#it flares up during my period after having my son and its just such a bitch to deal with

[crowshoots]

TIMELINE FOR JESPER'S DEMIGOD VERSE.

tada! here's the post that i was talking about early -- this post primarily covers the years that the percy jackson series covered, considering that i just finished my reread, but i do eventually want to drum up a prophecy for jesper and the rest of the crows to embark on after the events of heroes of olympus. there is a little bit at the end where i discuss what jesper was doing during the events of the lost hero and a few months after that, before the son of neptune.

from his birth all the way to being about fifteen, jesper was mostly on his father's farm. he remembers seeing monsters at the boundaries of the farm for as long as he can remember --always there, always lingering, but never crossing into the actual grounds of the family farm. aditi sometimes went out to shoot them, and she tended to return safely.

there was a day when she didn't. there had been a girl that she had been trying to protect. that was the very same day that jesper fahey plunged into the woods beyond their family farm, picked up the gun that was with aditi hilli's mangled body, and shot the karpoi that had killed her, all point blank in the forehead.

some notes about this period of time between 0 - 15:

the fahey family farm is a safe haven, and as a result jesper wasn't ever attacked inside of its boundaries. however, the monsters would brush up against the very edge of the boundary in attempt to snag jesper when he was running errands for his father.

colm had tried to send jesper to school after his mother died, considering the fact that she was homeschooling him and colm didn't have the time for that.

colm explained away the monsters as rabid animals, and although jesper really didn't believe him, it was the only way he could come to understand what happened. he heard a lot of growls and noises while he was tending the fields, and usually the farm animals seemed skittish at all times.

a lot of jesper's abilities didn't really strike colm as odd as they weren't too obvious as they manifested.

aditi's guns had twelve rounds, each with celestial bullets. they are a gift from hermes. the gun that jesper carries on her left hip has a sonic ability, letting out a boom loud enough to be heard in a giant radius and affecting monster (and usually halfblood) hearing. the gun on the right has the ability to confuse and disorient whatever it hits, their internal sense of direction and balance becoming jumbled. both of these abilities can be tied to one bullet in a full chamber of six, so jesper only has one shot at both abilities until she needs to reload and bind it to a particular bullet again.

at age fifteen, jesper was sent off to the united states as an international student. due to his skills and intelligence, he got accepted to a university that primarily specialized in taking in people with ADHD and other neurodivergences. when jesper was out at a gambling den, he was attacked by monsters.

he joined up with other half-bloods before even knowing exactly what they all were yet. she went on the run with kaz brekker and inej ghafa, traveling across the entirety of the united states for about a year to a year and a half before they stumbled into a satyr.

inej and kaz are both half-bloods, but none of them exactly know it. they just stick together and run. none of them have nectar and ambrosia while they're moving, so any injuries that they mantain are ones that they have to shoulder and keep moving with, including kaz's leg.

they all have weapons that they can use to fight monsters. jesper has to be particular about wasting the bullets in his chambers, since they only have twelve, so a role they also play is bait/traps/etc. in addition jesper mentally has a pull towards the east coast so he offers to navigate, although they're not exactly sure where they're being pulled to go

jesper does try and call colm a few times which unfortunately sends up a giant flare to their location said few times.

at age sixteen, jesper and her friends are finally led to camp half-blood. all three of them are shoved into the hermes cabin, and while jesper is claimed in the first few days, kaz and inej take longer. inej is claimed not soon after, and kaz not at all. while jesper easily makes new friends at camp, there's a certain sort of... wariness that she has with interacting with the other campers. it's a lot of information, but she has no problem befriending anyone. she's a charmer, that's for sure.

she keeps hearing whispers about luke. it's hard not to, when you're in the hermes cabin.

she arrives at camp halfblood in the summer of titan's curse, which is about six months before the events of that book actually take place

although i think jesper would technically be the eldest demigod in the hermes cabin, he doesn't feel comfortable with the role of head cabin leader, especially not since she just arrived at camp, so it doesn't go to her

in the few days before she was claimed, there was some ideas ruminating about jesper being a son of apollo due to their skills with a bow and arrow after they adjusted to not using a gun. while jesper still has the guns with them, they kept them a quiet secret from majority of the camp goers for quite a while. the exception to this was the hephaestus kids, as jesper was working with them to make more bullets melted with celestial bronze. due to their engineer-like brain and their skill with those types of task, there was also some thought of them being a hephaestus child

absolutely a BEAST at capture the flag. good with horses as well

no interaction with hermes ever in their life, nor do they really care. they hear a lot about kronos' army and gathering strength and they see some deserters and while jesper isn't SUPER keen on the gods, they don't see the point of deserting either

pals with the stoll brothers <3 they bet and barter with camp chores all the time

at age seventeen, jesper goes back to ireland to visit his father, who has been worried sick about him ever since he got news of jesper not showing up for an entire semester at school. while colm hasn't been bothered by monsters ever since jesper disappeared, he's really missed him :( and yet, when jesper comes back, it's immediately his presence that starts attracting them back to the farm. as a result, after a summer, jesper comes back to camp half-blood and starts spending the rest of his year there, although seemingly with no interest of going to college.

instead, jesper spends the year prior to the second titan war being one of the scouts for watching kronos' army, considering their abilities and their skills. when kronos attacks, jesper fights alongside the hermes cabin.

jesper's hearing was damaged by a fight between several monsters and the hermes cabin. in addition to some damage already done by handling guns as their main weapon, both ears are affected so badly that they develop mild deafness in both ears.

after the events of the second titan war, jesper offers their skills in engineering for helping construct new cabins, particularly fun little things for the cabin interior. he also visits his dad in ireland again for a few months where he tells him the whole truth about what exactly happened over the past few years to him. in return colm tells him about meeting hermes, who jesper still has not spoken to at all yet

after the events of the last olympian, jesper still is in camp. they're starting to consider going to university again, especially because they feel like they've gotten a lot better mentally, until percy goes missing. for the events of the lost hero, jesper is off towards the west coast actively looking for percy, considering their skill with direction, and their father being the god of travelers and thieves, letting them go around generally undetected while keeping their wits about them. also i think possible as a kid of hermes she's able to keep a cell phone on her, used for emergencies, and her abilities let her scramble the transmission and signal a little bit if she needs to get an emergency voice message out.

it's here that jesper gets sucked into the curse of the lotus hotel and casino. it just happens. it's an itch that she needs to scratch, after attempting to . the world settles around her, the things that have been nagging her go away. it feels good to be at the tables, the same way it felt good all those years ago before everything went wrong. but it's okay. she's safe. she's not.

jesper spends a day and a half in there. the first day is her gambling nonstop, enjoying the adrenaline and enjoying the glee. her abilities as a kid of hermes means that people around her get good luck, so she made easy friends at the casino.

the extra half of a day is after she starts spotting glimpses of her (dead) mother in the corners of her vision, and she keeps getting calls from her father and her friends. for the first time in the entirety of the lotus casino's history, one of patrons has a meltdown right amongst everyone else having a good time. jesper absolutely cracks and staggers off to a private corner and starts yelling at himself, as well as other old harmful anxious habits. it takes her far too long to save herself from having a meltdown and an overstimulation episode. just as she's teetering on the edge, someone sits down right next to her, puts their hand on the small of her back, tells her to put her head down and breathe. she does.

it's the same technique jesper's always used to calm herself in these episodes. when she lifts her head: it's the first time she's stared hermes in the eye.

when jesper leaves the casino, it's been the equivalent of about three months since she was last seen or contacted. people had assumed that she died out there.

[mrskurono]

Im the anon with the previous Makki ask! You’re totally valid on your view and absolutely it is ridiculous how Makki is either brushed aside or has been interpreted really poorly in fanon! He totally is his own person. Wishing you a quick recovery from the nerve pain! I’d be pissy too from that and any other annoyances.

Pls know I wasn't mad at you at all anon!! I actually adore Mattsun. He's basically a 6'2 version of my wife and I don't mind the ship or poly ship at all (as I've written a few things for it before)

Just the combo of shit fanon Makki and then some cunt weasel decided to reblog my Makki content just to bash on him pissed me off this morning (which I've been cranky for a few days it didn't help)

Makki is terrific and if we're being honest I've probably had a crush on him longer than I realized (for I am dumb as shit) And I just hate people saying they "like" Makki only to find out they like a cucked Makki who just tags along with Mattsun. They're friendship is great but jfc people Makki is still his own person as is Mattsun.

The narrative that Makki is dumb, lazy and useless drives me batshit. Sure he wasn't in college prep classes but he wasn't below average either. And he wasn't some stand alone jokester that only fucked with people. He was engaging and encouraging to his underclassman and regularly praised and was kind to both Kunimi and Kindaichi. (I mean for fucksake he got Kunimi to engage with him more than anyone else could get Kunimi to) And he was mature and present during games and times with the other grads. Not to mention he was literally the same position as Iwa. An outside hitter is no slouch job he was Seijoh's second ace and everyone just thinks he's lazy? (Which brings me back to the eye narrative we had a few weeks back but thats a different rant) There's just so much subtle context to Makki people push out of the way when they see timeskip Makki is between jobs. So what? I'm not working and haven't been for some time (extending prior to being pregnant too) so people who don't work are lazy and just don't have the motivation? That's bull crap and a lame excuse to wanna pigeon hole Makki's character. The same crap happens with my other favs and istg I'm just really good at picking characters people like to sweep under the carpet 🙄

Anyways sorry for the rant! None of that was directed at you anon <3 Only at every twat waffle in the hq fandom who thinks Makki is 1. Ugly 2. Lazy and 3. Useless without Mattsun <3 If y'all are either of those three then kindly gtfo people <3

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

#i wonder what your thoughts on diaspora in hetalia are#cause its a pretty interesting topic (the post in question)

@urmomsstuntdouble a collection of things that I think about on a semi-regular basis below the cut (also thank you for the tags!)

Disclaimer: I think this turned into more of a discussion of immigration and immigrants, but I hope this strikes your fancy anyways 😅. Also this got SO LONG and I explained quite a bit of history (because idk whether anyone knows much about this), so the key thoughts will be bolded!

My thoughts are kinda complicated about this tbh; it’s weird, because if China really did exist as a personification in real life, we’d probably both be judging each other, just for different reasons 😅.

General Hetalia Cases

I think when discussing immigrants/diaspora, you have to think about why different immigrants left. @cupofkey kinda discussed that a while ago (if anyone hasn’t seen this superb post, GO READ IT NOW) about the Vietnamese diaspora, and I think there’s some of that in every country. How do the immigrants feel about the home country? Why did they leave: because of hard times, poverty? Political instability/revolution/war? Opportunities overseas? Are they doing well in their new home, or still struggling? Does their new country treat them like foreigners or outcasts, unworthy of even arriving, or doing anything besides menial labor, or have they been welcomed (rather unlikely)? Do they hate their home country (politically), or miss them? Would they ever go back, not just to visit family or the place of their birth, but to return permanently?

I think on the whole, hetalia nations would still maintain a connection to their immigrants, especially since most are still in touch with their culture, although they’ve crossed borders or changed nationalities. (However, the angst of not being as in touch with your culture as you think you should is so real; would our home countries be disappointed? Or do they sympathize, somehow?) In the end, we’re all the same that way. Plus, the alternative thought of them just disowning immigrants feels weird; I don’t even know how that would be possible. But I think that connection gets complicated by the reason people left, and their feelings for their place of origin; I’ll be using APH China and Chinese Americans as an example to discuss this hksdgsdf (sorry I don’t want to do more research than necessary and I have Thoughts about this)

**OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER that immigration/diaspora discussions are almost always case by case and will vary greatly based on things like country of origin/race/ethnicity, country immigrated to, initial socioeconomic status, time period, etc. And even among diaspora, people can and will have vastly different experiences, and it’s not good to generalize. These are just some thoughts with one example.**

1. Waves of Immigration 

Depending on when people arrive, they’ve got different push/pull factors drawing them to a country and it also factors into how the nation feels about them and vice versa... Chinese immigration to the US has mostly two major waves (you could also say there were 3, counting the post-WWII/Communist China wave, but I won’t talk about that): one in the mid 1800s and the other after the 1970s/1980s into modern day; the gap is because the Chinese Exclusion Act (1882) that banned most immigration from China wasn’t repealed until 1943 (because of Japan’s attack on the US in WWII, the US needed China as an ally).

IMMIGRATION WAVE 1: MID 1800s

These immigrants were mostly from southern China (Canton area), and they came to the US because of hard times (Opium Wars + political instability because of things like the Taiping Rebellion) and economic opportunity in the West (eg. Gold Rush (San Francisco is literally “Old Gold Mountain” in Chinese today) + industrialization, railroads, expansion etc.). There was Much Discrimination against those immigrants, and many worked as hard laborers in a variety of occupations (on railroads, gold mine, farms (in the South esp), laundry businesses; there were merchants as well, but they were the minority); many were looking to get some money that they could send back to their families in China and planned to return, but over time, they settled down and stayed. I think for those immigrants, Yao would definitely be understanding, even if he might not be empathetic. After all, he’s not thriving at that time either, and although he thinks Alfred is inferior to him (in many ways), he understands why people would be drawn by economic promise and quick wealth, even if it might not be the best strategy for getting rich. It’s not like staying in China would be better lmao. However, I don’t think he would approve (?) how many of his immigrants stayed in the US when most viewed it as a temporary move; I think Yao is very surprised by how so many of them persisted to carve out a home there, despite the discrimination and limited opportunities. Perhaps he admires their resilience, the creation of Chinatowns and community and how they still come to a country that doesn’t even let them in (see the San Francisco Fire of 1906 and the boon for paper sons), but still wishes they would come back, however unlikely that hope is. Personally, Yao would never be able to stay in Alfred’s country, the beautiful country, if Alfred’s hypocrisy prevented his experience, his immigrant’s experience, from being anything close to beautiful. (You were founded by immigrants and foreigners, but now you spurn them: the poor sojourners who continue to flee to your shores, and refuse them respite from the disasters at home.) And anyways, Alfred is just the next scrappy young upstart, barely 70 years old but with a swagger like he rules the world; how could he have something over himself, the Middle Kingdom, who has stood the test of time? (Admittedly, he’s doing nowhere as well as Alfred—even he can see that, despite his pride, and despite the haze of opium in his brain. Leaving is the logical, objectively sound choice. Still, his pride hurts vaguely when he thinks how his immigrants keep choosing a country that keeps rejecting them, over and over again, instead of himself. But it is no matter. The injury to his ego is inconsequential and easily brushed aside; for they are still his people, and they deserve a good life, wherever they are. His distaste for Alfred flares up again: Arthur’s bastard child, who takes advantage of his trade (see the Open Door Notes, 1899-1900), but refuses his people.)

if anyone wants more context or is interested in the history I mentioned, I highly recommend this pdf (from the book A Different Mirror: A History of Multicultural America by Ronald Takaki)

IMMIGRATION FROM 1949 TO 1980: according to Wikipedia, there was very little immigration from mainland China during this period due to the Cold War and China becoming Communist; most of the immigration was from Taiwan/ROC but counted in the quota for China. Since there’s a separate Hetalia personification for TWN, I’m not going to go over that. However, there were also many people from Mainland China who escaped to Hong Kong, still a British colony, during that period (I hope it’s clear why, but if anyone asks I’ll put it in a separate post); some stayed there, while others emigrated to the US; both trips were for more freedoms and a better life etc because China was really really messed up for a bit (also keep in mind the people emigrating all had the means to and were at least middle class, usually somewhat educated, etc.). I will not be talking about that group either because I don’t think it’s my place to, but please know they exist as well.

IMMIGRANT WAVE 2: 1980s ONWARD

A lot of people came from mainland China for education; there was also an. exodus of intellectuals following 1989 (which I Will Not get into). Many of these people sought job opportunities, like those that rapidly opened up in the computer industry, there are many students who come here to study abroad, who take SATs and TOEFLs to get into good US colleges or to conduct graduate research and get PhDs; some stay, others have gone back to like, advance China’s development (this sentiment of getting good students to go abroad and then go back to China to use their talents for Patriotic Purposes isn’t a new thing, stretches back to like the late 1800s). I don’t really have much to say about this group besides what’s below ↓. 

2. Immigrant Thoughts On Their Home Country

more complicated, because it varies by generation and time period and probably 203943 other things. Mainlanders that came over starting in the 1990s till now have relatively positive feelings towards China (imo, extrapolating from my life experiences); I think part of that is also because most* of these immigrants aren’t really escaping from something? They’re coming for an education/job opportunities (students studying abroad in the US (留学生 or liuxuesheng) for graduate school or university come to mind as one example), and they’re still very much connected to China politically and culturally, sometimes* more so than to the US. For these immigrants, I think Yao doesn’t worry too much about them? They’re pretty successful* overall*, and discrimination, although still A Large Problem™, isn’t the same from stuff that Yao (or his immigrants) remember from, say the mid 1800s (see above), or even during the paranoia about Communists after WWII and the subsequent Chinese Confession Program that made many people really scared of being deported. (Red China made Chinese Americans a target of the Communist panic, and the confession program was instated in order to make sure Communist spies couldn’t infiltrate the US. Those who immigrated illegally could confess that and gain citizenship; however you also had to weed out everyone you knew who also immigrated illegally.) I think Yao would see them as an extension of himself in a different land; they’re very much still part of him, and he gives them his well wishes.

However, I think that immigrants born in the US in modern day at least (1990s onwards) are definitely more ambivalent about China’s legacy + modern day Issues™, as much as we are connected via culture and heritage. Not quite sure how Yao would feel about that, because I’m not quite sure how much Yao is the state and how much he represents the people. However, I think there would be some mutual unease; does he see this as betrayal of some kind? Perhaps he doesn’t blame us for feeling as we do? Maybe he wonders what we feel about him; maybe he doesn’t want to know. Maybe he chooses the easier route: to focus on the bonds between him and his huayi instead of the grievances, and leave the rest unsaid. 

Additionally with first gen immigrants, there’s the conflicting feeling of being stuck between two worlds and value systems that oppose each other in many respects. Also there’s sometimes a feeling of not-quite-being-in-touch-with-your-culture (in other diaspora as well, ofc. here it’s often exemplified by forgetting or not knowing how to read and write Chinese proficiently, among other things 🙃); idk. does Yao see that as a bit of a disappointment? Would he wish us to try harder? Does he view it as inevitable, for those raised in the US; the environment is too different, and perhaps he won’t blame us for those differences, or shortcomings. Does Yao know, or care, about the racism? What about his immigrants who try to assimilate completely into American culture, who try to erase the Chinese part of their identity? Those that have tried it, but regretted it? Are they still his, when they have tried rejecting their connection to him, choosing to drop the “Chinese” from Chinese American? Does he consider racism when thinking about them? What about international adoptees? Does he claim them, when some have not been raised in a culturally Chinese environment, and when it’s still a sensitive subject on both sides of the ocean? I don’t have answers to many of these questions.

There are also immigrants who fled China because of war or persecution or upheaval, (one example is with regards to the Cultural Revolution), but I don’t feel qualified to discuss it here, and I don’t want to take it lightly.

But, despite everything I’ve discussed above, I’d like to think that however an immigrant feels about their home country or however long they’ve been there, all nation personifications would still wish them a better life (even Yao). I mean, it’s not always easy being an immigrant/part of a diaspora (especially when race becomes a factor). I really don’t think any of the hetalia characters would say “look at your struggles. What a mistake it was to immigrate somewhere where you still face so many challenges, although they might be different from the ones back home”. that’s just No. Also, I think that when you disregard sentimentality and their inherent connection to the people, countries would still be able to sympathize with people trying to strive for better, you know? People immigrate for a better life, whether it’s because it was getting rough when they left or because other places had more potential, and like. although nation-people can’t leave their own country, I think they understand the people who do, because it’s a chance to make a new life, and it would be unkind, counterproductive, limiting, to prevent someone from taking that opportunity if it came. And their children, and grandchildren; they are still connected to their origins even in a new country, by blood if nothing else, and nations are people too; they must have some sentimentality for their people born in a different land. I’d like to think that if Yao met a Chinese American kid running around San Francisco’s Chinatown, or bumped into an ABC high schooler in a well to do Massachusetts suburb, he’d stop and nod and maybe say hello, and wish them luck, wherever they go in the future. After all, they are the products of his immigrant’s hopes and dreams, and they are his too, as much as they live in Alfred’s land.

* (asterisks): this is a) from my experience and research; not everyone will have the same experiences! please keep this in mind and don’t generalize a very vast group of people. :)

Idk if that was too sentimental or rambly or something, but yeah, those are some of the things I consider when I think about nations and their diasporas. If you made it down here, thanks for reading! I greatly appreciate it. Also I hope I got all my facts correct, but if anyone spots anything incorrect, especially regarding the post 1980s immigration wave, please tell me! Tried doing my research but there are still a few things I’m unsure about rip. 

This might be deleted tomorrow because I’m feeling weird about it, but feel free to reblog! I’d also very much love some feedback too if any of y’all are feeling up to it

[4kyl0]

ache.

part ii.

pairing: ben solo x reader

summary: it had been one long grueling year since you last saw ben solo. during that period, you joined the resistance. ben on the other hand, was still the fearless supreme leader of the first order, kylo ren. now, an odd calling lead him back to varykino; revealing secrets and memories that were “meant” to stay hidden. (takes place in the midst of tros)

rating: sfw. more angst than fluff this time.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: sorry for the long wait! i’m finishing up school at the moment :)

“Supreme Leader, you cant just leave—”

“Enough.”

"A war is happening—"

"And your men will finish it." Kylo practically snarled, turning to the uptight general behind him.

Hux grew quiet, glaring daggers at him."Might I ask where you're going, Supreme Leader?" he spat, his lip quivering in anger.

"I'm not obligated to tell you about my whereabouts," Kylo was quick to retort. He felt as if his stomach were in knots.

Varykino had been calling him. He dreamt about it night after night, its memory prodding at the back of his mind everyday. He was unsure what it meant, but he would not rest until he understood. His stomach lurched if he even thought about acting on it. He wondered aimlessly if you were still there. Still alive and well. But he shielded those thoughts away, diminishing all feelings with it.

"I'll be gone for a week or less. nothing more. I expect full reports on everything when I return, General Hux," his modulated voice broke the uneasy silence between the two. Before Hux could respond, Kylo stormed off, his boots echoing throughout Starkiller Base.

***

You had left. Which was even more nerve wracking. The lake retreat was caked with dust, a few cracks in the foundation here and there. Only a year had passed, yet it was falling apart.

Kylo stopped in front of the villa. The pull was stronger than it was ever before. He didn't know why, but he took his leather gloves off, starting to walk towards the entrance now. Taking one of his calloused hands, he dragged it softly against one of the smooth, but cracked, walls. A sudden urge made him come to a halt once more.

Turning his gaze to the wall, the cracks glowed a vibrant light blue. His breath caught in his throat. A force essence, he thought. He had encountered a few before, when he was a padawan. But he never sought them out. What surprised him was that he had never seen one so luminous like now. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he placed his hands on the crack, feeling him slip out of reality.

"I saw my mother," a young man spoke, his appearance showing that he was a Jedi padawan. "She is suffering badly," he added, turning to a woman behind him. she was young, like him. She had curly brown hair passing shoulder length. It looked like she was wearing a night gown and robe.

"I saw her as clearly as I see you now," he breathed, continuing to hold gaze with the woman. Lingering far too long, he turned his back to her again, walking a few steps forward. A sigh escaped him, "She is in pain." He turned to the woman once more, "I know I'm disobeying my mandate to protect you senator, but I have to go," the young padawan fretted, now taking a few steps towards the woman. "I have to help her." he whimpered, trembling a little.

She locked eyes with him, the emotion that had plastered itself on her face was unreadable. She hadn't spoke a word.

"I'll go with you," she assured; her voice smooth and calm.

"I'm sorry, I don't have a choice—"

Gasping, Kylo pushed off the wall harshly. His mind was spiraling. Who are they? He wondered, the two felt oddly familiar. He didn't know how exactly, neither his mother or father ever mention such people. He huffed, clenching is fists into tight balls. Eventually calming down, he continued to explore the what was once a grand lake house.

After what felt like days of searching out for anything, Kylo made it to the balcony; the last place he ever saw you. The memory felt fresh, as if it happened yesterday. Thinking of you made his shoulders sag, a huff passing through his lips. Even if you were upset, you were still beautiful. No, he thought, you hurt her. Sighing, the cloaked knight walked to the edge of the balcony, looking out on the view. It felt more dull; as if the scenery had lost an ounce of the bright colors it once had.

A flash of blue caught his eye. Turning his head, he saw a deep crack along the stone rail, the glow erupting from it more vibrant than ever. Like before, he took a deep breath, and let it go slowly. Lifting his hand, he placed it on top of the fracture, closing his eyes.

"I don't like sand." it was the padawan again, the woman from before beside him as well. "It's course and ruff and irritating—" he proceeded to fidget with stray pebbles along the rail "—and it gets everywhere." Dropping the pebbles, the young padawan looked out, "not like here, here everything is soft," his gaze averted to the senator. He bit his lip, hesitant, "and smooth." his hand rubbed against her own, and  moved up her back. The young woman turned to look at him. They stared at each other quietly, the padawan even smiling a little.

