#i just need them to be in the same space to fuel my delusions

[stormyoceans]

🕯️manifesting jay and foei standing in the same frame for .01 seconds in today's episode of cutie pie🕯️

[penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories]

So We Refuse To Take it Tragically

A/N: I’ve just accepted my fate is to be obsessed with this man, so here’s yet another Obi-Wan fic. There will be a second part to this, and I’m thinking a mini series of in-between moments. I won’t give spoilers, but this is NOT my normal type of fic, but he’s an exception to every rule in my book, apparently. Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv​ for being my beta on this, I don’t know where this would be without you!

Thank you also to @beskars​ for her post here that birthed this. Always blessing us with fuel for the thirst. 

And to the one I know IRL that found my tumblr, one I will refer to as Top Voice, this is your final warning to gtfo before feasting your eyes on unprecedented filth and sap. 

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force sensitive! Fem Reader (no Y/N)

Warnings: SMUT!!!  Cumeating, hair pulling, Comfort Sex, ANGST!! (It has a happy ending later, I promise, but it starts after ROTS, so it’s par for the course) If you’re gonna write not-particularly-pertinent-to-plot-porn, might as well make it unnecessarily detailed, right? As usual, too many feelings for porn,  More warnings will be in the tags to prevent spoilers 

Title from one of my favorite quotes: 

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

Tatooine is no place for a baby.

 There are no soft surfaces, nor comforts, nor surplus of anything. It’s desolate and deprived and oppressive, but you watch as Obi-Wan shields the child from its harsh, sand-pelting winds with his whole body, despite the fact the child fits in the space between his wrist and elbow. It’s overzealous, but you don’t say anything of it.

 The past two days have ripped away nearly everything he held dear, insisting on devastating every tender place. Nothing sacred has been left untouched.

 He broke the code long before he met you, and you know part of why his love for you came so easily, why he had no qualms with breaking his vows, was because he’d long since loved the man that became his family in every way that matters.

 Love and Light so tightly knit together the fabric of his being one could not be separated from the other. 

 And you could take on the entire Force with your two fists for how it had rewarded him for it with Hate and Darkness coming from someone so close it shattered something foundational in Obi-Wan. 

 Yet even now, there isn’t Darkness surrounding his signature. There’s brokenness and his ever-present equilibrium has been replaced by jagged shards. But despite it all, those rugged pieces still reflect light erratically in their shine.

 It’s a loss and betrayal that spans many different planes: on one level, there’s nowhere you look in the galaxy beyond just the two of you that isn’t marked by the Empire’s rise in power, marking the end of the Republic he fought for and the fall of the Jedi, his community, comrades, and only home he’d ever known. And on another level, you’ve seen the weight of war and worse in Obi-Wan’s eyes, but nothing, nothing like this.

 The pain is panoramic, but it’s also profoundly personal.

 Even still, his attention isn’t on himself, but on the fussy bundle in his arms.

 You wonder: is it the galaxy that doesn’t allow this man time to heal? Or is it his own choice to throw himself into the need of others so he has a tangible reason to avoid his own torments?

 When he places the baby into the arms of the young couple, you know the times ahead will give the answer to that.

 Because there aren't the cries of the past few nights to wake either of you, there’s silence. 

 You long to fill it, to try to bridge this insurmountable void with something, anything you could say. But you know it’s bigger than you. So, so much bigger than you.

 Monumental obstacles and tremendous loss find themselves standing in the threshold of an abandoned hut smaller than your flat was on Coruscant. 

 “Well… it’s not much to look at, certainly. But the moisture vaporator seems to be in repairable condition, and we’re just far enough from town to avoid any curious neighbors. What do you think?” He turns to you, and his eyes, dark circles under and all, turn sharp in their assessment of your response. 

 “I told you. I’m going wherever you are so long as you’ll let me.” Your voice is gentle but adamant as you remind him. 

 He walks up from the living room to the threshold of the kitchen where you are, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. “Be that as it may, I’m asking your input on where we’re going, or living, as your happiness means a great deal to me.” 

 There’s still no smile, but it’s the brightest his energy has felt since the last time you saw him before he came to your door in Coruscant days ago, whispering a rushed, heartfelt farewell, which you quickly countered with an emphatic, unshakable, “I’m coming with you.”

 You look up at him, gliding your hand across his cheek into the hair at the nape of his neck. There’s Darkness at the door of his soul that he’s fighting off every moment, and he has the audacity to speak of your happiness. 

 You don’t dare bring up his. It’s irony, at best. 

 So you smile, timid, knowing the gesture in itself might be blasphemous to the tone, but genuine all the same. “We can make a life here. I know we can.”  

 He scans your eyes, looking to find the authenticity in your statement. “Are you certain?” 

 He’s not asking about the hut anymore. Or, at least, not just the hut. 

 “Obi-Wan, I never had any delusion that any life I had with you would be easy. I thought I’d only ever be getting you in secret, sparse moments. Although I’d never, ever wish for it to be under the circumstances that it is, having you like this is better than I ever hoped.”

 There’s silence as he processes your words, then a wry twist of his features. “How I wish that your expectations needn’t be so low.”

 “No, no, that’s not what I meant.” You incline your head, trying to find the words to convey what you mean. 

 “Nothing any person or any planet anywhere has to offer me holds a candle to what I’ve found in you, nor will it ever. I’d never trade unshakable wholeness for the transience of materialistic happiness.”

 You know this has to resound with him. Is it not within the core set of values he was taught to forsake comfort in any avenue for something far greater? 

 His eyes flick between yours, gauging, and you can feel him reaching out to feel at your signature to solidify the truth. 

 If you knew him any less, you might be insulted at his questioning of your trustworthiness. But it’s not you he doesn’t trust. It’s something good willingly giving itself to him that causes his wariness. 

 The Force can have your middle finger along with your fists. 

 Then he’s relaxing into you, letting out an exhale that seems heavy with more than just air, and burying his nose in your hair for his next inhale. 

 ****

 By the end of the day, you’ve gathered enough supplies for basic necessities and to start on the repairs of the hut. You both snarf down a ration bar before shortly thereafter clearing the blown-in sand off what must have been the bed of the home. It’s a half circle indenture in the wall, and it has a dip obviously made for a mattress or cushion of some sort, but as all that’s available are the blankets bought in town today, you set to fluffing them to some semblance of comfort. 

 Fatigue pulls you into it far sooner than the suns setting. Last night was your first night without Luke, spent in a room you rented in town. Today was spent traveling to and from the hut, discussing details on what needs to be done, and you? You are absolutely exhausted. You can only imagine what he must feel like. 

 Obi-Wan secures the lock on the door before sitting on the side of the bed, looking off into nothing for a long, long moment. 

 You push up to your side, placing a hand on his back. “Obi…”

 His shoulder nudges toward your hand, but he cuts you off. “It’s going to get quite cold when the suns set, and since the stove isn’t properly ventilating yet, we’re going to have to work with body heat.”

 “I’ll try to mask my reluctance,” you retort.

 He turns his face to you then, and just a smidge of humor sweeps across his eyes before he sheds his cloak, followed by everything else until only his pants remain. You’ve long since stripped down to your own sleeping comfort level, so before he can fold his cloak along with the rest of his discarded clothing, you take it and cover yourself with it. 

 He shakes his head a little at you once he’s done, settling down next to you, throwing the covers over both of you. 

 “Tell me what you need.” You’re face to face with him, but his expression is unreadable. 

 “I… I don’t know.” He considers you as if you held the answer to the question you just asked him.

 “What about want, then? What do you want, Obi-Wan?” You wish he didn’t have his shields perpetually raised these days. It’d be so much easier to just read his energy. 

 His hand reaches up so he can stroke your cheek with his thumb. “You’re tired, darling. Rest.” 

 Ah, there it is. If the answer to the question of desire is him counter offering his own response with the fact you’re tired… 

  “So are you. But you still want.” You press your body fully against his, dropping your voice down to a whisper. “And so do I.” 

 You won’t push anymore than that, letting him take or leave the invitation. For you, it’s not even a question. It’s been four months since you last saw him. Since you’d last felt his touch.

 You’d spent the last few nights in each other’s arms, but between Luke's shrill cries and the deafening devastation of the events of the days prior, it’d been just that: sleep. Or, what tousled, disturbed counterfeit the circumstance offered you both.  

 For him, though, there’s an abysmal weariness that digs far beyond lack of sleep, and you don’t dare infringe upon him in any way.

 But there’s still a longing present, and even without his Force signature to guide you into his feelings, he can’t hide his eyes. 

 You watch the moment he makes a decision solidify across his countenance right before he presses his lips against yours. You sigh into it, letting the draw of his skin on yours pull you into orbit.

 Because that’s exactly what happens. It’s a kiss for a kiss’ sake, for flavor and fervency and the fullness of each other, but it quickly gains its own momentum when his tongue parts your lips truly. 

 It’s an acute absence. Not having his energy surrounding you with his shields so far up. But it also gives sharp attention to the press of skin against skin, makes it an anchor and an outlet for all that is still too tender to even acknowledge.

 You find grip in his hair, purposefully running your hands the opposite of the way he combs it as he takes your face in both hands and pulls you into him all the more. 

 When you both need to breathe, he only moves so far away that his lips still brush against yours on every exhale. “I..” he starts, then stops. 

 The hand still in his hair rakes through it gently, scratching your fingertips against his scalp as you wait for him to complete his thought.

 “Let me taste you,” he says at last. You know it's a question from the way he stills, waiting for permission, but it’s phrased as nothing like it. 

 You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a rhetorical quest…”

 “Oh, hush.” He’s already nudging you over onto your back, situating his body over yours, claiming your lips again. You allow yourself to sink into it, cherishing his weight over you, his hand roaming your ribcage, before pulling back to speak. 

 “I’m sorry, are you now getting on to me for my sass? Because… oh!”

 He finds a nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, pinching softly with a small tug. 

 “By all means, continue. I was most intrigued.” His smirk is back, but it fixes you with a tinge of worry when it again proves to be a smile only skin deep.

 You place two fingers just shy of his forehead, but he catches your wrist in an almost painful clasp. The alarm casted by his expression quickly is washed away by a carefully constructed impassiveness, and your heart sinks. 

 He has to see it, because he bows his head in apology. “Not tonight.”

 And before you have any room to respond, he’s shifting himself down as he lifts your shirt up, placing a single taunting, wet kiss on each nipple before moving even further down, nipping at the skin right below your belly button. 

 He’s distracting you from what he’s not allowing you access to, and you know it, and you let him anyway. That’s what this is, isn’t it? Distraction from the barrage of the mind. If that’s what he needs, that’s what you’ll give.

 As he toys with the hem of your underthings, and you lift your hips to assist their removal, you realize it’s exactly what you need too.

 Except he apparently isn’t planning to remove your underwear at all. With a casual flick of his hand, your legs are parted and held like that with a no-nonsense sprout of Force energy. Then he’s simply pulling the cloth to the side and brings his mouth torturously closer, but stops just before contact. 

 You push up to your elbows to tell him you can’t take much of those teasing breaths he’s taking, blowing hot air against sensitive nerve endings. But when you hear his breath stutter as he just looks, unhurried in admiration, you decide against it, even as you flush at the undivided attention. Sprawling his palms out over your inner thighs, he dips down to press his mouth between his fingers, sucking not-so-gently into the soft skin, sending the flesh into tremors before he’s even really done anything to you.

 He says your name as he opens you up with his fingers, parting your folds so everything is bared to his view. You start to squirm, the exposure starting to feel a little too heady, and you’re starting to appeal with the beginning of his name when he leans forward, straight away connecting his lips to your clit. You try to thrust up into it as some shameful noise leaves you, but there’s only so much movement you have with your legs still pinned. 

 He loves to tease, so you don’t expect him to retract the energy that constricted your legs at the first resistance. Instead, he slides his hands under your ass, pulling you on to his tongue and lets you push your hips into him unchecked.

 He hums at your enthusiasm, the reverberation sending your hands into his hair again, which gifts you with even more noises from him. 

 It doesn’t take long at all, and you’re coming undone on his tongue, biting into your forearm to dampen your cry. 

 He doesn’t stop until you push at his shoulder, signaling your tender surrender. He obeys, looking up at you from between your thighs, absolutely besotted, eyes shining a shade brighter than before. 

 Then. Obi-Wan Kenobi keeps his eyes on yours before dipping his head and tilting his jaw, running his beard right where you’re still open and vulnerable, abrasion grating in a way you know you’ll be feeling all day tomorrow. 

 He licks his lips as he moves back up to kiss you again, letting you taste yourself on him. 

 He goes easily when you gesture for him to lie on his back so you can straddle him, carefully avoiding any contact where he’s throbbing for you. His hands fall right to your waist, stroking gently as he waits for you to initiate. 

 You focus your study on the section of his hair that’s fallen in his face, twirling a finger in it, happy to have anywhere to look but his eyes. 

 He’d normally at least be in your mind by now, and even though you understand it, well, the drought of it is as appropriate for the planet as anything. 

 You remember too late to raise your own shields against any accidentally too-loud thoughts, as Obi-Wan cups his hand on your chin, forcing your gaze to his, saying your name quietly in calling.

 “You have to know, it isn’t anything to do with…”

 You interrupt him. “No. No. I won’t have you addressing my insecurities of all things in light of…”

 “Please listen, love. I need you to know, it hasn’t anything to do with the love I have for you. That hasn’t changed and never will. I think I need… “ He pauses, solemn in thought. “Time,” he finishes finally.

 You knew this already in the pit of your stomach, but hearing him say it, hearing him affirm that it isn’t you insufficiency… you hate that you needed it as much as you did. 

 And if he needs time? That’s what you’ll give. But he also has a want, evidenced by the brush of him against you when you scoot yourself down his torso. 

 You take the hem of his pants with you when you continue down, ridding him of them and his shorts. But when you wrap your hand around him and begin to lower your mouth, he grips your chin again, shaking his head. 

 “I can’t… please, just.”  It’s always an anomaly when he’s at a loss for words, usually ever-so articulate.  

 A gasp chokes out of you when you feel the phantom of his mind. Not in full, no. With barriers, and it’s projected out, not at all the same sensation to being within it. 

 It’s desperation. For how long it’s been, for how drained he feels, how he’s not sure how long this will last, and how much he yearns to be inside you.

There’s not even a second of debate in your mind as you take your position on his lap again, lifting your hips, intention apparent. He takes his cock in hand, holding steady so you can start to seat yourself onto the thick push of him. 

 The hitch in his breath is your only warning before he seizes the undersides of your thighs, halting you from taking him any further.

 His eyes are tightly shut, and you know from watching him before that his facial expression is an attempt at borderline meditation, except it’s several long seconds before he achieves anything resembling calm. 

 It’s as good a time as any to push his hands off you and squirm around to take him a little deeper. You plan on rubbing your victory in, but your smirk is wiped away with a whine at the elation. Instead of stopping you again, he almost imperceptibly thrusts up, and it’s your turn to falter, slamming your hands into his chest, nails digging in, working against your weight trying to pull you down onto him. 

 It goes on like that, until you’re both bordering on hysteria before you’ve even fully taken him. You can’t figure out if it’s a worse torment to keep delaying or continuing. 

 Obi-Wan seems to have come to his own conclusion to that, as he finally opens his eyes, locking them with yours as he places his palms flat on the tops of your thighs and pushes down until your skin is flush with his.

 You pull a hand up, biting on your fist, trying to stifle the exclamation in your throat.

 He pulls it away, voice ragged as he speaks. “I want to hear you, little one. We needn’t hide anymore.”

 It’s a dimensional statement. For one, no one is around for miles, a stark contrast to your quarters on Coruscant where you at least attempted to be considerate of your too-near neighbors when it came to noise. For another, it’s the irony of being in hiding from the Empire, but being allowed to be open in your relationship with each other finally.

 And the deepest irony is that you both have your barriers up so firmly right now all you can concentrate on is bared skin.

 Oh, but what a beautiful spanse of bared skin he is. Freckled and almost luminously pale, bending and curving with the strength of the form underneath.

 He sits up slowly, generating a breathless plea from both of you at the new angle. A search of your eyes asks you a question, and you’re nodding, kissing him with the full brunt of your craving. 

 You slide up and then down again just as he drives up, and you’ve found your rhythm, just like that. 

 His hands push you onto him every time you pull up, and his tongue laves your breasts, sucking and biting along your collarbone, as you rake your nails down his chest, over the backs of his shoulders, his scalp, anything you can touch. 

 It’s enough to send him into a chorus of groans, shoving himself hard up into you.

 He doesn’t even speak it aloud, just projects the apologetic warning that he’s on the edge.

 When his thumb finds your clit, everything in you goes tense despite the relief. You clench around him, hard, and he instantly moves his hands to your shoulder blades pulling you flush against him as he lets out an unrestrained sound against your breasts. 

 You push his thumb away from where it’s stilled against you, replacing it with your own. His fingers twitch in their bruising grip, and you can feel him throbbing inside you.

 You stay like that for a moment, just letting him ride out his bliss, whispering sweet affirmations into his hair.

 When he looks up at you again, his eyes are glassed over. You wonder if it’s ecstasy that is the cause, or something from the bedrock boiling to the surface. 

 He doesn’t give you a chance to elaborate, flipping you over on to your back. The moment he withdraws, you can feel the mess dripping down your inner thighs. 

 It takes everything in you to not come at the sight alone as Obi-Wan dips further down your body, parting you and lapping his tongue right where you’re weeping evidence of desire. 

 You know you have to be making a mess of his face and beard, but he certainly doesn’t seem to mind, indulging on his own spill infused with yours. 

 When he adds two fingers in you and curls them strategically, searing heat shoots through your lower stomach as you arch against his mouth, his name a high whisper with absolutely no suppression, echoing across the empty stone walls of the home. 

 He leaves a final tender kiss against you before lying down next to you, pulling you into his arms, and you pull him into yours right back when your limbs remember how to function.

 His head drops against yours, and his eyes flutter shut, taking a deep inhale, like he’s trying to fill his lungs with more than just oxygen. 

 Nothing is fine, and the world is crumbling. But right now, as the suns finally leave the house in dark, as you clasp each other in tight embrace, as sleep pulls you under, you can pretend it’s fine. If only for a moment.

 *******

  There’s a flash of feeling that startles you awake and into the disorientation that comes from waking in a new place. The sensation worsens when you feel the reverberations of the equivalent of a slammed door in the Force. 

 You sit up quickly and look over to Obi-Wan, who sits on the side of the bed, head in his hands, fingers brutal in their grip.

 You move toward him, and he turns around at the sound. “Go back to sleep, darling. it’s nothing.”

 When you fix him with a gaze that essentially translates “bantha fodder,” he just lies back down, pulling your back into his chest, and you doubt the fact you can’t see his face like this is a mistake. 

