before, it was determined we would be summoned to return to the car when the others woke up and had taken the dogs out, but I don't remember if he called or if they called but almost immediately after that exchange, he was on the phone to the Parentals. He made some noncommittal grunts, he nodded, said "Bye" and then left. LEFT. HE LEFT ME. You better believe I /SCRAMBLED/ outta that room. Swooped outta that bed, crammed my toothbrush in my backpack and jammed my shoes on my toes (not even on my whole foot! just the front half! I was walking like a bowlegged troll trying to keep myself from losing a shoe and lingering longer and still i was a proper speed demon!) and I was out. that. door. Now, seeing it all written down, I cannot properly capture the OOKY feeling that place gave me. And even now, years later, brother and I will mention the Eye Poking Guy of 105 and give short clipped laughs before meeting wide eyed gazes and looking behind our own shoulders. but anyway that's it, that's the story, night all