Ever so slowly, he inched closer to her, their eyes still locked on each other. Closing the distance, they kissed. It was passionate, as if the two had longed for one another. As quickly as it happened, the senator pulled away, "no." she gasped, "I shouldn't have done that," she avoided his gaze.

"I'm sorry," he broke the short lived awkward silence. He lifted his head up, his eyes searching to look at anything but her. They both looked pained.

Yanking his hand from the stone rail, Kylo shuddered. The scene replayed in his head over and over again, making him groan aloud. I shouldn't have come here, his mind was buzzing, it was a mistake. Collecting himself, the cloaked knight let out a frustrated groan. It wasn't clear to what the Force was trying to tell him, but he didn't want to know either. For all he knew, it seemed like a distraught couple's spirits wallowing in the vacant structure. Yet, he felt strangely connected to them.

Turning around, Kylo took one step before going still. A signature in the Force practically knocked him off of his feet. It felt familiar; but it was strong, and not budging. Sucking air in through his nose and out, he clutched at his lightsaber, planting his feet firmly on the ground.

"You're quite loud," his modulated voice taunted, "projecting yourself? You lack of stealth and common sense." He closed his eyes, focusing on his surroundings through the Force.

As a twig snapped beside him, Kylo was quick to unsheathe his saber, pointing it intimidatingly at the shaded figure. He smirked, "come out into the light."

Complying, the figure walked out of the shadows, revealing you pointing a blaster at his chest.

His breath hitched, and his shoulders became more tense by the second. You changed; drastically so. You no longer wore fine dresses and headbands, in place of them was a leather jacket and combat boots. Your eyes failed to hold the brightness it once obtained; they were dull, and glassy.

"What are you doing here?" you barked, your tone low and harsh.

"I could ask you the same thing," Kylo retorted, his voice holding no emotion.

The both of you stood in silence, observing each other. It had only been a year, yet it felt like a thousand. Seeing you only brought back the feeling of being touch starved, and how much he craved intimacy with you. But things were different now, he knew he shouldn't feel this way.

"I see you haven't changed," your voice broke through the quiet. He didn't respond. "Still wearing that ridiculous helmet, too. I must say, you added flare to it with the little red streaks."

Oh, you were teasing him now. Anger bubbled up in his stomach, but he refused to lash out. He didn't want to scare you, but that angered him even more. He should feel the need to lash out at you, make you realize how miserable you made him felt.

Kylo huffed, "And I see that you've changed." Lowering his gaze, he practically growled. The Resistance symbol had been embroidered on the sleeve of your jacket, "a Resistance fighter."

You paused; your facial expression morphing into sadness. Your gaze flickered to him and the lake. You were nervous.

"Ben—" you hesitated, but continued, "she misses you," you mumbled. "I miss you," you managed to make eye contact with him as you spoke those words, even through his helmet.

Kylo hadn't noticed he stopped breathing. Ben, he thought; as if he had almost forgotten it. Ever since he had fought with you, the mere mention of his actual name made him nauseous. How much hurt was prominent in your voice when you cried it. How you were drowning in your own tears that day. He shivered.

"Her son—" he faltered as you did before,"—is dead." He felt like he was reciting a poem. "He was weak and foolish," his deep voice bellowed throughout the retreat, "so I killed him."

Your bottom lip quivered as your eyes glossed over. Returning your blaster to your holster, you slowly walked over to Kylo, now having to crane your neck to look up at him. His eyes darted to where his lightsaber should be, but it was on the floor, the intimidating red spark that once flared now dead.

"No," you shook your head, your hands reaching for the sides of his helmet. He didn't stop you, "he's not dead." With a hiss, you pulled the clunky piece of metal off of his head, tossing it to the far end of the balcony. As Ben's dark curls fell to frame his face, his gaze never left yours.

You held back a gasp. He was still unbelievably beautiful, even more so. "If anything, Ben Solo is alive, and he wants to be free," you proclaimed in a hushed tone, holding his face in your small hands.

Ben started to breathe harder and harder, the proximity of how close your faces were to each other caused you to feel the little puffs of air exit through his nose as he did so. He missed this. How you held his face, how you kissed him, how you embraced him. He could feel his face grow hot.

“Come with me,” you breathed, your eyes now half-lidded. “Please,” your voice dripped with longing.

“I—” the sound of an X-Wing flying by cut Ben off. Snapping his head up to the sky, he saw the orange paint streaked across the craft. His heart dropped to his stomach. “You called them here,” he snarled, his gaze returning to yours. All color had drained from your face.

“Ben—”

Holding his hand out to where his helmet was thrown, it instantly flew back in his palm. Yanking it over his head, he snatched his lightsaber from the ground. “If you follow me, I won’t hesitate to split you in half,” he fumed, now stomping away from the balcony.

There you stood. Shocked and hurt. Alone. Your bottom lip quivered, but you refused to recognize it.

Resistance fighters came piling in the broken structure, scouting the premises for Kylo Ren.

“Where did he go? Did you see him? Are you okay?” one asked, squeezing your shoulder softly.

You paused, in thought, “No,” you answered, all emotion vacant from your voice. “No, I didn’t see him.”

tag list:

@crazynocturnalkiki @star-marvel-fangirl @kiaoizz @reddieisrealbitches @jiminie-slytherin @moonprincess003 @heda-mikaelson

[imagination-is-key-in-my-world]

Lockdown

Authors Note: I am a British writer and luckily enough I have never actually had to experience something like this happening. I cannot imagine what it must be like. There is reference to the ‘shooting’ during the fanfiction, therefore, I do not blame anyone if they differ from reading this. Nothing is graphic and if anything it only gets mentioned for a small portion and there is no one hurt either. I would really like to do a part two. Let me know if anyone is interested.

Summary: It was just a normal day in Beacon Hills. Y/N and her friends were going about her business when a gun threat disrupted the balance of things. Strangers and potential foes grew closer as their lives hung in the balance.

Warning: Gun Threat, Swearing, Adult Language and Themes

Pairing: Reader x Stiles Stilinski

Word Count: 3,787

“You can not tell me that you didn’t just see that look he gave you?” Jackson brushed up against my side as I tried to jot down the new notes that Coach was terribly transcribing on the chalk board. I mean was that even spelt correctly, how did this man become a legal teacher?

“It is probably just in your head Jackson.” I counter.

“No he is seriously giving you the stink eye. What is McCall’s problem?”

I shrug him off as he is up to his typical shit stirring mode. Jackson and I are neighbours and long-time friends. Since I was nine, we were barely ever apart, we shared our biggest secrets with one another. Mine was that I am the daughter of two illusive demon hunters. I am the only person who knows that he has been pretending to be someone who he is not. Jackson has been in a secret relationship with Ethan. Deep down Jackson was a sweetheart. A sweetheart who cannot control his mouth or fists but Ethan and I are working on that.

“Come on Y/N!” He bumped my arm which made my hand jerk and my notes start to resemble that of Coach’s horrible penmanship. If there is one thing that I hate, its when my notes are not written one hundred percent perfectly. I slam down my pen and turn abruptly in my chair to face Jackson, which sparks some attention from the brunette boy on the table in front. He did not fully turn his head around which was lucky for me as my cheeks immediately go red from embarrassment.

“What is your problem Jackson?” I enquire, nostrils practically flaring which only invoked a chuckle from my best friend.

“Take that chip off of your shoulder and listen to me would you.” He countered as he pushed a note into my hand. “Read this and tell me you wish I left you to copy down that gibberish from the board.”

I huffed and started to carefully unfold the piece of paper. Coach didn’t really care if we showed up to the lesson, let alone if we were actually listening. I read it three times before I actually registered what the words were telling me.

Hey Y/N If you could would you be able to meet me in the west stairwell after 3rd period? You look really pretty today, btw    

“Jackson, who is this from?” The boy shrugged and dropped his head to focus on the words coming out of Coach’s mouth. “Don’t pretend like you care about what he is saying” I gesture to the shaggy haired man “now tell me at least who you got this from.”

Jackson pointed to Lydia who was not at all aware of the two pairs of eyes on her as she casually scribbled in her journal. “But I have no clue who had the note before her. It was probably that McCall.” He sneered. I exhale disappointedly, as much as Scott was a nice guy and all, I don’t want this to be from him. I do not have anything against the guy, he is just not someone who I would want to be interested in me. He seems to always be around trouble, and that is something I cannot be involved in.

“Why don’t you just go and see who it is. I will go with you and if it turns out to be McCall, I will rescue you.” He gave my hand a slight squeeze for reassurance and gazed down at my notebook. “By the way what did you get for number four?”

I laugh a little too loud which causes the brunette to turn around and give me a quick glance that I couldn’t translate in time before he was facing the front again. Again, my cheeks flared, the same way that they do every time his eyes meet mine. I shake the thought away and turn back to my friend. “Jackson, did you think this was a test the whole time? Number four is literally asking you to write down your height.”

 _____________________________________________________________

I was packing my stuff into my bag as the bell rang. “So, are you going to meet this mystery person?” Lydia enquired as I put my water bottle into the slot at the side of my bag, looping the strap over my one arm.

Lydia and I do not really talk, but considering she was my only lead on who this note could have been from, I bit the bullet and spoke to my lab partner. As we were filling the beakers with corrosive liquid, I came straight out with it. “So, about this note you handed to Jackson for me? Do you know who it was from?”

Lydia shook her head, a little startled that I asked her a question that wasn’t ‘can you pass me the pipette?’ “No, to be honest I can not even say who had passed me the note. When I looked down from the board it was just there lying on top of my journal. I am sorry Y/N, I wish I were able to help more but I honestly wouldn’t be able to say who gave it to me.”

I was a little discouraged by only knowing what I did during first period and it was now third. I was meant to meet this person in only a matter of minutes. Lydia and I continued to talk throughout the class. She was really nice to talk to, but I could sense that there was something about her that wasn’t normal. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something.

“I have no clue if I am going to go or not.” I admit, letting the anxiety slip in. It would be hard enough for me to go through with it even if I knew who it was I was going to meet up with. This person said I was ‘pretty,’ for all I knew this could be a joke. That’s all I needed, I was already the girl with all the ancient supernatural protection runes all over my person and possessions. My mum and dad are hunters, and I have been brought up in a world where I cannot go anywhere without some protection. The salt and holy water in my bag is proof of that.

“Well, I hope whoever it is, knows how amazing you are. If he doesn’t, he will have me to deal with.” She bumped my hip with hers and waved as she left the lab.

I picked up the last item on the table and turned to leave the classroom when I was knocked onto the floor, landing hard on my butt. At first, it felt as though I had walked straight into an invisible force field. Little had I registered that it was a person.

“Oh shit!” It was the brunette from this morning. ‘Dammit’ I thought. I could already feel my cheeks start to turn red. Why did this always have to happen. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to; I wasn’t looking where I was going.” The brunette boy bent down to help me up from the floor.

I brush off my jeans once I am back on my feet, avoiding making eye contact with the boy in front of me. He too looked really nervous as if this incident was his worst nightmare. “I- it’s o- okay.” I stutter. Really voice, of all the times you want to fail me, it’s now. “I w- was just going.” I try to walk past him when a blaring siren started ringing throughout the school.

Panic flashed across my face and his too. Everyone’s worst nightmare, a gun drill. The siren was one hundred percent recognisable. “Get down!” The brunette boy threw himself at me as I yet again landed flat on my backside but with him on top of me this time. We were both frozen for a couple of seconds, my eyes locked on his and it might sound girly, but I could literally lose myself in them.

Finally, he lifted himself up off me and slid underneath one of the tables. I copied and mirrored him under the table in front of his. “I’m sorry, I thought I saw someone walk past the window inconspicuously behind you. I just panicked.” His eyes searched my body, the way that I was now hugging my legs, resting my chin on top of my knees. “Oh God, did I hurt you?” Fear flooded his face at the thought that he may have caused me any pain.

I shake my head. “No.” I whisper. “I’m okay, thank you.” My hand instantly goes to play with the locket that hung around my neck.

“What’s that?” His eyes caught my fingers tracing the metal details.

I freeze. “What’s what?”

The brunette flicked his head towards the chain that was between my fingers.

“Oh, it’s a necklace my dad gave me, to protect me.”

The boy smiled. “That’s cool. My dad gave me a baseball bat to protect me.” I felt the corners of my lips rise into a slight smile.

“I bet you wish you had it now?” I enquire.

The boy sniggered. “If only a bat was an equal match.” I knew what he was on about. A bat could not compare to a gun. “Wanna know something funny?”

“Something funny would be great right about now.” I could feel my foot start to twitch the way that it did when my mum and dad were out on a hunt. Total and utter uselessness. I was a sitting duck.

“My dad once told me that I am always at the centre of some drama.” He let out a sigh. “That wasn’t really that funny was it?”

I shake my head but smile. “Your dad seems like a smart man.”

He smiled and raised a hand to ruffle his hair. God why did he look so good when he did that. “He has to be, I mean he is the sheriff.”

“You’re the sheriff’s son?” I question my eyes went wide in shock. I had heard a lot about this boy. He was best friends with Scott McCall and his dad is right, he always seemed to be in trouble.

He smiled beautifully if that were possible during a terrifying circumstance. “Yeah, you didn’t think it was a coincidence that I am called Stiles Stilinski and there would be no relation to Sheriff Stilinski?” His smile and baffled tone made me smile back at him. “It’s not as common as most surnames. I mean what’s yours?”

“Winchester.” I reply.

“Now that is not a common surname.” He leaned out from under the desk with his arm stretched out. I took his in return. “Nice to meet you Y/N Winchester.”

“You too Stiles Stilinski.” My eyes locked onto his and our hands clung to each other. It felt like we had been holding hands for hours, completely frozen in each other’s gazes.

Suddenly there was a loud pop that rang throughout the building. This tore our hands apart finally. I retreated under the table and moved my legs back up to my chest, creating a shield. Stiles did the same but did not take his eyes off me. I started gripping onto my locket as my breathing became more rapid. I was normally better at threats, my parents dealt with the supernatural world. They battled ghosts, demons, vampires and even werewolves and yet a civilian with a gun going around the school, finger on the trigger, changed me into a nervous wreck.

There was this scuffling noise and suddenly there were arms around me holding me tight. “Shh, its okay Y/N.” Stiles was holding onto me, trying his best to soothe my breathing down. “Breathe with me okay. Copy me. Y/N, you need to look at me.” His hands were either side of my face as he whispered to keep our location a secret. “You can do this. Ready?”

My eyes locked onto his, tear stains running down my cheeks. I watched him attentively as he took each breath. I copied never losing eye contact with those light brown eyes. “That’s it. One more time okay?” His thumb caressed my cheek as I nodded. My breathing finally falling back into place. I take my last breath and let it fall. “That’s it.”

I thought now that my breathing was back to normal that Stiles would release me, but he didn’t. He held his grasp onto my body and did not look away. “Are you okay?” He whispered, his voice getting caught in this throat. Part of me wanted to say yes, to pretend that I was this tough girl. But the boy had just seen me during a panic attack. Me saying that I was not okay wasn’t going to come to be that much of a surprise. I shake my head.

“It’s okay not to be okay sometimes.” I went to wipe a tear that was falling from my cheek but Stiles was there before I got a chance. “Do you want to know a secret?”

I nod, dropping my legs from my chest. “I’m afraid of a lot of things. My friends and I, we face a lot of scary things and for most of it, I feel like I will die. But the thing is, we could die. But that could happen any day and at any time. I believe that we live through the scariest moments in our lives so that we can tell people about them.”

“What was the scariest moment in your life?” I ask, my voice all croaky from holding back the tears.

“Well apart from this one?” He pauses as he gathers his thoughts. “The scariest moment in my life was the day that something possessed my best friend and it led him to almost commit suicide.” I gasp, shocked by what he had just confessed.

“What happened?” I have dealt with possessions before, that wasn’t the part that shocked me.

“Well we went on a school trip and there was something supernatural that had possessed my friends, they were driven to madness. Scott picked up a flare, he was covered in gasoline, it was all around him.” He broke off as his voice cracked. “I walked over to him and held his hand and the flare. I told him that if he needed to do it, then we were both going to go. I was and always will be by his side.”

I took his hand this time and I felt him jump. “I had no idea. I am so sorry that that happened.” Stiles was staring at our entwined hands.

“But the other scariest moment in my life was when I wrote you that note.” I felt a sharp thump to the chest. I was so stupid, how did I not know it was the cute boy who sat in front of me in practically every class that we had together. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” I respond. Stiles had not lifted his head since our hands connected.

“Were you going to come and meet me? I mean obviously before all of this happened.”

I stop and think. Was I? I hadn’t given that moment another thought since the siren went off. It felt like days ago I had been handed the note. “I don’t know.”

“Oh.” Stiles’ tone was defeated and sombre. His grip on my hand also weakened the minute my response registered. “I know it was a stupid thing to do. I just thought that if I was going to take a jump and finally try to ‘make my move’ as they say.”

“Stiles, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture-“

“It’s just you don’t like me. I get it. I actually get it a lot.” His head dropped and he tried to pull away. I feared that he was going to leave me alone under the table and return to his own.

“No stiles it wasn’t that-“

“Is it cause I’m weird looking? Dad and Scott say I look a little odd.” The boy was rambling.

“No you’re not weird looking-“

“Then it is because of the way I talk isn’t it?”

“No it-“

“It’s my clothes then isn’t it? I dress in a lot of tartan. You know some people say-“ I grab the boy, placing a hand behind his head I pull his lips towards my own. Stiles’ eyes widened the second my lips connected to his. But soon enough his hands drifted from his side and tied themselves in my hair pulling me deeper into the kiss. It was as if Stiles had come alive once we kissed. Our lips moved in time with each other almost as if they were made to do this and only this. The shy boy became more confident and definitely more dominant as his tongue lightly brushed my bottom lip. I let his tongue meet my own, and his moan vibrated against my mouth.

Our bodies moved in sync with each other. My one hand entwined in his hair while the other draped down his back. His were on my hip and the back of my neck as we both pushed ourselves closer together if that were possible.

When I broke the kiss, his pupils were wide in surprise and desire. “Why did you stop?” Stiles questioned, brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“I would have met up with you Stiles.” I whisper into his ear. When I pull my head away from his neck his eyes were wider than they were when the kiss broke apart. “But maybe next time, you should author your notes, perhaps?”

A cheeky grin spread out across his face as my words registered. “Wait, does that mean I forgot to say it was from me, that you’d be meeting me.” I nod as the boy put the puzzle pieces together. “I am an idiot.” The boy slapped his own forehead at his carelessness. “Can I ask you another question?” I smile and nod. “Can we do that kiss again? I really liked it.”

The smirk on his face was enough for me to give into his charms. Before I could lean in, Stiles had grabbed me by my hips and pulled me onto his lap. I hooked my arms around his neck and allowed his lips to connect with mine, his hands firmly on the space between my hips and my ass. It was a bit of a squeeze under the table, the top of my head was rested on base of the table. I was aware that I may have gum in my hair because of this, but I didn’t care. Hearing his moans as my hands trailed from the back of his neck and down his spine was enough for me to crumble within his arms.

Stiles’ lips drifted away from my own but instantly connected into the crook of my neck. This time it was my turn to let out a moan. “Stiles.” I sighed when he hit the right spot and began to suck on it with his hot breath spreading across my skin.

Both of us jumped apart when we heard a cough from the front of the lab. There stood Scott McCall. I was just thankful that it wasn’t Coach or any other member of the School Faculty. I looked back at Stiles who for once didn’t seem happy to see his best friend. “Not exactly what we were taught to do during a school shooting, Stiles.” He nodded towards me “Y/N, Jackson is worried about you, he said you were not answering your phone.”

Stiles detangled me from his lap and helped me to my feet in front of the table rather than being under it as we had previously been.

I pulled out my phone and funny enough there was sixteen missed calls from Jackson and twenty-two messages from him as well as a couple from my own father. Not cool Jackson do not get my dad involved in this.

“What are you even doing out in the open, Scott?” Stiles grilled. “There is a school shooting going on you know.”

“Dude that ended about twenty minutes ago, your dad came arrested the guy. The teachers announced that we could all go home. I was on my way home when Jackson came up to me and asked me if I had seen Y/N. When I told him no, he went into panic mode and started running up and down the corridors.”

I felt my phone vibrate in my hands, Jackson again. “Hello?”

“Oh my God. Thank God you’re okay. Are you still in the school? Where are you? I will come and get you and take you home.”

I look up at Stiles who held onto my hand and gave me the sweetest smile. “Jackson I am okay. I think I am going to get a ride with someone else. Thank you for always looking after me. I love you.”

“It’s my job. Who are you with so I know you are safe, put them on the phone?”

I hand the phone over to Stiles who takes it apprehensively. “He wants to make sure I haven’t concocted some excuse to avoid listening to Taylor Swift in his car, again.”

“Hello?”

“Oh my God, Stilinski? What are you doing with Y/N?”

Stiles pulls the phone away from his ear and places a hand over the microphone. “I don’t think he is too happy that you’re with me.” I laugh and he put the phone back up against his ear. “Jackson I will look after her, I promise. Enjoy Taylor Swift though. I really like the one she sings with Ed Sheeran.” He pulls the phone back and hits the end call button on the screen.

Scott looks questioningly between the two of us. “So, what is going on between you two. Is this going to be a normal thing now? Am I going to have to write up a schedule for who gets Stiles during the week?”

Stiles slaps his friend’s back. “You still got me. But now she has me too, only she gets more kisses than you. I mean we could add more kissing sessions when we are together if you would really like?”

“I think I will pass.” Scott announced.

“Good because there would be no competition.” Stiles twirled me so that I was now pressed against his chest and laid another kiss on my lips. When he pulled away, his head was bent down to mine, eyes locked on my own. “You ready to go home?”

Part 2?

[vannahfanfics]

A Most Dangerous Game Part II

Before you read, here’s Part I!

Category: General Fluff, Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Yona of the Dawn

Characters: Soo-Won, Yona, Son Hak

Requested By: farrah87 (Ao3) 

Soo-Won's footsteps were muffled by the plush carpet overlaying the stone castle floor. Night had descended over the country's capital; starlight streamed in through the marbled glass windows, painting wave-like patterns of white on the ruby-red fabric stretching through the hall. Most of the castle had retired to bed; only zealous academics and the castle guard roamed at this hour- and Soo-Won, the king with a ticking time bomb. 

He sighed pallidly and swept a swathe of his pale blond hair from his face, grimacing when he found the strands clumped with perspiration. I have to be careful not to overexert myself… It won't do for the Crimson Illness to get out, he thought with a small sigh. So easy it was to say that, but so hard to put into practice when Soo-Won had so much to attend to in the shortening period of his life. I have to ensure this country will prosper and thrive after… He didn't finish the sobering thought. 

A flash of movement caught his eye. He squinted in the gloom at the window a few yards ahead of him; it creaked as it turned inward, spilling the cool night air into the spacious hallway. Soo-Won's eyebrow cocked as a pair of long legs slipped through the open window, clad in loose tan garments. The king momentarily wondered if an assassination attempt would shatter his daily humdrum. The prospect disappeared as the person jumped down from the sill, flicking his jade-green hair from his face and flashing Soo-Won a confident smirk. 

"Well, good evening, Your Majesty." Jae-Ha's voice was like honey, smooth and sweet and unbothered. A pink-faced Kija poked his head through the window next to give the king a frightened look. 

"I thought you said we wouldn't be caught?" The white dragon hissed to his comrade as he gracelessly wormed his way down from the window. He landed clumsily on his rump, and crossed his arms to pout at Jae-Ha like it was the taller man's fault. Jae-Ha's smirk remained sharp enough to cleave diamond, while Zeno's head popped into the window next. By this point, Soo-Won was very amused, smiling with a mirthful twinkle in his eyes as he watched the boyish yellow-haired dragon scramble down from the window. 

"How lucky are we, to run into Mr. King, huh?" Zeno laughed joyously. Kija had stood up from the ground but was still muttering that they were unfortunate for the unplanned encounter. Shin-ah was silent as he climbed through the window, lithe and quiet like a panther. Ao chittered good-naturedly on his shoulder. 

"Is the medicine boy coming, or did he elect to stay home?" Soo-Won joked smugly. His gaze swept over the four dragons who'd snuck into the castle with very little fanfare. He didn't know whether to be impressed with the dragons or concerned with the capabilities of his guards. "I assume you've snuck in to see Yona?"

"That's right." Jae-Ha quipped curtly. Soo-Won had assumed that planning the impromptu lunch meeting would come back to nip him in the rear, but he hadn't quite expected the dragons to commit burglary after only a week. He sighed wearily and pinched the bridge of his nose. They're already here, and I don't exactly think they'll listen to me when I ask them to leave, he thought sourly. 