 The rhythm of his breathing betrays the fact he is nowhere near sleep, but you find yourself fading off soon again anyway.

 ****

 When you wake in the morning, you’re alone in the bed, which is no surprise. He’s not one to lounge, and if the height of the suns peaking through the window has anything to say, he’s already been up for a while.

 His cloak is still tangled in the blankets, though, and you wrap yourself in it, padding outside after doing something about your morning breath. 

 The hut is situated on a cliff, overlooking a barren valley. The suns glare with their unrelenting eyes of heat even so early in the day, and you stare back as best you can without squinting, daring them to do their worst. They know nothing of the misery that’s already visited this home. They have no hope of competing. 

 You find Obi-Wan cross-legged near the edge of the cliff. Cross-legged and levitating. 

 Of course, you know he can do things like this. It’s just such a different thing to see him doing it . You’ve never had a proper morning with him like this, seeing his routine. He was always up before the sun, you with him, gathering moments and soaking them in before he had to leave again.

 He looks almost peaceful now, not at rest, but peaceful. 

 How?

 How does he still have so much trust in the Force? 

 A more lighthearted thought emerges through the grim train, as you notice he’s opted to not put his tunic back on yet. 

 It doesn’t matter out here, you suppose, there isn’t any other living being for miles around. For that matter, you wonder why he even left the pants. 

 His voice damn near startles you, not even opening his eyes to address you. 

 “Although that may be the case, there are some locations more bearable to get sunburn than others.”

 You blush at being caught, and gently ensure your thoughts aren’t accidentally projected again, but he doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it.

 “Join me?”

 As he opens his eyes and descends the couple inches down back onto the ground, you feel your heart do the same. He’s taught you little things, here and there, and you’ve enjoyed it, learning to tap into that constant humming you never had the tools to channel before.

 But now? 

 What interest do you have with The Force that failed the man who served it without fail? You could burn it down for the atrocities it’s committed even in negligence against the man you love.

 But there’s been enough burning.

 Obi-Wan won’t speak of what transpired on Mustafar, but you’ve caught glimpses. Last night wasn’t the first night you’ve had him back, and it wasn’t the first you’d woken to a severe troubling in his aura. 

 You’re still not sure if Luke is a fussy baby or simply a very responsive one, as it seemed Obi-Wan was already awake before Luke started crying. 

 It was only mere seconds before his shields came slamming down, firmly in place, every time. 

You can’t tell if he’s trying to shelter you from his feelings or blockade them away from himself.

 Maybe both.

 But those seconds? They’re long enough. For just a flash of a charred, severed body. Of hateful, pleading, golden eyes. 

 There’s been enough burning. 

 “I can’t ever be a Jedi, Obi.” 

 “That’s not what I’m asking of you.” 

 He knows your criticisms as well as your compliments over the Jedi. You’ve both discussed it at great length many times, always over a firm understanding and respect, but you’ve never really had long enough to have a conclusion. But you’re not going to push now, not with the fall of it all still so close behind him. 

 “I should think our relationship itself is testimony that I don’t inherently agree or adhere to all Jedi teachings.”

 You drop your eyes, trying to ignore the sweat starting to trickle down your skin from the relentless heat. “I thought maybe you were with me in spite of your better judgement.”

 His brow furrows. “At first, that’s what I may have thought too, but it made itself clear that although what transpired between us was forbidden by the Code…” he trails off for a moment, almost hesitant. “...the way Light was and is exemplified any time I have you in my arms presented a solidified case that not always is the Jedi way synonymous with the will of the Force.”

 He says it wholeheartedly, but you can tell it pains him. It’s easy to never speak ill of the dead, either of individuals or groups. To glorify and wipe away any transgressions to ensure their memory sparkles as you grieve it. 

 The harder thing is to grieve everything, both the good you lost and the bad you experienced from the same source.

 And there’s another level there. Something that has him patting the spot beside him and giving a heartbreakingly forced smile.

 Even through it all, wariness of aspects of his own religion included, he seeks unity with the Force without reservation or resentment.

 You don’t fight him anymore. 

 The war is over, but the battle has just begun, and so help you Maker, you’re going to fight for him to have the chance to heal. 

 So you sit, mimicking his position. 

 When he smiles again, it’s much smaller but not at all fake. 

 “First, clear your mind.”

 *****

 The days are afflicted with an underlying gloom, full of work that busies the hands but leaves the mind to wander, which wasn’t at all a luxurious thing. 

 But the nights are filled with unclaimed time, time in an abundance you never had with each other before. 

 Sometimes it’s shot with silence from the weight of the day, reveling in the presence of another as you work together on the supper dishes.

 Or sometimes there’s almost an excitement, despite the labor ahead, of the plans for the place that’s now your home. 

 “Wouldn’t we have to have some sort of larger equipment to hoist that over the cliff edge?” You wonder aloud to Obi-Wan, speaking of the replacement unit for finally getting some very basic temperature control for the hut. “The way around back is too rough and would scratch it up, and I, for one, wouldn’t want to try pushing it up manu…”

 You stop at his smirk he’s trying to hide with tilting his tea cup higher over his lips. 

 “...Or there’s a Jedi solution to this problem that requires neither, and you’re just letting me ramble on anyway.” You punctuate the end of your statement by tossing a pillow his direction, which just stops. Midair. 

 There’s so much legend surrounding Jedi, you haven’t really been sure what’s factual and what’s fairytale. 

 You certainly knew of some of his abilities, but he didn’t tend to elaborate on details of his missions before, and you never argued, knowing it was a liability for you to have that kind of information if anyone ever found out what you meant to Obi-Wan.

 He chuckles, not even trying to look a little guilty. 

 Once you remember to shut your mouth, you get back to planning. “And that same principle just applies to objects of any size?”

 He nods. “Same principle, just more concentration required.” 

 You tuck your feet under you on your chair as you think on that for a second. You’ll have to ask him to teach you that one next. Mediation alone could get rather dull.

 “So, for instance, if a great amount of concentration is being spent Force-lifting an object up the cliff, it would leave a Jedi vulnerable to, say… projectiles thrown?” You throw another pillow at him, which just as easily halts next to the other, gravity defiant. 

 He could have lowered the first one by now. You raise a brow at the knowledge he’s putting on a show for you. 

 “You’ll have to do better than that, I’m afraid.” 

 More often than not, the time of the evenings are spent loving and lounging in sheets, savoring the difference of unhurried lovemaking, with no heart-wrenching farewell on the horizon.

 But every time you gently ask to reach his mind, he pushes the request and your hand away.

 *******

 Obi-Wan’s visits to see Luke are met with a level of hostility. The man, Owen, seems wary of him, doing everything he can to cut the visit short as you and the woman, Beru, if you remember correctly, look silently to each other for some relief in the tension.

 They already likely know his actual name, but you’re careful to only address Obi as “Ben” here, along with everywhere else that isn’t your hut. It’s precautionary, but if it’s for the sake of protecting Luke and Obi-Wan himself, you’ll do it without any further questions.

 But Luke seems to be doing well, and that is ultimately what matters most. It’s hard to believe how quickly he’s grown in the mere weeks that you’ve been here.

 The boy might be by far Obi-Wan’s greatest purpose being on this planet, but it’s not his only. 

 Master Yoda had given him Jedi texts, yes, but also another task for his time here. 

You’re thankful to talk about either, as it seems to be one of the few things he’ll open up to you about as it pertains to himself. 

 But when he goes to meditate alone, calling for his mentor, his father in every right of the term, he comes back more empty than he left. 

 When you look at him with a too-knowing look, too infiltrating for his comfort, he easily slides into a quip.

 “My old master, it seems, won’t appear unless on his own terms. I’m not sure what else I expected, honestly.”

 ******

 You also learn that the man does not cook. Not that you consider yourself an expert, but at the very minimum, you know how to use spices, which on Tatooine come as hot as their weather.

 “Is it a Jedi thing to have tasteless food, or is that just you?” You tease as he dices some sort of root at your direction while you sift through the cabinet. 

 His eyes are full of mischief when he’s quiet for a moment before speaking up. “I would argue there’s concrete evidence that I’m quite happy to indulge in the pleasures of taste.”

 You can’t help your blush as his very pointed look. 

 Dinner is long forgotten after that, but the night is delectable all the same.

 *****

 Something has shifted in your own Force signature. Something you can’t put your finger on. 

 It doesn’t seem harmful or threatening in essence, but it makes you wary in a way that makes your skin itch with more than the dryness. 

 You try not to think much of it. After all, there’s plenty to do between tending to the vaporator, hunting, fending off the Sand People, and your learning to wield the Force.

 After rumors of Tusken raiders being nearby, you ask Obi-Wan to teach you combat.  This would be starting long before he normally would teach someone, he explained, but he does it anyway. It’s not exactly using the Force at first, having to start with how to even move your body in the event of attack, slowly enhancing those skills with the Force as you become more confident in them. 

 You look forward to it more than any other task. It gives you a strength you haven’t had before, and it’s a whole different level of connection to the Force when you trust it physically, not just in your mind. 

 It’s also another level of trust with Obi-Wan, knowing he’d never hurt you even as he enters the role of a potential threat, guiding you through how to handle it.

 So you don’t know why today your stomach won’t agree to the way you want your body to move. You push through it anyway, despite Obi-Wan’s concerned questioning. 

 You lose your lunch into the rocks, and you really wish he wouldn’t pick you up to take you back into the hut, because the shift of what’s up and what’s down doesn’t help at all. 

 And you wish he wouldn’t dote over you the rest of the day, as if you didn’t feel useless enough already, as if the illness didn’t leave as quickly as it came. 

 You make a mental note to ensure you don’t let yourself become dehydrated again to that point.

 *****

 The trips into town are kept to a minimum, trying to keep curiosity away from the new couple. Also, there wasn’t much to do except barter and spend credits, something you both tried not to do a great deal of. 

 Obi-Wan was sent off with enough Republic credits to get you started here, but it was hit or miss if the vendors took them that day, and he also didn’t want to spend too much at once.

 Nothing was more suspicious than surplus here.

 The woman you brought the limited produce available from seemed… different this trip. 

 Obi-Wan was a couple of stalls down from you, negotiating with a man who had obviously jacked up the price on the items needed. Poor man didn’t know what he was in for. 

 You turned your attention back on to the woman in front of you, and tried to decipher what was different this time and why it felt so familiar. 

 As you pointed to a basket of hubba gourds, inquiring of the price, she gave you one that you knew for a fact was higher than last time. 

 You counter offered the same price as last time you were here, and she firmly stated her price again. Ready to stand your ground, you go to state your price again, she puts her hand to her belly, bringing her skirt in around, revealing a small bump. 

 “Can’t afford your low-ball offers with this one on the way, understand?” 

 The sky suddenly falls around you in thunderous clamor as the physical realm around you moves on, unaffected and unreachable. Almost mechanically, you place the credits she asked for on the table, not even capable of addressing the obvious manipulation.

 Understanding drenches you in its brutal weight as you realize the source why she felt so different this time. 

 Your hands shake in their clasp on the basket as you pull yourself into a side alley, heaving your breakfast up. 

 Because you recognize the same difference in her is the exact same one that has changed your Force signature.

 It’s because there’s a flickering light of another being’s Force signature within you. 

  Tagged as requested: @maybege​

[backtothestart02]

Don’t Give Up On Me - 4/4 | westallen fanfiction

A/N: The final chapter is here, and the angst is minimal, so I hope you will enjoy the closure that I hopefully brought. Happy 2021! This is the last fic I’ve written and posted in 2020 (in my timezone). More to come in the new year!!

...

Chapter 4 -

The next morning when Iris woke up, something strange happened.

It started the way most mornings had, with a sliver of light coming through the thin drapes warming her face and rousing her senses. She was beneath a sheet and a blanket, and her head was deep in her puffy pillow. Barry was beside her in bed just a few inches away, as he was most mornings.

But what was different about today was when Iris opened her eyes and saw her sleeping husband not too far away, she didn’t feel tension wracking every bone in her body. She didn’t feel an impenetrable wall between them. She didn’t feel the need to run away or to scream or to pretend so he wouldn’t feel hurt.

She felt…at peace.

More than that she felt the need to wake Barry up so he could share in this moment with her. A silly thing maybe, but for her it was monumental.

“Barry,” she said softly, almost regrettably, because he looked so content to be sleeping.

He stirred slightly in his sleep but didn’t open his eyes.

“Barry,” she repeated, this time a little louder, and it astonished her because for weeks she’d never been the one to call for him. He was always searching for her, hoping to get through to her, get her attention, make her happy.

Well, what would make her happy right now would be if she could look into those beautiful green eyes of his and see him smile just for her.

“B-” She stopped herself and considered another way of waking him up, or…not waking him up?

She shifted her body slowly over to his side of the bed, his warmth emanating off him. Just as she was reaching for his arm to wrap around her body, those beautiful eyes of his opened up.

“Iris?” He blinked, his voice somewhat scratchy from literally just having woken up. “What…What are you doing over here?”

“I…”

Suddenly, she felt embarrassed and debated shifting away, but no. She wasn’t going to do that. She hadn’t opened up about absolutely everything last night to put distance back between them in the morning light.

“I called your name,” she backtracked. “You didn’t wake up.”

He frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“I was just gonna…cuddle, see if that worked.” She shrugged her shoulder.

He smiled slowly and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close until she was fully enveloped in his heat.

“That always works.”

Iris smiled to herself, loving the feel of her body perfectly cradled in his frame, his nose deep in her dark tresses as he inhaled her scent, and his lips grazing her neck as his arm fell snugly around her torso.

“I love you, Barry.”

She could feel his smile and the tingling of his toes beneath the covers when he answered her,

“I love you, Iris.”

She felt his adam’s apple bob and ran her fingers back through his hair to pull him still closer. His hand slid up over one covered breast when she did so, and their legs tangled together.

He groaned when their lips met, and she bit his bottom lip.

“Iris.”

She pulled away slightly, then turned her body so she was facing him and returned to his heat. She straddled one leg over his hip and cupped his face, blessing him with one more kiss before she determined to say what she needed to.

“Thank you for last night,” she said, and he started to smile. She rolled her eyes. “Not just for that.”

“But you are thankful for it,” he teased, lowering his hand around her waist almost to her butt cheeks.

“Focus, Bartholomew.”

His hands stilled, then returned to their previous position.

“I’m listening.”

“Good. Because I know it was hard, listening to everything I had to say. There’s a reason I kept it all buried. I didn’t want to hurt you, and I didn’t feel that my feelings were valid.”

“Iris.” His voice choked. “Your feelings are always-”

She covered his mouth with her fingers.

“Let me finish.”

He pursed his lips, then relaxed his face, waiting.

“I didn’t think my feelings were valid until I talked them through with you, until you really let me speak, and you listened. And just a few minutes ago when I woke up, I felt so…at peace. I felt like we reconnected, and not just physically,” she was quick to add, even though he had no intention of changing the subject. “Do you feel that way too?”

He nodded and ran his fingers through her hair.

“I do. Just you wanting to cuddle with me first thing in the morning is huge, Iris. It feels…well, it feels like-”

“It used to be. Before everything.”

He attempted a small smile.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think everything’s fixed,” she continued. “I’m still dealing with the ptsd of the Mirrorverse, and one really great, deep, emotional conversation in addition to love-making doesn’t fix everything, as much as I wish it did.”

“Tell me what to do,” he said, and she knew then that he’d been half-wishing everything could be back to normal after the night they’d had. “Just name it, and I’ll do it.”

“Call me out.”

His brows furrowed. “Huh?”

“Don’t let me sink back into the person I was before last night. I need you, Barry. You’re my rock. I’m not going to get through this without you, so I need you to be my anchor, my foundation, the lifeline that keeps my heart beating.”

He pressed his forehead to hers.

“I’ll always be your lifeline, Iris.”

“I mean it, Barry,” she continued. “There’s giving me the space I need and giving me so much space that I drown in it and can’t find my way out.” She sighed shakily. “I don’t want to drown anymore.”

He opened his eyes and pulled back to look into hers.

“Hey, you won’t. I’m here for you, Iris. Everything you do and say and think, I’ll be right by your side reminding you that we’re a team, and I love you.”

She smiled softly.

“I love you, too.”

Her smile started to widen.

“What?” he asked, and his own smile was like electricity fueling hers.

She wiggled her toes underneath the sheet in excitement.

“I’m going to get a haircut!”

…

Barry sat at his desk at CCPD, writing his love letter to Iris for that day, and wondering what about a haircut had gotten him so worked up?

He was sure it was just Iris’ literal way of moving forward with a new look, but he really didn’t want her to be doing it because she thought it would help him differentiate between his wife and her mirror image. Because if he was faced with the challenge now, today, he was sure he could tell them apart, even if they were wearing the same clothes and hairstyle.

His workload had been high all day, but he’d hardly been able to focus. He’d had to restart his letter five times, because it had moved from romantic to worrisome each time he had attempted to write it.

As the seconds ticked away, he knew there was only so much time he could spend on this letter or he’d risk not even seeing her when he dropped it off on his break. Except you’re the Flash and can go any time you like…

He ignored that logic. He wanted a moment with her, to see if she’d read his letters and if she was really okay or if she needed him to intervene the way she’d asked him to do earlier that morning in bed.

A soft jingle started to sound from his phone, and he saw it was a text from Iris.

I got the cut! Want to see?

Almost dropping the phone, he flashed over to the Citizen. He found Iris alone in the office and almost fell flat on his face.

Iris had gotten a haircut, that was for sure. Her long, dark tresses were gone. Instead, she donned a cut even shorter than when he’d come out of the speed force. In fact, it looked a lot like Nora’s hair had when she’d been with them.

His eyes filled with tears.

“Well? What do you think?” she asked, not sensing his emotional state right away. “Do you like it?”

He didn’t move. Then she saw the sheet of paper in his hands, and her eyes lit up.

“Oh! Your love letter! Let me rea-”

“N-n-n-no!” He sidestepped her, and she frowned. “It’s not finished yet.” He shoved it into his pocket. “I’ll bring it by later.”

She pursed her lips, then asked, “Barry, is something wrong?”

“What? No. No, of course not. Your hair, I mean…it’s beautiful, and Iris… It’s Nora.”

“I know,” she said softly, taking his hands and pulling him into the office. “I brought her picture with me.” She perched herself on the corner of her desk. “Having you by my side, Barry, that means everything. I don’t doubt you anymore. I don’t think you prefer my mirror image.”

“You don’t?”

She shook her head.

“But I needed something for me, something I could see every time I looked in the mirror that would tell me to fight for a better future and not hang onto delusions or sadness or any negativity that could keep me from becoming the best version of myself.”

“And that’s Nora.”

She nodded. “She deserves the best version of me.” She squeezed his hands. “So do you.”

“Oh, Iris, I didn’t mean-”

“I know, honey.”

She dropped his hands and curled hers around the collar of his shirt, pulling him down slowly so she could give his lips a lingering peck. But when their lips touched, all the worries that had been bundled up in Barry since he’d first heard about the haircut were released in a boundless boost of positive energy and relief. What had intended to be a short kiss on Iris’ end turned into an intense, passionate make out on Barry’s.

“Mm, Barry.”

Her hands slid over his jacket and pulled him closer. He lifted her up on top of the desk and spread his hands over every curve as his mouth devoured hers, their tongues tangling and driving moans out as they fought to close the distance between them further.

Iris had just tipped her head back to allow him access to her neck when the sight of a certain intern with her jaw practically on the floor came into view.

“Oh, my God, Allegra!”

She quickly pushed Barry away and stood back on her feet, adjusting her skirt and wiping what she thought was all of the smudged lipstick from her face as well as Barry’s.

“I’ll see you later?” he asked, grinning.

She nodded hurriedly. “Go!”

And in a flash, he was gone.

“Things must be good at home,” Kamilla remarked, coming in behind Allegra. She pointed to her own upper lip when she caught Iris’ eye, and Iris quickly turned around to remove the final smudge of lipstick.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Things are…things are good.”

Kamilla came around the desk after shooing Allegra away and put her hand on Iris’ shoulder until their eyes met, because only they had been in the Mirrorverse together and known its anguish.

“I’m glad,” she said softly and smiled.

Iris relaxed and smiled back.

“Me too.”

The two got settled in the office working, and soon enough Allegra came back acting as if it had never happened and got to work too. Barry zipped by at one point to deliver a particularly sexy love letter to her, which she tucked away and privately read when the girls weren’t around. She read all the other love letters then too, the ones she’d been too afraid to read because she wasn’t sure if she could bear all the love from her husband when she had been partially blaming him for her current circumstances and feeling guilty about it.

But the letters were so beautiful, so romantic, and they touched a place so deep inside her that she knew everything was going to be all right.

When she got home later that day, Barry was already there making dinner.

As soon as she was out of her shoes, she went to him. Up on her tippy-toes she drew him to her and kissed his lips.

He smiled and asked, “You want to pick up where we left off?”

Instead of answering directly she said, “I read your love letters, Barry.”

He smiled until he realized she’d used the plural.

“Love letters?”

She nodded. “I loved every word.” She paused. “I’m sorry for shutting you out these past weeks.”

He shook his head and stepped away from the stove so he could focus entirely on her.

“Don’t be.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead.

“We move forward together from now on, yeah?”

She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight.

“Absolutely.”

After a few beats, he said, “So, uh…dinner or the other thing?”

She rolled her eyes and smiled.

“Dinner,” she said, pulling away to laugh and pat his chest. When she looked back at him, he was pouting. “But maybe after,” she said with an innocent shrug as she made her way to the stairs and tiptoed up them to change.

Barry was left watching her and smiling long after she’d disappeared.

A warmth spread through his chest to every part of his body.

Everything was going to be okay.

They were Barry and Iris.

They didn’t give up on each other.

...

*will be posted on AO3 and FFnet when beta’d.

[heavenunderthemoon]

Growing Pains- Spencer Reid {Chapter 1}

This is a sequel to the prologue, I recommend checking that out!

QUANTICO

OCTOBER 2011

The coffee shop was bustling with activity, despite it being nearly six in the morning. Early risers and morning commuters in the like seemed to mob the small shop, the poor baristas doling drinks out at an impossible speed.

It was a chilly morning,Spencer's jacket collar itched at his neck and he made a grab for it in irritation, swatting the hairs that he had been meaning to cut out of the way as he did so. His curls were beginning to look a bit unruly, the case load preventing him from focusing on anything other than catching serial killers. Though, to be fair, he hardly ever focused too much on his appearance, his socks were a testament to that. The different patterns poked out of his cuffed slacks and he forced himself to look back at the board, scanning the menu even if he knew what he wanted.

Pumpkin drawn in chalk stared back at him until it was his turn to order and the baristas barely looked at him before punching in his black coffee. He didn't need any additive, at least, not from them. no, his main source of fuel was on the other side of the room, the sugar cart winking back at him. Spencer stepped back, letting the people behind him up to the counter as he waited for his freshly brewed coffee, his mind still a bit muggy without caffeination.

The lack of caffeination is what he would blame it on later that day. A mere delusion from sleep deprivation, or maybe he had even been dreaming still, falling asleep right where he stood and imagining the whole thing. He would chalk it up to any reason, any reason at all, because he couldn't have possibly heard your name.

"Y/N!" The barista called out.

The Reid's head snapped up, following the figure grabbing the coffee and his eyes trailed your back. No, that couldn't possibly be you. It couldn't be you, because, well, the last time he'd seen you was when you were both fourteen. Children, wishing upon stars and making pinky promises. The last time he had heard from you was when he was still in college, your voices tossed back in forth between the staticky phone booth's reception, and even then you both knew that your friendship was fizzling out.

He remembered quite clearly what you looked like too. Your hair had reached your back and still shoved into that dirty baseball cap that you never quite took off. That was the girl he remembered.

The back he followed left out the for and his foot twitched, as if to follow, but, had it really been you? It hadn't, Spencer reassured. It couldn't have been you. Just because they had called your name- a name he supposed other people could have, of course- didn't mean it was you. In fact, he hadn't even gotten a good look at your face. And, yes, while the hair color may have been the same, he was probably just overthinking it.

Right, that's what it was. He was overthinking it.

He always overthought things. In fact, he notoriously over thought things. He was absolutely mad if he actually thought that he saw his childhood best friend in a coffee shop, exactly 2,406.9 miles away from the last location he had seen her.

"Spencer." The barista called with a smile, extending the styrofoam cup, steam billowing from the small opening at the top. His name was written across the side in block letters, and his hand covered the lettering as he grabbed it, nodding as a thank you before retiring to the sugar station.

Y/N L/N.

Your name danced across his mind, flashes of your childhood playing almost against his will and he soon found himself lost in a memory, his feet taking him to work as he did.

-

NEVADA 1991

"Ow! Spencer, you keep stepping on my toes." Nine year old you complained, breaking apart from the boy's hold and sending him an exasperated look.

Your overalls hung loosely on your body, a hand-me-down from your brothers that didn't quite fit you yet. Your father had done his best to stitch it, but the man couldn't sew to save his life. Differently colored threads poked out in seemingly random places, and Spencer found himself staring at them from time to time.

The boy's cheeks tinted pink, his eyebrows furrowing as he stepped away, shutting off the music and going back to his book that sat propped upon the table. That morning, the two children had turned on your father's TV set. Diana didn't particularly let the boy watch it at home. On her bad days, she said the TV was a ploy from the government, destined to rot his brain and turn him against her. On her good days, she said it wasn't mentally stimulating enough, Not as mentally stimulating as a book, ushering him off with another literature classic if he requested watching something before bed. You, on the other hand, weren't given as many restrictions. besides, your father worked during the day which left you and your brothers with free rein of the house, and, with it being summertime, your brothers were both away at football camp.

A music video depicting a teenage couple had been the first channel you had landed on and, their sweet, slow dance had made you both curious about the logistics. Spencer, of course, had taken a more theoretical approach to learning the concept. Grabbing a rather large book about dance and movement from the nineteenth century, the boy had spent the better part of the day with his nose embedded in the pages, his hands flailing about every so often, as if trying it out before going back to reading. You, on the other hand, had taken to attempting the dance with the kitchen broom as Spencer read. It couldn't be that hard, could it? Besides, you couldn't really know how to do it without actually doing it. Well, that was your opinion, anyways.

After a while, you both glanced at each other from across the room, you watched the idea click onto both of your faces, both of your cheeks reddening at the thought.

"Merely experimental." Spencer had said, his voice an octave higher than it usually was.

Your cheeks still hadn't calmed, and you had fixed him with a glare, swearing him to secrecy before agreeing. You knew Spencer wouldn't ever tell, not just because he didn't particularly have anyone to tell, but because you knew the prospect of slow-dancing with his best friend embarrassed him just as much as it did you. But, he still nodded.

And that was how you had found yourself getting your toes stepped on, the music shut off as Spencer re-read his book.

"You can't learn this by reading, Spence, c'mon." Your hand tugged at his, pulling him away from the book as he huffed. Your other hand slapped the music back on, an Elvis album that was your dad's. He didn't really own anything else, and it was either that or Barry Manilow.

The boy's face was cross, as if frustrated at the concept of something not being capable of being taught from literature. Nonetheless, he followed your slow, awkward steps, focusing all his energy on not stepping on your toes. Slowly, but surely, the two of you seemed to get the hang of it, even being able to move around the room as you danced and you laughed wildly when you spun, just as the girl had done in the movies.

Spencer watched with a smile. His best friend, his only friend, but to him, the best. Because he was certain that you would be the best of the best for the rest of his life as you soon around, one hand still latched onto his own.

-

QUANTICO 2011

His tongue ached as the hot liquid ran across it.

Spencer hardly ever waited long enough to drink his coffee, the liquid scalding his mouth due to his impatience. It was small price to pay for the sweet relief caffeine gave him, the way his mind sharpened and allowed his body to catch up with his brain.

"How many cups have you had this morning, Spence?"

JJ's voice cut across the bullpen. It was one of those rare paperwork days, much to the disdain of Rossi. The man absolutely loathed paperwork, claiming that he would never stoop to such degrading tasks (though the team saw him helping out on reports when he thought they weren't looking). The blonde had previously been stopped at Emily's desk, the two chatting about their weekend plans, tones filled with hope that they might actually be able too fulfill them rather than being forced to cancel due to a case.

"Not enough, apparently. Pretty boy's been spacing out for the last hour. Actually, I think I got more done than he did." Derek teased, his eyebrows raising as he dipped his head toward the stack of forgotten papers near Spencer's outbox.

The Reid man scoffed, setting down his now empty cup. He had grown quite accustomed to the Morgan's teasing, and it never bothered him anyways. But, Spencer hated to admit that the man was correct- perhaps miracles do happen. Spencer was distracted. His mind seemed to abandon him, running off to Nevada, slow dancing with you in your childhood home's basement. Your laugh as you spun echoed in his mind and the sound of his name being called once more made him glance up.

"Spencer?" Derek fixed the man with a concerned look, his paperwork left forgotten. JJ's smile faded, Emily raising a brow as well. Rossi had gone off with Hotch somewhere, Penelope in her bat cave, but the group's effect still had Spencer trying to ice any remnants of you off his face, plastering on a small smile.

"Hmm?" He hummed in response.

JJ's eyes narrowed, scanning his face with concern. "Are you feeling okay today? You've been really quiet and...spacey." The blonde settled on the word, and Spencer did his best to assuage her. The pen in his hand twirled, his head nodding.

"I'm fine. I just thought I saw-"

The small creak of the glass doors opening caught the man's attention once more and now, three cups of coffee to back up his acclamations, Spencer was sure that he wasn't;t hallucinating now. No, not this time.

You, you, but twenty years older. You, with a neatly placed outfit, his mind flashing between the jeans you wore and the overalls he had once seen you in. You were there, in the BAU, fifty feet away, it was you. Sure, you were older, you didn't have your head shaved into a baseball cap, or dirtied sneakers on your feet, but it was you.

"Y/N?" His voice came out a whisper.

This is a part two to the prologue! I recommend checking that out!

[lifeofthegrind]

this is like a month old but i thought i would post my final for my social sciences class bc i was rly proud of it! the full cover letter is under the read more but it’s really long so to summarize: it’s about how Mad Men used advertising as a shorthand for societal ideals of the family, and how Don Draper is consumed by those ideals over the course of the show

The original concept for this project was a triptych collage. I wanted a visual element because the ads on this show are so visual, and because I thought that it was the quickest way to connect three distinct moments together. There are three general columns, each with pictures from a different episode of Mad Men. First, from S1:E13: “The Wheel”, then S6E12: “In Care Of”, and finally S7E14: “Person to Person”. I wanted to pull out these three episodes as particularly memorable moments when the advertisement shown on the show is tied directly to the personal life of the main character, Don Draper. Then, within each column, there are three general rows. The top row shows three separate ads that are featured in the respective episodes. I highlighted the brand names in gold and obscured any faces shown in these pictures to highlight the power these brands have over the people creating or consuming them. Then, the second row is trying to highlight the general social fantasy that each ad is trying to sell. Finally, the bottom row shows the dissonance between that fantasy and Don’s actual reality. From left to right, there is Don sitting alone in his house, Don explaining how this product was “the only sweet thing in [his] life” because he had no paternal affection, and Don admitting that the façade he projects is not actually his true self. There are several quotes from Simone de Beauvoir’s Second Sex and from Karl Marx’s Capital that informed my thinking written in the blank spaces.

Marx said that “as soon as [an object] emerges as a commodity, it changes into a thing which transcends sensuousness” (Marx 163). Its monetary value was not tied to its physical form anymore, but represents an abstract buying power in the economy. He posited that this value’s power came from the labor expended by the producers of the product. In this project, I am trying to show that commodities and brands also gain an outsized importance by adopting societal fantasies and becoming myths. These myths act as translators for societal ideals to our own lives. Just like how Greek heroes taught the Greeks lessons about how they should and should not act, the American myth—advertisements—translate our social ideals to the people and help them integrate the general fantasy into their reality.

Viewing advertisements through this lens makes Mad Men’s general structure of showing how Don Draper and co. solves their personal problems by creating ads very transparent. Their ads are powerful because of this connection to their personal lives, because the connection to social reality is what makes advertising effective. Brands like Coca-Cola and Hershey’s are not synonymous with the perfect American life by chance. By focusing on the creators of ads rather than consumers, it is clear how their symbolism in the American consciousness was “elaborated like language, by the human reality” (Beauvoir 57). The meaning of these brands is created by someone’s reality, not an inherent fact of the universe. This is made explicit in Mad Men by focusing on the creators of these ads. Beauvoir said that “any myth implies a Subject who projects its hopes and fears” into the creation of the myth (Beauvoir 162). The creators of these ads have to buy into the American fantasy just as much as the consumer for an ad to be truly effective. Both creator and consumer are using these ads to bridge the gap between their own reality and the ideal they are told to emulate. Don Draper lives every day articulating these myths, and struggles with how his own reality consistently diverges from his ideal. Thus, he copes by utilizing pouring elements from his own life into his ads, and thus is able to live in the delusion that they are one and the same.

This coping mechanism is first shown explicitly in the left-most column, taken from S1E13: “The Wheel”. Don is literally projecting images of his family to sell this product. By using his family as the quintessential American family in this myth, he is able to trick himself that they are this way in reality. However, this is not a real solution to any of his problems. This is a film projector, not a time machine. The final image of the episode shows Don’s reality: that he is alone, estranged from his family, unable to connect. In mythologizing his own life, he does not solve any problems, but rather uses them as one of his “countless ruses rather than confront real-life obstacles that he fears may be insurmountable” (Beauvoir 53). It is important to note that Don, in his role as both creator and consumer of these ads, is not simply responding to the power that this product has over him. He is imbuing it with power as well. The Kodak carousel is a film projector, not a “time machine”, not a way to reconnect with family. But by giving the product such an outsized importance in his own life, Don has given it power, while simultaneously removing some of his own.

In the second set of images, from S6E12: “In Care Of”, I wanted to show how Don is not merely projecting images of his life onto these fantasies, but actively pouring real information into them, as a sort of offering. Don has shared his real past and identity with almost no one, and yet tells the Hershey’s executives a deeply personal memory, almost compulsively. He is not creating a myth for his reality, but describing his reality through myths that already existed. “Hershey’s is the currency of affection” is not an arbitrary slogan, but a reflection of Don’s own need for affection from his nonexistent mother. Even when he was a child, he already had the association of Hershey’s with the ideal family that he never had. This societal ideal is already attached to the brand and the product, which is why Don believes that Hershey’s has no need to advertise at all, since there is no need to tie the product further into fantasies. Just like in the Kodak pitch, Don is using his real life to define this ad. However, the bottom picture shows Don breaking down and the executives being unimpressed. In this case, the gap between his reality and social ideals is too great to be bridged by an ad, and so the ad is unsuccessful.

The final set of images, from S7E14: “Person to Person”, shows Don as he is finally separated from his life completely. The reason why he articulates his life through ads, and the reason why he runs to California, the representation of counter-culture, is because he is compelled to “search for himself in things, which is a way to flee from himself” (Beauvoir 57). Don makes sense of his reality by alienating himself from it. In the final scenes of the series, he is completely alone, however, listening to someone extoll the promise of “a new day, new ideas, a new you.” Again, the self is equated to a collection of ideas that can just change, rather than a continuous experience grounded in reality. The iconic 1971 Coke commercial then plays, in full. Regardless of whether Don the character created this ad, the tagline “It’s the Real Thing” combined with the counter-culture aesthetic of the ad clearly represents the new ideal that Don is striving for. To the viewer, this final image shows us that this seeming enlightenment is nothing more than a mirage. While Don continues to filter his life through myths, and to “prefer a foreign image to a spontaneous movement of one’s own existence, ... to play at being” (Beauvoir 60). He is not able to create a new self, because his current self is nothing more than a collection of “new ideas”. Don believes that he is able to create a new self by creating his environment or aesthetic because he has continually tied his life to images, rather than accepting his reality for what it is.

Of course, the ultimate commentary Mad Men offers is on the viewer. One has to ask why audiences continued to flock to a show that focused entirely on one man’s quest to escape reality into some mid-century fantasy of American life. The 1950s and 60s hold an incredible grip on the American imagination, as some bygone era when the United States was unquestionably on top. Mad Men seems to offer a refutation of that image, in even showing the fracturing to the American family and myriad of other social problems faced during that time. However, it may be “not the opposite” of that fantasy, “but rather [its] most recent and noble manifestation” (Nietzsche 112). Mad Men, showing how its characters fail to live up to these fantasies, actually reinforces them by constantly showing them as desirable, if unattainable. Contemporary America has projected its hopes and fears onto Mad Men in the same way its characters project onto their ads. We face a similar period of political and social upheaval. The information revolution of the television finds its counterpart in the internet, where advertising is absolutely unavoidable. Don Draper is not the protagonist of a nostalgia-fueled recap of America’s greatest hits, but a cautionary tale in what happens when one ignores reality in favor of adherence to social fantasies.

[giftofshewbread]

REPENT, The End is Near!

By Lynda Janzen    Published on: May 9, 2021

“Jesus said, ‘But unless you repent, you too will all perish'” (Luke 13:5, NIV).

“If My people, who are called by My name, will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land” (2 Chronicles 7:14, NIV).