"Very well. I was on my way to my study to retrieve some documents; Yona's quarters are close by, so I'll escort you there. However, I'll only allow you to visit under my supervision," he said firmly. Allowing Yona to see her beloved dragons kept her complacent, but Soo-Won couldn't allow her to push the envelope. If the dragons were brazen enough to sneak into the castle in the dead of night, thoughts of rebellion and mischief wouldn't have much trouble blooming in their minds. Out of his peripheral vision, Soo-Won saw the dark black blob of his shadow guard, Hiyori, peering around the corner. The man wouldn't act now that Soo-Won had expressed his permission, but his presence still left a sour taste in his mouth. Joo-Doh and Kye-Sook will surely hear of this… Groaning, he rubbed his temples as a small headache began to pulse in the front of his skull. So much for not exerting myself. 

The dragons were quiet as Soo-Won escorted them through the dark castle hall; they exchanged no words during the five-minute stroll to his study. A pair of braziers smoldered beside the door. He instructed the four of them to wait outside while he retrieved his documents. The hour was late, at least ten or eleven, so he was sure that the princess had retired to her bedchamber. That's why he couldn't stifle the shocked gasp when he closed the door behind him and turned around to see Yona curled into a ball on the floor, sobbing pitifully. 

"Yona?!" He crossed the room in three quick strides, falling into a kneeling position beside her. The girl moaned forlornly as he gently placed his hands on her shoulders and peered into her tear-streaked face. "Yona…" As her form relaxed, he spied a small leather-bound book clutched in her arms. Yona offered no resistance as he tugged the book from her grip to peer at the cover. A cold flush flooded through his veins, ice water that left every muscle locked and every nerve screaming. His mother's name was written in neat black ink in the upper right corner. This is… Her memoir, he realized with cold horror. Another ice-cold flush seared through his veins at the realization that Yona had read the diary cover-to-cover. His windpipe constricted inside his throat, but for the sake of the weeping girl before him, he swallowed the anger and fear and despair in favor of smiling weakly. 

"Yona," he shushed as he swept her dawn-red hair from her eyes. "Please don't cry." 

"I-i wasn't sure what I was expecting," she choked out between wracking sobs. The heels of her palms dug into her eyes, smearing the tears that continued to fall. "But I… Oh, Soo-Won," she lamented. His eyes widened as she abruptly collapsed against him, embracing him in a tight hug. His hands hovered in the air around her head before slowly drifting down to wrap around her petite frame. Yona had treated him so coldly as of late, so to have the girl burying her face into his sternum and tearing into his clothes as if to anchor him to herself was admittedly disorienting. Still a little stunned, his movements were robotic as he rubbed soothing circles into the small of her back. "I just… I can't believe you're going to die." 

She whispered the last word, as if uttering it aloud would cause him to collapse then and there. 

“Yona,” Soo-Won sighed deeply. The idea of death spilled bitter acid over his tongue, but he ignored it in favor of comforting the distraught princess. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, stroking her short tresses of dawn-red hair. He could offer no words of comfort or refusal, however; the girl was right. Whether he liked it or not, Soo-Won’s flame was flickering it out, slowly but surely. Soo-Won could only reassure her with his presence. He was not dead yet. 

The comfort had its intended effect. Gradually, Yona’s sobs quieted into little sniffles. The princess slumped against him, exhausted by her misery. Soo-Won continued to soothingly stroke her back as she fluttered her teary lashes to peer mournfully up at him. 

“Soo-Won…” 