“Devote yourselves to prayer…” (Colossians 4:2). “Pray continually” (1 Thessalonians 5:17). “The end of all things is near. Therefore be alert and of sober mind that you may pray” (1 Peter 4:7).

A few years ago, I gave myself a nickname: Mrs. Jeremiah. It has nothing to do with Rev. Dr. David Jeremiah but everything to do with the Old Testament prophet. When the LORD led me to Bible Prophecy and opened my eyes to what was happening in the world, in light of both O.T. and N.T. prophecy, some of my messages, as Jeremiah’s, weren’t exactly comfortable for people, or for me either. Jeremiah wasn’t exactly popular in his day, and this message today probably won’t win me any popularity contests. But these messages open our eyes to see what is happening in the world so that we will not be caught in the darkness of ignorance of the signs of the times (1 Thess. 5:4).

In the Olivet Discourse (Matthew 24), Jesus prophesied that when the nation of Israel – the fig tree – would blossom once more, it would be a sign that the end was coming near (24:32). Israel roared back into existence on May 14, 1948 – 73 years ago. Psalm 90 tells us a human lifespan is about 70 years – 80 if we are blessed with stamina. Jesus said the generation that saw the re-budding of the ‘fig tree,’ or Israel, would witness all the prophecy of Matthew 24 (24:34). According to God’s Word, then, that would be us!

Let me just pause here to say, if you haven’t read Matthew 24, Mark 13, and Luke 21 lately, go immediately to a Bible near you and do so.

Earlier this week, I had a dream. “Oh boy!! An old woman dreaming dreams … here we go …” Please, just bear with me. Before dropping off to sleep, I had asked the LORD that, if it be His will, to send me a dream about the Rapture and to let me remember it. Well, He did send me a dream, and I remembered it in great detail. And although I’m not prepared to go into all the details of the dream at this time, let me say it sure shook me up and got me thinking about how very close we are to the end of the age. Not that I didn’t have an inkling about the imminence of the Rapture and tribulation before. But, in the vernacular – Hold onto your hats, folks!

The dream illustrated how our modern nations, especially the U.S., are barreling headlong toward destruction. Nations seem to follow, blindly, a minority of political influencers, while the majority sit back meekly doing nothing, saying nothing, or saying very little. We watch as all our time-honored institutions are crumbling before our eyes. Like deer caught in headlights, it is as though we are mesmerized by the audacity of those taking us increasingly to the left, politically. Young people, who aren’t being taught Judeo-Christian values, are screaming for change without understanding where those changes will lead.

And, of course, there are plenty of seasoned politicians who have been trying for years to pull us away from God and all things moral and life-giving, and who are ready to fuel the rebellion with money, encouragement and a platform.

While those of us who are Bible-literate understand what’s happening, there are many who do not.

They surely do not understand that it is all part of God’s Plan for the end of the age … and here’s the kicker … and you’re not going to like this … THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT ANYMORE! Oh, yes, you can pray … and, indeed, I urge you to pray with all your heart for the many who are not saved.

But Christians, please be ready. For the Church Age is coming rapidly to a close, and it is all happening in God’s Will, and God’s Timeline.

The hymn is: IF MY PEOPLE’S HEARTS ARE HUMBLED

1st Verse:

If My people’s hearts are humbled, If they pray and seek My face; If they turn away from evil, I will not withhold My grace. I will hear their prayers from heaven; I will pardon every sin. If My people’s hearts are humbled, I will surely heal their land.

2nd Verse:

Then My eyes will see their sorrow; Then My ears will hear their plea. If My people’s hearts are humbled I will set their nation free. If My people’s hearts are humbled, If they pray and seek My face; If they turn away from evil, I will not withhold My grace.

THE SCRIPTURE READING IS JEREMIAH 14:11-16

“Then the Lord said to me, ‘Do not pray for the well-being of this people. Although they fast, I will not listen to their cry; though they offer burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them. Instead, I will destroy them with the sword, famine and plague.’

“But I said, ‘Alas, Sovereign Lord! The prophets keep telling them, ‘You will not see the sword or suffer famine. Indeed, I will give you lasting peace in this place.’

“Then the Lord said to me, ‘The prophets are prophesying lies in my name. I have not sent them or appointed them or spoken to them. They are prophesying to you false visions, divinations, idolatries and the delusions of their own minds. Therefore this is what the Lord says about the prophets who are prophesying in my name: I did not send them, yet they are saying, ‘No sword or famine will touch this land.’ Those same prophets will perish by sword and famine. And the people they are prophesying to will be thrown out into the streets of Jerusalem because of the famine and sword. There will be no one to bury them, their wives, their sons and their daughters. I will pour out on them the calamity they deserve.”

Let us bow to Almighty God in prayer:

Dearest Heavenly Father,

Your Word in the Book of Jeremiah tells us of a time when You had had enough of wickedness in the land of Judah. Though people sacrificed to You and prayed for You to relent in Your wrath, You knew that only total destruction would be the catalyst to bring them back to You. Father, we are at a time now where, according to Your Holy Word, it looks as though there is no turning back. Our nations are wicked, through and through. They practice the black arts of abortion and sexual depravity. Our scientists are meddling with Your original design, trying to improve on it! Their hubris, LORD God, is beyond imagining.

LORD, today we pray for those who are genuinely Yours, who have surrendered their lives to Jesus, that we will trust in You, in Your promises to protect us and keep us from the Evil One. We pray also for any who might be on the cusp of coming to You, that they will see Your Light of Life and Love very soon and surrender their lives to Jesus Christ. And we pray, Father, that those who are blind to Your holiness and even to Your existence will have a chance to call on Your Name, and so be saved. These things we pray in the sure, strong and Holy Name of Yeshua Ha’Maschiach. Amen.

By God’s own Word, we know there was a beginning to this age, and there is an end, planned by the LORD God Himself, and over which we have no control whatever. Jesus taught us to pray, “Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.” Even the Son of God, Himself, prayed that very prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane the night before He died on the cross. “Father, if You are willing, take this cup from Me, yet not My will, but Yours be done.” If we haven’t yet learned this principle in our Christian walk, we need to do so, and do it NOW.

This world is not about us, beloved Christians. It is about God’s glory in His creation. We are His creation, made to reflect back to Him His glory. Jesus did that, and He did it every day of His earthly life. Though Jesus was fully God, He was also fully man. His humanity was not less than our own. Jesus laughed, cried, celebrated, mourned, ate, slept and did all the things human beings do. He knew pain. He knew sorrow. He knew joy and laughter. But all of His life He gave to the Father and did nothing outside of the Will of Almighty God.

So, saying all that, how does it fit with our Scripture verses from Jeremiah?

Well, for one thing, the people of Judah in Jeremiah’s day certainly were NOT living in the Will of the Creator. In the space of just a handful of generations away from King David, the Jews (as well as the Israelites) had turned away from Almighty God, had lusted after pagan gods and their detestable practices. And let me just say here that this present generation, with all science’s monkeying around with the human genome, has likely far surpassed the evil done in Jeremiah’s generation … the evil which brought down God’s wrath on the nations of Judah and Israel.

Many in the Church cite the 2 Chronicles prayer as being a means of saving our nations. I hear pastors invite their congregations to say it with the expectation that God stands ready to hear it and, PRESTO, make all things the way they were. Really? What about the “humble hearts” part? If every person in the world, every man, woman and child, called upon the Name of the LORD, and humbled him- or herself before Him, and turned from their wickedness, I strongly suspect our world would indeed be healed by God’s hand. But I also strongly suspect that the LORD God knew there would be a tipping point, beyond which there was (is) no going back.

The tipping point in Jeremiah’s day was the deceit of the prophets. Jeremiah tells the LORD, “The prophets keep telling them they will not see the sword or suffer famine, and that You, LORD, are going to give them peace in the land.” But the LORD God says, “The prophets are prophesying lies in My Name. I have not sent them or appointed them or spoken to them. They are prophesying to you false visions, divination, idolatries, and the delusions of their own minds.”

Let’s bring that to the present age. One thing we keep hearing constantly these days is, “Fake News!” There is little doubt that politicians lie with straight faces to the cameras and to our faces. They call evil for good and good for evil (Isaiah 5:20). They tell us a global pandemic is so dangerous that we must ruin our national economies to deal with it. There is so much deceit in our world today that it has become almost impossible to know what is real and what isn’t.

False visions are leading us away from the One Source of love and protection human beings have ever had – God! Western nations are worshiping at the altars of demons and false gods once again. For heaven’s sake, there is a sneaker for sale that celebrates Satan and even contains a drop of real human blood!! Really.

Divinations? Well, daily newspapers have been running horoscope columns for almost a century. But much more than that, today we have ‘prognosticators’ of everything under the sun, from weathermen to stockbrokers, even to medical people. So-called ‘experts’ in every field sway your brain daily to buy stuff you don’t need and adopt habits that are bad for your soul. This is done through non-stop advertising.

Idolatries? How about the worship of sports figures and Hollywood ‘stars’? Kids today know way more about movie and sports stars than they do about Jesus Christ. “God? Oh yeah … the sky fairy who grants all your wishes – NOT!” (That was a real post I read on a news website not long ago.)

Delusions of their own minds? How about this one? “There are 382 genders!” or “A man can give birth.” or “Love is love no matter who it is with.”

And what does the LORD God have to say about all this depravity? “I will pour out on them the calamity they deserve.”

Now, this is Old Testament. Jesus went to the cross so that we wouldn’t end up with the calamity we deserve … BUT ONLY IF WE REPENT, TURN FROM OUR INIQUITY, AND LIVE THE REST OF OUR LIVES FOR AND IN HIM. What percentage of the world’s people have actually done this?

Can the LORD bring revival at this late date? Of course. The question is: How many would turn to Him? A few million? There are seven, almost eight billion people on the planet today. Believers, we are way past the tipping point. It is a great tribute to Our God that His patience hasn’t run out yet. As Apostle Peter says, “People will say, ‘Where is this coming He promised? Ever since our ancestors died, everything goes on as it has since the beginning of creation.'”

“But do not forget this one thing, dearest friends: With the LORD a day is like a thousand years and a thousand years are like a day. The LORD is not slow in keeping His promise, as some understand slowness. Instead He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. But the day of the LORD will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything done in it will be laid bare” (2 Peter 3:4, 8-10)

There is an end, my friends. I don’t write this to scare you but to make you see that it is inevitable and that you have no control over it. It is the LORD God’s domain. Therefore, trust in Him. Do His Will. Love Him, and keep His commands, and there will never ever be a need to fear anything. Jesus has said, “Since you have kept My command to endure patiently, I will also keep you from the hour of trial that is going to come on the whole world to test the inhabitants of the earth” (Revelation 3:10).

Repent! The end IS near! Hallelujah, Amen.

Heavenly Father: All glory and praise to You for loving us so much that You sent Your One and Only Son to earth to redeem us from original sin, open the gates of eternal life, and restore all things. Please open hearts and minds today, Father, to the urgency of claiming Christ as our Saviour. This we pray through Him, Yeshua Ha’Maschiach, our LORD Jesus Christ. Amen.

This devotional, based on God’s Holy Word, was written by Lynda Janzen, Kincardine, ON Canada, with the inspiration of God’s own Holy Spirit. All glory to God.

If anyone reading this email has not yet received Jesus as their Saviour, but God has touched your heart by His Holy Word, please email me (amadea649@gmail.com) or find a Bible-believing local church and ask the Pastor what you must do to be saved in Grace. In the meantime, please consider the ABCs of Salvation:

Salvation as simple as ABC:

A: Admit that you are a sinner. This is where Godly sorrow leads to genuine repentance for sinning against a righteous God, and there is a change of heart; we change our mind, and God changes our hearts and regenerates us from the inside out.

Romans 3:10 – “As it is written: ‘There is no one righteous, not even one.'”

Romans 3:23 – “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”

Romans 6:23 – “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Ephesians 2:8-9 – “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith —and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.”

B: Believe in your heart that Jesus Christ died for your sins, was buried, and that God raised Jesus from the dead. This is trusting with all of your heart that Jesus Christ is who he said he was.

Romans 10:9-10 – “That if you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved.”

John 3:16 – “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

C: Call upon the name of the Lord. Every single person who ever lived since Adam will bend their knee and confess with their mouth that Jesus Christ is Lord, the Lord of lords and the King of kings.

Romans 14:11 – “It is written: ‘As surely as I live, says the Lord, every knee will bow before me; every tongue will confess to God.'”

Romans 10:13 – “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

[fuck0ffnleavemealone]

What I wish I could've said

Since the last post I made was fueled by emotions, so I'll give this post more effort

let me get a few things straight.

I believe what you told me. Because I'm done playing games, I thought I knew you. I really did.

But the more time passed I started to question if I could be wrong. And after all you said and did, I can't say that I recognise you.

Yes, you were a broken person. And to many extends you still are. But you changed in those years we spent together. I saw it in you, especially in the talk we had after my birthday and you can't deny that.

Let me also say that I definitely agree that our relationship was doomed to fail because we both didn't improve ourselves in ways we should have. That's why I can say that I'm glad it ended the first time. We were young, dumb, and had spent no time appart to determine if we were ever truly going to work as individuals. I defined myself by you. You made me who I am today, you gave me my name and with that an opportunity to grow. To live not defined by my past.

I won't deny that I should have known that the things I did would have a deeper effect on you. Even if they were small to me, such as liking photos. And I will never again defend the worse things I did or that I slept with a different person. And for all it's worth I see that nothing justifies what I did. I did what I did because I didn't think as I do now so i made a wrong choice. It's that simple. I hurt you because I didn't think. Though that does not mean it is less painful to admit

contrary to what you believe I see what you mean. Intimacy has become something that I cherish. Something I don't want to share with anyone else besides the person I love. And it has been like that ever since I saw what I did to you. While kissing still might be more special to me than to others I know that it is just an abnormality on my side.

I have chosen to adhere to my rules.

For you I'm honestly glad that you seem to be prioritizing yourself. Even if I think that you might have a few steps to go. I'm glad you're taking the journey, that's all I ever wanted for you.

Although I really have to say that starting a relationship while you yourself are still on the way of figuring things out/ or if you just ended things with someone you loved/ love, is something that is morally questionable. Because I've been there. But I decided against It because I will never again hurt the people who love/like me if I can help it.

I can't say more. Because I really don't wanna argue with you. Yes we have different views, that's actually what I enjoyed about us. As I saw in recent times, a perfect partner wouldn't make me happy. You may not realise it but a large part of my change is thanks to you. For that I thank you. From my view it really hurt to see you do the same thing you did with Serhart. Because it is not a conincidence that you chose your new guy. An anti me. But comparing the two of us is not fair to him and me. Especially when you seem to know that I changed a whole lot.

But for all it's worth, and as much as it may hurt to know that someone else is making you laugh now. I hope it makes you feel a little less shitty and I hope that I was special enough to not be a completely bad memory.

In regards to toxicity, yes. You are one of the most toxic people I've ever met. And I don't say this to hurt you but because I know where it comes from. That's why I took every beating you gave me. Because I knew that most of those words weren't what represented you. But that doesn't make it right. I'm glad you know what you did to me. Even though I think you might not see the whole picture. But I'm sure I dont see yours as complete either.

In regards to our relationship, yes we didn't work out. I knew that I have accepted that. What I wanted to achieve was greater than that. I said I wanted to be there because that is truly what I want. I wanted to be as important to you as you were to me. Simply a person that's there for good. You didn't have to be my girlfriend.

Although I hoped that maybe after a few more experiences or simply enough time that we would realise that we both had something very special that does not come often. A feeling. Something I could not feel for anyone else and something that just made me like it was all worth it. Atleast for me. Even tho I really saw what made our relationship difficult. I was glad that we were different enough to grow and learn. I'm sure you're not the same person you were when we started dating. And that was my point. People change, in both directions.

I just really wanted to be there to see the change and maybe even help you. Because at the end of the day I would always enjoy your company. Even if it would just be once a month for a coffee and some shit talk.

As for the point that you never felt good enough. I know, and I'm really sorry you felt like that and that I contributed to your feelings of inadequacy. But I assure you that in my fucked up mind, you were always what I wanted. I just often thought that you would wake up one day and realise you didn't want me anymore. So I did stupid things to hide how attached I truly was to you. Ironically is that the reason why I acted the way no normal person does and I drove you away from me in the first place. We both had issues, once again. That's why i thought it would be good if we split up, because I knew that as long as you weren't gone for good. I'd get my shit together eventually.

You tried to give me a chance. But if I'm honest, you never did. That's why I still think I was treated unfairly by you. Because if we just look at what happened after that time. I really tried to fit myself to you. I gave you your space as much as I could and only tried to do what you wanted. I might not have been very good at it and Im Sure I sent wrong signals from time to talk me. but I just wanted to lay low till you were strong enough to give me the love I knew you were capable of but needed time. I was happy just being with you. All I wanted in return was honesty.

This is probably the one thing you won't change my mind about. My big problem is that in the end I feel like you didn't really respect me at all. And that made me think I wasn't worth it. (I know that this might be shitty to hear from me, but having delusions is not something that only you gotta deal with) That you couldn't look me in my eyes and hurt me. Knowing it was the right thing to do. And all the on, off, on and off after that hurt me even more. Because I told you explicit that I would understand if you don't want to be with me, but you should've told me right there in that car. Because I knew I couldn't take one more ride on the "I'm not sure" rollercoaster. And you looked me in my eyes and told me you loved me. That is all I needed to hear to give you my heart once more. Because I saw you really meant it.

Then you still broke up with me over text and sent me a lot of mixed signals which didn't make it better (the last night we slept together)

I feel like a person who cared even a little bit about me wouldn't have done that to me because love is a deep form of respect and appreciation. (But that is my thing "view" I cannot change, just like you with my sleeping with someone else.)

And that is why it's so hard to let go. Because the last time I really saw you, we made love. You held me and showed me that there was still something between us. And then you left. So in my head, all of that is still very real for me. I never saw the person I loved again. It's almost like you died and I never got to say goodbye. Because if you did give me the chance for a goodbye. I could've let you go easier. I wouldn't be sitting here simping for a person who told me time and time again how much distaste, disgust and hate she feels for me. Because you know I have my weird quirks, this is one of them. If it's not in person, it doesn't quite feel real.

The truth is, I wanna let you go, focus more on me than I already do. Let you live your life without having all these mixed feelings towards you. To have my good memories while being able to move on (not into a relationship because that is nothing I really want right now, but the form of platonic love I experience right now)

I saw what all the thoughts of me did to you. That's why I actually wanted to talk to you a few days before you broke things of. I wanted some time away from me for you. I wanted to let you heal and experience the world like you could not have done before. Because I knew it would be good for you. But I would always be there in case you needed someone. I'm sorry I didn't tell you these things earlier

I'm glad you regret what you did to me. I'm glad we both regret things, because that's the first step of change. It doesn't make right what we did. But i am okay with the fact that it is a good thing that I can see now how wrong and hurtful I could be. Because I know I could never be like that again.