Fate had a sense of irony, because, in that moment, Soo-Won was gripped by a severe attack. Burning pain blossomed in his skull, and he slumped wholly against Yona. The girl exclaimed as she unexpectedly had to bear the brunt of his weight, and her slim arms wrapped around him to help her shoulder the burden. Soo-Won’s breaths came in heavy, ragged gasps, and his vision flared white as the pain seared through his brain tissue. He whined Yona’s name as darkness encroached on his field of sight. Like all the times before, he had the oddest sensation of becoming weightless; he drifted down, down, down into the dark abyss, and everything fell away…

~~~~~~~~~~

“Soo-Won? Soo-Won!” Yona’s voice cracked with fright as the king slumped against her and quickly slipped into unconsciousness. Her body trembled with the terrible weight of him against her and the fear gripping her body. “Help! Someone, help!” she screamed. Her cries bounced around the small study to pierce her eardrums in shrill, frantic cries. She was nearly hyperventilating when her dragons burst into the door, calling her name and demanding to know what was the matter. Yona’s mind was so disoriented by Soo-Won’s sudden collapse that she didn’t even question why her dragons were in the palace in the first place. 

“H-h-h-he just fell limp, just like that, I-i-i-i don’t know w-what’s wrong!” she stammered, words falling off her tongue faster than she could think them. “Oh, Soo-Won, Soo-Won!” The horrible truths contained in Lady Yon-hi’s diary were still fresh on her mind, so in her manic state, she believed that Soo-Won could have literally died right in her arms. Fresh tears streamed down her face in thick, salty streams, and her entire body quaked violently with tremors. Jae-Ha and Shin-ah pulled the man’s body off of Yona, and she screamed again as his head flopped lifelessly against the tall, green-haired man’s chest. 

“Princess, Princess!” Kija cried while shaking her shoulder violently. “His Majesty Soo-Won is still alive. Please, calm yourself. He’s only fallen unconscious.” Kija had to repeat the words several times for them to finally breach the barrier of the blood roaring in Yona’s ears. Her eyelashes fluttered as she forced herself down from the frantic high, and sure enough, she could see Soo-Won’s chest rising and falling with deep but labored breaths. “There, now,” her white dragon crooned reassuringly in her ears. “We’ll get His Majesty to his quarters-” 

“No!” Yona objected quickly. “Take him to my quarters. It’s much closer- but do it quietly and quickly! Soo-Won’s condition is a secret!” As Jae-ha and Shin-ah supported Soo-Won’s weight between them and slipped out of the study to hurry towards Yona’s bower, the princess followed, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. Out of her peripheral vision, she spied the shadow guard assigned to protect the king slip away into the darkness of the castle. Yona didn’t bother calling out to him. His message was the least of her concerns right now. 

Yona bustled past the two dragons to scurry to her bed, violently ripping back the comforter. “Here! Put him here,” she commanded, trying to seem authoritative and calm but failing miserably due to the shakiness of her voice. She swiftly covered Soo-Won as they laid him in the bed. When she put the back of her hand against his forehead, the heat rolling off his sweaty skin nearly scalded her. She barked at Zeno to bring her a basin of water and a dishrag. When the immortal dragon did as bid, she wasted no time in saturating the rag with the cool liquid and placing it on Soo-Won’s head. Yona’s wide, red eyes frantically coursed over Soo-Won’s sleeping form to search for something, anything that she could do. 

She could do nothing- only sit there and watch, and pray, and weep about her twisted desire to see Soo-Won live despite all he’d done. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Joo-Doh came to collect the collapsed king in due time. Her dragons had slipped away in the meantime to avoid retribution. If the shadow guard had told Joo-Doh of their presence, he never mentioned, and no judgment was passed down upon her friends. Yona stayed by the king’s side in the interim. Her feelings still confused her; the childish love she had harbored for the man had blossomed into something stranger and less defined. She knew she didn’t love him like she loved Hak, but… She did love him, in some confusing, mystifying sense. Despite it all, she couldn’t see him die. So she remained with him, holding his hand and cursing the fate that had warped him into the desperate and lonely man he’d become. 

Soo-Won recovered by the following morning… 

and awoke to pass some surprisingly divisive decrees. 

He ordered the 13th company to begin undertaking rigorous training, citing the need for “all troops in the impending war with Kai.” Even more surprisingly, he appointed Hak as the commander of the unit and the overseer for their training. Kye-Sook was livid and vehemently opposed the notion, but Soo-Won coldly shut down his obstruction by recounting Hak’s extensive military accomplishments. The coup de grace came with his final decree- due to Soo-Won’s frail condition, for the time being, the commanders of each unit must report to Yona for the time being. Additionally, Yona would oversee the training of the 13th company, and her dragons would also participate in the drills. 

In a bold move that turned his most dangerous game on its head, Soo-Won gave Yona a direct line of access to Hak and her dragons. Yona had no idea what had flipped the switch so suddenly in Soo-Won’s head. She was so accustomed to his carefully crafted plans, his refined and sophisticated scheming, that this outrageously brazen play rocked Yona to her core. She couldn’t comprehend his motives this time, not one bit… But she couldn’t find it within herself to complain. 

“Come in.” Her curt order bounced off the walls of her bower following the loud, authoritative knock. Yona was still pretty much confined to her quarters, so the company commanders ventured there to give their daily reports. Many times they acquired where Lord Soo-Won was, and she always politely replied that he was resting because his duties had become taxing as of late. Anticipating this visit as such, she procured a fresh of parchment and her inkwell and quill before patiently awaiting her guest to arrive. She couldn’t help the gleeful smile that alit her face when Hak swiftly entered. 

“Good evening, Princess.” His voice dripped from his smirking mouth like the sweetest honey, sending titillating tingles propagating all through her body. Hak crossed the room to kneel in front of her small work desk. Yona half-listened to his report, scrawling brief notes as necessary. Once he finished his statement, she pushed the papers aside with some dull quip thanking him for his services. Hak immediately slumped over the edge of the table, leaning his cheek in his hand and smirking flirtatiously at her. “I really despise all this official stuff,” he sighed melodramatically. “Such a bore.” 

“Yes, but you’re commanding the thirteenth company now,” she reminded him poignantly. Hak smiled at her comment; Yona knew it relieved him to hold some position of authority again, especially one that provided him steady access to the princess. However, a frown slowly overtook his pleased features. 

“I just don’t get it. What’s his game?” Yona looked down at the table as he posed the very pertinent question. Yona still couldn’t wrap her mind around it- this complicated chess game Soo-Won was manipulating before her eyes. She hadn’t even an idea of how the pieces were arranged- who was a pawn, a rook, a knight, a queen. Soo-Won’s sudden move may have been disorienting, but it didn’t change the fact that he was in almost complete control of the pieces, and slowly encroaching on Yona’s. 

“I don’t know,” she sighed wearily. She crawled around the edge of the table to cuddle into Hak, suddenly craving his presence. She usually did when the confusion closed in around her, and she desired nothing more than to escape for just a few brief moments. Hak enveloped her in his big, strong arms. He hugged her to his body and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “He has plans for us, but I just can’t fathom what lies in store for us… This is a most dangerous game we are playing, Hak, and I feel like I am losing my cards one by one.” 

“Heyyyy,” he crooned and hugged her tighter, as if to shield her from her misgivings. “No matter what happens, Yona, I will protect you,” he swore, his voice deep and harsh with conviction. Despite the impracticality of it, Yona felt her worries melt away. She dissolved into Hak’s gentle embrace, closing her eyes to savor the brief moment of sanctuary he offered her. 

It was a most dangerous game between Yona and Soo-Won… And so Yona cherished these brief moments of respite, where she didn’t have to worry about the cards in her hand. Hak took those hands and kissed along her fingertips and knuckles, showering her in love and affection. She didn’t understand Soo-Won’s game at all… but she was grateful for this newest move, because now at least she could be with the person she loved most.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork​

[colescorner]

The Mid-Year Book Freak-out Tag

The middle of the year is here and its time to reflect on the how my reading year has gone so far...and what better way to do that than with a tag. I found this tag courtesy of emmabooks on YouTube. There are 13 questions in this tag and I’ll answer each question with the cover of the book and a small description as to why I picked the book. 

1. The best book you have read in 2020?

[source: goodreads]

So far, I’m going to have to say The Red Scrolls of Magic by Cassandra Clare and Wesley Chu. This story centers around power couple Magnus Bane and Alec Lightwood and their adventures while on their European vacation. Alec and Magnus are two of my favorite characters from The Shadowhunter Chronicles and when Cassie announced they were going to have their own series I almost screamed! Alec’s character development throughout the series has been one of my favorites to read because I use to be closeted and scared and being able to read about a gay character who was terrified to be who he really was to take a leap of faith and get everything he had always wanted and dreamed about has been a complete privilege and blessing to read. 

2. The best sequel you’ve read in 2020?

[source: goodreads]

Even though this isn’t technically a sequel, Ghosts of the Shadow Market is a companion collection of short stories that take place in the same world as her other Shadowhunter books. These stories take place at different places and in different periods. The collection of short stories gives readers insight into other characters and even sets up some things we’ll see in the coming future installments of Cassie’s books. 

3. 2020 release you need to read?

[source: goodreads]

I attribute a good chunk my love of reading to Cassandra Clare and the magical and intricate world, well-developed and multi-faceted characters, and all the action, comedy, and romance a reader could ask for. I’ve been devoutly reading every installment and new series set in the shadowhunter world and I am not about to stop now! Chain of Gold takes place after The Infernal Devices and follows the children of Will and Tessa as well as some other characters too. I am excited to finally start this series.

4. Most anticipated releases for the rest of the year?

[source: goodreads]

I have not really been following a lot of newer releases this year, so the only really anticipated release I have at the moment is The Lost Book of the White by Cassandra Clare and Wesley Chu. This is the sequel to The Red Scrolls of Magic and continues following Magnus Bane, Alec Lightwood and their friends as they travel to Shanghai where the Crimson Hand are located. I loved the first book and can’t wait to read the next one.

5. Biggest disappointment?

[source: goodreads]

I’ve been wanting to try and eat more plant-based and I bought this book with the hopes that it would contain new information about veganism that would be useful during my time of exploring veganism. It had some good information, but a lot of the information just seemed like you could find it just by doing a couple google searches on veganism. 

6. Biggest surprise of the year?

[source: goodreads]

As an avid reader, I’ve been wanting to expand my reading pallet and I’ve been wanting to read more classics and one day when I was browsing at Barnes and Noble, I gravitated towards this book and I was quite surprised how much I liked it! I am always a little apprehensive when reading a book that was published awhile ago because I may not be able to relate to it, but thankfully it has a good flow and I believe it still holds up and is relatable to readers today.

7. Favorite new (to you) author?

[source: goodreads]

I’d have to give credit to multiple BookTubers that I follow for picking up this book. I’ve seen it mentioned on several channels that I subscribe to and I really liked the cover and after reading the synopsis, I decided to give it a try and I really enjoyed it. I enjoyed how fast-paced it was and I loved the characters and their arcs and how it had a flare of mystery to it and I was shocked with the ending. If you like a good book that will keep you on your toes and has some twists and turns, I’d recommend you check this one out. 

8. New fictional crush?

[source: goodreads]

One of the things I am loving about current YA is that more and more LGBTQ+ characters are either the main character, part of an ensemble of characters or featured in a way that they have not been featured in the past. What If Its Us? is told from two perspectives, Arthur and Ben, and I really fell in love with both of them as this is one of the first books I’ve read where the story centers around a gay romance. I love the fact that their sexuality isn’t the main part of the book or the characters, but just a facet of them and that any kind of relationship regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity will have its ups and downs as it is part of any relationship. 

9. Favorite new character?

[source: goodreads]

One of my favorite new characters from this anthology would have to be Anna Lightwood! I applaud Clare for being so inclusive for the kinds of Shadowhunters she introduces in these later installments. Anna is a female shadowhunter but she hates wearing female clothes and feels more comfortable in male clothes and seeing character develop throughout the story was so amazing and I’m so happy to have Trans representation in literature. 

10. A book that made you cry?

[source: goodreads]

Cassandra Clare knows how to pull on my heart strings and one of the stories that made me tear-up was the once about Kit’s mom, Rosemary, and how she had to keep herself separate from her son and her lover. It hit me right in the feels. 

11. A book that made you happy?

[source: goodreads]

Like I stated previously, this book made me so happy. To be a gay guy and being able to read a romance where the characters happen to be gay just fills me with so much joy. I also really enjoyed that the main characters ended up not being together because they realized they weren’t good for each other and I think it is so cool that the authors did this because I don’t know if I’ve recently read a YA romance where the love interests don’t end up together. 

12. Most beautiful book that you bought/received this year?

[source: goodreads]

Cassie’s book cover’s never disappoint! I love the colors of this cover, I love light blue colors or hues and the contrast of Cordelia’s red hair. It’s just so pretty, I love it!

13. What books do you need to read by the end of the year?

[source: goodreads]  [source: goodreads]

Is it even a question that the books I need to read before this year is over are Cassie’s books? I am so invested in the characters and the world that Cassie has created, her first book, literally got me interested into reading for fun and its been a wild wide and my fascination and love for books exploded simply by finding the right book at the right time. 

This tag has been really fun to participate in and what fun is a tag if I don’t tag other book bloggers to join in the fun?? If I did not tag you and still want to participate, please do because I was not tagged, but I wanted to do it anyway!

Tag your it:

 @cinnasbooks​ @lizziethereader​ @bookaddict24-7​ @biblioshark​

[peepingtoad]

Anonymous said: Assuming Jiraiya could have either survived his encounter with Pein or been brought back to life afterwards, how do you imagine his relationship with Tsunade and Orochimaru would have changed? Do you think Orochimaru's comment about them "never being on the same page" is correct? | headcanon asks | always accepting! |

I think first of all I’ve got to tackle the phrase ‘never being on the same page’.

Now, I can’t remember off the top of my head when Oro said this, but I don’t recall there ever being any explanation as to what was meant by it (or it probably would have been something that stuck with me more). Orochimaru is pretty cryptic at times, and their experiences in general are probably pretty unique, being the token gothy weirdo. Their ‘not on the same page’ could well hold a different meaning than if Jiraiya or Tsunade were to claim they ‘weren’t on the same page’. 

Did Orochimaru mean that they were never on the same page as the other two because they always felt like an outcast regardless of their efforts? Did they mean they disagreed on things all the time or had opposing views? Did they mean they were never around at the right time to help each other out, or kept secrets from each other while doing their own things? Did they simply mean to say that their methods of handling difficulties and life in general were never the same?

It could mean one of those things, a few of them, all of them, or more than the above.

But say their comment was ‘correct’ in the most general sense... is that a bad thing? We see that Orochimaru later develops in a way that they come to appreciate the value of the sun-moon dynamic far more than they once had. It’s something they talk to Mistuki about a lot, and the subtext of urging him never to let go of his ‘sun’, while understated, speaks quite clearly to me of the fact that they would not have let go of their ‘sun’ quite so easily if given another chance. It’s subtle, but there’s certainly an acknowledgment that they may not have appreciated what they had until it was truly lost.

So I guess whether or not their comment is ‘correct’ doesn’t actually matter to me, given that it’s a very personal and subjective statement in the first place, and that it doesn’t necessarily link to how their relationships would change, in my eyes, given the chance post-war. Because it can mean good things and bad things either way. People are required to be different in order to meet a uniquely brilliant middle ground; the Sannin’s differences, along with the fact they still worked as a team long after they were required to, is pretty firm evidence of that--a bond forged of understanding each other and being harmonious despite their differences, that only really showed cracks when pushed to extremes by the first long term world war that ended up wiping out their whole generation. 

At the end of the day, they were described as the type of friends who bickered and had blow-up arguments over disagreements, but we don’t actually get enough canon evidence to suggest it was over anything serious for the most part. And when it got serious, there were many external factors going on that provide a damn good reason for it, and that was where being on different pages had a negative impact. There doesn’t seem to have been much communication between them during that time, they started flying solo rather than sticking together--the fact that is truly when things began to fall apart really says a lot about how strong their friendship actually was, differences or not.

The real evidence that Jiraiya and Orochimaru, at least, may not have been doomed had he lived, is in this attitude they show later on--the conviction with which they impress the value of friendship, even if it is between two vastly different souls on different pages to each other, on their son.

Having said that, I do think it would be awkward at first, trying to repair the friendship. Jiraiya would possibly be a little tentative about jumping too whole-heartedly into the best friend dynamic they once had, even if he would probably have all the vibrating energy of a dog that really wants to grab that toy and go wild with it. Of course, navigating Orochimaru’s parole would come with its difficulties too--but perhaps that’s what would be needed to save their reconciliation from getting too intense, with more talking and fewer tempers flaring? Maybe it would be surprisingly chill anyway, since we see Orochimaru themself chilling out immensely in the post-war blank period? Of course, there’s always the consideration that they would be the one most capable of and inclined towards bringing him back at all. That’s where it gets into more ‘what if’ fanfic territory!

Honestly though, I’m a big fan of the notion of Jiraiya, having actually survived, becoming their parole officer and starting to mend the friendship that way, while sort of helping them learn to be a person again. Either that or Jiraiya being granted the most freedom to interact with them in general and perhaps ease them back into Konoha life to a degree. I think the biggest change in their relationship here would be actually being around for each other, properly and consistently, and perhaps showing a little more vulnerability to each other. Aside from the biggest change--that being that they aren’t outright enemies anymore, pff!

... But now, onto Tsunade!

Honestly, I think it does largely depend on her and what she’s comfortable with. She and Jiraiya have always comfortably inhabited the drinking buddies/best friends dynamic where they avoided speaking about anything too heavy. This definitely continued when they reunited in the main series after so long; it was incredible just how easily they fell back into it. Nothing was sorted out between them, but they defintiely seemed to be comforted by each other, which is nothing to sniff at in this world. And of course, feelings going unspoken was prevalent up until Jiraiya left for Ame, where even as he basically admits he does still love her it’s framed in a joking sort of way, with the whole ‘if I make it back’ gamble. Saying it and allowing himself some honesty in that moment without actually putting the onus on her to respond or share how she actually feels, because he knows her well enough to know that she has been avoiding love like the plague. It would have been shitty of him to rope her into the Hokage position then bother her with his dumb old feelings, right?

And I feel that’s how he would continue to be overall, if he survived or was brought back. He might have one serious moment where he does tell her that he still loves her and always will, but aside from that he’ll continue to be her close friend and nothing else, unless she happens to reveal that she reciprocates. There may be peace now, no imminent threat of death constantly looming over them and making the prospect of having nice things to lose terrifying, but Tsunade is still a seriously traumatised woman. Any changes would have to come as baby steps, even small changes like being less evasive of their feelings and regrets than they once were, much less moving into romantic territory.

I dunno, I of course think that the manner of their last conversation was set up as a ‘this has always been sort of an unspoken thing deep down’, and basically makes them a canon ship in my eyes (albeit an irregular one), but even with that being the case I think they’d be very much capable of remaining in that same sphere they always have done for a long time after the dust settles. Just because it’s damn scary to go through what they all have and then just go talking about it and uprooting all the feelings and thoughts of old.

As for Jiraiya himself... I think, by the time he fights Pein/Nagato, he does realise what a failing it was to try and go at everything alone. He didn’t involve Tsunade or Orochimaru in his dreams and goals, and frankly he paid for it in losing them both--even if there was so much more to them both leaving, he still feels like he could have stopped it by not being the first one to leave. So I think the biggest change overall would be in him making sure those two know how he appreciates them. How he needs them, to be honest. And I think that’s where it doesn’t really matter if they’re all on the same page, so long as they are actually bloody talking to each other and being the supports for each other that they once were. You don’t have to have the same stance on everything to at least work on it.

[fatedfuturist]

things about my interpretation of tony stark. updated june 07, 2020.

here’s my exhaustive explanation for how i am not canon-compliant with the events and characterization of the mcu.

the reason for this is… well, there are several reasons, but i don’t want to stir shit up or just, in general, stomp on anyone else’s love for the mcu. and don’t get me wrong— i do love the mcu! but there are parts i’m critical of for personal reason, as we all have opinions on certain things. bc, yeah, you can love something, or someone, and still be logically critical about it or them.

anyway, here’s where my interpretation differs…

as per stated on my rules: i take inspiration for tony from multiple sources, including the mcu, marvel comics, the television show: avengers assemble, and my own personal headcanons. TONY IS ALSO ASIAN (SPECIFICALLY CHINESE) AMERICAN!!

i will admit that saying this isn’t particularly helpful if people don’t know, specifically, where i differ in terms of my interpretation of our dumbass genius. some of this info is scattered about on my blog, but here, it’s all consolidated into one post.

chen kun is my face claim, and i do use stuff from tony’s story from the mcu as a base. however, there are events and moments from the movies, that i selectively ignore due to personal preference; and then i build on top of my foundation with ideas, themes, and/or events from other sources such as the aforementioned sources listed above.

throwing this all under a read more because, like i said: exhaustive list. very. very. very fucking long. i’m serious– read at your own risk.

howard stark was an extremely abusive and absent father for all of tony’s childhood; tony did actively seek attention and approval from howard because he was rather aware of how famous he was and wanted the acceptance and validation from his dad; there wasn’t much shown in the mcu regarding his relationship with his father, but my inspiration for his father-son relationship comes from the comics;

an example of his verbal abuse: “you don’t want to be a sissy, now do you? stark men are made of iron!” (Iron Man, 1968);

an example of early exposure to alcohol: at age five, howard forced a drink into tony’s hand (which he did drink), stating that it would teach him “to be a man,” and that it’d “put hair on your chest” (Iron Man, 1968);

yes, this means that tony ‘forgiving’ howard in endgame is completely chucked out the window;

tony loses his parents the night of december 16, 1996 (not 12/16/1991), at the age of seventeen;

jarvis, the family butler, was more of a father to tony than howard ever was, and yes, this is why he names his first fully-functioning AI system jarvis;

tony was close with his mother, maria; she was his safehouse, and she taught him to be gentle and loving, and she also taught him the piano, which tony still periodically practices during his own time in private. in an avengers assemble episode, there is a piano in the tower that tony protects twice, which i reckon is because it has connections to his past with maria;

tony ain’t an old grandpa. i don’t see him being older than, like, 35–40 in the present time for my writing (chen kun is 44). this comes from comic and avengers assemble inspiration, which has been fairly ambiguous since they never mention his age. for plotting purposes in the mcu though, yes, he can be like 42–52 if needed.

tony is, by default, single unless otherwise stated. the reason for this is simply because i’m not big on tony / pepper in the mcu, and it’s not because i don’t like pepper (i love her as a character as an individual), but i just saw that the way they were written (so, this, yes, blames the mcu writers) was completely trash; they sort of redeemed it in endgame, but... in general, they had a lot of potential but then some writing choices pretty much ruined the ship for me;

this means that morgan does not exist unless otherwise specified and discussed, though i do enjoy the concert of tony being a dad to his own kid and breaking that cycle of howard’s shitty parenting;

i’m going to be as honest and transparent as i can: i do, for certain, love writing stevetony. they’re my primary ship. not simply in mcu dynamics, but from the comics and avengers assemble. however, like some can attest to, i will never force a ship on anyone. if you express no interest in them romantically? that’s fine. we can write them simply as good friends and comrades. i won’t stop writing or plotting with you if you don’t like them in a romantic dynamic. if you do like it that way? cool. i know it might be intimidating to discuss this given i look like complete trash for them, but i never choose who i will/will not write with based on whether we ship or not;

tony, publicly, hints toward being bisexual and biromantic a lot of the time as he’ll practically flirt with anyone at all times, but he never really openly admits it due to his oh-so ancient internalized homophobia (thank you for that one, howard and societal expectations of the time);

justin hammer is a long time rival in the industry, and often meddles with tony and his work all the time. it’s nothing new. the lack of foundation established in IM2 doesn’t provide much insight into their relationship. long story short (taken from avengers assemble): hammer is a punk bitch who’s jealous and tony is tired of him and will gladly beat his ass any day of the week whenever he drives a tank into his front door (which happens more often than not).

tony is fantastic with children. he loves getting to interact with children because he knows how excited they are to see him and/or iron man (seen in both the mcu and in the comics). this type of attention he’s okay about. if he can inspire children to do good things and be good people and be heroes in their own right, then he’s doing his job;

tony fosters the intelligence and dreams of bright individuals all the time by offering scholarships for high school graduates and post-secondary students, and also provides internship opportunities (equal opportunities regardless of race, sex, gender, religion, disability status, age, etc.)

we only see this occur with peter and harley in the mcu, but there are other kids— like riri williams! tony sees these kids for the bright minds that they have and he wants to help them and keep them safe as he knows these are the brains of the future.

let me run over iron man 3. like i said, i ignore some shit from the movies. tony doesn’t initiate the clean slate protocol, he doesn’t throw the arc reactor into the ocean, and he doesn’t remove the arc reactor from his chest. he will get surgery to get the shrapnel removed because if i were the follow the pain that comes with the comics, tony would literally be always on the verge of death at all times, requiring a chest plate to be recharged constantly to make sure the shrapnel doesn’t get closer– see? that’s a lot and i’m... lazy.

the reason for those choices are simple: clean slate protocol undoes his character progression;

the arc reactor is just a part of him as a person, stands as his heart;

avengers movie nights, (video/board) game nights, and training days exist and you will never be able to pry that out of my hands. tony always shows up fashionably late with coffee and pays for when shit gets broken by thor. team building exercises exist plenty within avengers assemble, including the fact that they share chores and decides who gets to do the next load of laundry from whoever chooses the short stick from the bunch.

tony has had anxiety and depression since he was a child. it just didn’t really flare up and get identified as a real, tangible mess of emotions and thoughts until he’d been kidnapped (and nearly died, at that). it got worse when he failed to address it until after IM3. into the present-day, tony deals with anxiety, depression, and PTSD all the time, but has improved (…sort of) when it comes to handling all of it, and certainly has grown to recognize similar symptoms in the people he cares about;

on another hand, tony has displayed symptoms of ADHD, but it’s not officially diagnosed, and some of these symptoms include, but are not limited to: hyperactivity (staying awake for days on end) and hyperfocus (hyper-focus on work), distractible (easily distracted when he’s not focused on something), rambling (talks a lot and often makes rather intuitive connections due to how busy his brain functions), impulsivity and recklessness (self explanatory), constant need to move around and/or do something (in meetings, he will be moving somehow, whether it’s tapping fingers or feet, or shifting around in his seat);

there are days where he feels inferior due to how human he knows he is (in comparison to most of his team), and other days, he feels as though he’s more machine than he is man. these feelings fluctuate depending on how he’s doing with his mental health, and/or if he hears and/or sees anything about him that points toward either idea;

there is always overwhelming guilt for those he can’t keep safe or people that die; tony doesn’t like to kill anybody (unless it’s robots, because… they’re robots, not human lives); though, if pushed far enough with no other choice, he will throw conventional morality out the window for the sake of protecting all that he believes to be for the good of the world;

tony isn’t jacked. he isn’t captain america fit, but he isn’t particularly thin, either. his body is sort of like a runner’s build (for visuals, refer to valerio schiti’s comic art of tony). i interpret tony’s body as a slight bit slimmer. he exercises, and being in the suit also is its own form of exercise. god forbid we discuss his eating habits, though. and–– he also isn’t short short, but he isn’t tall, either. he sits at 5’10”, which might be a little below the average male, but that’s about it.

speaking of eating habits, simply put: tony can’t cook for shit and that’s it. he’ll try to cook for his significant others’ on the occasion, but he can’t be blamed if he burns everything.

tony isn’t ‘woke’ or perfect, as it’s imperative to remember he grew up as rich and with financial and some social class privilege (since he was rich), despite the abuse and harassment he experienced during his youth. it’s taken him time to recognize this, and he realizes it really doesn’t cost anything to be a better person, which is why he tries to be better when it comes to his tone of voice when discussing certain topics he has no authority to be speaking of, and by taking action with simple manual labour when it comes to chores (so he doesn’t hire other people to do shit for him). he also knows he can’t be a man of ‘all bark and no bite’ when it comes to supporting people and causes, hence why he actively advocates for female and youth empowerment through both words and actions.

in regards to ca:cw events, i would prefer to ignore them. for specific-plotting purposes, this can be dropped, but i prefer the events of avengers assemble when it comes to ‘civil war’. it’s actually really simple:

tony was not honest about his intentions with the team regarding a robot that was initially made for him by howard, which ended up with an ultron reboot that nearly risked loads of civilian lives and the team’s lives;

steve confronted tony about it when they returned back to avengers tower. with tony’s insistence that everything was now fine, steve decided to resign due to tony’s dishonesty and lack of trust in the team;

this splits the team in half, where steve takes— well, they decided to leave since they didn't like tony's lack of honesty— natasha, the hulk, and the falcon to work under SHIELD as the ‘secret avengers,’ and tony, clint, and thor remain as leftover avengers (later with the addition of ant-man and temporarily, spider-man, in some missions);

in the end, they all join back together after learning to appreciate their differences and reconciling under the fact that there wouldn’t be any more secrets that could risk the world, and the team’s safety;

if i am to follow the events of the mcu— between ca:cw and infinity war, he develops nanotech for his armour, which is embedded into his very skin to accommodate for nanobots, which interacts via neural transmissions (visuals here);

tony recognizes that he lost his temper and let his emotions get to him in the moment, which fucked up shit that could’ve been talked through and fixed;

tony is an alcoholic. he recognizes that he always will be, though he’s always working toward sobriety. he certainly relapses every so often when things are rough and he feels as if he has no other options, but he’s aware that relapsing is part of the process of recovery. he has attended AA meetings (alcoholics anonymous), and has been AA sponsors for people in the past;

to skim through the events of infinity war and endgame should these be part of the things you’re curious about (this is getting really long and i’m sure you’re tired of reading this—how have you gotten this far?):

after returning from space, tony took a few months (~ five) to recover from those three months of malnutrition, dehydration, and the wound of thanos’ stab. tony sealed the front of his injury, but he sure as hell wasn’t seen dealing with the back end. during this time, he’s able to regain some muscle mass;

he lives on his own, retreating to the cabin to escape from the responsibilities of being a fallen hero who ultimately failed the people he was supposed to protect.

during the five year gap, he keeps in contact with the other avengers, but very rarely. they’re the only ones who know where he lives;

like i said— tony does not say any of that forgiving bullcrap to howard. victims of abuse don’t have to forgive their abuser, parent or not. let’s just imagine the entire interaction didn’t happen at all;

tony doesn’t die;

he used the infinity stones; but, to maintain consistency with what the mcu established w/ thanos: he sustained significant damage to his right arm, up to the shoulder and neck. it’s gravely scarred. the overall function of that arm also diminished greatly. vision out of his right eye is not as sharp as it once was, either;

a year of recovery and physiotherapy later, tony decides to amputate and go for a prosthetic. he works with shuri and wakandan tech to build an arm;

despite the end of the looming, world-ending thread, tony still battles resurfacing trauma. not every day is happy, but he is working toward recovery. there are days he doesn’t remember chunks of what happened due to the power of the infinity stones; sometimes, he doesn’t even want to remember it, anyway;

tony retires. sort of. for the most part. if the world really needs iron man, he’ll be there;

tony may have handed CEO-ship to pepper, but he still handles a lot of work for stark industries, and that’s what he primarily does post-endgame.

the multiverse and realm-traveling happens a-fucking-lot 

[alfelixtravirginproducts]

https://alfeli.com/blogs/over-coming-acne-in-adulthood/frustrating-adult-acne

Why do I have acne as an adult?

Growing up, I started experiencing acne, pimples, spots and blemishes as I got into my teenage years. Naturally this bothered me a lot, I recall an occasion that occurred with my mum and big cousin. After watching me fuss over my breakouts in front of a mirror for hours, my mum and older cousin talked to me about acne & skin blemishes and how they are a natural phenomenon for every growing child, they said acne never lasted into adulthood. They assured me of a clear acne free face by the time I turned 30…. I held onto this with everything I had, because I really hated the pink zits that occupied my face.

But as I got older, I found myself still laden with the same skin issues I always had. And despite the face creams, acne cleansers and acne spot and blemish treatments, nothing stemmed the daily appearance of new acne. Naturally, i was troubled, and self-conscious... after all my mother assured me i wouldn't have acne issues as an adult.

More than just aesthetics

Various studies show that acne can have severe effects on people’s quality of life. Comparing it to the damage caused by serious skin conditions like psoriasis, studies also show that severe acne issues, and the self-consciousness / low self-esteem it brings, is not just a teenage issue. According to the journal of American academy of dermatology, acne affects as many as 54% of adult women and 40% of men over 25 years of age.

Reason for adult acne

Dermatologists call this “adult-onset acne.” It is most common among women going through menopause. Women tend to get adult acne more often than men do. Adult acne is likely due to one or more of the following reasons.

Diet: Diets with high oil levels and dairy play a major part in contributing to clogged pores and subsequently breakouts. There are various "acne inducing foods", but these are individual specific. Paying close attention to your skin and body, taking notes, testing, and learning different diets that work for your skin and overall health is the key to a glowing healthy skin. What reflects on the outside of our skin stem’s mainly from what is happening on the inside of the body. The overall outlook of the skin is a reflection of the internal state and well-being of the body.

Stress: Researchers have found a relationship between stress and acne flare-ups. In response to stress, our bodies produce more androgens (a type of hormone). These hormones stimulate the oil glands and hair follicles in the skin, which can lead to acne. This explains why acne can be an ongoing problem when we find ourselves under constant stress.

Family history: Does a close blood relative, such as a parent, brother, or sister have acne? Findings from research studies suggest that some people may have a genetic predisposition for acne. People who have this predisposition, will be more likely to get adult acne.

Hair and skin care products: If you have adult acne, you should read the labels on your skin care and hair care products. Make sure that you see one of the following terms on every container:

Non-comedogenic

Non-acnegenic

Oil-free

Will not clog pores

Fluctuating hormone levels: An imbalance can lead to breakouts. Women often experience fluctuating hormones:

Around their periods

During pregnancy, perimenopause, and menopause

After discontinuing (or starting) birth control pills

Collagen Production: Collagen refers to a family of proteins that are the primary structural component of connective tissues, such as skin and cartilage, according to Yale University.

Type 1 collagen makes up 90% of collagen in the body, which is found in the skin, tendons, internal organs, and organic parts of the bone.

The body naturally makes its own collagen by breaking down dietary protein into amino acids. The body’s ability to produce collagen naturally decreases as we age, also excess sun exposure, smoking, poor diet can inhibit collagen production.

Eating a balanced diet of protein rich foods (chicken, beef, eggs, dairy, legumes, nuts, and whole grains) have the added benefit of providing antioxidants which protect the body from oxidative stress that can degrade collagen production.

Adult acne treatments/remedies

Diet Change:

About a year ago, I joined my son in eating yogurt on a daily basis, even though my research told me yogurt did not directly cause acne , and it wasn’t that time of the month for me either,  I found myself breaking out in the worst way. I had huge and very painful acne on my face, even after applying various topical acne treatments, the inflammations only worsened.

After a confusing and extremely frustrating few weeks of acne attack on my face, I decided to change my diet. I stopped eating yogurt and limited my dairy intake altogether. Within a week of doing this, my skin improved. I went ahead to cut down on my intake of greasy food, I started paying very close attention to the food I ate and how it affected my skin directly or indirectly (I took notes). I ended up compiling a food list, which I called ‘’my acne free diet’’ this worked magic for me, I could hardly believe the drastic change that occurred on my skin over a period of two weeks. I still get little acne every now and again during my monthly menstrual cycle, but my skin has improved considerable since I stuck to my “acne free diet”. After all, there is a saying that goes “you are what you eat”, the same ideology can be applied to the skin, “your skin is what you feed it”.

Topical treatment:

Wear Sunscreen daily

Use only non-comedogenic face oils and moisturizers. Purchase face oils here

Apply acne treatment products that contain salicylic acid daily (only apply pea-size amount of acne products)

Exfoliate your skin at least once a month to slough off dead skin cell and unclog pores. Purchase exfoliating scrubs here

Wash face morning and night before bedtime.

The skin is our body’s largest organ, it acts as a protective barrier between the outside and the inside of our body. What reflects on the surface of the skin is largely because of what is happening within the inside of our body.

If you are frustrated, or maybe somewhat embarrassed about acne that still appears on your face as an adult, I recommend you consider changing your diet, to help control and ultimately get rid of adult acne.

Since I came to understand the direct effect my diet had on my skin, I have been able to control the occurrence of acne breakouts on my face. I am definitely more confident and happier about my appearance. The best thing I did for myself was to take a close look at my diet, take out any food that caused a buildup of grease under my skin thereby clogging my pores. I made my skin the sole priority and so should you! Like I mentioned earlier “Your skin is what you feed it”.

[marielle-heller]

Long Away

hey guys! so about a week ago I got so angry about the way Dear Sidewalk basically brushes off Gardner’s parents leaving him–rather than allow us the pain that we deserve–that I wrote a fic about it! just a bit of self-serving exploration, but I am really proud of it! and I just found out that posts with links don’t always show up in the tags, so I’m now posting it here for you guys to enjoy! you can also find it on AO3 if you prefer, my username is the same there, and it’s one of only about 3 Dear Sidewalk fics! anyway, enjoy!

Gardner’s 15 when it happens. It’s a pretty ordinary day, a Friday. School’s the same as always, and Gardner pretty much just goes through the motions, going from class to class, taking notes, chatting with Calvin during their lunch period. It’s all just incredibly mundane, no indication of what’s to come. Which is a lot.

Gardner’s walk home is also the same as normal. Calvin accompanies him most of the way, until they reach the corner of his street, where Calvin turns left while Gardner continues straight. He spots a mailman across the street as he makes his way through the neighbourhood, and he cheerfully waves to him. Gardner’s been thinking about it a lot lately, and he’s started to contemplate becoming a mailman himself. He enjoys walking through the neighbourhoods—especially on days like today, when the sun shines down on him brightly, warming the sidewalks and brightening his surroundings—as well as interacting with his neighbours. He thinks it’d really be nice.

Gardner reaches his house, a tiny split-level with gray siding and a little garden surrounding it. The flowers are just starting to bloom in the increasingly warm weather, and a few of them display bright petals as he passes them on the way inside.

In contrast with outside, the inside of the house is incredibly dark. All of the curtains have been drawn, casting the whole house in shadows. Gardner drops his backpack on the floor by the kitchen table and flicks the light on.

Except, there’s no kitchen table. It’s gone. In fact, all of the furniture is gone.

“What the…?” Gardner carefully moves through the room—not that there’s much in the way of his movements now—examining his surroundings. The entire room is empty, not a single sign of the life that had previously filled the home. Everything had been here just this morning when Gardner had left for school. Now the kitchen is empty, and it echoes with the sounds of his footsteps, heavier and louder in the abandoned space.  

“Okay…” Gardner says. He’s a little bit weirded out, but not overly worried. Maybe his parents had been intending to paint and just forgot to tell him? Or else, it is completely possible he just forgot. Sometimes he gets distracted. It’s probably nothing.

For a moment he does wonder where his parents are. If they moved all this stuff, they definitely didn’t go to work this morning. But then he figures they’ve probably just gone out to get the paint, and the moment passes.

Gardner picks his bag back up and carries it up the stairs to his bedroom. When he opens the door, he is a little bit relieved to find everything exactly the same as he left it. Everything’s completely fine. Nothing to worry about. He sits down at his desk and starts on his homework, working for about an hour before he decides he wants a snack.

The fridge and oven have been removed, but Gardner figures there’s definitely still food in the cupboards. He’s thinking about the crackers his mom always buys, round ones with a garlic flavouring, and he’s excited to have a few when he opens the cupboard and finds it empty.

“Oh.” Emptying the cupboards just to paint definitely seems like overkill, but alright. Maybe it’s not even painting. Maybe it’s something else. Of course, if Gardner’s parents were doing a complete kitchen overhaul, certainly he’d remember something about it, right?

Gardner moves into the hall and opens the pantry door. Again, completely empty. And now he’s starting to get worried. He quickly moves into the living room, testing out a hunch, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his stomach. Certainly there’s an explanation for all of this. He just needs to stay calm until he figures it out.

Gardner enters the living room. It’s dark, and he can’t see the lamp—which is not a good sign, he’ll admit—so he carefully makes his way to the window and pulls the blinds open. The room is empty. Well, not entirely empty. There are still pictures of him on the walls, Gardner through the ages. But somehow, this is a not a comforting detail. Everything disappearing from the house except for traces of him is not exactly comforting. It’s ominous.

“Definitely not a great sign,” Gardner mutters. He leaves the living room and heads back up stairs, throwing open doors and starting to examine the rooms. Bathroom: empty. Guest room: just a bedframe and a mirror left behind. Master bedroom: heart-wrenchingly empty. He crosses the room in quick, somewhat frantic strides and pulls the closet door open. There’s a lone hanger lying on the floor, but that’s about it. Gardner feels his heart miss a beat. For a moment it struggles to regain its rhythm, and he feels like he’s going to die. Eventually it evens back out, but part of that feeling remains.

Gardner stands there for a long moment, just staring at that stupid hanger. He feels like his legs are about to give out. But he’s not done, so after a moment he manages to gather his strength and returns to the hallway. He throws the hall closet open for good measure, but he’s not shocked by what he sees. Empty.

He’s not exactly sure what he has to gain from doing this, but he storms down the basement anyway, just to see. No surprise, it’s empty. On shaking legs he makes his way back upstairs and is relieved to make it to one of the few pieces of furniture left—his bed—before he completely collapses.

Gardner tries to think of reasonable explanations. He’s wracking his brain, trying to come up with something—anything—that could possibly explain what’s going on. Why his parents would take every piece of furniture from the house except for his things. It has to mean something. There has to be a reasonable explanation. Unless—

Unless they’ve just run off without him.

He’s trying to stay calm, trying to cling to the rational possibilities that don’t involve a heart-breaking conclusion—as basically non-existent as they are. He thinks back to this morning. He ate breakfast at the table, as he always did, while his parents got ready around him. They were preparing for work, he recalls, and the memory feels like a stab to the heart. But what’s worse is what came moments after. He remembers finishing his cereal, quickly brushing his teeth, and as he passed his mom on the way back downstairs, she stopped him, giving him a kiss on the cheek and saying “I love you, Gardner”. He remembers how he had replied that he loved her too. Certainly a woman who was planning on leaving him wouldn’t have stopped to say “I love you”. Would she have? It seems a bit needlessly cruel.

People lie, says a nagging voice in the back of his head. Maybe she would’ve.

Tears start to form in Gardner’s eyes, his breathing becoming a bit more choked. Maybe they didn’t love him. And that’s why they’re gone. That’s why they took all their stuff and left his, even going so far as to make a point of leaving behind the pictures of him, memories of the son they left behind.

“No,” Gardner says. “No, that’s ridiculous. There has to be a reason.” He felt like maybe vocalizing these thoughts would make them feel more true, but that feeling disappears the second he tries it out. And now he’s started to cry, and he feels like he can’t stop it. He can never stop it. So, he just gives in, letting his fears wash over him as the tears start to fall from his eyes, landing on the comforter in dark wet spots.

His parents have left him. For whatever reason, they have decided that they no longer want to live with their son. They’ve left, they’ve taken all their stuff, and they’ve left him behind. Everything else was important enough to take, but he’s left behind. Forgotten, just like that damn clothes hanger. Unwanted, unneeded, unloved. He tries to think of why this is happening. What he possibly could’ve done to provoke this. It makes him cry even more to try to come up with an action of his that would lead his parents to literally run off without him, but honestly, he has nothing. Parents are meant to love their children unconditionally, aren’t they? Maybe they’ve just never loved him, and they’re just finally doing something about it.

Gardner cries for what feels like hours. When he finally calms himself down a bit—taking deep breaths and clutching a pillow to his chest for support—his throat feels like it’s actually been scraped from the inside, an awful raw sensation that leaves him with pain when he swallows. When he looks in the mirror, his eyes are red and swollen, the area under them shockingly puffy. The tip of his nose is bright red, but the rest of his face is shockingly pale. He looks a bit like he’s dying, or at least suffering under incredibly severe allergies. He eyes linger on his face for just a bit too long and suddenly he’s crying again, and it takes at least half an hour to get back to a calm-ish state. After that, he avoids looking in the mirror, turning to face the other way on his bed.

When his breathing is steady and he’s found some tissues in his backpack to wipe his face, Gardner carefully composes himself, sitting up in bed and looking around the room, trying to formulate a game plan. It’s about 7, the sky outside just starting to darken, so he figures he needs to act soon before it gets too late. His stomach growls a bit, and he remembers that he never did have a snack, hasn’t eaten since maybe 11:30. At the same time he truly can’t imagine putting anything in his stomach without wanting to immediately throw it back up.

A surge of anger suddenly flares up inside of him nonetheless. It wasn’t bad enough that his parents would just disappear, they couldn’t even leave him some food? He’s 15, he has no job, no money of his own, no way to support himself, and they would just leave him alone in this goddamn house without even some crackers to get by?

Gardner gets up and paces the room, the anger flowing through him. He spent 15 years thinking his parents loved him and they left without a warning, and they couldn’t even be bothered to leave him some fucking crackers or… something. Anything. Admittedly he still has his bed, and his clothes, but that’s not exactly going to keep him from starving, and eventually he’s going to have to leave this house because he has no money, and even if—if—his parents counted on someone taking him in they still left him alone, and—

Gardner catches his eye in the mirror. He looks crazed. His face is no longer pale, but bright red, flushed to match his nose. His hair is messed up, fluffy on one side and flat on the other, and his eyes are burning with anger. Without even thinking about it, he lets his fist fly across the room. It makes contact with the glass and his reflection shatters, tiny shards flying everywhere, one even scraping across his cheek.

Gardner feels the pain dully, almost as if he’s feeling it from afar, like he’s not quite connected to his body. He’s still angry, and now the adrenaline is pumping, and he thrusts his fist into the same spot again. Without the glass it just comes up against the mirror-backing unimpressively. He punches it again, and again, except that now his anger is fading a little bit, and the pain is taking over instead. He brings his fist up to examine it. Blood gushes from the cuts where his knuckles made impact with the glass, spilling onto the floor, and his feet—and the shards of glass around his feet that he’s going to need to watch out for—where it soaks into his socks.

Gardner carefully moves to grab the last of his tissues, trying to sop up as much blood as he can. He’s already starting to regret doing that, but it’s just that this whole situation has him so out of control, and the realization of that is making him angry again—or maybe ready to cry, or maybe both, he isn’t sure—and the whole thing is just one big emotional loop that he will never free himself from, so he may as well just sit here for the rest of his life and cry and punch things and cry because that’s all he’s ever going to want to do again.

The tissues aren’t doing a thing to stop the bleeding, simply disintegrating into nothing with incredible speed. Since there’s about a 0 percent chance there’s any paper towel or napkins left in the house, Gardner decides that he really only has one choice, and he yanks his dresser drawer open, looking for an old article of clothing. He finds a blue t-shirt that he no longer wears and uses it to wipe at the trickle of blood he feels pouring down his face before tightly tying it around his hand. Then he lays back down on his bed. He notices his backpack sitting on the floor, a few broken bits of glass on top of it. He wonders if he should grab it and do something, maybe shove a few things into it like a change of clothes and go figure out what he’s going to do? He could always go see Calvin, he supposes, though he hates the idea of being a burden on Cal’s parents, hates sticking them with the responsibility of taking care of him just because his own parents couldn’t do it. The Bensons don’t deserve that.

Still, Gardner thinks, as he rolls onto his back and stretches his legs out, it’s really his only option. Other than staying here, of course, which really isn’t much of an option at all. At the very least, they might know what he needs to do.

Gardner stares up at the ceiling and lets out a yawn. Yeah, he should probably just go do that, before it gets too late. The sky’s already darkened quite a bit since the last time he checked. But his mattress is comfortable, and between the crying and the punching and the loss of blood and the not eating, Gardner can’t help but feel a bit sleepy, all the adrenaline and emotion drained out of his body, leaving him drowsy. Still, he’s going to get up. He has to get up. Any moment now, he’s going to…

 When Gardner wakes up, it is now fully dark out, only the moon shining in through the window, casting a small patch of white light that slides over his stomach. For a moment he feels peaceful, the events of earlier that day forgotten. But then it all slams back into him and he groans with the memory. For a moment he wonders if maybe it was all just a vivid dream, but the way his right hand aches confirms that this nightmare is in fact his real life.

Gardner rolls over onto his side, where the bedside clock says 10:30. Shit. So much for leaving before it got too late and being as little of a burden as possible. Still, he has to admit that he does feel a bit better after his nap. His head aches a little bit but his emotions have kind of evened out, at least.

Gardner gets up fairly quickly, resolving that if he can leave soon, it still won’t be too late. Apparently he moves too quickly, though, because he almost collapses the moment he stands up, feeling incredibly light-headed, his vision spotty. “Right,” Gardner mutters to himself as his vision slowly reforms. The combination of blood loss and not eating is definitely not a good thing. But at this point there’s nothing he can do to fix it but make the journey to the Bensons’. And hope that if he happens to pass out along the way, someone will at least find him and take him to the hospital.

Gardner makes his way slowly across the room, turning the light on as he nears the remains of the mirror. He carefully walks through the shards of glass and reaches his backpack without feeling anything stab into his foot, which he takes as a good sign. His socks offer some padding, at least.

After Gardner grabs his bag he considers adding in the homework he started on earlier, which lies on his desk under the former mirror, but it’s covered in spots of blood and he figures if there was ever a situation that homework could be excused, it would probably be this. Instead, he carefully makes his way back to the other side of the room and quickly shoves in a few shirts, some underwear, and a pair of pants. That’s all he really needs right now. Anything else he needs he can come back for later.      

His hand has started to throb with pain and he carefully unwraps it. It’s stopped bleeding, for the most part, but the skin is red and raw, with a few strips of skin still clinging on. Gardner resists the urge to pick at them and wraps the shirt back around his hand. Shrugging on his backpack, Gardner makes his way out of the room, brushing the soles of his feet to make sure there are no bits of glass stuck to his socks.

Gardner stops in the kitchen as heads outside. His throat is still feeling raw from earlier, and he figures it’s the least he can do for his body to actually drink something. He looks around for anything he can use for some water, but all the cups in the house are gone, of course. He thinks back to if there’s anything in his room, but he’s pretty sure there isn’t. Eventually he just settles for putting his mouth under the tap. It hurts a bit to swallow, but Gardner hadn’t been aware just how dry his mouth was, so it definitely helps. He stands under the faucet for maybe a minute before he decides to move on.

It’s cold outside when he opens the front door, and for a moment he wonders if he should go back and look for a coat. He can’t remember for sure if he opened the hall closet, so there may still be something of his in there. But he’s already standing outside with the door locked—if that’s truly necessary—and he’s tired and at this point actually very interested in eating something, so he just focuses on the walk ahead. The Bensons only live about a 5-minute walk away. He can do this.

As Gardner turns away from the house, something catches his eye. The boat, still sitting in the driveway, as if nothing’s even changed. His parents kept promising him that one day they would take it on the water, one day they would do something with it. But now it’s still here and they’re gone, and it seems that that’s never going to happen. Gardner’s always loved the boat. It has a bed below deck, and sometimes his parents would let him sleep out there, pretending that he really was on the water, an adventurer out at sea. It holds nice memories at least, even as Gardner fights down a bit of anger at the fact that they never kept their promise. He wonders if they left anything behind in cabin and resolves to check it out at some point.

Right now he focuses on the road ahead. His nap definitely helped, but Gardner still feels tired, and the light-headed feeling isn’t helping too much. He just focuses on one foot in front of the other, and when his stomach growls he just tries to ignore it.

The trip feels like it takes hours, but eventually Gardner finds himself standing in front of Calvin’s house. He can’t really see his watch in the dark, but he estimates it’s probably 10:45, and prays that’s not too late. His one saving grace is that at least it’s a Friday, so maybe they haven’t gone to bed too early.

Gardner knocks on the door with his good hand and waits a few moments. He thinks he can see a light on inside, but after what feels like a few minutes, still no one has come to the door. He guesses he can’t exactly blame them for not wanting to see who’s at the door when it’s nearly 11 PM. Still, he tries again, a bit harder, and when that still doesn’t illicit results, he rings the doorbell.

He’s about five seconds from collapsing onto the front step and just staying there for the rest of his life when finally someone comes to the door. It’s Calvin’s mom who answers, and she adopts an anxious expression when she sees him.

“Oh, Gardner, hi sweetie,” she says, clearly trying for warmth but still sounding worried. “Are you alright?”

Gardner can only imagine how he looks right now, but he’s certain it’s not alright. He glances down at his hand, and Mrs. Benson’s eyes follow.

“Oh sweetheart, what happened to you?” She gently takes his arm and unwraps his hand, examining the damage. When she meets his eye again, the level of concern on her face makes Gardner tear up a little.

Gardner isn’t really sure how to answer her question, and after a moment Mrs. Benson ushers him inside. “Please, come in,” she says, leading him to the kitchen table, where he numbly takes a seat. He’s working up to asking if she has anything to eat when she hurries out of the room, saying that she’ll go get some bandages and fix him up.

While he waits, trying not to pass out but starting to feel very close—the walk really took a lot out of him, and it’s not like he had a ton to give—he stares at his hand, blinking every few seconds. While he’s distracted with that, he doesn’t notice Calvin enter the room.

“Gardner?” he asks, concern colouring his voice.

Gardner’s head jerks up, and he’s rewarded with spotted vision and nausea. Too fast, apparently.

“What happened to you?”

Gardner opens his mouth to respond, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. It all feels so real. It was always real, of course, but sitting in this brightly lit kitchen, full of warmth and family and a lot of things he no longer has, and having to actually say, out loud, what’s happened? It’s all just so much. So, Gardner just lets out a few choked little sobs and looks back down at his hand instead.

Calvin is still hovering, clearly worried, but luckily Mrs. Benson returns at this point, carrying alcohol and bandages and Polysporin. She quickly gets to work tending to Gardner’s wounds, and no one says a word, the room quiet except for Gardner’s intake of breath at the sting of the alcohol.

When his wound is properly bandaged, Mrs. Benson looks up at Gardner, and he feels like he has to face her. Calvin’s since taken a seat at the table, and he watches the two intently.

“Gardner, sweetie, what’s happened?”

Gardner starts to answer, but as simple as it is to say “my parents left me”, his head feels incredibly fuzzy, and he can’t organize his thoughts. Besides, if he gives her the answer, it will only lead to so many more questions. He needs to eat something first. Drink something. Try to get himself back together.

“Could I have something to drink, please? Maybe some juice?” he adds. He can’t think of where he’s remembering it from—not that it matters too much right now—but there’s a part of him that knows he should get some sugar in his body to make up for the blood loss.

“Of course, hon. Is orange juice okay?”

Gardner almost nods, and then thinks better of it. “Yes, that’s great.”

“Is there anything else you’d like?” Mrs. Benson adds as she heads to the fridge. “We have some cookies.”

Not exactly the best dinner, but better than nothing, so Gardner quickly gives his assent. “Yes, please.”

While Mrs. Benson pours Gardner’s juice, Calvin watches him intently. Gardner keeps his eyes on his hand while he waits. He needs to drink something first, eat something first, before he can do this. Even then, it’s iffy.

“Here you go,” Mrs. Benson says, setting down a glass of orange juice and a plate of some store-bought cookies in front of Gardner. He immediately picks up the glass and drinks about half of it before starting in on a cookie.

“So, Gardner,” Mrs. Benson starts. She seems a bit nervous to pose her question, and considering Gardner’s already brushed it off twice, he can’t blame her apprehension. He quickly finishes his cookie and starts on a second one, glancing up at her as he does. His head still feels clouded, but at least he feels more confident that he won’t pass out. That’s a start. “What exactly…” she trails off for a moment. “What happened to your hand?”

Gardner sighs and takes a long sip of juice. “When I got home, after school, the house was empty. Completely empty,” he adds. “Everything was gone, except for my stuff. Every trace of my parents had just disappeared.” Mrs. Benson’s eyes are wide with shock, and the concern on her face brings a few tears to Gardner’s eyes. He focuses back down on his hand. “So… I sat in my room, and I just felt… a lot, and at one point I just got so mad, and my reflection was just so crazy, before I knew what was happening, I’d punched the mirror.”

“They just left?” she asks, and Gardner can swear she has a hint of anger of her own in her voice.

Gardner shrugs. He feels like his emotions are precariously balanced and he doesn’t want to get set off again. “I guess so,” is all he says in return, picking the chocolate chips out of a cookie and eating them.

“Oh sweetheart.” Mrs. Benson stands and wraps her arms around Gardner. It’s a nice gesture, but it reminds him of his own mother, and soon he’s crying again. He’d thought for a moment that maybe he had no more than a few small tears left, but here it is, real, full-on ugly crying, once again, and he’s not sure if it’s going to stop—if it’s ever going to stop, or if this is just his life from now on, a constant, drowning sadness that threatens to swallow him whole, intercut with periods of violent anger and the occasional trap of feeling calm—so he just leans into it, but he’s feeling so much, feeling too much and he kind of just wants to sleep for the next 5 years, and then maybe after that he’ll finally be okay.

Except that he won’t be. He’ll never be okay because his parents clearly don’t love him and how do you get over that? The only people in the world who are always supposed to be there for you, to love you unconditionally and to take care of you and they didn’t want to do that and now they’re gone and how is Gardner ever meant to do anything more than cry about that?

Gardner’s breathing is becoming more and more laboured. He doesn’t feel like he can catch his breath, feels like the more he tries the less he’s able to, until eventually he’s just going to suffocate. He’s acutely aware that he’s probably hyperventilating, maybe having some sort of panic attack, and he needs to get a grip, but he just can’t do it, and he’s mad at himself for not being able to, but he can’t. He can’t fix this.