It makes me truly sad to hear what you went through, and I never wanted that for you. One reason I wanted to give us both a clean cut, so we could heal better and healthier. But to be clear, I went down a dark part as well. I guess you could read my suicide attempt out those lines. Or the time random people had to save me from alcohol poisoning. I did a lot of horrible things to myself, and that's noones fault. I think if I hated you it would have been easier but because I didn't let my pain turn to hate I went out of control.

I did not want to exist in a world where the only person I was ever ready to love. The person who made me what I am, and the one whom I wanted to grow old with. threw me away just to replace me like a used napkin, because that's what it felt like.

But similar to you, I know that that I am worth much more than I thought I was. I deserve love and respect. Most of all from myself. And that is the person I have to learn to love first before I can ever be right for anyone else.

I hope you find the best person you can be. And don't choose the easy path because it's convenient. Life is fucking hard right now. But our mistakes make us who we are. Show us how we can grow and change as people.

No I didn't only think about who suffered more. The thing is that I didn't see you suffer. I only heard bits and parts that made it seem like you didn't. That you were okay, that not having me in your life wasnt a big deal. So I felt betrayed. I felt like you lied to me. Like you used me. Which I thought you did.

Yes you told me you didn't wanna talk. But I told you why it was so important to me, because I thought I could still talk to you on a base of respect. And I still stand by that. I'm aware it would have been hard for you. But sometimes it's about doing the right thing, giving someone that what they need just because you can and know it will help them. But you did not and that is what I still don't understand. Because I can imagine how you feel about me. But just justifying dissapearing by "I don't owe you anything" makes you seem like a coward or someone who doesn't know how to respect anyone they dont love (anymore)

I thought of us both, because even though you might think the opposite. I am sure it would have helped us to come to an end. Because what i asked for wasnt “taking the whole hand” ( casue in that case i dont know what the small finger was, you even texting me back is not something i should have to be thankful for) It was simply my last try to do things right. Because that is what humans want, people want closure. Thats one of the most common desires.

I'm sorry you think I don't want to listen. Because I do. I really wanted to know what was wrong. I wanted to know what went on Inside your head. But it is really hard to know what to believe because you lied to me so much that I don't know anymore what is your mask and your coping mechanisms and what is the real you. no matter how often you say them. I sadly cannot believe them because I can't see your face to know if it's really the truth.

I regret how I treated you and that things didn't work out. As I said once, I really wish I would have met you in five years. When you're doing great, and I'm finally good enough to myself to be good for someone else.

I don't think love ever truly goes, I think you reach a point where you realise you either love enough to see that things werent working out and that people need time appart or even a split for good and to not see eachother again. Or that you realise that the love wasn't ever really there.

Because anything less isn't love in my mind.

But that does not mean I'm right or that anyone else has to live by these standards.

Yes it hurts to read those words and to think about that you really believe in them. That there is no true end. But just a stop. To hear that it "was love" for you, because I still don't know when that ended. I'm sorry that it is this hard for me to accept. But I know about myself now that once I love. I love for good.

I sadly still think I won't love again. Because I don't know how to stop loving you. Believe me I want to stop. But at the same time I don't want to because I remember what made me love you in the first place.

That's not your fault, I'm aware I might make it very hard for myself. But thats just the way I do things. I don't wanna be like my mom and blame everyone else and just spend my life hating everyone. I accept that I love, and I accept that I can't show it ever again.

I hope I will make it through this as much as I hope you do the same. And that you know deep inside that I never meant to hurt you. That I'm not as bad as a person as you tell yourself I am. Because yes, I have my fuckups now and then (you are a very sensitive point for me emotionally, so i get triggered really easily when it's regarding you)

But I think you'd be proud of me if you saw me acting around and caring about my friends. Kicking out people who use me. Standing up for myself when people think they can push me around just cause they are bigger or think they are more important. If you saw me going about my day even tho I'm not feeling fine. Me still existing even tho I almost stopped to. I don't think I'm toxic. (That's what a toxic person would say I guess) I just think I have the capacity to do things I'm not proud of but I also know I will be better in the future.

And from the bottom of my heart I really wish you the best in your life. From yourself and from everyone around you. I hope that you fail as much as possible, to know how to improve. And then I hope you succeed with what you truly want to do and who you want to be. I hope you one day look back on this as a fond memories. Because I know I will. Because I will always remeber you as what you are to me. and who knows. maybe ill see you again in 30 years and i can smile because you could have found your way and i could have found mine. Ill never know what the future holds

It's really hard for me to see you go. Because I really want to be a part of you and your journey. But I never meant to stop you. I guess you listened to your heart and it told you what to do. You don't seem to want me and as sad as that makes me. Looks like what we joked around once turned out to be true.

It eez what it eez

Yours truly

Moe

Ps: this is the last I'll say on the topic, everything else doesn't need to be said again. I will stop looking at your Tumblr.( So maybe don't reply to this. if you ever even read it. ) Even tho it is the last thing that let me check on you. But I want to try and heal. and I cant do that if my phone reminds me everyday of what I miss most. Eventually I will be fine. Even tho im scared of the future. The universe didnt let me die for a reason. I just have to find what that reason is.

[irwinkitten]

Lmfao you and your friends literally always contradict yourselves. I can’t with y’all thinking you’re in charge of the fandom and changing your opinions on everything to please yourselves and your delusions that the boys would give a flying fuck about you

Lmaooooo you always think we gatekeep when I’m reality we just out here hoeing. Also why do you truly believe that we think we’re in charge? Are we not allowed opinions on what people do? Are we not allowed to voice our discomfort?

I’d like to reiterate a point that Jex made. We as writers do not expect these scenarios we create with them as characters to happen. We know the lines of fantasy and where it needs to be drawn instead of thinking that the characters that are created with them in mind reflect them personally. As for your last comment, I mean if you think we are deluding ourselves then you might need to step away.

They don’t actively use this platform. Writing about characters modelled after them is not illegal. They know it exists. However there’s a varying line. We don’t actively shout at them that we have written x, y and z. We don’t actively harass them or tag them, calling them daddy or w/ever. We don’t mix our content with reality because god that shit can be so uncomfortable. I will go to my grave happily knowing yes I have thirsted over them however I have not actively ACTED on that thirst. My blog is my space to voice my thirsting tags and content, the same as my friends. But also for original content that will eventually be adapted but they give the inspiration that fuels the creativity.

Please get off your high horse and stop acting so high and fucking mighty about something we have all done. If you don’t like me or my fellow overlords, there’s an unfollow button.

[paramsiddharth]

#7: In Search of Acceptance

Diversity is an inseparable part of our existence. It is beautiful. However, it is perhaps not just as amazing in the lack of acceptance.

Being confined to a single room for 2 months in a row — Would you call that imprisonment? A happy, loving, and stable family… Is that too much to ask for?

I have lived in the world long enough to know how it works. People love to get entertained by movies that portray painful reality. Little do survive when it comes to facing it.

What is acceptance? How to feel accepted? Does it come from within? Most of it does, but as far as you go being dependent on anybody other than yourself, self-acceptance alone won't do.

My parents are suffering. I know they are. They are in huge financial pain. Not just that, they have spent the past 20 years of marriage being bullied and demeaned for being the great humans they tried to be. They have been thrashed by everyone they once loved, from siblings and parents to colleagues and neighbours. It seems they have lost the ability to show affection itself.

A few days ago, they fought again. Considering how we have to listen to every selfish demand of my mom (for her OCD of cleanliness), many of which require financial sacrifices, my dad is in a pathetic condition. We are so desperate to have a home of our own that we have forgotten that we ever had a life or that we will ever have a happy one.

My mom is totally not in her own control when angry. She chooses to abandon everyone and run from her responsibilities. She can commit something serious if not controlled, and my dad has grown stone to such circumstances. That is when I end up being the one desperately holding her back from committing any wrongdoing whilst helping my dad with emotional stability. This, too, has become so frequent now, that I have grown weak.

It has been 6 days since I last touched programming. It has been hard for me to do anything in a life like this. Being confined to a single room, a single bed, with my brother, mom, and dad, each occupying some part of it, has led to reluctance in doing anything that gives me joy. That alone, however, isn't the stopping force. It has been my parents too.

Under their own frustration, my parents have been atrocious on me. 3 continuous days of being bullied by them has taught me heavy lessons. Every night, something as tiny as me stepping with one slipper of mine on the other one would drive them mad and they would throw at me the harshest words. Whether I cry, shout, weep, or even ask for help or beg for love, nothing works. They don't stop.

They themselves have nothing to be happy about. Perhaps that is the reason they have been talking rough of me, scolding me, and stopping me from using electronic devices. They have forbidden me to talk to my friends on phonecalls, something that was therapeutic to my worries and made me stronger in holding up against the problems in life. They have forbidden me from doing anything I love, either listening to music, watching videos, programming, learning, or studying.

Their idea of masculinity is disgusting. My paternal middle uncle's family is the biggest cause of the troubles my family has faced. One thing that I notice in his family is that he does many of the house chores that are traditionally designated to the female members in the Indian society. I despise my uncle and his family for all they wronged us, but the fact that he helps his wife out with house chores is something I appreciate.

My mom has been constantly bullied recently over how she doesn't keep herself beautified and wear jewelleries and makeup as a woman "should". In a very humiliating way, a far aunt of mine refused to take tea from my mom's hands just because she wasn't wearing bangles. I was shocked, and I hated everyone for their misogyny towards my mom.

However, much as it hurts to admit it, my parents are not too different. Not even my mom. They have inherited lots of the same misogyny. An example of that came out to me a few days ago when my parents started calling me names over the fact that I decided to have long hair and questioned my masculinity, comparing me with my paternal middle uncle.

My parents continued with the accusations of how I didn't listen to them and get a haircut. It felt as if my long hair were making them suffocate. They emotionally forced me to give in to their wish to not let me have long hair when they said that I will probably get them cut once they died. I said to my mom that I'll get a haircut whenever she will say. Not that it ended their questioning of my masculinity. I won't lie, it doesn't hurt when anybody in the whole bloody world makes fun of me over anything. But it hurts bad when my parents make fun of me for who I am.

I forgot to mention that I got a new laptop. It happened before the last post, and the reason I was holding back the post before that one was because I wanted it be a part of the new laptop's inauguration. Upsetting as their recent attitude towards me has been, I know my parents love me. Why else would they buy me everything and take care of me? I just wish they continued to give me the love I have craved for the past 1½ years.

In a world that has discarded me forever, it doesn't take more than my parents discarding me too to completely wreck me. I don't know how it feels like to be that beautiful girl whom nobody likes and the very few who attempt friendliness are due to sexual attraction, but I do know how it feels like to be the intelligent guy that everyone hates but makes good use of when help is needed, thanks to his giving and forgiving nature, affectionate behaviour, and weak heart.

Everybody has hated me since forever. The only people who have given me strength are my parents… My family. They have always been there for me ever since the beginning of my life. If they stopped supporting me for who I am just because I am not what I was expected to be, I would break. I haven't grown self-dependent yet. I need them. And honestly, I'll need them forever. Their love has driven me for years of my adolescence. I wish it stayed with me now, at the tip of adulthood.

It is easy to escape the reality when you have a choice. In the current scenario, I don't seem to have any. It hasn't been tough for me to write this entry, but I just did. I let go of my urge to hold back all negativity just because I was constantly waiting for something good to happen. I finally let go. I am suffering, with no choice but to continue to suffer for even longer. I have faith in the soul of goodness, and if the natural unfolding of space and time serves me right, everything will get better. I have no choice, but to be patient.

At this point, all superficial relations seem to show colours. With all delusions aside, I am now able to see things I have never been able to. I realize that half of the closest friends I have been forcing myself to be proud of are fake too. Some of the ones I have loved very much with all my heart have constantly used me, and right now, I can't depend enough on them to even have a listening ear for my woes, because they still manage to convince me that it is more important for me to fix their problems.

If things get better, I will consider myself blest more than anything else. Those blissful moments would be fuel to my path further down this road to discovering life. I want to use this opportunity to change myself more and walk in the right direction towards growing my worth in this cruel world. I want to be able to grow stronger and prove to the core of existence that I also deserve happiness… That I have done nothing wrong.

Love, Param.

[anxioustheatregeek]

𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 ||| 𝐎𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚

Chapter One ||| Of the Sea

The warmth of the sun kissed her face and danced upon her eyelids causing them to flutter open. Thalassa Ayers got out of bed carefully, trying not to wake her younger brother who slept adjacent to her. She made her way to the small kitchen where she was met by her mother. It was surprising to see Cordelia Ayers up this early. The woman often struggled to leave her husband's side in fear that he may need her help. Since the accident, the couple spent most days bedridden.

"What are you doing up this early, Mother?" Thalassa whispered with a sad smile.

"I fixed breakfast for you to have before work," Cordelia continued to stare blankly. Her skin had gotten paler over the years, her blue eyes were more sunken in, and her short golden hair was matted. She still was beautiful, but her beauty was just shrouded by sadness.

Thalassa embraced her mother. She knew her mother only forced herself out of bed to cook on one day a year. The day before the reaping. In case it was their last day together, Cordelia always made sure they shared their last meal as a family.

"I better head off to the docks. Thank you for breakfast," Thalassa kissed her mother on the cheek and left. The somber woman couldn't watch as her eldest child walked out the door. In her eyes, Thalassa was still a little girl. A little girl whose mother couldn't protect her anymore.

***

Thalassa returned home after a long of lugging seafood crates to export on the docks. Sweat continued to pool on her forehead and her clothes stuck to her skin in an uncomfortable fashion.

"THASSIE!" Callan Ayers ran over to his older sister and hugged her legs tightly.

Thalassa chuckled and picked up her ten-year-old brother, "My you're getting big, Angelfish! I bet you're the strongest boy in your class."

"I started learning how to use throwing knives at school. Teacher says if I keep practicing I will be really good! Maybe even better than you were."

Callan's words frightened her. That fact her baby brother was excited about training to kill made the bile rise in her stomach. In two years this doe-eyed boy could be forced to fight to the death for the enjoyment of the Capitol. Yet, this did not scare him. In fact, he seemed happy. Thalassa chose to play into his blissful ignorance fueled by the delusions of the Academy.

Thalassa dropped out from the Academy at thirteen following her father's accident. Adrien Ayers was once a great fisherman. He spent his days out at sea in a charter boat and came home at night after sending his catch to be packaged for export. Four years ago, a storm capsized his boat and left him permanently disabled. The fishing equipment got caught in his eye and cut up his eyes beyond repair. Blinded and disfigured by the severity of the accident, Adrian could no longer work. Cordelia stayed at home to take care of her husband and made fishing nets to sell. Thalassa did odd jobs around the docks to help provide for her family. Whether it was fishing, crabbing, cleaning the docks, loading ships, or anything in between, she did what she could support her family.

If I stayed at the Academy would I be as deadly as they say? Could I kill without mercy?

Any thoughts Thalassa had of what her life might have been were interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps upon the creaky hardwood. Her father entered the kitchen with the guidance and secure touch of her mother. Adrian was a formidable sight. He still retained his muscular figure and scruffy beard from his days at sea. Bandages wrapped around his head and covered where his eyes should be. The rest of his face was littered with scars. Flaky, discolored skin surrounded deep sutures that healed in an ugly manner. His terrifying wounds did not discourage Thalassa who greeted her father with a kiss upon those very scars. She helped her mother sit him down at the table so they could finally begin their annual family dinner.

***

Dinner was quiet. There wasn't much to say other than what was already known. The reaping was tomorrow and Thalassa's name could be called. Her fate was held in that damned glass bowl and in the silence that choked each member of the family. Tension loomed in the air, threatening to break at any moment and open flood gates of worry. Yet silence is meant to be broken, especially by the inquisitive mind of a child.

"Thassie, what happens if your name is called tomorrow?" Callan stared at his sister with wide, innocent eyes.

Thalassa ruffled his light brown hair, "My name won't be called tomorrow. It hasn't been called in all five years of my name being in that bowl. There's no need to worry."

"What if it's different this year? There's always a chance."

This is the thought that plagued the back of her mind. Despite her attempts to reassure her family, these thoughts always lingered. What if it's different this year? There are ten pieces of paper with my name on it. Ten more chances for me to be sent to my death. It was becoming increasingly harder for Thalassa to keep a brave face, but she tried for the sake of her family.

"Let's try not to think those thoughts, my Angelfish. Besides, even if my name is called, there are plenty of girls at the Academy just waiting to volunteer," She gave her little brother a convincing smile that masked her true fears, but Callan's mind was racing with questions.

"But what if they don't volunteer? What if they're scared too? Then you'll have to go to the games and you'll die! Teacher says that if you don't train for the games then you'll die. You can't leave me, Thassie!" The ten-year-old was shaking hysterically in his sister's arms. Tears fell from his cheek onto Thalassa's lap as she tried to console the sobbing child.

Cordelia and Adrian were frozen and unable to speak. Their youngest had expressed all of the worries they tried to suppress with silence. They held onto each other tightly, afraid they would shatter if they let go.

"I'm not going anywhere, Angelfish," Thalassa finally spoke up with barely a whisper. "I'll be right here. No one will take me away from you. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and threatened to fall. She looked over at her parents who were not in the right headspace to raise the boy in her arms. They need me. What happens if I can't be there for them? Thalassa carried a shaken-up Callan to his bed and tucked him in with a kiss on his forehead. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back before you wake."

***

Finnick Odair walked along the beaches of District 4 like he did every year on the night before the reaping. The beach was his safe space, a place where he could go to forget. Forget the horrors of his games, or the fact he could watch his tributes die again. Most importantly it made him forget about the Capitol and its citizens. Unlike the hands that constantly groped his body, the beach was real. The sand between his toes was free from the artificial material that Capitol uses to mask nature's beautiful imperfections. The air in the Capitol was filled with chemicals that powered the neon glow from the false utopia, but the sea air was pure and comforting. Comfort was a rare occurrence in a victor's life, but it's enough to make one feel at home. For a boy who lost everything this little bit of comfort was all he had left.

The wind carried a sweet melody to his ears, making Finnick realize that he wasn't alone. He looked over to see a girl about his age sitting by the shore letting the waves crash over her feet. Her singing was haunting. One could not help being drawn to her and Finnick was no exception. Though she wasn't singing any words, there were a thousand stories in each note.

"You have a really pretty voice," Finnick said as he moved closer to the shore where the girl sat.