“Gardner.” He’s suddenly aware of Mrs. Benson’s voice, breaking through his sobs. “Gardner, please, deep breaths,” she coaches. He tries, but he’s still not sure if he’s getting there or not. The room suddenly feels so tiny, like it’s closing in around him. “You just need to slow your breathing,” she tells him. She no longer has her arms around Gardner but is now kneeling in front of him. She demonstrates how to take a proper breath, and Gardner attempts to follow along. After a few of these he’s back to breathing normally, though he hasn’t exactly stopped crying. Mrs. Benson stays there, rubbing his back, for however long it takes him to actually stop crying, if not for good then at least for a little bit. Then she stands up and looks down at him. “Do you want me to make you anything? Did you have dinner?” Gardner shakes his head. “Alright…” she glances back at the kitchen, searching for something. “Um… what do you think of a sandwich? Would that be nice? I could do ham and cheese, or peanut butter and jam.”

“Ham and cheese sounds nice,” Gardner tells her, and she smiles.

“Great,” she says. “And I’ll get you some more orange juice too,” she adds, grabbing the empty cup before heading back to the fridge.

“Gardner?” Calvin asks. Gardner had almost forgotten that he was even there.

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. That’s a really shitty thing to have happen. You don’t deserve this.”

“Thank you,” Gardner says. It’s a nice bit of reassurance to have. Although at least if he had done something to deserve it, he might understand why it was happening, be able to trace it to something he had actively done to ruin things. As is, the idea that it wasn’t his fault, that nothing he could have done would’ve stopped this… it just makes him feel so powerless.

They sit in silence after that. Calvin seems a bit uncomfortable with the whole situation, and Gardner honestly prefers not to talk about it right now. Or maybe ever. Who knows? Maybe one day he’ll be able to talk about it a lighter, detached sort of way. But not right now.

“Here we go,” Mrs. Benson calls, placing a sandwich in front of Gardner, along with his glass of orange juice.

“Thank you,” he tells her, taking a bite of the sandwich. For a second, he kind of feels like his stomach is going to reject it, but he chews slowly and he’s slowly able to kind of ride out that feeling of sickness.

“So, Gardner, of course you’ll take the guest room tonight, but I just want to let you know that you are welcome to stay with us as long as you like. Or else… I don’t know if you have any family you’d like to me to call?”

Gardner shakes his head and takes another bite. “It was really just me and my parents. All of my other family’s out of state, and I don’t even really know them.” Gardner keeps his voice as steady as he can, and has to admit he’s pretty proud of how calmly he manages that information.

“Then you’ll live with us, of course,” Mrs. Benson says brightly. Gardner isn’t sure how he feels about that statement—he really doesn’t want to be a burden, and especially to make them deal with him just because his parent didn’t want to—but he figures that’s a conversation for when it’s not almost midnight. He thinks back to his parents’ boat. If worst comes to worst, maybe he could just live there. He likes boats. Of course, he’s not exactly sure if the reminder of them would be more comforting or heart-wrenching. Another conversation for later, he supposes. For now, Gardner just nods and focuses on his sandwich. He’s felt tired for a while, but it suddenly hits him that he’s exhausted, the side effect of feeling so many emotions all in one day.

“I’m sorry that this happened to you, Gardner,” Mrs. Benson adds. She sweeps a bit of Gardner’s hair out of his face; the bangs are constantly falling in his eyes. “But I want you to know that we are here for you, alright? We’re going to take care of you. You’ll be okay.”

Yet another tear slides down Gardner’s cheek, but it seems to be all his body can manage at the moment. He nods his appreciation to Mrs. Benson and finishes his sandwich. All he wants now is to sleep.

Calvin guides Gardner upstairs to the guest bedroom, and he simply pulls off his socks and jeans before collapsing into bed.

Gardner was worried at first that as soon as he got into bed he’d no longer be tired, but instead forced to lay awake all night, running through all the ramifications of what’s just happened, what his life is like now. Mercifully, however, that doesn’t seem to be an issue, and he’s asleep within five minutes, though his dreams are confusing, an unexplained sense of worry looming over them, and they jerk him awake every few hours, though he quickly falls back asleep each time. It may not be the best sleep he’s ever had—or anywhere close—but it’s something, at least, and his body seems pretty grateful for that when he finally pulls himself out of bed the next day, the bedside clock announcing that it’s around noon.

When Gardner enters the Benson’s kitchen, he finds Mrs. Benson sitting alone at the table, drinking some tea. As soon as she notices Gardner she jumps up, offering to make him some breakfast, whatever he’d like. Gardner doesn’t want to put her out too much, so he just asks for cereal, and she returns a moment later with a bowl and some milk.

“So, Cal and his father had to go out for a little bit, but I thought after you had your breakfast that the two of us could get gather the rest of your things?”

“Sounds good,” Gardner replies, even though there are about a million different reasons that the proposal does not, in fact, sound that good. Namely that the idea of facing that house again makes his heart start to speed up, but Gardner does still need his clothes, and he wouldn’t feel right about Mrs. Benson buying him new ones.

“Great,” Mrs. Benson gives Gardner a bright smile. She really is the sweetest woman, and Gardner’s beyond thankful for that.

 After Gardner finishes his breakfast and changes into a different outfit, he and Mrs. Benson make their way back to his house. Or his former house, Gardner mentally corrects himself. Each of them carries a few moving boxes with them to help pack up his stuff. It’s been decided that they’ll remove the furniture once Mr. Benson is available to help them, but since there’s already furniture in the Benson’s guest room, Gardner tells Mrs. Benson just to do whatever she wants with the old stuff. She seems sad at this dismissal of his belongings, but eventually formulates a plan to sell the furniture and give him whatever money they get, so that he can have a little bit of cash for himself. Gardner likes that idea a lot, liking the small amount of control it gives him in his own life, a little bit of independence to take care of himself.

As Gardner makes his way through the house, he can just feel Mrs. Benson’s shock behind him, the way that she keeps looking around at the empty space. While they don’t need to pass through the living room to reach Gardner’s room, she wanders in anyway, and Gardner can literally feel the outrage radiating off of her as she takes in the pictures on the wall. After taking them in for a moment she starts pulling them all down, snapshots of Gardner throughout his life so far. Gardner when he was maybe 8 or 9, dressed in a baseball jersey and beaming up at the camera, a few of his teeth missing; Gardner as a baby, wearing a onesie and cuddling a stuffed bear; Gardner at the beginning of this school year, hair falling across his forehead and covering one of his eyes. She carefully places them all into a box before moving back onto their mission.

“You know…” Gardner starts nervously. “You really don’t have to take those.”

Mrs. Benson gives him a sad look. “I’d like to, Gardner. Besides, if you’re going to be staying with us, it only feels right to have a few reminders of you throughout the house. Make you a real part of the family.”

Gardner works very hard not to start crying at that, and just barely manages to succeed. He’s so sick of crying.

Mrs. Benson audibly gasps when they reach Gardner’s room, despite the fact that he’d tried to prepare her beforehand for the state it’d been left in. Broken glass glitters in the light pouring in from the window, some of it smudged and stained with his blood, which has since dried into flaky brown spots dotting the floor and the desk. Gardner’s hand aches a bit as he thinks about what happened there the day before.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about the mess,” he says.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I understand,” she tells him, and she kneels down to start cleaning up the mess. She’d packed a little hand broom and dustpan when Gardner had mentioned the glass earlier, and she uses it to clear the floor.

“I can do it, if you want,” Gardner offers. “It was my fault, after all.”

Mrs. Benson smiles at him and stands up. “Thank you, sweetie. It is a bit rough on my knees.” She hands him the broom and dustpan. “I’ll get started on the closet, alright?”

Gardner nods, and sets to work sweeping up the glass. Normally he might find it to be rather boring work, but right now the simplicity is calming, and even the scrape of bits of glass against the floor is somewhat soothing.

Once Gardner’s cleaned up the glass the best he can, he dumps the shards into a garbage bag that Mrs. Benson brought with her and starts placing books into a box. By the time he’s finished, Mrs. Benson has managed to carefully fold and pack all of his clothes, and has started packing away some of his miscellaneous belongings. The total comes to about 5 boxes, none of them all that big. It’s a little bit sad to look at his life that way, narrowed down to 5 small boxes. He grabs a box and starts carrying it down to the car, trying to ignore the thought.

Once everything’s packed up and Gardner’s sitting in the car, he notices the boat again, still sitting in the driveway. “Oh!” He turns to Mrs. Benson. “The boat. Um…” He’s suddenly a bit nervous to ask the question, in case Mrs. Benson doesn’t want a giant boat sitting in her driveway. Gardner briefly considers if it would be a good idea to ask her to help him sell it, but as nice as the money would be, he thinks he wants the boat itself more. It’s a reminder of his parents’ broken promises, yes, but it’s also got a lot of good memories behind it. “Do you think we could move it to your house too?”

“It’s important to you?” she asks. She seems a bit shocked.

Gardner nods. “Very.”

“Then of course, sweetie. We’ll get it later when we come back for the furniture.”

Gardner smiles. “Thank you.”

Gardner settles in pretty easily after that. The Bensons are incredibly kind, and basically treat him like another son. It’s nice to live with Calvin, too. They’re both only children, and the feeling of having a brother is incredible to both of them.

Gardner still wakes up from awful dreams some nights, confused about the exact content, but feeling incredibly unsettled. Overall though, things are going rather well. He feels peaceful here, and accepted. It’s still hard, sometimes, thinking about his parents, how they left him. But it’s getting a lot easier. He even talks about them sometimes with Calvin, reminiscing on things they did together, and he mostly doesn’t cry anymore. Occasionally it gets to him, usually sneaking up when he least expects it, so that one minute he’s fine and the next he’s crying so hard he can barely breathe, but the Bensons are very supportive, and he’s getting better at calming himself down.

Gardner waits about three months before he finally goes out to the boat. The cabin is just how he remembered it, with a little kitchen area, some seating, a bed, and a few random books lining the shelves. It’s nice in there, and it reminds him of how things used to be, when he would sleep out there in the warmer weather. Gardner hasn’t realized how much he missed that until he’s sitting on the bed, staring around at the achingly familiar surroundings. As grateful as he is to the Bensons for taking him in, he has to say admit that he hasn’t exactly gotten used to his new room. He’s decorated it with the things from his old room, but it just doesn’t feel the same. It doesn’t feel like it’s his.

This boat, on the other hand, is his. A place that really feels his own.

After that first visit, Gardner starts bringing some of his stuff out to the boat, slowly filling it with his belongings. He leaves a few things behind in his bedroom inside, but the majority of his belongings end up the boat, including maybe half his wardrobe.

Gardner also starts sleeping in the boat more, rather than staying inside the house. The first time Mrs. Benson realizes this she seems a bit alarmed, but Gardner tells her that it helps him sleep better, and as much as she seems to want to argue it, she lets him have this. People have been gentler around him lately. He’s not sure how to feel about that, but in the cause of being allowed to sleep in the boat, but decides to just embrace it.

It takes a while, rebuilding, and healing. But the Bensons are there for him, kind and caring and embracing him with their love. And eventually, Gardner starts to think that he might just be okay. Maybe.

[creativity-is-rebellion]

Life on Intermission

So, for mental health reasons, I have decided to put my law studies on hold for six months while I gather myself. The thing I am supposed to be mostly doing is resting (which is the hardest thing in the world for me - I always need something to do). I think the main reason why it is difficult is because for the majority of my life I have had too much cortisol running through my body. When I was a kid (and teenager), I grew up in a tumultuous household with a narcissistic mother and an enabler for a father. I had to parent and counsel my mother day and night for her unresolved issues surrounding her own traumatic upbringing and stressful early life, which led to a transference of generational trauma from herself to me. I was both psychologically, (and one time) sexually abused by her. Adding to this, there was a constant money shortage, sometimes to the point of relying on food stamps, and I was bullied terribly at school. At 16 years of age, I was raped by a guy who had been my boyfriend of 3 months, and unceremoniously dumped shortly afterwards. I had to see him every day at school for the rest of my time there. The loneliness I felt, with both what was going on at home and what was going on at school, led me to try to take my own life with pills, but obviously, this was unsuccessful, because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse. and unceremoniously dumped shortly afterwards. I had to see him every day at school for the rest of my time there. The loneliness I felt, with both what was going on at home and what was going on at school, led me to try to take my own life with pills, but obviously, this was unsuccessful, because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse. and unceremoniously dumped shortly afterwards. I had to see him every day at school for the rest of my time there. The loneliness I felt, with both what was going on at home and what was going on at school, led me to try to take my own life with pills, but obviously, this was unsuccessful, because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse. because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse. because my parents came home early and I was rushed to the hospital unconscious and had my stomach pumped. My mother refused me a counselor and medication, so my depression (which was later diagnosed as Bipolar I) just got worse.

I graduated from school with a relatively good result, and thus was able to gain entry into the university program of my choice. Or rather, it was my parent's choice. I had won a few poetry competitions which had been published in some anthologies. I wanted to study creative writing, but my parents thought it would be better I learned something "more stable" (which is ironic), so I "decided" to study psychology, my third choice. Regardless, I thought this would be a way to start over, and leave the horrors of high school behind me. But because of my family's lack of money, it was impossible to move out on just the income I was getting from the casual job I had whilst supporting myself at university. And then, along came my first love, who I had a tumultuous relationship with. We were on again, off again for many months, in fact, many years. We first met in 2003, and parted ways for the last time at the beginning of 2006. In hindsight, I think he loved me, but just couldn't say it. At the time though, it was devastating. I moved states and universities to get away from the situation, first to Canberra (but I have followed me there), and then to Brisbane (but I have kind of followed me there too). 

I was able to make a life for myself in Brisbane for a time, despite still living with my parents (who had followed me up there), but then the loneliness I felt, mixed with being given the wrong meds, led to my first full -blown manic episode. I was spending money I didn't have, and wracking up a debt on 3 credit cards and 2 personal loans. In 2005, I tried to take my life again, which (again) was unsuccessful. Towards the tail end of this spending spree, I met my future husband. This was a brief reprieve. I decided to take a year off uni and work full-time to pay my debt back, and my future husband and I moved in together. Within 7 months, I was pregnant with our first son, and, even though I went back to university, I kept having to defer because of money issues. After giving birth, I went though a pretty bad bout of postpartum depression, 

In 2010, we got married, and things went well for a couple of months, until the financial situation became critical. We decided to move back to Norway, my husband's home country, despite me never even visiting, as he could get a better job there. I graduated with just one half of my double-degree, and off we went. Initially, things were good when we moved; I worked toward my master, learned the language, got a few jobs which allowed me to focus on practicing the language, and was of the impression that I would be able to study psychology in Bergen once I finished my language courses. But then, in 2012, I found out that I had been given the wrong information about this, and it was no longer an option. I wanted to leave, as there were no jobs available in my specialized area. I was hospitalized for suicidal thoughts for the first time ever in 2012, but there would be another 3 times after that over my time in Norway. In 2013, I gave birth to my second son, which was truly a joy, and for which I didn't get any postpartum depression, but, at that time, my actual Bipolar was bad enough. My husband's career was taking off, and I felt my problems were ignored, and that he was leaving me behind. We didn't move back to Australia (my home country) until 2017. Again, there was another promise of a fresh start.

After working with my degree for a few months, I decided to do my PhD, which was awful (I covered that in a previous post). I loved teaching and participating in conducting research, though. With my income from these gigs, and my husband's income, we were living the high life. Until the teaching dried up and my husband's company folded at the beginning of 2019. The pressure of all of this led me to be hospitalized again in the psychiatric ward 2019 for 3 months. Afterwards, as soon as I came out, I had to look for work, due to our dire financial situation. We had been in the throes of building a new house when times were good, and now we were in more debt than we had ever been. My husband found work, but was now earning half of what he was earning before. I've applied for 600 jobs before I've got to his first job interview. I ended up getting casual work, but couldn't find anything permanent, and it didn't pay enough. I started my law degree, which got off to a prosperous start, but I was also diagnosed with Lupus, which would explain why I not only felt mentally shit, but also physically shit. And that takes my biography more or less up to the present (with some stuff most likely left out).

But now, I am taking a break. I am, for the first time, deciphering what happened to me, trying to process all of the trauma, in order to become a better version of myself. Here are just some of the things I am doing during this coronavirus lockdown to self-improve:

^ Here is book I need to read whilst in the throes of finally finishing my first novel. It's only taken me 13 years. Not biggie. I need to procrastinate less. But also be less harsh on myself. I've had some really dark periods in-between that have lasted years. Sometimes, I just feel like I lose so much time when the depression is particularly bad. It makes me overdo myself when I actually feel OK for once.

^ This is a picture of my jewelery projects and couch-side workroom for when I am on hiatus. I'm going to try to get my jewelry business in order during my time off, but it's all about moderation, as my jewelry-making sometimes becomes obsessive because I get a rush of ideas. For example, yesterday I made 3 necklaces and 4 bracelets in a trance-like state. It might be impending mania, and I have to try to keep track of it, and approach it in a healthy way.

^ My fitness and health has been a personal concern of mine for a while now. Due to being diagnosed with Lupus last year, the sedentary life of being a student, and having to take mood stabilizers and anti-psychotics for my Bipolar, I have put on a little bit of weight that I want to shed, but because of the physical pain I experience due to the flares, sometimes it's difficult to do anything but light exercise. It's all about baby steps. Daily walks are also good for boosting my mood.

There is also a number of boxes awaiting my attention in the garage, which I suppose could be seen as symbolic of me unloading both emotional and literal unwanted baggage / rubbish. Its a long road, but at least I am finally taking the necessary steps for dealing with unresolved trauma and ridding myself of painful secrets that have haunted me for the longest time. All I have to do now is to remind myself to breathe.

[thorongil82]

Finding Treasure

Can also be read on AO3 here

Fandom/s: Spider-Man: Homecoming, Marvel Cinematic Universe

Words: 4,575

Tag-list: @forasecondtherewedwon @you-guys--are-losers @spideychelleforever @tvfanatic97-2 @peterxchelle Just thought you guys might like this.

Summary: Michelle is bitterly disappointed and frustrated after Ned and Peter waste their time searching for treasure. Maybe she was just looking in the wrong place …

There were times when Michelle Jones really questioned her decision on going on a road trip. She never did like the idea of going on one at any stage of her life. Period. She had always believed that the only reason people bothered even considering the notion was because they held some weird belief that in the short time they would disappear from home they would have some adventure or spectacular event that would change their life for the better. It was different from tourists; they at least usually had a good reason for travelling, and it would probably be the only time they’d get to experience that journey. Road trips were traditionally poorly conceived ideas that would almost certainly end up with cars breaking down, items being lost or stolen, someone getting sick at the most inconvenient of moments, and general jerks trying to take advantage of strangers to the area. In today’s world, if people wanted adventure they only needed to wait for someone with a grudge on an Avenger to become crazy enough to act on it. Or wait for another alien invasion. Both were as likely to happen as the other, at this stage.

Apparently having a best friend that one obsessively crushes on with a superhero alter-ego can dampen the fear of invasion or super-villains quite severely (so long as one is not directly involved).

So, Michelle really had very little interest in going on a road trip. Especially one that was both initiated and planned by her two closest friends. She had so very many plans for the holidays; so many new books to read, protests to help organise and attend, ousting certain male public figures with power and money for the misogynists and/or racists that they are, articles to write on her blog that no one knew was hers, sketching her crush strangers in crisis, and a lot of lying around her apartment daydreaming about one Peter Parker without a care or worry in the world. She had spent so long listening to them planning out their trip during their get togethers that when they asked her if she wanted to accompany them she had every intention of saying no. Even if it meant that she had to lie and come up with some lame excuse, it’s not like they could complain about that considering how poorly they tried to hide Peter being Spider-Man. When she had opened her mouth to answer, the “no” that sat on the tip of her tongue would’ve been so emphatic that such a road trip turn down would never have been seen or heard again. And yet, something froze her vehement refusal. That something being the wide, hopeful, pleading irresistible puppy eyes wielded against her by Peter - eyes that, in her not-so humble opinion, should be declared an international security risk in their own right. Such was the power of his imploring gaze - helped along by the sudden realisation that she could spend a lot of time with him in a confined space - that the “no” stuck in her mouth was swallowed back down and swiftly replaced with a deadpan, “Eh, why not?”

And now here she was, stuck in a small town - the name of which she really couldn’t care to even check as they drove in - that they were meant to stop at just to grab a bite and drink, because the two losers became enamoured by the ‘town legend’ of a fearsome outlaw who stashed away his treasures somewhere nearby. Clearly ignoring her protests that the whole thing was just a tourist trap designed to keep them in town longer and spend more money that they didn’t need to - the fact that the waitress, a dainty redhead teenager with freckles, was flirting with future-Michelle’s Peter, had nothing to do with her protests, though he was thankfully oblivious to her attempts - the pair of dorks set off to try and find the hidden treasures, with Michelle reluctantly tagging along. The trio, having solved a series of riddles and clues, are being led through a network of caverns by Ned, who was navigating from the map they conveniently found at the location of the supposed last clue - the grave of the outlaw’s son, how very cliché - with Peter bringing up the rear and leaving a trail of webs behind them so they would not lose their way, causing Michelle to be stuck in the middle of their nerd sandwich.

“It should be just past this corner,” Ned informs them, glancing up and down between the tunnel and the map.

Ned rounds the corner first, leading the trio into a small cave with a small room at the end walled off with metal bars. Inside the cage, the door already thrown wide open, is tossed empty sacks, a tattered wooden table, empty open chests, and a few small gold pieces scattered along the ground.

”O-Oh … well, this isn’t good,” Ned says.

"Really?! This is it?! This is all there is?!” Michelle shouts, her irritation boiling over.

“Guess someone must have beaten us to it,” Peter offers as he walks in behind them, his voice trailing off slightly as he spots the daggers that Michelle is glaring at him.

“Or there wasn’t any treasure to begin with,” she growls.

"It could be worse …”

"I cannot believe you idiots made us waste all that time for this!” she snaps, turning round and gesturing to the near-empty cell, during which Ned shoots Peter a look that almost pleads, ‘you can handle this’.

"Y-You know, MJ,” Peter starts, getting her attention while Ned sneaks past to access the barred door, “the real treasure could be the way our friendship has grown throughout this journey.”

Michelle stares blankly at him before bluntly replying, “No. You both promised me gold. I want my fucking gold.”

“Look on the bright side,” Ned proposes as he searches the cell, having already opened the apparently unlocked cell door, “at least there is still some stuff here.”

"It’s worthless,” she scoffs as Peter walks around her to begin his search.

"Come on, MJ. If you don’t look, you’ll definitely be getting nothing,” Peter points out as he starts collecting the leftover gold pieces laying on the ground, causing her to huff and grumble as she plods into the cage with them.

”Like you wouldn’t share it with me anyway, loser,” she mutters to herself.

Peering into one of the chests, Michelle finds herself staring at a golden necklace, the chains thin and spindly, designed almost like a spider’s thread, with an obsidian pendant with a ruby indent dangling from it. Michelle reaches out and touches it. As soon as she lays a finger upon it, a vision flashes before her eyes. Michelle sees herself lying on top of Peter in bed, hungrily kissing his swollen lips before trailing down his neck, as his hands run over her body, dancing across her skin. She quickly comes to and can feel her face burning, before quickly grabbing the necklace and stuffing it inside her clothing, out of the way.

"MJ? Did you find something?” Peter inquires

"N-No!” she squeaks before clearing her throat. “Just thought I saw a rat. I-It was nothing.”

“Well, we’re going to head back,” Ned speaks up, the two boys having already collected up anything in the cage that could possibly be worth something - at least, that would be believable for teenagers to carry out. It would be hard for people to accept Peter carrying a large thick chest if they saw him. “You coming?”

"Y-Yeah.”

Michelle waits a couple of seconds to try and bring herself under control before turning and following after the two boys, attempting to coax her face back into its usually bored and stoic expression while desperately hoping neither one would notice the slight pink tinge to her cheeks and the tips of her ears. The pure, innocent, happy smile that her crush shoots back at her does nothing to settle her nerves, only causing the warmth to flare even fiercer.

Later that night, after brushing off Peter and Ned’s apologies for wasting her day on a fruitless search, when they finally return to their individual rooms in the hotel they had to book into for the evening, Michelle pulls out the necklace and stares at it before her. No matter how hard she tries, she cannot think of any reason why she would suddenly see something at her first touch of the item, nor why it would happen to be a vision of one of her fantasies involving Peter - as if any of her others don’t. Chalking it up to the heat and a case of dehydration, Michelle instead stares at the design.

"Isn’t it ironic that a group with Spider-Man would find a spider necklace?” Michelle asks out loud to herself. “Maybe I should give it to Peter …”

Michelle just stares at it for a while before standing up with a huff and walking over to the nearby mirror. She looks at her own reflection as she places the chain around her neck, clicking it together behind her face. The spider sits pretty much perfectly in the cut of her shirt, while the golden webs glisten against her skin. A hand flies to the spider pendant and carefully caresses it.

"It would be just my luck if this would be the only thing that gets him to notice me …” she complains to her reflection. “It would be just like him too, noticing another spider.”

Her hands falls limply to her side as she sighs.

"This was a stupid idea …”

A knock sounds out against her hotel room.

"MJ? Are you in there?” Peter’s voice questions from the other side of the door. 

Michelle swallows down her nerves and slowly walks over to the door, opening it to see Peter’s bright, happy, adorable, cute face beaming up at her.

"What is it, Peter?”

Peter holds up some of the gold pieces he had picked up earlier.

"W-Well, I know you didn’t find anything and - despite you saying that it was worthless - I thought you should at least get some of our treasure. It was kinda our fault you were there.”

Michelle’s gaze drops to the floor as she twists the ball of her foot on the ground, trying to keep down the big grin that this lovable loser makes her want to show.

"Pete, you don’t have to give me anything,” she mumbles.

”I know,” he grins. “But I want to.”

Michelle looks back up at his beaming face and gives him a tight lipped smile in return. She fidgets with her hands, unsure if she should take it, if so, and how - hold out her hand and let him place them in hers, or take them from his hand and risk brushing her fingers against his -  when she notices his eyes flicker down from her face and fixate somewhere on her chest.

"What’s that?”

Michelle automatically reaches up quickly to grab the pendant, covering it with her hand.

"Oh, it’s … I just found it in one of the chests …” she explains.

"Really?”

'I knew it …’ Michelle laments internally, ‘That’s all he noticed …’

Michelle turns her head away and almost feels a shiver running along her skin around the golden web chain just as his eyes carefully flit across the jewellery, almost as if his eyes were softly caressing her skin like she wished his hands would. Eventually she drops her hand away reluctantly, letting Peter look at the pendant.

"It kinda looks like a black widow. That’s so cool!” Peter excitedly exclaims as he finishes his analysis.

Michelle lets out a half-hearted, almost pained laugh as she pulls her hands behind her back, trying to hide her nervous fidgets from the subject of her huge crush.

"Why’s that, Spidey? You get another arachnid to talk to? I’m pretty sure it’s not real.”

"No, I just think it suits you.”

Michelle feels her brow furrow as she turns her gaze back on Peter, who’s still staring at the pendant.

"It really highlights your skin and you look really beautiful with it.”

Peter’s eyes widen as if he’s suddenly realised what he just confessed, whilst the large burst of shock thunders through Michelle’s body at his words. Peter’s panic-stricken gaze lifts up to look into her eyes.

'He thinks I’m beautiful?’

"W-What?” is all the stunned Michelle can manage to voice in a whisper.

"N-Not- That’s … th- I- I mean, not th-that you need it to look beautiful,” Peter stutters, rambling through the belief that he said something wrong. “Y-You don’t. Y-You always look beautiful.”

Peter’s face turns a fierce bright red as he stammers, his free hand snaking around to rub the back of his neck.

’He thinks I’m beautiful?!’ Michelle internally in disbelief as Peter continues his stuttered clarification.

"I-I just mean th-that it looks r-really good on you - who a-already looks beautiful - a-and …”

Michelle just stares at her crush as he nervously stammers out his explanation, eyes flickering between the floor and her eyes, while occasionally lingering on her lips. Her own face lights up in a blaze as the warming blush spreads over her now rosy cheeks, lighting up the tips of her ears hidden underneath the bush of curls her hair has become, and crawling down along her neck and along her chest, pooling with the tingles and heat burning underneath the widow pendant. That mixing concoction stirring within her heart churns and turns into a pulsing urge. Not just her usual one every time she lays eyes on him, let alone thinks about him, to press her lips against his. To kiss that adorable hero and to finally let him know just how she sees him. Let him know just how much he means to her. This urge to kiss him is now joined by a fierce hunger. A passion. A burning lust bursting forth and engulfing her entire mind and body. And, just like earlier, the vision flashes before her eyes of a passionate fantasy; of her lying atop Peter at her mercy, eagerly tagging his soft lips and skin with her mouth as she devours her heart’s desire. Shaking herself out once more from her reverie, Michelle finds Peter still in the midst of his rambling apologetic justifications, as the swell of her own love and happiness - that her feelings for the dork stammering in front of her may not be so platonic after all, swirl together with the newfound lust and desire to act upon her deeper fantasies, bubbling and boiling from within the cauldron in her chest, and spilling out throughout her body.