Thalassa jumped slightly at his presence, "Shit you scared me." She looked into his brilliant, sea-green eyes and knew immediately who he was. "Do you always sneak up behind girls on the beach?"

"Only the pretty ones," Finnick winked, flashing his signature smile. He wasn't lying about her beauty. The girl in front of him was ethereally beautiful. She had typically District 4 looks; golden hair and lightly tanned skin. Her eyes were meadow green with gold flecks that burst through like sunlight.

Thalassa chuckled at his comment. It seems even she wasn't safe from the Capitol Darling's famous charm. She motioned for him to sit next to her. For a moment the only sound that could be heard was the tide as it rolled in and out. Even though they were complete strangers, the two teens had an unspoken connection. It wasn't love at first sight or even the start of a friendship, but rather the need for human connection. As the waves broke, Thalassa broke the silence, "What are you doing at the beach this late?" She never broke her gaze from the moonlit waters before her.

"I could be asking you the same question," Finnick smirked before giving her an answer. "I come here every year before the reaping. The beach helps me clear my head."

Thalassa looked at the boy next to her. His bronze hair and tan skin glowed under the moonlight in a god-like manner, but his eyes held a sadness that he desperately tried to hide. "Oh, I'm sorry for crashing your alone time. I can leave if you want."

"It's ok. I actually don't mind the company," Finnick gave the girl a sincere smile. "So why are you out this late?"

"I guess I needed to clear my head as well," Thalassa returned the victor's genuine smile. "My family is scared for tomorrow. I tried to give them positive thoughts to ease their minds, but it wasn't enough to ease my own. I put on this false confidence, but the truth is I'm just as terrified as they are," Thalassa hadn't planned on sharing her worries with a stranger, but there was something about Finnick that made her trust him.

Finnick knew all too well about putting on a facade. He spent so much time pretending to be what the Capitol wanted that he wasn't sure who he was anymore. Finnick wanted to tell this girl how he felt his true self slowly slipping away. How he had everyone he loved cruelly ripped away from him and was now left with shallow patrons that only used him for their pleasure. He wanted to talk about how alone and scared he was, but he couldn't. Instead, he responded with a simple phrase, "That's very brave of you."

Thalassa chuckled softly and shook her head, "I'm not brave. I'm just trying to give them hope."

"I think finding hope amidst darkness is the bravest thing there is," Finnick replied with a faint gleam in his sad, sea-green eyes. "You never told me your name."

"Thalassa," She looked up to meet his eyes.

"Pretty name," Finnick tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, something he did when flirting with women in the Capitol. "It suits you," He said with his usual seductive purr. Finnick had turned on his flirtatious facade which had become second nature. With Capitol women his words were fake, but deep down there was a part of him that meant those words to Thalassa.

"Thank you," Thalassa leaned in closer with a smirk, "Mr. Odair."

Finnick smiled playfully, "How'd you know it was me?"

"It wasn't too hard to figure out," Thalassa retorted. For the first time in years, Finnick genuinely laughed.

The two teens once again fell into a comfortable silence. They sat a little closer than before as they looked out at the sea. For a moment they were completely themselves, and they didn't want it to end.

***

Thalassa was surprised to find that her father was still up when she got home. Adrian Ayers sat at the kitchen repeatedly tying knots in an old piece of rope. This habit developed after his injury and seemed to keep him calm and his hands busy.

"Thalassa is that you?" Adrian turned his head toward the sound of footsteps.

"Yes, Papa it's me. You didn't wait for me, did you?" Thalassa pulled out the chair next to her father.

"I wanted to make sure you got home safely," Adrian reached out for his daughter's hand to make sure she was there and not a cruel trick of the mind. Thalassa grabbed his hand reassuringly.

"Could you sing me that lullaby your mother taught you?" Adrian loved to listen to Thalassa sing. Her voice made him see the world again. Her words gave him a new form of sight, a clear picture of what things once were.

Thalassa squeezed his hand lovingly and tried to recall a melody she hadn't heard in many years.

"Oh won't you come with me

Where the moon is made of gold

And in the morning sun

We'll be sailing free

Oh won't you come with me

Where the ocean meets the sky

And as the clouds roll by

We'll sing the song of the sea"

Adrian's heart cried the tears he could no longer produce. He took his daughter into his arms and tried to imagine what a strong young woman she'd become. He could only remember what she looked like on the last day he saw her. Barely thirteen with big green eyes and still yet to lose her youthful chubby-cheeks. Adrian longed to see his daughter's face again, but just being able to hold her was a gift. "Thank you," Those were the only words he could muster. Thalassa kissed his forehead and helped him off to bed.

Thalassa made her way to her own bedroom. She noticed her little brother rustling in his sleep and muttering to himself in the bed next to hers. His whispers became louder and more audible with each passing second, "Thassie. Thassie. Thalassa. THALASSA!" Rushing over to Callan's bed, Thalassa hugged and rocked him with soothing shushes. The little boy was trembling viciously. "I had a dream that-that you had to-to go to the-" Callan could barely make out words between his sobs.

"Shush, it's ok. I'm right here. It was just a dream," Thalassa held her brother even tighter. Callan buried his head in her chest.

"I'm sorry for yelling at dinner. I just was scared."

"You don't need to apologize for that," Thalassa rubbed his back in circular motions.

Callan looked up at her with his wide glossy eyes, "Can you sleep with me tonight?"

Thalassa wiped tears away from his eyes and smiled, " Of course, Little Angelfish." Callan curled up in a ball in her arms. His head was back to laying against her chest and his little body was still shaking. Thalassa found the words to the melody she was humming on the beach and sang to calm her shaken brother.

"Just close your eyes,

the sun is going down

You'll be alright,

no one can hurt you now

Come morning light,

you and I'll be safe and sound

Just close your eyes,

you'll be alright

Come morning light,

you and I'll be safe and sound"

To Thalassa, these weren't just lyrics. They were a promise. A promise she wasn't sure she could keep.

***

Thanks again for reading my story! I promise the next chapter will be more interesting. I just want to establish relationships and give background first for ~depth~.  Please vote and comment (it helps me write faster). Let me know what you think down below! 

Link to wattpad here

[kiwisfics]

[Nova and Hancock]

X

  Her eyes were cold as she glared at the man in front of her, the icy blue color making her irritation all the more visible. She had her reasons for not trusting people, men in particular, but that didn’t mean she was letting this guy bully her into stepping down.

“You wanna move?” She cocked her head, eyes watching his hands as one of her own rested right next to her gun. Her fingers twitched as he moved, anxious to grab her protection, but in no hurry to have the town she’d wandered into turn on her so quickly. She was the outsider here, who’s to say this wasn’t an integral part of their town: hazing the newcomers with smoke in their face and a cocky grin.

She hated cigarettes. Brought back memories she’d rather forget—happy or not—they burned her lungs more from the bitterness of her thoughts than the smoke, though it didn’t feel too good going into her lungs either.

“First time in Goodneighbor? You can’t go walking around without insurance."

Her fingers twitched again, all too aware of where this conversation was headed. At least men were the same sleaze-bags they’d always been, that didn’t seem to have changed. "I’m not interested.” She glared at him, hoping her appearance was close enough to that of someone who had been raised in the Commonwealth, not in pre-war Massachusetts. She’d dropped the vault suit as soon as she could, but, in reality, there were plenty of ways to spot her softness.

“Now don’t be like that. I think you’re going to like what I have on offer. You hand over everything you got in them pockets or accidents start happenin’ to ya. Big, bloody accidents."

The tingle on the back of her neck warning of danger intensified and her hand wrapped around the pistol tucked in her waistband. She took a half step back, a twinge of fear sparking in her chest, reminding her that her once mostly irrational fear was very rational now, 200 years later. Gender hardly mattered now—anyone would be able to handle a pre-war softie like her—but still, her fear for men fueled the trembling beginning in her hands.

"Whoa, whoa, time out.” Her eyes flickered in the direction of the new voice, expecting it to be someone who’d seen the weapon she was all too prepared to pull and was coming to back up her assailant. She took a step back, having to force herself not to pull her gun upon noticing his appearance.

Wait.

What?

She hadn’t expected a ghoul, in fact, she didn’t even know there were ghouls that didn’t attack on sight. Preston had mentioned it, she thought, but she was still reeling from her departure from the vault to recall in detail. Truth be told, that entire encounter felt hazy, had she really slaughtered those people? Had she really killed that-that… thing?

“Someone steps through the gate the first time, they’re a guest. You lay off that extortion crap.” He was defending her? That was the last thing she’d expected.

“What do you care? She ain’t one of us."

A lump formed in her throat. No, she wasn’t going to cry—anyone could see the outcome of that—but she’d thought she’d at least put on a good act. She wasn’t sure if he meant one of them as in their town, or the Commonwealth as a whole, but she knew good and well she wasn’t either. She was just a woman out of her time, hunting for a son she could only hope was alive.

"No love for your mayor, Finn? I said let her go.” Another thing to add to the list of surprises. He was the mayor.

“You’re soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there’ll be a new mayor."

"Come on, man. This is me we’re talking about. Let me tell you something."

Nova reeled back as the mayor stabbed her would-be mugger, just as scared when he hit the ground as when he had been standing over her. Brutal. She’d been prepared to fire a bullet through his skull moments before, but the absolute abruptness of the attack knocked her off guard. Had she really expected a peaceful outcome for any conflict from this war-torn world? It was kill or be killed, in the most literal sense of the term.

"You alright, sister?"

Her eyes raised from the body when he addressed her, looking from him to the body and back a couple of times before she seemed to catch up with the situation again.

That was a loaded question. Was anyone alright in this world? There were monsters and people killing each other everywhere she turned; no she wasn’t okay, but she doubted he wanted the real answer and screaming in his face about how she wanted to shove herself back into the cryopod she’d crawled out of didn’t sound like a good idea.

She wanted Nate.

It was something she’d never expected to think. Yes, she’d loved him—as much as you could make yourself love anyone—and no, she wouldn’t wish him dead, but she hadn’t dwelled on his death the way she expected most wives would have. They were dumb kids when they’d married, her to escape the burden her last name carried and him for the delusion of loving her. In the end, she’d married a man like her father, but that wasn’t the point. He was intimidating and experienced. He could handle this far better than she could.

She wished she had died.

It was morbid and most certainly not a thought she would act on, but she couldn’t help but think it. Nate had far more of a chance than her of saving their son. Shaun deserved more than the human disaster she was to give him a chance of being rescued.

"Anyone in there?"

She blinked, slowly coming back from her thoughts. "You're… a ghoul.” It sounded so dumb, so sheltered. No one who belonged here would have stated something as obvious as that. It crossed her mind as an afterthought that she might have offended the man who just straight up murdered someone in front of her.

His chuckle caught her off guard, though it eased her concerns a bit, “Good eye. Lot of walking rad freaks like me around here, so you might want to keep those kind of statements on the low burner next time. Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people, you feel me? Everyone’s welcome."

"Sorry.” She weighed her words carefully, not wanting to farther prove she’d practically just stepped into this world and had no idea what was going on, but, she decided eventually, what did it matter? He could probably tell just from the way her startled eyes darted away when they caught the slightest movement. “I didn’t mean anything. It’s just, you’re the first non—feral? Is that what he called them?—that I’ve met."

She’d left Preston behind the moment they’d reached Sanctuary, too unnerved by the group to stick around for long, kind as they seemed—Marcy Long aside. Though she’d blocked most of what he said from her mind—ghouls, Minutemen, raiders, it was too much—she could recall some of what he had said, she didn’t have an outstanding memory as it was, and the stress she was under didn’t exactly make her want to remember.

"Did you step out of a vault yesterday?"

More than just a vault. "I should go.” She was gone before anything more could be said.

-

Nova rolled a pen she’d found in one of the buildings she’d scavenged over her knuckles, repeating the process as she stared at the water in front of her. She’d really let herself get sucked into trouble this time, hadn’t she?

She’d let passion cloud her judgement, the idea of robbing a bigoted town too much to resist. At least something felt normal again: she was screwing herself over.

Fine. She finally stopped rolling the pen. It was a… somewhat honest mistake. The last thing she wanted was to make herself seem blindly trusting, but she had gotten herself in this mess. She just had to hope he believed that her naivety was what got her into this situation.

She stepped lightly, something she’d always done in the presence of multiple people, making each footstep completely silent and slinking around practically pushed against the wall. The less eyes that met her frame the better.

Nova offered a nod to Fahrenheit as she noticed her before heading towards Hancock’s form in the opposite direction.

She couldn’t help but be proud over the fact that Fahrenheit had seemed impressed with how quickly she’d dealt with Bobbi, but she knew—even if absolutely no one else noticed—she knew how to use a gun. That was one of the joys of family in the country, plenty of targets and space to hone your senses.

She rubbed the back of her head as she announced her presence with a less than comital “So, uh, I might have messed up.” She avoided his gaze, hand twitching for something to fidget with. Yet another reason Nate should have survived; he didn’t have anxiety. “Maybe. Just a… okay definitely and a lot. Sorry."

She’d never liked admitting she was wrong, especially when it was obvious, people always seemed to love holding her mistakes over her and she thought about them enough as it was. Still, something about his amused grin made the apology a bit more bearable.

"Hey, this is Goodneighbor. No hard feelings.” At least that was something she could be grateful for, despite everything. “Here, for protecting my stash.” Nova was all too quick to accept the caps, whether she’d earned them or not, she was eating through caps far too quick. “Wise decision turning on Bobbi like that."

"Wanted to steal from jerks, not the guy who killed a bully for trying to take my lunch money.” It felt good to joke, even when it came to such a morbid subject. Guess jokes were probably morbid around here anyway, what with the world having ended and all.

“Lemme tell ya, this classy little tricorner hat of mine is getting heavy. Am I turning into the man? Some kind of tyrant?” Nova cocked her head. Tyrant was the last word she would have used to describe him, especially in the terms of the days she came from. Besides, anyone would protect what was theirs. She faintly remembered punching a kid in grade school when he took one of her crayons and had to fight down a grin. “I spend all my time putting down the people I would’ve been proud to scheme with just a few years ago. I need to take a walk again. Get a grip on what really matters: Living free.”

“You can do that? Gotta figure people won’t be too pleased with you leaving with someone who stumbled into town two days ago."

"Hey, the mayor’s still the mayor,  whether he’s ‘in residence’ or not. I’ve walked out of here plenty of times. Keeps me honest. Can’t let power get to my head. That’s not what being in charge of Goodneighbor’s about."

Nova hesitated, all the lines she’d taught herself echoing in the back of her mind. Men are dangerous. Men will use you until they get tired of you. The thoughts lead down a rabbit hole of things her father had taught her, ranging from the general to the more personal, but still, the words slipped out before she could stop them and she wasn’t about to say she’d slipped up. "You’re welcome to tag along with me.”

“Yeah, I like it. You might just be the right kind of trouble."

She’d never admit it, but, just for a moment, she considered responding with, I could say the same about you.

[naanima]

Why I think Guardian had a happy-ish open ending (headcanon)

@seventh-fantasy I think you asked for this. If not, ignore.

I think I’m a handful of individuals who watched the last 2 mins of ‘Guardian’ and went, “Hey, they left us an optimistic open ending,” and then proceeded to write a tonne of fix it fic.

I know the Chinese fans are like:

1) ZYL will spend eternity alive and won’t reincarnate

2) Shen Wei doesn’t have a soul so won’t reincarnate

3) They will never reincarnate together and meet again

4) The last 2 mins was all a dream on ZYL’S part because of how Shen Wei was dressed.

So, OK. 1) They said he would be in pain, but considering no one has actually done what zyl did in living memory (at least 10,000 years) that’s a lot of assumptions they are making. Eternity is a long time, and unless zyl is completely unaware, which we know is NOT the case because the last 2 mins of the show is basically him BEING AWARE, which seem to contradict what Zhao Xin Ci/Zhang Shi was telling him. The fact of the matter is whether it is through bad writing or on purpose the writers set up a a paradigm that is extremely questionable BECAUSE NOBODY IN CANON KNOW WITHOUT A DOUBT WHAT IT MEANS FOR ZYL TO FUEL THE LAMP. It is basically all conjecture and myths.

In addition, they set up Xiao Guo as somebody who partially lit the Lamp, and he is still ALIVE. There is literally NO REASON THAT THE BURDEN COULDN’T BE SHARED. So, once again, Zhang Shi and Zhao Xin Ci doesn’t know everything, and is basically going, “This what I heard.”

So, if canon CAN’T even figure out the rules of using the Lamp then I can’t trust what they say. Internal consistency is important in fictional universe, and they shat on theirs. My take away, zyl probably suffered a huge amount of pain when he became the source of the Lamp, however beyond that WE DON’T KNOW. Because unless somebody was the fuel for the Lamp, AND THEN CAME BACK, HOW DO THEY KNOW WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENS TO THE SOUL. THIS IS A FALLACY RIGHT HERE, GUYS.

And if they writers are set on this idea of eternal torment, then it must mean that whoever became the fuel for the Lamp MUST HAVE RETURNED TO LIVING BECAUSE OTHERWISE HOW DO WE KNOW THE SOUL SUFFERED FOREVER, AND OH YEAH, WHY DID IT STOP BEING LIT IN THE FIRST PLACE. WELL?

See what I did there? LOGIC IT OUT, PEOPLE.

In conclusion, if we stay within the paradigm of the TV fictional universe and rules then it must mean there is a possibility zyl returned to living sometime in the future. The question is when. He could literally be the fuel for over 10,000 years and still step out a week, a year after the show BECAUSE TIME IS ALL MAGICAL IN THE WORMHOLE.

Also, THE COSMOS IS HUGE, NO WAY IN HELL YOU CAN’T HAVE A MILLION TINY BITS OF SOULS FROM A MILLION YEARS ALL LIGHTING THE LAMP. No offence ro zyl but I think that’s probably better.

2) Shen Wei does not have a soul - Chinese fans, I love you, but this is a case of please DON’T mesh book and TV canon verse together. They are two separate entities. The TV verse never at any point mention that Shen Wei or Dixing people does not have souls. Therefore, in the TV universe they do have souls. It is why while I like the new book epilogue it is NOT TV canon for me. This is fine, but it doesn’t work for me.

3) I’m not a fan of reincarnation in the TV show because the TV show does NOT SET IT UP. Therefore, the reincarnation possibility didn’t occur to me. Sorry. It just DOESN’T EXIST IN THE TV VERSE. So, this is invalid.

4) The last 2 mins or so AKA Psychedelic Love Induced Pocket Dimension. OK a) Chinese fans, you can’t say that SW’S outfit is a sign of zyl’s delusions on wanting to see SW again because he is wearing the same outfit as when he first met zyl. Because if you do think this is a delusion on ZYL’S part, then WTF do you think was the last scene BETWEEN Ye Zun and Shen Wei.

So, either both are delusions and didn’t happen, or both are true and it was Shen Wei attempting to say goodbye to his loved ones by dressing up as what they know him as best. For Ye Zun it is the 10,000 years ago get up, for zyl it is the Professor Shen dress up. So, depending on what you think it will influence your interpretation of the ending. BUT YOU CANNOT APPLY ONE SET OF RULES ON ONE SCENARIO AND THEN CHANGE IT IN A SIMILAR SCENARIO WITHIN THE SAME EPISODE.

5) My interpretation; zyl probably felt immense pain by sacrificing his soul to fuel the Lamp. But he is aware of who he is, and eventually learns how to use some of the Lamp’s ability, i.e. accessing the wormhole, which has been established by show as something that is doable by the Hallow. The question is how long did it take him. I honestly don’t know and that’s up to individual interpretation. Once he access the wormhole he is confronted by Shen Wei, the last 2 mins of the show. Once again, unsure how long it has been.

My headcanon for Shen Wei being in the wormhole is 5a) Shen Wei is linked to the Hallow, the show even theories that Shen Wei might have survived 10,000 years because of the Hallow.

5b) WE STILL DON’T KNOW WHAT HE SAW EXACTLY WHEN HE HEALED ZYL’S BLINDNESS. And if it is not written I can headcanon, it is heavily implied that SW executed his plans to take down SW post seeing whatever he saw when using the Hallow. So, if he saw zyl’s end you think he is just gonna LET IT HAPPEN WITHOUT A FUCKING LOOPHOLE?!!!! So, the gaps and holes in the script for me means Shen Wei knew how this was going to play out as soon as he healed zyl’s blindness, and then went about setting up the major steps to get there, and made sure he had access to the wormhole just before his death. There is no time in the wormhole, Shen Wei can wait forever, he is used to it.

5c) Because people, remember that both of them don’t have a physical body presently. They can’t age.

5d) Shen Wei’s little bet; I honestly think Shen Wei didn’t know if he could have made it into the wormhole to see zyl, but once there the sky’s the limit. They are in a wormhole where time does not exist or moves very slowly. They can see how the Hallow were created!!!!! SEE WHAT I DID? USE CANON PARADIGM TO HEADCANON. They can access all of time and space. They can drag out their 2 mins into 10,000 years or more.

5e) So, my headcanon, they stayed for however long they needed to stay in that wormhole to explore and learn. Shen Wei’s ability is learning. They see into the past of how the Hallow were made, figure out a way to gather many bits of souls to not only depend on zyl, and then once they accomplish all this, create bodies and leave the bloody thing. And live happily ever after.

(Look, you can’t tell me that Shen Wei wouldn’t have set things up to try and get zyl out of this whole fiasco alive. Just no. And you can’t tell me it is an unhappy ending when THE TV SHOW’S INCONSISTENCIES LEAD TO A BETTER ANSWER.).

[hueynomure]

Summoning Disaster - Part Four: Battle Cry

In which two of my OCs end up in @fatal-blow 's Golden Verse. Set in an unspecified point before Defenders of Earth's prologue; You can find out more about the story on his wip page.

First part

Second part

Third part

Elise has dirty thoughts, and I manage to write an awful sentence with three characters whose name starts with the same letter. Yes, these are the only events in this part, really. (this part is more Sharaka-centric and as such it's rather bloody)

* * * * *

“Grey one, it’s Elphimas.”

“Roger Windfall,” Amp replied as he crushed the throat of the last living guard in Lab 1’s entrance. “Mist protocol lifted. Status.”

“Cornered, guards seem to be taking a breather,” Adamantine replied. “It won’t last.”

“Too many hostiles, retreating to Lab 3. Magic’s not working right.” So much for the distraction.

“We still need time to rig the building, they’d disrupt us. Their comms are still sealed.”

“Someone opened the front door, but the courtyard’s under control. Elphimas has been a godsend so far.” Windfall commented.

“My new acquaintance is lovely too,” Static chuckled. “Dents armor like it’s tinfoil. We’re free birds, moving toward Ad and co.”

“Adamantine, do you have space for Link?”

“Negative, too risky.”

“Static?”

“The whole experimental wing is desert.”

Amp took a deep breath. Quantum could keep a rigged building alone, and if Sharaka continued to be an asset the diversion team could easily hold a room for Link to portal to… The bigger picture was a problem on its own: this facility seemed to be somewhat detached from the Magics’ hierarchy, but they could take their intrusion as a declaration of war anyway. He frowned, refocusing on the here and now. “Static, get to Adamantine before guards can prepare another offensive, then secure an area for Link. I will cover Reaper and Ethereous, then we’ll portal to you or to the experimental wing.”

As it often happened, Amp wanted to be everywhere at once, but he forced himself to march back to the unhinged door. His nerves were taut as bowstrings: there was an air of danger he hadn’t felt in a while. No one had been wounded yet, but-

Amp noticed the killing intent too late. He jumped backwards, but the bullet caught him in the abdomen. He fell, skyrocketing his own anger to boost the adrenaline rush. He couldn’t pass out. Not now.

“Sniper in the northern sentry tower!” He snarled as he crawled back in the Lab. “Link, to me now!” Fergus broadcasted his location and got himself another anger burst to get on his shaking knees. His guts were a constant explosion of agony, but his legs worked. He started to bury the pain and the rage – hoping they hadn’t hindered the others - as he waited for Link.

The small, sudden void of the sniper’s mind as Windfall got them was a meager satisfaction.

* * * * *

Static’s fingers twitched when he heard Amp call for help. Well, growl for help. “I suddenly feel like jogging a bit.”

Sharaka sniffed toward a metal windowless door. “That was sharp rage, he’ll be fine.”

“As reassuring as you may have meant it to be, I’m still feeling the fitness kick.” Static started running, straining to feel hostiles on his way. It was of some relief to hear heavy stomps following him.

A minute later, Static felt people-like current behind a corner. He slowed down, gathering charge, and noticed he couldn’t hear Sharaka anymore. Which was why he almost fried her when she dashed past him at full speed. He stuck his head and a hand beyond the corner, ready to cover her.

Sharaka turned into a blur, tackling the armored guard into the wall at impossible speed with the sound of bent metal and crushed bones. An arc of fire caught the other two mooks in the face before they could lift their weapons. She clawed open the throat of the first, and her tail shot like a scorpion’s to crack the skull of the second. She started running again without a glance to the crumpling bodies or to Static.

He picked up a gun from a dead guard, then it was his turn to sprint to catch up.

* * * * *

Faizah gestured for her three teammates to take their positions, and cringed feeling the armor’s gloves hindering the simple movement. Not that she wasn’t grateful for the protection – it had allowed her to walk right through the bright pink barriers and even to shrug off a hit from motherfucking Static – but it was experimental equipment, so not exactly tailored for comfort.

The door seemed intact. Faizah crouched and nodded in Noah’s direction, who unlocked the door with his pass card. Faizah cursed the genius that had decided to make unlocking doors beep, and the magic blowhard with no field experience that didn’t want to cover her squad’s noise with fire. Nevertheless, they were two walls away from the Defenders, odds were they didn’t hear it: there were two doors to the archives, and all three Defenders had been seen at the other one. They checked the room with practiced motions and moved onwards.

When they approached the room next to the Defenders’ she heard low feminine voices. One fast and nervous, the other dry and confident. Ideally Faizah would have wanted to check the side rooms, but they had to pass right in front of the open door to do that so no such luck. She gestured for her team to be extra cautious and they slowly took positions to attack the Defenders.

“Shield!” Third voice side room fuck!

Faizah moved to shoot but a pink barrier blocked the bullets. A flashbang obliterated her sight and hearing. A shotgun got her square in the chest, and Faizah took her last moments to appreciate the tungsten balls it took to throw a flashbang at the last possible moment.

* * * * *

“Shield!” Someone shouted from the archive’s back rooms, followed by a deafening boom and gunshots. Good, Faizah’s team had fulfilled their scope.

Lei Fan’s magic coursed the inscribed staff in his hands, which in turn infused enough magic to the knife lodged in its end to turn the metal kill them dark red. He tapped the knife’s point to the wall and it just… exploded outwards, as if yes destroy hit by a wrecking ball, and the magic’s buzzing subsided a bit. He stepped away, allowing security to exploit the new path of attack, and shook his head to clear it from the magic’s unusually definite intrusive thoughts.

He gestured to a waiting squad to follow: “We’re going up, collapsing their escape routes,” and left the other firing squads behind. He had no delusion to overwhelm the Defenders’ strongest defensive powers yet, and as useful as his armor was it wasn’t designed to block heavy gunfire. It also was pretty heavy; he promised himself to start working out as he sweated just by climbing the stairs.

He was tracking down the Defenders’ position by following the sound of gunfire when something large slammed against a wall behind him. Lei Fan turned to see the squad decimated: the leader was crumpled against a wall, chest caved in, another was clawing at the horrible burns on his face and... his lizard?! ...was ripping something bloody from the back of a third. How? Why?

Lei Fan charged a Wizard’s Fire to throw at the lizard, but destroy the attack slipped from his hand before he could aim it properly. The lizard dodged easily and drove its claws knuckle-deep in the throat of the fourth member of the squad, using him as a shield. Its tail lashed out and hit the man with face burns, who fell with a whimper.

They started kill circling each other, Lei Fan with his weapon high to discourage a direct attack – the lizard hissed when it recognized the knife – and the lizard keeping the dying man at arm’s length. Lei Fan remembered the helmet’s visor was mirrored, and started the Black Maze’s incantation under his breath, his head ringing inexplicably as the spell took hold.

* * * * *

Sharaka was suddenly holding a shapeless mass of darkness in a dim-lit, flickering hedge maze. It all smelled strongly of illusion, plus the sharp stench of this plane’s mana; no contest with the finesse of vedalken magic. She could almost feel his illusion as a slimy coat over reality. She closed her eyes, focused on the burning anger and fanned it, fueled it until she started to shake with rage, fury overtaking all her functions, and felt the illusion flicker when her last sliver of control evaporated.

She flung the dead weight aside and roared, the world vibrating with her rage. She smelled her sweating prey, holding her weapon in front of it - as if it mattered, as if it wasn't already dead. She dashed, entering its guard before it could notice, and shattered its visor with her fist. The prey was sent flying, slow as a snail. She grabbed the weapon from its hands and slammed her tail on its chest so hard the ground shook when the prey hit it.

The following hit with her weapon turned the prey into an explosion of gore and scrap metal.

* * * * *

A terrified silence followed the roar, as everyone’s hindbrain screamed there was A Predator around and failure to locate it would mean certain death. Fortunately for the Defenders, hanging around Fergus had them somewhat tempered against sudden bursts of emotion; Siphon and Adamantine took down five hostiles before they could snap out of it. Fortunately for the Magics, five people weren’t going to matter in the long run: Siphon still had afterimages and ringing from the flashbang, and judging by Astral’s and Adamantine’s concentrated frowns the prolonged use of their powers was starting to take its toll. Reaper and Ethereous were retreating without cover. They hadn’t heard from Amp since he had been hit.

The whole building shook. Siphon looked up, cold sweat running down her cheek. No part of the ceiling seemed to be about to fall on their head. Good. She took aim and cracked a visor, stunning her target for the time Adamantine needed to finish reloading and turning their face into mashed beets.

Hearing electricity crackle made her dizzy with relief. Lightning took down every hostile in sight in less than a second, and Siphon wished she could ride Static there and then. She settled for savoring the familiar smell of ozone, and moved forward to make sure there weren’t armored hostiles left.

Four kills later, Static casually strolled in. “I hope it still falls under the ‘fashionably late’ category.” The magnificent bastard grinned his shit-eating grin, and Siphon felt the urge to shut his mouth with her-

“What was that roar?” Adamantine asked, interrupting Siphon’s train of thought.

“A friend, believe it or not,” Static replied, “I’d have gone for the ‘she followed me home’ line if she had actually come with me. Now unless you want to take a few more souvenirs, we have a Link to catch.” Static led the way to the experimental wing. All guards in the building were probably either dead or hiding in a broom closet, but the four Defenders swept the rooms properly because no one wished for more surprises, not even Static.

“Sharaka! Fancy meeting you here!” Static blurted as he checked a T-shaped junction, then slowly backed away. “…Sharaka?”

Siphon moved to see who Static was talking to and stopped dead in her tracks when two reptilian eyes met hers with an utterly inhuman stare. ‘Sharaka’ was half-crouching, as if poised to attack, her blood-soaked arm wielding some sort of spear with a bad case of magic buzzing and her tail arched like a scorpion’s. Siphon had no problems associating this… creature… with the blood-curling roar from earlier; she had to be even more dangerous than she looked, because despite the dozen paces between them Static’s fingers were flexing nervously.

“Nice to meet you! Are you Static’s new friend? Disclaimer: we taste terrible.”

Sharaka followed Astral’s voice and something sparked in her eyes. She blinked twice, as if trying to remember something.

“Amp said to get out of her way. I say we go.”

“And leave her like that? She was snarky ten minutes ago! The ‘can I keep her’ was supposed to be a joke. Sharaka, it’s me, ‘thank you for saving my sorry ass’!” Siphon’s brain failed to understand whatever Static was saying, but Sharaka’s mouth was moving, almost mimicking his speech. “Did you used up all your brain power for today?”

“Fuck you,” Sharaka replied with a raspy voice. She straightened her back, blinked a few more times and suddenly looked like a person. A very reptilian person, but still. “Next time you go after the mind mage and I take out the fodder.”

“Will do!” Static was beaming. “Care to come with us?”

“Sure, before Frigid Girl there has a stroke,” Sharaka replied.

Static marched onwards and kept staring straight ahead, probably to avoid Adamantine’s gaze.

[cravitus426]

armchair science rambles - plasmaguns and pigs

tl;dr plasma is not laser beams and it needs ammo to function

also star wars plasma is (obviously) a bad representation

something i’ve put some thought into recently (read: a few weeks ago in a discord argument) was plasma weaponry, and specifically i was picking at some lore for a weapon from the extended Aliens universe, the M78 PIG

now the PIG is a phased plasma infantry gun and what this means is it’s basically a rocket launcher shaped plasma gun that makes the target stop existing fairly quickly

now my specific conundrum with the PIG to start with was ‘what does it look like when firing’ - and so i figured i’d go to the next best source for phased plasma guns in a james cameron film, the terminator franchise

now as we can see that’s not your typical halo lightball of pain, and it’s more like a laserbeam - closer to star wars, in fact, but regardless i was met with skepticism from my peers as to the kind of plasma the PIG would be blasting at tanks from a kilometer out and figured a halo style bolt made more sense

i agreed to disagree and then we escalated from applying the visuals from two different movies of the same tech from the same director to justifying why the PIG would probably fire a long beamlike bolt of plasma, which then took me into the pseudoscience behind how the PIG probably works

now the PIG itself is in two components as the AvP wiki (or if you want to get to the root, the colonial marine tech manual) says, covering the launcher and the powerpack; within these two components, we know that there is a laser, a magnetic coil, and a feed of cadmium telluride pellets plus a power source - that black shiny material in solar panels, i believe

now at first glance you may make the mistake of thinking that vaporized pellets are fed into the plasmagun, which is simply incorrect and, upon further consideration, impractical, unfeasible, and is in fact the main reason i’m making this post to begin with - but more on that in a moment

now the rough idea i have with the PIG is that during it’s firing cycle it charges or uses the laser to then vaporize the cadmium telluride pellets fed into the weapon, causing them to vaporize, becoming a gas, and subsequently become ionized - becoming plasma, in other words

after the laser rapidly heats the pellet, the ionized gas which has shed it’s electtrons is then rapidly discharged by the magnetic coil in a focused beam or bolt towards the target, and the projectile has such power or focus that even up to a kilometer away the single pellet of material is enough to punch through the rear armor of a heavy tank - that’s how i’d imagine the PIG works, at least

now when in flight certain things would happen to this bolt of plasma, especially once it leaves the magnetic field generated by the magnetic coils of the PIG - the least of which is a dispersion and cooling over long distances

plasma is still hot gas, after all, and gas wants to expand outward rather than be compressed into a space, which is then all the more reason for a rapid beamlike discharge because the faster that gas goes to the target the less time it has to expand and weaken

a contemporary example of what this could look like in action, as far as videogames go, would be XCOM 2 - that aside, however, the important part of this post is the material used to make plasma in the first place, and with the PIG that’s pellets of cadmium telluride

games always tote plasma as this super high end energy weapon, uses energy cells, batteries - power to fire, but that’s simply not the case

plasma is a state of matter, and like any other solid, liquid, or gas, there’s different kinds of matter that can become plasma, and not all plasma will perform the same nor be equally fit for the task

take lighting, for example - we use neon to generate plasma, which is what neon signs are all about; it’s already a gas, just needs electricity to hit that glow, and it doesn’t have to be super dense to make all that light

if you tried to use, say, argon for example, you’d have twice as much density, twice as much mass, and twice as much weight as the same amount of neon which then makes it more impractical to use as a light source - and that’s not considering the difference in energy required to make argon hit plasma versus neon

this said, it’s not too important at that level whereas things get a bit more complex when you want to use plasma as a weapon

take star wars and it’s tibanna fueled blasters, for example

here we have the typical stormtrooper blaster - the classic e11, courtesy of google and wookieepedia

in the event that you were unaware, star wars blasters take one of two things to function, those being power and tibanna gas which i’d guess is converted into plasma by adding energy from the powerpack

now as far as star wars goes there seems to be enough tibanna in there for all the shots you’d ever need in the field, never seem to need reloading - come to think of it have you ever seen a clone trooper load his weapon outside of republic commando’s blaster rifle, or the animated clone wars?