”-so maybe i-it just helps e-enhance your natural beauty-” Peter continues, his hand dropping back down from his neck and gingerly rubbing over the back of his other hand.

'He thinks I’m beautiful!’ her thoughts scream in ecstasy.

"Th-That’s … you know … That’s a-all that I meant. You kno-?”

Michelle lunges forwards, acting on her heightened craving, and presses her lips up against Peter’s, silencing the teenage boy’s lengthy babbling with nothing more than a surprised squeak escaping his lips. She wraps her arms around his neck to pull his head to hers as she smashes their lips together, passionately kissing him and breaking only for a small gasp of air before planting another. And another. And another, before finally he presses back and joins in the more-than-friendly frolicking of their joined lips. Sloppily and hungrily their mouths collide in a drunken dance, both filled with the vigour of teenage hormones and lust. Michelle drags Peter back into her room, her long legs kicking the door shut behind them, lips barely straying from each other’s save to resurface for air before diving again into the pool of their desires. That is, until Michelle grabs Peter by the waist and throws him down onto her bed, the gold pieces in his hand flying out and clattering across the room.. He bounces with the sudden surprising force, but before he can recover, Michelle climbs on top of the bed and crawls over him, straddling his waist with her long light bronze legs while leaning forwards and pining his arms down beside his head.

"M-Michelle …?” Peter manages to make out with a gulp.

Bowing her head down, Michelle whispers in his ear, “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

She huffs a warm puff of air just under Peter’s ear before brushing her mouth down his neck, her teeth grazing along his skin and drawing a groan from his mouth.

”Michelle …”

At the sound of Peter desperately groaning her name, Michelle’s grip tightens around his wrists, her nails almost digging into his skin. Her head nestles in his shoulder as her mouth hangs open, before dragging it up and resting her forehead against his. Both stare deep into each others eyes, at their passionate fires within. Whereas Peter’s flickers with a loving and caring warmth, a gentleness craving to indulge and savour MJ’s beauty while also straining to control his enhanced strength so as not to harm her, Michelle’s blaze roars with a bestial passion and hunger, pure animalistic desire. With both faces pink, rosy, and radiating a heat that goes unnoticed, Michelle presses forward once more and hungrily locks their quickly swelling lips together, Peter barely hesitating before eagerly pushing up back into her. A devilish smile forces its way across her occupied lips as a thought invades her mind and she slowly pulls back, held back only by the small rise of Peter’s bottom lip that she’s gently bitten down on. His brow furrows slightly at the sight of her wide grin, only for her to release the bite and the hold on his wrists.

Leaning back, her hands come together to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, nearly tearing them from the stitching as she pulls apart the front of his shirt. Sticking out from the opening are all his lean-yet-chiselled abs and pecs in all their glory; strong, powerful, and at her mercy. Despite seeing them before from glimpses under a slightly raised gym-shirt, or from the way his skin-tight Spider-Man suit clings to his body, or even bare but blemished by bruises and stab wounds that she’d secretly treat for him in her bedroom after a night’s patrol, her sudden bravado caused by her lust-driven haze almost short-circuits at the sight of his impressive physique. Noting her dumbstruck expression, beautiful lips parted and speechless, Peter showcases a smirk that’s unusually cocky for him and starts to lean himself upright ever so slightly, leaning back on his elbows.

"See something you like, MJ?” he asks smugly as he lifts up his forearms and pulls at the open flaps of his shirt, slowly dragging them over his rippling muscles and past his shoulders. 

With each teasing movement, he leans further up and causes Michelle to slightly shuffle back, the ever growing cheeky smirk quickly morphs into a groan as Michelle eventually presses back into the bulge that had bloomed in his shorts. She peers down over her shoulder before glancing back at Peter, the energy shifting once again as her shock gives way to a knowing, devious smirk, while his bold cheekiness disappears and returns to a wide-eyed nervousness.

"Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Michelle purrs, swivelling her hips, grinding on his stiffness to emphasise her point and drawing out another groan from him.

"Em …”

A tentative smile blossoms on her face as she presses her hands on his firm shoulders, gently pushing him back down on the bed while she checks out his torso. Her eyes trace each line and protrusion with extreme scrutiny, taking her time to burn the enticing image directly into her brain.

"You look so delectable, Peter,” Michelle notes, her voice dropping to a sultry tone she’d never used before.

She looks up to find him glancing at the spot between them. Following his gaze, she looks down at the necklace she acquired, the spider pendant hanging down from the golden web with the forelegs ever so gently brushing and scraping against his pecs. Michelle looks back up at him, the hunger and desire flourishing once again.

"Has Spidey been caught in my web?” she innocently asks, cocking her head slightly.

Peter gulps and nods nervously. Michelle pulls one hand away from his shoulders and lightly traces a nail seductively down his chest, making Peter unable to avoid letting the hiss escape his swollen lips.

"You said it looked like a black widow, right?”

Peter nods again, though he then begins to squirm and shiver as Michelle presses her mouth to his abdomen and licks up his torso, trailing her tongue over his muscles till she reaches the base of his neck. With a sexy guttural giggle, Michelle brings her head above his and plants a soft kiss along his jawline, followed by a brushing of her lips against his for just the briefest of moments, before leaving another kiss on his cheek, until finally she draws level with Peter’s eyes, letting them stare at each other once again. Weirdly, with the exception of the deep flushes burning across their skins and their current positions, if someone looked at them both they could almost be excused as being normal, what with Peter’s wide puppy eyes and Michelle’s well-trained stoic expression.

“You know what female widows do to their partners, right?” she purrs, her lips skirting the air above his.

"U-Uh … y-yeah?” he answers with a tiny nod, the rise in his voice making it sound more unsure than he was.

Peter reaches up with his left hand and gently brushes a loose strand of curly hair back behind her ear. As his fingers softly brush against her skin, Michelle’s eyes close as she exhales and leans into his faint touch before dropping down and pressing a kiss on his left cheek.

"And with a meal as sweet and deliciously cute as you …”

Michelle’s lips dart again along his cheek, followed by another, and then a long deep kiss on his lips, both pressing in and moaning at the contact before reluctantly breaking apart as she whispers;

”I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself.”

Michelle lies on her bed with a soft smile on her face, her head buried into the crook of Peter’s neck while one of his arms is wrapped around her waist. At the start of the day she never would have thought that her dreams could have come true; both finding out how Peter’s lips tasted and felt when pressed against her own and that the feelings she held deep inside the walls within her heart weren’t so one-sided. Though, admittedly, she would have thought that finding out either of those would have been in a moment that was both awkward and sweet -  that they’d stammer and nervously declare their feelings for one another and share a soft and delicate first kiss. Not with a steamy, passionate make-out session that ended where they are now; with her cradled against a topless Peter, his discarded shirt now draped over her own shoulders. Peering up out of the bushy mess that is her hair, she spies Peter tentatively touching his lips with his fingers.

"What are you doing?”

"Feels kinda weird,” he answers with another soft touch to his lips, “Like, it’s a good weird. But still weird.”

"That’s what happens when you make out with someone for so long,” Michelle quips, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

"H-Have you done this before?” Peter asks, shuffling slightly so he can look at Michelle who shakes her head.

"It’s just something I’ve heard.”

"Oh. How do yours feel?”

"Really?” she questions with a slight glare.

"Just curious …” he mumbles with a pout.

Michelle rolls her eyes and presses a hand to her lips, letting her touch linger for a second, before shuffling over to bring her head up to his.

”It’s a good weird feeling,” she whispers.

They smile as they press their lips together for the umpteenth time that day, though far softer and more intimate than the previous session. While before was a burning wildfire tearing through their bodies, this feels gentle and tender, like snowflakes drifting down and landing on an outstretched tongue. Michelle pulls away with a satisfied sigh and nestles back in against Peter’s shoulder, bringing his slightly dishevelled shirt back over her own. For a moment there is a peaceful silence through the room, with only the occasional rev of a car passing outside the hotel taking away from their comfort, and soon Michelle begins to quietly hum as she closes her eyes.

"Does that mean that you don’t need a share of my treasure?” Peter questions, referring to the necklace.

"You mean our treasure. You came to share it,” she points out.

"Only because you said you didn’t find anything.”

Michelle opens up an eye and peers up at him. "You really wouldn’t have shared anything if I had shown you the necklace?”

"No,” Peter curtly answers, raising his head slightly to look down at her.

Michelle’s open eye narrows at his obvious lie. Peter tries to battle her stare but in the end lays his head back down onto the pillow. Michelle closes her eye and curls into him with a satisfied hum.

"Aww, how sweet. Peter, you shouldn’t have,” Michelle remarks far too sweetly for it to be anything other than sarcastic.

"Shut up.”

"Was that you?”

"Sorry.” Peter squeaks, causing Michelle to breath out a soft laugh.

”I’m messing with you, loser.”

The pair lie quietly once again, until Peter opens his mouth.

"You weren’t really going to devour me, right?” he inquires.

"Peter-”

"Because that’s just wrong,” he continues. “Also, you’re a vegetarian.”

Michelle, unable to bite back her laughter, lets it all tumble out and tries to quieten it by muffling it into his shoulder. Peter stares at her with a furrowed brow and waits until she can finally look back at him, her outright laughter diminished to a fit of giggles muffled behind a barely contained tight-lipped smile.

"What?”

"You’re such a massive dork,” Michelle manages to say through her giggles. “You know that, right?”

"Nat said that chicks like dorks,” Peter recalls as he runs a hand through his curls.

"Mhmm …” she hums in response.

"Do you?” he asks innocently after a moment.

"Do you think I’d still be here if I didn’t?”

"Probably not,” Peter sighs in relief.

Once more a comfortable silence softly blankets the room, only to be broken once more by Peter.

”Does this mean I’m your dork-?”

“Yes,” Michelle answers a little too quickly, trying and failing to stop her smile from opening up to include her beaming white teeth, before it fades a little as a flash of worry crosses her face. “I-If you want to?”

"Do you think I’d still be here if I didn’t?” Peter echoes.

They both grin at each other and seal their beginning with another soft kiss, Michelle’s hand reaching up to cradle Peter’s cheek, before returning to their cuddle. Michelle leaves her head lying in the crook of his neck while tangling her leg with his, leaving her hand to softly trace along his lean muscles.

"My dork. I like the sound of that,” Michelle whispers, letting out a sigh as Peter turns his head and plants a kiss on her forehead.

’This is my real treasure.’

A/N: So, full disclosure, that was my first time writing what could probably be described as smut. It’s not explicit, but I wouldn’t exactly call that middle part fluff. Weirdly, I was going to write an angst fic before I saw a prompt, which was going to be an ‘incorrect quotes’ post, which then became this. If you want, feel let me know what you think.

[eirianerisdar]

Snowmen and Murder

Alternatively titled Another Detroit: Become Human thing because a bunch of you followed me after that last fic I posted so I feel bad not posting more DBH fanfic. Thanks for all the reblogs and likes, and also reviews on FFN, guys!

Summary: Come Christmastime, two years after the liberation of the androids, Hank finds considerable difficulty finding Connor a present - especially since Connor outdid every expectation for Hank’s birthday that year. Featuring our favourite father-son combo, Connor and mountains of snow, and oodles of fluff. Set six months after Hitting the Wall, but no prior reading needed. That was Connor getting Hank a present. This is the reverse.

Also features awesome, fighting Connor.

As before, line breaks aren’t working on mobile, so I’ve put a > for every new section.

As Christmas approached, the Anderson household gained a few...embellishments.

Hank hadn’t done anything for the house that first Christmas after the liberation of the androids - it had been barely a month and a half after the actual event, and although Connor had settled into Hank’s house by then, there was still too much to do and not enough fully spoken.

That changed the next year.

Really, Hank wouldn’t have bothered - he hadn’t bothered for four years by the time the first Christmas since the liberation of the androids rolled around - but then Connor had passed the Christmas section during a shopping trip one weekend and his eyes had just...lit up.

Connor hadn’t said anything, of course. Hank, though, had noticed - the way Connor slid his ever-present coin back into his pocket and looked back over his shoulder at the glitter explosion that was the Christmas decorations section, that spark of innocent curiosity in his eyes - the same expression he had when he passed a goldfish shop, once.

The expression that Hank could never quite say no to, though he doubted Connor even knew he was doing it.

There was a goldfish tank in Connor’s room beside his charge-point now, with a beautiful blue-white, fan-tailed fish flitting in its clear water.

That year, they had returned from what was supposed to be a routine shopping trip with armfuls of tinsel and a plastic Christmas tree - Hank had insisted on that, because he knew what a shedding fir was like - but Connor’s smile, hidden under a mound of purple and silver tinsel, was worth it.

They’d done the whole Christmas dinner shebang that year. Flaming pudding and all. A picture of Connor, looking maniacally adorable (was that a thing?) with the pudding’s flames reflected in his smiling eyes, a flimsy santa hat slipping off his head, and Sumo enthusiastically licking his face - found its place in a frame on Hank’s desk, after.

If anyone asked, Hank always barked a laugh and said he took his chances to laugh at his partner when he could.

This year, Hank sat before the fire with a mug of cocoa in his hand (with a generous splash of brandy, of course) and reviewed a couple of recent case files while taking periodic glances through the  window. Beyond the snow-frosted pane, Connor was valiantly trying to build a snowman in the front yard, his efforts thwarted repeatedly by two hundred pounds of excited Saint Bernard.

Laughter, muffled by the window panes. “Sumo, stop!”

Hank did not smile much, as a rule. But he felt himself grinning nonetheless as he took another sip of his drink and flicked through his case files again. This particular suspect continually evaded capture - there were enough good-quality pictures of him and the lizard-shaped tattoo on his collarbone to send out an all-points-bulletein with good chances, but two months after his disappearance there was still no trace of him.

Well, even so, it wasn’t enough to bother Hank too much, given the season.

A gust of icy wind, as the front door opened and shut again with a careful creak - to avoid it slamming shut with the wind.

Hank sighed into his cocoa. That was Connor for you - careful and detailed and ever-observant.

Quiet footsteps entered the room, followed shortly by the pad-pad of paws.

Sumo entered Hank’s field of vision and flopped down over Hank’s feet.

“Oof,” Hank muttered. He wiggled his toes so that the blood would get to them better, and looked to his left, where Connor had sat down on the sofa, flicking frost out of his dark hair.

Hank frowned. “Connor, you’re shivering.”

Connor paused with an hand still atop his head. “Oh,” he said, glancing down at his thin, knitted jumper. “It’s an automatic reaction when my thermal sensors register a temperature below a certain threshold.”

Hank resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “But is it not nice?” he added.

The circle at Connor’s temple flickered yellow. “Oh,” he repeated, blinking.

A pause, in which Hank waited, despite itching to speak again.

Connor lowered his hand. “It is...not unpleasant, exactly,” he amended. “But I was originally programmed to feel a level of discomfort when exposed to extreme cold. It does not affect my functions, but it would be enough to activate aspects of social programming pertaining to temperature and weather.”

“So in short, yes, it’s not nice,” Hank said. He remembered - with the blurred detachment of a memory associated with being punch-out drunk at the time - sitting on a bench by the river in the days leading up to the android revolution, and Connor standing with shoulders hunched and arms around himself in the snow, thin, Cyberlife-issued uniform jacket flapping in the icy wind.

Hank grimaced. It was not a memory he recalled with pride - there had been a gun in his hand and grief and bitterness in his heart, and Connor had looked him dead in the eyes with such an expression of earnest truth and listed out his worth in blunt, selfless words - that Hank, in that moment of instability, had put the gun away, shame flickering in his consciousness.

Connor had been shivering then, as he was now.

“...Yes,” Connor said, after a moment. “It’s not...nice.” There was that somewhat-lost look in his eyes again - the one that always came when he realised something he did not before.

Then the look was very abruptly interrupted when Hank grabbed a throw off the arm of his chair and chucked it at his partner’s face.

Connor caught it with superhuman reflexes, stared almost cross-eyed at the bundle in front of his face, and then lowered it to look questioningly at Hank.

“Wrap up before you turn into an electric icicle,” Hank grunted, already back to glaring at his case files.

Connor did. Sumo wandered over and curled up into his side, and soon, his thermal sensors registered a comfortable rise in temperature.

And if Hank squinted over to his left to check up on them every now and then - Connor was too preoccupied with scratching Sumo’s ears to notice.

>Hank stormed empty-handed out of his fourth shop of the day, muttering under his breath as the door slammed shut behind him.

What was it that made shopping for gifts so intensely irritating? It wasn’t as if he was asking for anything from the Mars Colony, for goodness’ sake. All he wanted was a long wool muffler of some kind, treated to not raise static with android polymer, and not adorned with bobbles and puffs and sparkling things.

Hank had nearly exploded when the last shop attendant handed him a six-foot-long monstrosity of a scarf with glow-in-the-dark reindeer embroidered with sequinned antlers along its edges. He might be famous in his department for poor fashion choices, but that was ridiculous even beyond his imagining.

Grumbling, Hank stomped down the block and wrenched open the door to the next promising-looking shop, gritting his teeth at the merry tinkle of the entry bell.

“Season’s greetings, sir!” The cheery-faced attendant behind the counter says. “What might you be looking f-”

“Just browsing,” Hank muttered, deflating slightly at the attendant’s bright smile.

He strides between the shelves for a while, picking up a scarf every now and then, only to put it down again after a few moments. Too thin, too wide, too short, too long, too scratchy, too hard to wash, too dark, too-

Too not Connor.

Hank stopped, one hand still in the act of putting a muffler back onto its shelf.

He sighed.

Then he turned to go, and froze.

There was a man in the next aisle, just visible between the rows of scarves, wearing a beanie pulled down low and a high-collared jacket. As the man shifted in place, so did his collar, revealing a lizard head tattooed on his left collarbone.

Hank glimpsed the man’s face, too - an instantaneous thing more of sense than of actual vision - but he knew who it was at once.

The suspect in his case files.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” Hank muttered, looking away quickly.

Duty first.

He tapped a code into his phone. Ten he crossed over to the first customer he saw - a female android at the end of his row - slid his badge out of his pocket, and whispered a few quick words. She stared at him, eyes wide and the circle on her temple flaring yellow, and made her way out of the shop as quietly and unobtrusively as possible.

Hank took quick stock of the shop with a flicker of his eyes, hiding the motion in a cough.

One down. Four more to go.

It would be much easier if Connor were here.

It took a while, but eventually Hank crossed to the counter - the attendant last in his circular route - and leant over to speak to her.

Her eyes widened in fear as she looked over his shoulder.

Hank spun and lashed out blindly, batting away the gun as it discharged point-blank. The deafening thunderclap of the gun firing almost drowned out the attendant’s scream as she dived under the table.

Well. Good for her.

Hank threw himself inelegantly at the suspect, and felt something in his right ankle give way as they both slammed into the floorboards. The gun made a screeching noise as it skittered away, though, and Hank felt a momentary burst of victory before he saw the rage in his opponent’s eyes and felt a forehead smash into his.

He reeled back into the shelves, seeing stars, and a hand that seemed to be steel wrapped in cotton smashed into his cheekbone, sending a second burst of silver spraying across his vision.

Damn his age. Ten years ago he would have had his gun out and the suspect under control in two heartbeats; now, the cracking of his knees and the ache of his back as he threw out a foot into the man’s stomach only showed how much slower he was.

His mind was fine. His reflexes certainly weren’t.

Hank growled and kept at it.

Then a fist collided with his face again, and again, and Hank blinked up through blurred eyes to see a vicious smile on the suspect’s face as he grabbed a coat rack, poised to bring it down on Hank’s head-

And a lithe, dark-clothed shape crashed into the man with speed just a little too high for a normal human, taking over a whole three rows of shelves.

The coat rack clattered to the ground by Hank’s shoulder, and Hank groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face.

He winced, raised his head, and stared.

Connor.

Connor was picking the man apart with brutal efficiency; he stood like a statue of unforgiving steel, and every time the man threw an attack, a slim, leather-jacketed arm would shoot out and smack it away like an inconsequential fly.

The expression on Connor’s face was one that chilled Hank to the core.

Emotionless. Composed. Utterly unyielding.

Hank sometimes wondered what Connor would have become if he decided to follow orders and remain property of CyberLife.

Here he had his answer.

The suspect snarled in rage and bodily threw himself at Connor; Connor simply sidestepped, boots sliding on the wooden floor, clasped the man’s elbow, hooked his ankle, and threw him face-first into the floor.

The man made to push himself up, cursing, when a soft, controlled click made him fall silent.

Connor levelled his regulation weapon at the man’s head, one boot still pressed into his back. The LED circle on his temple flared a steady red.

“Stay down,” he ordered, quietly.

There was no emotion in his voice at all. He could have added a please, and it would have sounded like a request.

It was anything but.

Hank levered himself to his feet, groaning, and hobbled over, pulling his handcuffs from his belt.

“Hey, Connor,” he said, by way of greeting.

Connor did not respond. There was an infinitesimal shake in the hands holding the gun.

Hank paused. Then he made quick work of securing the suspect, zip-tying his feet as well. When he stood, Connor was still frozen, gun oustretched.

“Kid,” Hank said. He placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder.

Those dark brown eyes flickered, eyelids moving once.

Blink.

Then Connor’s gaze slid over to Hank and down to the hand on his shoulder, and thawed into the quiet, innocently-earnest gaze Hank knew so well. The circle on his temple faded to yellow, flickered to blue.

“Hank,” Connor said. His gun lowered, and he stared at it for a moment before sliding it back under his jacket.

“...You good?” Hank ventured.

Connor’s brows furrowed as his gaze flickered over Hank’s features, scanning, analysing. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking that question?” he returned, the edge of his mouth curving.

Hank snorted. “If you can snark back, you’re doing just fine, then. Step outside and call this in?”

Connor nodded, and made for the door.

The suspect began muttering again, and Hank nudged him with a foot to shut him up as he moved over to the fallen shelves - he had spotted something in the mess.

He picked up the muffler. It was wide enough that it would work well folded or unfolded, and shaking it loose revealed that it the right length, too. Wool, soft to the touch and coloured an even, bright scarlet all over.

Red was hardly the colour one associated with androids; it had always been blue.

But red, the colour of Santa hats and tinsel - Connor would love it.

Hank gathered it up, edged over to the counter, hissing as he favoured his ankle, and placed it before the still-shaken attendant.

“Sorry ‘bout this,” Hank muttered, with a wry grin. “Would you mind?”

>Connor was standing quite still, arms wrapped around himself, when Hank stepped outside, calling a goodbye to the officers inside the shop. The air was cool and crisp, and in the waning light of the late afternoon, snow had begun to fall. The cop cars lined up outside the shop cast the darkening air in red and blue.

“Hank,” Connor said. He paused. Looked away.

Something warm and woollen cascaded over his head.

Connor reached up, startled, and found his vision obscured by red wool. He pulled down on the layers encircling his head with difficulty. “A scarf?” he said, utterly befuddled. The scarf circled his head in giant loops, muffled his voice and piled up to his ears.

A red scarf. Connor found himself smiling.

Hank coughed into his fist and began walking, not quite looking at Connor. “I believe the common answer would be thank you,” he said, off-handedly.

“Oh!” Connor jogged to catch up. “Thank you, Hank,” he said, earnestly.

There was a hitch in Hank’s step as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I would have waited until Christmas, but you look like frozen crap. Wear the things we bought last winter, for goodness’ sake.”

“Okay,” Connor said, drawing level with Hank. There was warmth inside him - more than his thermal sensors were reading, more than could be explained by programming and electrons and binary code.

They walked home in companionable silence.

END

*Ahem* whatamIdoingmynewschoolyearstartstomorrowIshouldbesleeping-

But yes. More Connor and Hank vaguely parental fluff. If you missed it, I’ve written another dbh fanfic, Hitting the Wall. I’ve cross-posted that one to FFN and will do so for this one tomorrow. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to reply to people on FFN or here; I will try to do so sometime this weekend.

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[aelin-and-feyre]

Character Preferences: Azriel

For my 7k follower milestone. Requested by @cerridwxn @fangirlmo @heyyitsangie and multiple anons. Let me know who you want next!

First meeting/mate bond: The two of you feel it snap at the exact same time. You’ve known each other forever and have been tiptoeing around the other for years, but now that he knows, Azriel is quick to take action. His arms encircle your waist in a second, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in and pulling you tighter and tighter to him with each passing second. You respond immediately, though you are still shocked, your hands scraping through his hair as you pull him closer as well. ‘I-I always hoped that maybe -’ he murmurs against your skin, his voice hoarse. ‘I know, me too, but I never even thought to dream that -’ you cut off, unable to express your emotions accurately. His hands squeezing your waist slightly is his wordless response, letting you know he understands. The two of you sink to the floor slowly, holding, caressing, admiring each other, murmuring words of adoration and disbelief. Azriel simply cannot stop smiling. 

Kisses: A peppering of small kisses around your face leads Azriel’s lips until they meet your own. With his hands resting comfortably on your hips and a small smile gracing his features, kisses with Azriel are gentle and happy. The featherlight pecks leading up to it tickle your skin and it is when you start to giggle that Az finally stops messing around and silences your mouth with his. His shadows join his fingers when they travel up your spine and into your hair. The husky laugh of his is music to your ears.

First ‘I love you’s: The Spymaster is an expert at keeping his feelings unheard, but not great at keeping them unseen. Everyone knows Azriel is in love with you but he refuses to admit it. it is very important to him to not pressure you into something you don’t want. He always keeps the ball in your court, it’s always your decision whether to be with him or not. He’s always waiting though. So, you are the first one to say those three words eventually, and Azriel is very quick to say them back, letting out a huge breath of relief when it’s finally out in the open. You laugh when his body visibly relaxes at the confession. ‘You’re a doofus, you know that right?’ you wonder. Azriel just smiles a huge genuine grin, and leans in to kiss you. ‘Yeah, but I’m your doofus.’

Jealousy: One thing’s for sure. Azriel does not send spies to keep an eye on the guy flirting with you just to make sure he doesn’t try anything. No sir, that’s definitely not what he does. Nope. …. Okay but can you blame him? You’re gorgeous and Azriel has been waiting for love for so long and he truly does not want to lose you. Especially to someone who surely does not deserve you. Besides, the spies only stay for a day at most, and then Az feels guilty and calls them off. He’s extremely stealthy about the whole ordeal though, and you almost never know he was jealous in the first place. Other than the fact that his wings are wrapped around you that night as well as his arms, his shadows caressing various parts of your body as if memorizing them because he’s so afraid of you being taken away from him that he can’t help it. 

Proposal: His hands shake so badly right before it happens because he still doesn’t believe that he is worthy of holding your own in his scarred ones. You know it’s happening because you’ve talked about it before and so you grab his hands without hesitation, holding firmly to show him that you love everything about him, even the scars. He takes a deep breath when your eyes meet his, and nods slightly to himself before bending one knee and looking at you with endless hope filling his eyes. When you say yes, Azriel’s siphons flare in his inability to hold back the emotion coursing through him. He brings his hands up to your face, still a little bit hesitant, and you grab them again, placing them on your cheeks and then grasping his own face to bring him to kiss you.

Wedding: All seven of his siphons gleam and pulse on full display as you walk down the aisle towards him. You have never seen Azriel so bright. There is absolutely no sign of his shadows anywhere, and he knows it. His smile stretches across his face and there may or may not be just a small tear in one of his eyes. He does not hesitate as he reaches out and grasps your hand in his own. He does not grimace at all at the difference between your pristine skin and his own. His eyes stay locked on yours the entire ceremony, his wings outstretched and also on full display. His voice is loud and certain when he finally says ‘I do’ and you think you’re heart might crack at how happy he is when you finally say it back. 

Making Love: He is the perfect gentlemen. He makes sure everything he does is okay and welcome and he is so tentative at the beginning that eventually you just have to show him how okay with everything you really are. After that, Azriel is intense. He can go for hours, using his shadows to play with you and you return the favor by playing with his wings.

Cuddling: Azriel feels so safe with you, he will let you hold him for hours on end. His head sometimes comes to rest on your stomach when you’re reading in bed and you will run your hands through his hair absentmindedly, allowing him to relax after a long day. He finds comfort and love in your arms that you are happy to give—and give frequently as you as Az cuddle many times a week. Your feet tangled and arms around each other, you and Azriel get the best nights sleep and wake up happy and refreshed in your loved one’s arms. 

Domestic Activities: He likes everything being nice and neat and tidy, so cleaning days are common around your house. Az makes it fun though, putting on music and even going so far as to dance with you to the rhythm while you sweep and he vacuums. He uses a duster as a microphone and cleaning days soon become the best days of the week, when you both collapse from laughter by the end of them.

When on your period: His shadows inform him of your state before you even realize it, sometimes saving you from ruining your favorite pair of panties. You wake up, just barely feeling the first pains, and he has already drawn you a hot bath with your favorite scented bath oils and bubbles. Candles are lit and he even warmed a towel for you when you get out. It makes the rest of the day so much more bearable.

When they find out you’re pregnant: His shadows let him know the minute your scent changes. He debates hiding it from you until you’re at least a few more days along, but he is unable to hide his excitement. ‘What is it?’ You ask, and Azriel is pretty sure that you are already glowing. In response, a shadow lingers over your stomach, dancing along your skin, somehow both protective and excited. ‘Really?’ He nods, a huge grin breaking out on his face. There is no sign of doubt in his face, no worry or darkness. He is unbelievably happy and it’s contagious. The two of you look down at your still flat stomach, where a shadow has now attached itself. It does not look like it’s leaving. And it doesn’t. Azriel’s faithful shadow stays in front of your stomach as it grows, a protector, informer, and reminder of the joy growing within. 

Holding their firstborn: Many times during labor, Azriel had wanted to slip away into the shadows, but he didn’t because he knew you needed him. So he stuck to your side the entire time, letting you hold his scarred hand as tight as you wanted. Now, however, when you hold his son up for him to carry, every and all shadows absolutely disappear. His hands are steady and sure as he takes his son into his arms and rocks him back and forth. Never has Azriel been surer of anything more than how much he loves this moment, this baby, and you, telling you as much as many times as he can. 