regardless what i’m getting at is star wars somehow packs enough tibanna in there and enough energy to create large, relatively slow, and lethal bolts of plasma in combat and without the need to ever really reload

star wars is basically science fantasy, but realistically speaking that gas would have to be of exceptionally low density to be packed in there at large quantities with little weight impact, and the more you pack the higher the pressure rises - and the higher that pressure is, the more you risk by dropping or damaging the weapon

imagine that every storm trooper carried a propane tank in their weapon, and imagine what would happen if one of them tripped and sprung a leak in that tiny super pressurized tank

not pretty for mister stormie

as far as the theoretical density of this material goes it’s definitely heavier than air otherwise it’d be swirling around cloud city, a population center whose primary export seems to be tibanna gas mined from the gas giant of bespin

for reference, oxygen’s density is around 1.4 grams, nitrogen is a little lighter, and CO2 i believe is around 2.25 (around the neighborhood of propane); therefore, tibanna if below the human-breathable atmosphere layer on bespin would have a higher density and as a result be heavier per unit than propane, which then makes it more unwieldy; that said, this is not necessarily a bad thing for the projectile

aside from the weight and safety issues that would arise with packing so much material into such a tiny space there’s also the matter of weapon effectiveness to consider; for example, neon gas would be inferior to theoretical tibanna because it’s ligher or less dense than the atmosphere it’d usually travel through; a somewhat fitting example would be like trying to throw an air-filled ball through the water - the projectile, less dense than the volume it’s traveling through, will bleed off more energy trying to get through and will actually be pulled up in this case due to basic buoyancy

replace ball with neon plasma and water with air and you get the effect of a brief flash of light sort of just slowing down and dispersing like a cloud of smoke being pulled upwards

tibanna at least has the precedent of being heavier than air, allowing it to at least not get screwed by buoyancy - but then there’s it’s low speed to consider, how sluggishly it travels through the air compared to the ‘primitive’ slugthrowers

considering then the low speed and presumably low or at least workable-and-light-even-with-pistols density/weight of the blasters you would think that they wouldn’t hit hard, and would get the bulk of their power out of the heat transferred to the target

and then you get this

there have been others to apply hard calculations to this but you can’t even get that kind of flinging force from bullets short of the big stuff

force equals mass times acceleration and tibanna seemed like it had neither of those on it’s side but apparently it has one of those in stupid high quantity

it’s definitely not speed, which then implies it’s got to be the mass - and that then retroactively implies the blasters are all stupid heavy now

however this then ignores the inherent thermal energy of the blaster bolt - i guess in theory you could impart enough energy so rapidly that it does fling tr8r to the ground like anakin’s arms and legs, but if you’ve got that kind of energy at your disposal why not just use straight up lasers

and none of that fake laser stuff turbolasers perpetuate

continuing on, the low mass and speed of a blaster would logically limit it’s range stupidly, as the plasma would slow and disperse as it would not have the inertia necessary to continue to carve through the air to the target, regardless of super high heat per shot

however if the bolt gets even a bit of it’s power from the density, the mass of the projectile, then despite the implications it has for the weight and handling of the weapons, the density would make the actual bolts far more feasible

so in review now with delusions of realism applied to star wars blasters tibanna would have to be of high density and contained at hazardous pressures within the weapon to have the power and capacity demonstrated in the films - or otherwise be contained at high pressure and gain the bulk of it’s killing power by being superheated to a point where it can fling stormtroopers around like windu beats droids

i mean it’s plasma so the latter is kind of the point, but only to an extent

there are other things to consider when using a gas such as tibanna as your plasma reaction mass

for example, what kind of material and how much of that material are you using to store it, what is the state of that material in extreme conditions, how do you refill that in the field - and that last one makes me picture world war two flamethrower incidents, except with more laserbeams to accompany the big backpack gas tanks

oh tibanna’s volatile too isn’t it that just makes it even better

now, going back to aliens and the PIG, instead of tibanna we have cadmium telluride pellets - solid at room temperature, used already in solar panels, density of somewhere above five grams per centimeter i believe

comparing the solid to a gas, in a few points:

you don’t have to worry about pressure containment because it won’t explode if you trip; transportation is then a non issue, and while you would need to use magazines you don’t have to use a pressurized tank to refill the gun, nor would you have to worry about containing a mini superdense propane tank in your weapon

you have a more solid grasp on ammo expenditure and reloading is a risk free operation compared to connecting tubes and watching meters

you don’t need to mine gas giants to feed the gun

the solid is inherently usable in cold environments because the weapon was meant to take a solid in the first place, whereas gas may condense into liquid or even freeze into a solid, both of which would be relatively unusable for a gun meant for gas

both the solid and the gas would require energy, and while in theory the solid would need more to jump to plasma it’d be much safer and practical i’d say to use it over natural state gas which introduces inherent risks and design constraints to begin with

i do want to go back to density and force but those are subject to specific materials involved - that said, solids i think would be more effective as plasma because they would inherently be hotter as plasma

in simpler terms

which one of these is solid at room temperature

the block of iron, or the block of neon

the winner will inherently require more energy to become a gas and then even more to become a plasma, which would then increase the potential lethality through proximity alone, not even considering the mass, speed, or force of the projectile

so basically plasma is not a pure energy weapon type and it requires ammo - plasma is a state of matter, and you need mass of some kind for it

out of the masses you could use for plasma, gas in my opinion would be the inferior choice due to inferior power offered and complicated storage

solids in comparison seem to be inherently better suited as the ammunition

oh and i did forget to mention that storing vaporized solids is a stupid thing because you’d have to constantly heat them which then turns them into a gas but even worse as far as resources and safety goes

imagine if your star wars blaster had a constant superheater on with your volatile super pressurized mini propane tank that you’re already trying to heat to shoot plasma at people

that’s the kind of thing you’d be carrying around

i think that’s about it for this ramble, at least for now

now the real surprise will be if someone actually reads this

tl;dr plasma is not laser beams and it needs ammo to function

also star wars plasma is (obviously) a bad representation

[keldae]

gimme xaja and theron 4. A Drunken Kiss :D

Well, doesn’t this work out perfectly. ;)

After the events of Rishi and Yavin had finally settled out, Theron hadn’t expected to be in contact with his newfound… friends, dare he say?… when life returned to normal. He was a spy, Korin was a constantly-moving spacer, Xaja was a Jedi Master with her duties to the Order, and forget Sorand (… there was no way in hell Theron was ever going to cite Reanden Taerich as being one of his friends) in Imperial Space. The Taerichs each had their own individual lives, and he didn’t have a place in them, no matter that he couldn’t seem to get Xaja out of his head… especially after finally tumbling into bed with her on Yavin. That hadn’t been ‘blowing off steam’ as much as it had been ‘fueling a fire’, as he’d discovered. But he had no delusions to the idea that maybe she felt the same. Jedi weren’t supposed to have attachments. 

He shook his head as he stared into his whiskey, ignoring the sounds of the rest of the cantina around him. It’s not worth it, Shan, he inwardly growled at himself. She’s a Jedi, she wouldn’t be interested in anything long-term, why do you have a kriffing crush on a Jedi Master anyway when you know --

A body dropped onto the stool beside him, and red hair flickered out of the corner of Theron’s eye. “Fancy meeting you here,” Xaja said with a grin as she twisted around to look at him directly. 

Theron blinked in pleasant surprise and tried to ignore how his heart jumped within his chest at that smile of hers. “Xaja! What, uh…” Yes, he’d secretly hoped to run into the pretty Jedi again, but now that she was here, he had no idea what to say. “What brings you out this way? I’d have thought you were doing Order business.”

“I’m on Order business if anyone asks, and absolutely not hiding from the paparazzi who somehow found out about the whole cult business,” Xaja muttered. “Sorand had a good idea with the mask. I might have to look into one.” She looked down at the stool she’d claimed, then back at Theron. “There wasn’t anyone sitting here, was there? Am I interrupting anything important?”

“Not in the least!” Theron quickly shook his head before Xaja could even shift her weight to move elsewhere. “You’re perfectly fine there.” He winked as he made a show of studying her face. “I’d suggest almost anything besides a mask, though. It would cover up too much of your face.” Which would be the point, a little voice in his mind muttered, making his ears go red with embarrassment.

Xaja didn’t seem to mind the awkward flirting from Theron as she laughed, her cheeks going pink in the dim lighting. “So that reduces my options down to running really, really fast and learning how to use a stealth generator…”

“Could always look into a bodyguard, maybe.”

“Oh?” Xaja tilted her head at Theron, smile dancing on her lips – not that Theron was looking at her lips at all, thinking about how he remembered they tasted, not at all. “Are you volunteering, then?”

“I could maybe be persuaded, I suppose.” Theron grinned and took a sip of his whiskey, eyeing Xaja over the rim of his glass.

“So tell me, Agent Shan…” Xaja leaned her elbow on the counter and rested her chin on her hand, green eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement and something else that made Theron’s stomach clench in hopeful anticipation. “What does a girl have to do to get the protection of the SIS’s best agent?”

“That is up for negotiation.” Theron smirked as he waved at the bartender and gestured for a drink for Xaja. “May as well make the negotiations comfortable, right? It’s on me,” he quickly added when he saw her reaching into her jacket pocket for credits.

Xaja paused as a second whiskey appeared in front of her, then grinned as she withdrew her hand from her pocket. “Next round’s on me,” she finally agreed as she took a sip of the drink.

“And there you go, proof that Jedi are master negotiators,” Theron chuckled over his own glass. “We’re off to a fine start.”

He’d lost count of how many rounds they’d gone through. Their conversation had spun away from Xaja grumbling about the paparazzi, dancing through memories of Rishi and Yavin, chatter about Theron’s job (or what wasn’t classified, anyway), laughing at ridiculous memories of former missions each had undertaken – Xaja was still giggling after Theron told her the story of blowing up the Ascendant Spear in his underwear. A legendary Jedi Master, giggling like a (intoxicated) schoolgirl… Theron decided it was an adorable sound, and he definitely needed to hear more of it.

He impulsively slid his arm around her waist as they finally stepped outside of the cantina, Coruscant’s cool nighttime breeze a sharp contrast to the heat inside the building. It should have felt strange, how perfectly she fit against his side, all five feet of thin build and soft skin and silky hair… but it felt so natural to have her right there like that. Theron decided he liked it, as much as he definitely liked everything else about her. “You know what…” he murmured as he paused behind a lamp post and looked down at her, “we never did settle up on that negotiation…”

“No, we didn’t.” Xaja stepped in front of him and smirked as she slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. Theron groaned when her fingers started tickling the short-cropped hair at his neck, earning another smirk from her. “Have anything in mind?”

“Got one idea…” Theron drawled as he slipped his arms around her back and lowered his mouth to meet hers. The kiss was straight-up sloppy, lips dancing around each other, teeth meeting roughly before his tongue slid in to find hers. Hardly the seductive kiss that spies were supposed to be masters of – but considering how Xaja moaned into his mouth and tried to pull him down closer to her, she didn’t seem to mind or judge too terribly. He lowly grunted as he instinctively pushed her back against the lamp post, one hand running up and down her side, and for a second all he wanted was to get under the jacket and tunics she wore so he could feel her skin underneath. 

A need for air finally broke the kiss, and Xaja tugged his head down to rest his forehead against her own. “Yeah,” she murmured, closely enough that Theron could feel her breath on his lips, “those are good negotiation terms. Consider them accepted.”

“Works for me.” Theron grinned and brushed another kiss against her nose. “Even got somewhere nice an’ safe to hide you from the media until they kriff off. My place is nearby.” Kriff, when had he last had a one-night-stand back at his own apartment? But she wasn’t just a normal romp in bed to blow off some steam, no matter how much he tried to deny it. Xaja was something else entirely and he knew it… and to his own surprise, he liked it.

A smile lit up those brilliant green eyes, and Xaja slid one hand back down over his chest and arm to find his hand and give it a squeeze. “Let’s go,” she breathed, and Theron would have had to be blind to miss the open, excited desire in her gaze. Apparently he hadn’t been the only one thinking about the abandoned shuttle on Yavin.

It was a bonus that his bed was more comfortable than the bunk on the shuttle that they’d fallen into, he thought as he eagerly lead her toward the taxi station. Right now, he could only imagine how much more comfortable it would be with her in it beside him.

[warlordgab]

Analysis: NaLu in the GMG arc

It's no secret that this story arc did wonders for the development of Natsu/Lucy emotional bonding. However many NaLu moments are not what we would call subtle, and some of them capitalized on fanservice. So it's becomes a little hard to notice how NaLu scenes showcase the chemistry between the characters as well as how delusional some shallow pairings truly are

First of all we have the prelude to the arc. When Lucy recieved the news of her father's death, Natsu and Happy were with her. Even though Lucy was effectively repressing her feelings about the whole situation, Natsu not only grasped how she possibly felt but was so depressed about it he let get away a chance to join a fight...

...given his character has some traits of a "blood knight", this is actually pretty impressive. It shows how much can Lucy affect Natsu even without putting effort into it, and that's a sign of a strong emotional connection with a good chemistry

It's also consistent with something we saw in the "Rainbow Sakura" special. To sum it up, Lucy is very excited about the prospect of going to the festival and seeing the cherry blossoms, but she gets sick the day of the Hanami festival so at the end she couldn't go. During the party, while every FT guild member is enjoying the festival...

...we see Natsu and Happy are the only ones who are not enjoying themselves, all because Lucy couldn't come and she's missing something she was dearly looking foward to

Instead of enjoying the party like the rest of the guild, the Fire Dragon Slayer, in a very touching and quasi-romantic gesture, uproots an entire Rainbow Sakura tree just for Lucy to see. Needless to say Lucy knew who did that for her and appreciated it a lot

So, the moment when Natsu is feeling so down about Lucy's situation is consistent with their relationship. And it makes even more sense given Natsu can't do much to comfort her this time and he knows it. Luckily for him, Lucy found closure and let go of the sadness she felt in the same chapter.

We can also rely on an overlooked but nice detail. This and the following NaLu moments, all happened after Lisanna's return. So instead of trying to re-connect with his childhood friend, Natsu consitently stuck closer and closer to Lucy. Proving a remarkable emotional attachment to the blonde celestial mage.

Moving on, the next moment I'd like to highlight is the aftermath of the Lucy Vs. Flare battle. Yes, Lucy lost because they were getting cheated and she was really upset and frustrated about it. But who's the guy who walks up to her after the battle is over? Natsu! Who both praised and comforted her. This is an important element of chemistry between characters, when one (or both them) seek to provide with emotional support

Sadly this gets overlooked because many fans (including those who support NaLu) overhyped Juvia's paranoid delusion of a passionate GrayLu encounter that very same night. This is was taken way too seriously by many readers, but the fact remains both Lucy and Gray completely dismissed that crazy delusion, and during that late night party Lucy stuck close to the person that comforted and supported her earlier after going through such a bad experience in the GMG

Next moment is very controversial. When Lucy was brutally beaten by a Minerva, both Natsu and Gray catched her as she fell. Some manga readers are very familiar with the concept of "pandering". At times an author try to please as many fandoms as possible to either sell more of their work or avoid losing their audience. Even some western writers indulge into this. However, while the FT author tried to pander shippers here, and pretty much added fuel to the shipping war that was raging on back then; he also provided something, during the following chapter, that made some people understand who was the person Lucy felt the strongest about...

...by having her to say his name as she drifted off to sleep. Quoting Heisenberg: "Say my name"

Again, this is consistent with something we see later after the Tartaros arc; when FT disbanded Lucy spent a year tracking every single FT member. But after seeing Natsu's return we get a very interesting narration from the manga:

FT readers already know how the rest goes during the GMG. In their 2v2 fight, Natsu BFR'd his partner, Gajeel, so he could stomp by himself the members of the guild that brutalized Lucy.

Next moment is something similar to the first one I mentioned. Once again we know Natsu shares some traits typically found in the "Blood Knight" trope. He enjoys a good battle, and the GMG final offered many chances to fight very strong opponents. However under a series of plot-driven cirumstances, Lucy was put under arrest alongside a fellow celestial mage in the King's castle. Natsu was so infuriated by this that his guildmates had to tie him up in order to prevent him from storming the castle to rescue Lucy

While all the guildmates were mad about it, Natsu had the strongest emotional response and he chose to pass the chance to fight in the GMG final just to rescue Lucy

Lucy's reaction to this is both amusing and cute. Since she knows how much Natsu enjoys the thrill of a fight. Still, this is probably one of the smallest moments they had, as the following showings hold more significance and a greater impact.

From this point onwards the plot gets a little complicated for it introduces time-travel. A Lucy from the future comes with a warning about an invasion of dragons that will wipe most life on earth. Even though this is a fantasy setting, dragons haven't been seen in centuries. So naturally to imagine an army of them poping out of nowhere would seem hard to believe. Yet as soon a Lucy of the future finishes with her story, Natsu is already preparing himself for the attack much to her surprise. When she questions if her comrades will believe her, Natsu reaffirm his trust and faith in Lucy.

When Future Lucy laments not having a plan to deal with the attack, Natsu comforts her reassuring her they'll take care of the matter and in a very touching manner...

...he expressed his gratitude for Lucy's determination to protect their future

Makes me wonder why NaLu fans often disregard their meaningful moments for the sake of weaker premises. Style over substance is getting very old!

However, the plot gets even more complicated when we get another time traveler trying to ensure the bad future when nearly everyone dies actually happens. At first he tries to fool everyone by claiming Lucy is the one who triggers the upcoming apocalypse, when in reality she's one of the persons who can stop it! Yet Natsu, despite being as clueless as he is, doesn't buy the act and holds onto his trust/faith in Lucy. When the guy strikes down Future Lucy, Natsu his tears in his eyes and anger in his fist delievers this little yet meaningful line:

The tears

His line

Natsu stating how much Lucy means to him. This is consistent with another showing from the last arc. When Natsu thought Lucy was killed by their current enemy, he went into a berserker rage (and a new superform) in which he was killing everything that was getting in his way. Touch Lucy and you're getting burned to a crisp

I could actually mention the next one, but given the amount of fanservice it involved I prefer to overlook it and leave it to any real NaLu fan to explain what made it a great moment aside from the "frolicking" in the nude. For now, I'm going to jump straigh to this arc's conclusion:

As the 'dragon apocalypse' was prevented, we see Future Lucy reuniting with her comrades in what the chapter calls the "golden plains", the meaning of this place as well as its placement in time and space is up to interpretation, but who's there to recieve her. I'll give you three guesses, the first two don't count...

Natsu is there and as he enthusiastically takes her to reunite with the rest of their guildmates from her own timespace, she tears up for the joy she feels. The chapter focuses on Future Lucy's emotional response to seeing the Natsu of her timeline once again, which is consistent with the first time she sees Natsu in the present during the GMG. This effectively gives her character a closure and a happy ending. But that's not all, back to the present Lucy experiences all the feelings her future self felt in those moments at the "golden plains" and tears up as well, acting on those feelings she runs to Natsu and hugs him from behind while the chapter closes with the following words: 

"You don't need a reason to cry. All you need is to feel the warmth that dwells in your chest"

A highly poetic line that conveys Lucy’s feelings in that scene. This is more than enough emotional build-up leading to a logical conclusion:

A NaLu child XD (the other kid is a Gruvia child) Joking aside, this arc provides with a consistent protrayal of Natsu/Lucy bonding and their solid chemistry. Something not many are able to notice, but those who do come to appreciate even more the beauty, the appeal, and the strength of their emotional connection

Previous analysis on LuNa/NaLu chemistry here: http://warlordgab.tumblr.com/post/157284507416/analysis-chemistry

Previous analysis on LuNa's progression here: http://warlordgab.tumblr.com/post/163994230826/analysis-constructing-a-potent-relationship