Movie nights: It took you a little while to figure it out, but Azriel loves mysteries. He especially likes to figure out the answer to the mystery before they reveal it. He’ll lean over and whisper a prediction and, sure enough, five minutes later he’ll be proven right. Azriel will grin, so proud of himself for deciphering the clues, and the look is so pure and wonderful, you can’t help but play a mystery movie at least once every week just to see that expression.

Training: Quick and quiet and fast, Azriel teaches with unrelenting patience and care. He makes sure you understand every step of a maneuver before trying it, slowly working through the motions to get you to master the skill. When that is done though, Az begins to play dirty. He uses his shadows to appear behind, under, or sometimes above you, wholly disorientating as you try to wield your weapons against him. He toys and smiles and laughs but then picks you back up, brushes you off, and says, ‘Start again’.

When you’re sick: When you are sick, Azriel will cuddle with you. He holds you close and wraps his wings around you while you sleep it off. The shadows tell him when you are about to throw up and he will rush you to the bathroom before you even know what’s happening. His gentle hands brush your hair back from your face and run soothing circles over your back as he waits for you to be done, and then its back to cuddling until it all repeats.

Holiday Season: Because of his Spymaster skills, Azriel is an amazing gift giver, as he always knows exactly what you want. He is a master present wrapper as well and will sit in the living room contently wrapping gift after gift, humming to himself. His corners are perfection and he never cuts the paper too small for the box. You always know which one is for you because he places a meticulously crafted bow in your favorite color on the top.

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[xellychan040]

DBZ Fic Saiyan History: An Overview by Daokin, 3rd Class

Fandom: Dragon Ball (Z, GT, Super) Characters: Yamoshi (mentioned), The Vegeta Lineage (mentioned), Bardock (mentioned) Word Count: 5704 Warnings: Character death. Referenced violence and warfare, Massively AU, Canon vs Fanon, Akira Toriyama Has No Sense Of Scale (And I foolishly try to fix it)

Summary: May Rutaba and Yamoshi guide our race to glory among the stars.

Notes: I wrote this in around three days motivated solely by spite. Did you know Saiyans only ruled planet Vegeta for, like, half a decade? And the Vegeta line only stretches back TWO generations? I did. And now I'm filled with nerdish anger.

I always felt slighted that DBZ never really had a space traveling arc outside of the Frieza saga and maybe GT, and any time space was talked about in show the scale was ridiculous. You could reach the edge of the universe in a day, in one of the movies.

Anyway, this whole silly endeavor started because I wanted to write a Planet Vegeta never explodes/The Saiyans don't work for the PTO AU. And when I went to research the Tuffles and Yamoshi's legend I stumbled upon the official Daizenshuu timeline and had my very delicate suspension of disbelief shattered utterly. And thus...... This. It's all fanon and conjecture on my part, with a dash of abusing sub/dub inconsistencies (like yamoshi appearing either 1000yrs ago or 3000yrs ago), but for my purposes, it works. Take it all with a grain of salt.

Final note. I'm ignoring all the time patroller stuff for the most part. So Xenoverse and Heroes don't apply to this au. Read it here or on ao3 for better formatting

Salada Golden Period(circa. 3000 years ago)BCA 2240

Modern, pre-space faring period.

In terms of advancement, it’d probably be half a century or so more advanced than humanity’s current society on Seeded Planet 359, colloquially known as Earth. Incidentally, there are some similarities with Earth’s ancient pre-space faring cultures, namely Roman and Greek city-states in terms of infrastructure and politics.

At this point, there's no central government. Large clans absorb smaller clans in a complex fiefdom of constantly rearranging territories.

BCA 1840

Some 400 centuries after, Overlord Yasai conquered and unified most other clans and their territories after a prolonged period of infighting. It pacified the infighting for several decades, but Yasai’s brutal, totalitarian policies caused their own internal problems.

BCA 1790

An upstart Warlord named Rutaba challenged Yasai for change. It’s not clear if he won, but his actions contributed to a unified central government in which Saiyan citizens could participate.

Salada and Saiyans

Brief overview

Modern evolved Saiyans have been on Salada 400,000 years. Civilization, as it was known before their mass exodus of the planet, was around for an estimated 12,000 years.

Salada native, pre-Dark Age Saiyans had long life spans, with particularly powerful, healthy Saiyan’s living to at least 800. Loss of information and vital data archives makes it unknown if lifespan estimate can be lengthened.

It was during the last 3,000 years of Salada’s existence that many advancements and cultural shifts took place.

In the Saiyan home solar system, Salada was the perfect distance from its parent star to reflect a perfect amount of Blutz waves from the moon. Adding to the rarity of full moons, coming once or twice every century, Saiyans transformed into Great Apes retain all sense of self. Though naturally and culturally conditioned to seek improvement and challenge through battle, the balanced intake of Blutz waves made Salada Saiyans less aggressive overall than compared to their Planet Vegeta and post-Dark Age descendants.

Planet Salada itself was naturally abundant with resources and wildlife. Its large size supported a plethora of climates, regions, and a diverse terrain. Even during population and technology booms, along with massive Saiyan appetites, Salada remained able to support its occupants.

Birth of Yamoshi

BCA 1540

Not enough information remains in Data Archive to accurately confirm, but Yamoshi seems to have come from a distant branch of the Yasai Clan tree. Possibly related to Overlord Yasai.

A hypothesis from historians posits Yamoshi’s lineage also includes a link to the Rutaba Clan

Separating Fact from FictionAccounts of a Golden Warrior from the post-Golden AgeFrom the files of Daokin, 3rd Class Historian. Age 729

Little is known about Yamoshi, despite his long, varied life. In the chaos of Salada’s last few decades, not all historical accounts made it into the Saiyan Ark’s data bank. Time, distance, and outside influences have corrupted certain data files and entirely lost others.

What data has survived bolsters certain empirical evidence from witness accounts, though possibly somewhat embellished with folklore elements.

Considering his possible lineage, Yamoshi is hypothesized to be the son of lesser royalty. Though there are many accounts of his varied travels, it’s impossible to determine if he was an Ambassador of sorts or merely a renegade aristocrat looking for adventure.

What is known, however, is Yamoshi’s actions gained him five companions, each powerful Saiyans of note. Much of their backgrounds are lost to time, but what survives suggests they were all from varying clans and castes, but extremely respected in their endeavors.

There are many testaments to Yamoshi having an honorable disposition, yet a few accounts hint at a mischievous and determined personality.

During Salada’s most turbulent years, Yamoshi and the five other Saiyans are the ones responsible for managing to suppress the initial aggressive outbursts from Blutz wave infected Saiyans.

Space EraTechnological Boom (200 years later)BCA 1590

Evidence of an Advanced Race is found. Further investigation reveals Advanced Race as possible Seeders, releasing their DNA on viable worlds in hope distant descendants will evolve there.

Saiyan spacefaring begins to close-by neighboring planets in the solar system and star system. Scientists work to learn more about their Seeder Precursors.

Cosmic Disturbance Looms

Renewed civil unrest

BCA 1240

A neighboring sister sun in the closest solar system begins to give off an unprecedented amount of energy. Solar flares and emissions begin to have disastrous effects on Salada’s home solar system, shorting out technology and disturbing the delicate Blutz wave output.

Any plans to colonize planets in the current solar system and star cluster is put on hold.

The unpredictable surge of Blutz waves creates an uptick in aggressiveness. Pockets of infighting begin away from capitals. Fear for the future spreads.

A massive lash of solar energy during a rare lunar event sends the 1/4 of the population into a berserker state. Mass casualties. Panic and anger sew the seeds of a civil war.

Attempts to pacify populous is met with mixed results.

Exoplanet colonization plans are reopened when scientists discover a star map left behind by Advanced Seeder Race. Locations of viable, possibly genetically compatible, evolutionary similar life-supporting planets are found. As the civil unrest grows and star system situation worsens, a new plan for a large, race saving Ark is drawn up.

The scramble for resources to construct an unprecedentedly large starship capable of voyaging through unexplored dark space begins just as war breaks out.

Certain individuals of strength from various walks of life band together to stifle the fighting. As the Blutz wave influx gets stronger, their efforts become less effective.

The Saiyan Ark is finished just at the peak of fighting, which is beginning to have a disastrous impact on the planet. Scientists estimate the neighboring sun’s next massive energy outburst will have dire consequences for the entire cluster, Salada will not be spared, even if it survives the fighting.

The rush to fill the Ark with a varied populace begins. Resources and gear to survive the long voyage and subsequent landing on Seeded planets are loaded.

A direct Yasai clan successor is among those chosen to go into cryo.

Ascension in DeathYamoshi Becomes LegendBCA 1190

Yamoshi, leader of the pacifying group is nearly overtaken by Blutz wave affected Saiyans. To protect the Saiyan Ark while finishing preparations, he had led a full assault on the devolved, berserker state Saiyans infected by overexposure to Blutz waves. By now, most of the population not protected by Salada’s capital were afflicted by Blutz waves, the odds Yamoshi was up against were astronomical.

Many of Yamoshi’s pacifying group were killed in the conflict, but he and his five companions managed to lead their soldiers into pinning back the aggressive Saiyans far from the capital’s borders, holding the line far away from the Ark.

The standstill did not last long, a break is formed in the protective circle as several Saiyans reach an unnatural Great Ape transformation through the Blutz waves despite no full moon. With no other alternative, Yamoshi and his five companions return to the Ark and warn the remaining unaffected Saiyans to take off while they launch another assault with no hope for survival.

Determined and set on course for what is almost assuredly a suicide mission, Yamoshi and his companions band once more together to buy as much time as they are able.

Just before take off, Blutz wave infected berserker Saiyans nearly destroy all hope of take off for the Ark. It is saved only when Yamoshi unlocked an unprecedented level of power, ascending forms into a Golden Warrior that the Ark can safely leave Salada.

A 787 Year Long Voyage BeginsUncharted Dark Space, Salada Home System Destruction, and Near ExtinctionBCA 1180 - BCA 403

Though Saiyans had been beginning to explore their solar system and star system with a fair degree in success, they were nonetheless ill-prepared for a venture such as this. Even with revamped FTL engine designs based on Seeder Precursor technology found and the translated star maps, without any warp gates or reliable knowledge of what lied in wait in the darkness of the stars, there was slim hope they’d all survive the centuries-long drift.

Harsh galactic elements, dwindling resources, and other obstacles make space travel fraught with chances of utter failure. Even running on revolving skeleton crews while the rest of the population sleeps, there was little that could be done in the event of a disaster.

Even with lengthy lifespans and hearty physiologies, Saiyans skeleton crews were not mentally or emotionally equipped for prolonged, comparatively slow space travel. With much trepidation, they eventually set the Ark on autopilot, following the preprogrammed charted path towards the nearest seeded planet. The Ark’s population monitoring programs were also adjusted; in the event of critically low supplies, life support will cut off non-critical persons and redirect resources to both younger civilians and important crew.

This turned out to be a wise choice when several centuries in the Ark collided with space debris and lost valuable resources along with a batch of sleepers.

Anomalous Energy Detected Est. BCA 975

About 200 years into the voyage, the Ark’s sensors pick up a massive explosion of energy originating from Salada. The cause of the energy is unknown, but consensus says the unstable neighboring sun wasn't the culprit.

Point of No Return, Saiyan Home System is Destroyed Est. BCA 844

Unstable Sun gives off another dangerous flare, the energy readings far eclipsing previous outputs, triggering a chain reaction. Entire star system takes massive damage. In the unlikely event Salada managed to survive the infighting and previous energy emissions, there was little hope the planet would survive that final pulse.

Planet Fall on Planet Plant10 years after reaching Tuffle Home SystemBCA 393

Destination reached at last. The Saiyan Ark has finally made it to a Seeded world, there was hope for survival after centuries of strife.

However, the landing had its own complications. The Ark had sustained massive damage on it way into the system, losing several hundred sleeper pods, some housing leaders and Saiyans in positions of authority or holding critical knowledge. Though pre-take off designs had implemented each sleeper pod with its own nav system towards the Ark’s destination and its own limited resources, there was no guaranteed chance of survival. Of the pods lost, only 34% made it to Planet Plant intact. Of that number, only 28% of their passengers survived.

Upon atmospheric entry, the Saiyan Ark collided with the in-progress Tuffle orbiting Dyson band, inflicting damages and casualties to both races. The collision veered the Ark off course causing the massive starship to crashland in the arid red deserts of Plant, several Kilometers from a large Tuffle metropolis.

Saiyan Dark Age400 years of lost culture, costs of acclimatization.BCA 394 - BCA 3

The journey through Dark Space had taken its toll on the Saiyan Ark and its inhabitants.

Not only was a sizable percentage of the limited population lost, but electrical storms and the rough landing had damaged many of the starship’s computers, losing large chunks of valuable information. What resources were left that didn’t get used or lost en route was wouldn’t support the surviving population, even small as it now was.

Another unforeseen, problem was the effects of the latent Blutz wave overexposure. Combined with the prolonged cryo sleep and depleted nutrients meant generations of unprecedented Saiyan health problems that would linger at a genetic level.

Increased aggression, mental and hormonal imbalances, drastically shortened lifespans, and reduced fertility were among the most prevalent ramifications.

From a cultural perspective, many things were lost as well. A majority of lives lost en route to Plant had been older Saiyans through a combination of resource rerouting and other factors. 67% of the sleepers that awoke on Planet Plant were Saiyans in their early adolescence to early adulthood.

On top of the changes brought on by unbalanced hormones on a new planet, young Saiyans were left without enough elders in authority who could offer guidance through this turbulent period of settlement.  Few of the survivors were mature enough to help the younger or new generations cope with natural biological and emotional changes, let alone the unnatural changes brought on Blutz wave overexposure and prolonged cryo sleep.

An even greater detriment would be insufficient technically skilled Saiyans. While on Salada, many Saiyan’s had lived partly on the fat of the land, yet modern, technological convenience still played a major part in even the most simple aspects of society. The rough reentry had damaged part of the Ark hull where Saiyan’s most suited to help the population settle had been sleeping.

Though they had brought along DNA banks of viable food sources like livestock and produce, they had little means to produce them, even if they had landed in a more fertile area

While the surviving Ark crew attempted to salvage what they could, there was little to do for the star ship’s damaged computers and archive banks. Art, sciences, family trees and bloodlines, key documents, and various more would be lost for years to come.

Stripped of the advantage of several millennia's worths of knowledge, the Saiyan survivors would have to make do with word of mouth instruction, hard work, instinct, and the goodwill of their new world-mates.

Settling In and Continued Losses

Planet Plant was not kind to its new residents. For the Saiyans of Salada, who were used to an abundance of natural resources brought by plentiful jungles, the harsh, barren deserts of Plant could provide little.

Already weakened from the prolonged sleep, it didn’t take long for several Saiyans to go into critical condition due to starvation and malnutrition.

And still, others had begun having unexplained, violent outbursts. It was quickly discovered those with more moderate to severe cases of latent Blutz wave overexposure were susceptible to heightened ambient Blutz waves generated by Plant’s twin suns. Already pumping out an imbalance of aggressive hormones from the increased exposure back home, the surviving Saiyan’s biology had no time to slowly acclimatize to Plant’s sudden assault on their endocrine system. Over time, the increased Blutz waves would affect every Saiyan on Plant, continuing on to affect subsequent generations as well. It was an unideal outcome, but one they could do little about.

From insufficient food, shelter, and medical care, Saiyan numbers began to falter. Lifespan estimates soon followed.

However, Saiyans are resilient. They pushed on through by whatever means necessary, yet it would be generations before they could truly make Planet Plant a hospitable home.

First ContactForging RelationsBCA 394 - BCA 3

Tuffles were not unmoved by the plight of their new neighbors, yet they were still cautious. The average Saiyan stood a full head and shoulders above most Tuffles, possessed large predatory fangs, and were several times stronger, even weakened. Still, the Tuffles sent out aid in the form of food, water, and supplies.

Eventually, due to the Saiyan’s current inability to repair their Ark, the Tuffles negotiated a trade: Ark components in exchange for Tuffle technology (namely food processors, agriculture and livestock based genetic modification, and small-scale terraforming tech).

While the Tuffles had already mastered limited space flight, they’d yet to perfect FTL engines. The Ark along with recovered Seeder Precursor data would launch their technology decades ahead. So much so, that their ambitious Dyson band was completed in half the time of their previous best estimate. Within this time period, Tuffles would advance even beyond their own expectations, converting the singular energy harnessing Dyson band into two gigantic scale orbiting stations. If Planet Plant was viewed from their moon, it would appear to have two planetary rings.

In a show of good will, the Tuffles had used a combination of replication and cloning technology to salvage, and in some cases cross breed DNA of Salada life forms, slowly introducing it to Plant’s ecosystems. Several species of Salada livestock and plant life were once again made available to Saiyans, genetically improved to support Saiyan metabolism even while on emergency rationing. The Saiyan starvation epidemic was drawn to a slow halt now that they had a limited, but nutrition and calorie-packed food source.

It not only gave Saiyans a chance to be self-sufficient, but it allowed the two races to maintain a respectable distance from each other. There was much to do before either side would regain some semblance of normal.

Tuffle ExpansionReaching the StarsAge 217

While combing through the Ark’s recovered databanks, Tuffle scientists restored as information as they could. By orders of their King, they were to especially be on the lookout for references to The Seeder Precursors, seeing as they were possibly the Tuffles’ ancestors as well as the Saiyans’.

Seeing as their Technology Age was already far eclipsed many other sapient species around their current age, the Tuffles decided to combine the wealth of information they received with their advanced capabilities and literally reach for the stars. While certain aspects of the Saiyan technology were less advanced, the fact that only several generations ago Saiyans were once seasoned star voyagers and colonizers put the Tuffles behind several centuries.

It was a gap they were most eager to close, for various reasons.

With the completion of their two orbiting stations and the harnessing of near limitless renewable, clean energy, the Tuffles set their sights high. Close by, just beyond the solar system they had surveyed and marked several exoplanets with habitable atmospheres; each an excellent opportunity to expand.

Starships when under construction, routes were charted and teams underwent exceedingly difficult training all in preparation for the upcoming journey. It wasn’t long until the first fleets and Exploration teams left the safety of Plant in search of an expanded frontier. Every Tuffle left on Planet waited with bated breath as the Exploration team sent back data compiled from the journey as well as each individual landing.

While given longer to prepare under favorable circumstances, along with a much smaller distance between destinations, the Tuffles found colonizing new planets to be more of a challenge than previously expected.

Some planets had climates and terrains that, while technically livable, would be difficult to settle. When scientists back home got word of the slow progress settling, they got together with politicians, financial backers, and the Exploration teams to come up with a plan of action to speed things up.

The answer came in the form of the Saiyans.

Upliftment or ServitudeAge 224

Despite the unbelievable strife the Saiyans had gone through, they showed marked improvement. With Plant as their new home, both pre and post-Salada born Saiyans would never quite be the same as their ancestors, yet their eventual adaptation to their surroundings was nothing short of phenomenal. Due to the extreme climates of Plant’s vast desert areas and dangers associated, Tuffles never bothered to settle far beyond the natural borders of their plentiful oases, and yet Saiyans, once the starvation crisis was addressed, had managed to nearly adapt overnight. Blutz wave overexposure or no, all Saiyans were sturdy and survivalist, taming the harsh lands and building small if low-tech, villages that were meant to last.

That adaptability, along with their immense strength gave one Tuffle scientist an idea.

After the initial first contact and aid given in return for valuable data, Tuffles and Saiyans seemed to have come to a mutual, somewhat unspoken agreement of indifference towards one another. It was somewhat exacerbated by the races’ first shared full moon, many Tuffles made wary by the Saiyan’s large, imposing transformations. But it seemed it was time to once again open up methods of communication. Another deal was struck, the rerelease of reconstructed Archive Data from the Saiyan Ark in return for help on the expansion of the Tuffle Frontier.

With their powerful bodies and quick ability to adapt to various environments, the Saiyans would act as the heavy movers and shakers in paving the way to settle more unruly landscapes. As if controlled by muscle memory from another time, Saiyans seemed to slide right back into the motions of space travel and territory expansion despite most Saiyans having never even set foot on a starship before.

It was an exciting time for all parties involved. Once again, progress marched forward at a speed Tuffle scientists never dared dream of. As for the Saiyans, the chance to test themselves against new challenges and return to their place beyond the stars beckoned them forward with little hesitation.

Things were moving for the Saiyans who stayed in the desert as well. Even with the Saiyan Dark Age officially ending just over 200 years ago, the release of data files was the most effective balm on Saiyan culture. From technical blueprints and scientific dissertations to a surprising amount of literature and history texts, the Saiyans were awash with the rediscovery of their culture. In fact, the emergence of the Cultivar Historia— a data drive containing notable lineages and bloodlines or cultivars — would soon play a major role in the future of Planet Plant.

And yet, what goes up must come back down. Back on the expanding frontiers, the Tuffle exploration teams were being urged to speed up their already incredible progress. Much of their speed in settling frontier worlds depended on the skill and effort of their Saiyan counterparts once Tuffle teams finished time extensive terrain scanning to ensure the safest route of action. But at the behest of their superiors, the exploration team slowly began to lessen the amount of preliminary scanning on new worlds, sending out Saiyan teams without extensive knowledge of potential dangers or obstacles. In the end, Tuffle superiors got the numbers they wished for, exoplanets settled and viable at an exponential rate, but at the cost of dozens of Saiyan teams.

While Planet Plant, and in particular Tuffle cities, were being flooded with resources and myriad of cosmic treasures, the Saiyan death toll began to quietly rise.

A New LineageThe Rise of the First VegetaAge 276

Since their landing on Plant, Saiyans had adopted a more tribalistic way of life, with descending from a combination of modified military ranks and individual skill level. The higher in rank you were on the Saiyan Ark, the more likely you were to assume a leadership position after landing, with a similar outcome if you were equipped with skills that would help the population survive various obstacles during difficult periods. It was a lifestyle that more or less remained unchanged as the centuries rolled by on Plant, however, the appearance of the Cultivar Historia brought another, more obscure facet to leadership:

Bloodlines.

It was revealed that, barring a few cases, most of the Saiyans currently holding positions of authority were able to trace their family history to cultivars listed in the Historia. However, none would hold so impressive an ancestor to their name other than Vegeta the First, an off-world team leader on a particularly treacherous exoplanet. An exoplanet that had claimed the lives of at least half a dozen Saiyan teams in the process of settling it. When Vegeta returned home to Plant bearing the news of more losses, he was informed of his connection to Salada Royalty. Fitting, as his name was a modern translation of Overlord Yasai’s.

Burdened by the loss of many strong Saiyan lives and now in possession of this new information, Vegeta would formulate a plan for the future of his race.

Not even half a year later would Vegeta set his plan into motion, rallying both on-world and off-world Saiyans together under one goal: Saiyan Dominance.

Saiyan RevoltClaiming the PlanetAge 277 - Age 287

When news of a Saiyan in the frontier had been killed by a Tuffle after an unexpected complication during a routine mineral site survey, Vegeta used the resulting outrage to spark a mass protest against the Tuffles’ continued disregard for the Saiyans.

Leaving the deserts to march into the Tuffle metropolis where the Royal Tuffle family ruled, Vegeta, backed by the flames of Saiyan discontent from his large group, challenged the king to a formal audience to listen to their grievances. However, the Tuffles took this as an act of aggression and stopped their advancement with a large cadre of guards. Vegeta, out of patience and taking this as a refusal to hear his people out, decided there was no possible avenue for diplomacy and signaled his group for a preemptive strike.

That was the start of a war that would last ten years. Both sides would take heavy casualties, however, Tuffle cities and civilians would take the brunt of the carnage as the entire planet became a battleground. While the Saiyans had sheer power and increased durability to their advantage, the Tuffles compensated with their far greater numbers and technology.

Particularly detrimental to Saiyans were the Scouters, which the Tuffles used to avoid and prepare for sneak attacks or ambushes. Another crucial tool on the battle feild was Energy Siphons, technology that absorbed Saiyan battle energy in a limited radius and converted it to power barriers and heavy artillery.

Saiyans fought back with scorched earth tactics, targeting manufacturing facilities that weren't yet protected by the Tuffle military, either ceasing or slowing down production of arms and materials. They also employed pack hunting strategies to corral and guide Tuffle squads into pinned positions, after which they placed the Tuffles under continued fire, systematically destroying their Energy Siphons until they were stripped of all protection.

When word reached those who were stationed off-world of what was happening on Plant, there was an immediate divide between Saiyan teams and Tuffle Explorers, smaller scale battles ensued over the control of the outposts. There was a mixed bag of wins and losses on both sides, with the resulting winners taking command of the starships stationed on the exoplanets, loading it with resources and materials, before returning to Plant to aid their people.

The war waged on, both sides in a deadlock with contested territory constantly falling in and out of hands.

However, the stalemate wasn't long to last. Nearly 8 years into the conflict a major tide would turn as the moon reached its zenith, rising full in the sky and unleashing its full force of magnified Blutz waves, triggering transformations for Saiyans everywhere on the field. In a strange echo, Vegeta was once again en route to the Tuffle King’s encampment when the moon broke cloud cover. Breaking through the King’s protections, Vegeta slaughtered the guard station there, eradicated the royal line and took the crown. A decisive victory for the Saiyans and a death knell for the Tuffles.

Tuffle resistance became scattered and thinned out. With their king dead and a majority of their cities devastated, the Tuffle army began to lose all sense of cohesion as they were picked off. Finally, in another ironic echo, having lost all ground, the Tuffles scraped together as many survivors as they were able and made their escape off the planet in a fleet of starships. They ran to the far edge of the star cluster, to a small planet they had surveyed with long distance scan but were years away from any settlement plans.

Planet Plant now belonged to the Saiyans. Vegeta was hailed as the new King for his strength and roll in their victory and Plant was renamed in his honor.

It was now time to rebuild.

Neo Saiyan RenesainceA new culture is born from the ashesAge 337

From the day of the Saiyans’ victory, there came a 50-year long renesaince. As they rebuilt the planet and moved into abandoned Tuffle metropolises, the Saiyans also worked to blend rediscovered culture with their current culture.

First order was establishing the royal court with the newly crowned King Vegeta at its head. Those that proved themselves in battle were made generals and commanders of the newly made official Saiyan Army. Those with impressive Cultivars were also given impressive titles, such as advisors or councilors with wide jurisdiction. Still, more Saiyan individuals would make names for themselves as they repurposed Tuffle technology or updated designs on Salada blueprints.

Outside of the court, many common Saiyans began to explore a wealth of new opportunities.

Even with the long war, the material and resource surplus from off-world remained in decent condition, and Saiyans from all walks of life took advantage. The newly named Planet Vegeta was once again flooded with unceasing progress.

As the skylines rose higher, quality of life became comparable to Salada during its Space Age. Birthrates and life expectancies were also on the rise. It wasn't long into his rule that the next Vegeta was born, thus setting the stage for the new Saiyan royal line.

War on the Frontier The Start of 200 Years of Conflict Age 339

Of course, the animosity between the Saiyans and the Tuffles would not be so easily forgotten. Far off in the edges of the star cluster where the Tuffles had been forced to run, they came into contact with roving bands of unaffiliated space mercenaries. Trading what they could spare for new technology and expendable men, the Tuffles began a slow campaign to reclaim their lost exoplanets and the resources there. The aim was to build a stockpile of material in hopes of sieging Planet Vegeta to reclaim it in the future.

During the time spent rebuilding on Planet Vegeta, the Saiyans hadn’t paid much attention to their claimed exoplanets, only sparing a handful of soldiers to be stationed on each outpost to continue mining for resources. But as the Tuffles began to make their way back to their home system, the lightly guarded outpost turned out to be excellent listening posts. The stationed Saiyans sent back word of incoming hostiles, after which generals sent back reinforcement towards the various outposts.

This would be one of the first opening volleys of a series of prolonged skirmishes. The Tuffles and their occasional mercenary allies would keep the Saiyans on high guard but would fail to make any decisive wins against them. Any and all plans to launch an orbital bombardment, while occasionally working on an outpost, failed when it came to Planet Vegeta. Vegeta the Second, now a decorated general himself, had commissioned the retrofitting of the Tuffle Dyson Band into serving as the Saiyan Space Fleet’s barracks and deploy station, but also an anti-orbital defense turret.

Once again, Saiyans and Tuffles came to a deadlock in the form of a series of back and forth ground wars on various exoplanets. The Saiyans growing stronger with each battle as the Tuffles raced to make their technology more devastating, building prefab military bases with ginormous Energy Siphons that stifled battle power in large, kilometer-wide radiuses.

Though the less bloody than the first Saiyan-Tuffle war, it was no doubt costly.

ArmisticeBrokered PeaceAge 709

During the birth of Vegeta the Fifth, the intergalactic community could no longer allow things to continue as they were. Merchant and civilian class starships were being caught in the crossfire, dealing millions of credits in damages and loss of uninvolved lives. The fighting was beginning to seep outside of the star cluster, causing major disturbances in the progress in construction of a warp gate.

After an unfortunate incident in which a cruiser class starship carrying an important figure was blasted over the atmosphere of a Tuffle controlled exoplanet, the Galactic Patrol was called in to negotiate a ceasefire.

Though several generals and advisors called to show the full force of Saiyan might against the Galactic community at large, the King and his moderate members of court worried over an extented war theater while they were already locked into a   conflict. Finally, after months of tense negotiation, an Armistice was declared.

At least in an official capacity. Unofficially, the Tuffles and Saiyans still fought small, undeclared skirmishes, but only on exoplanets not belonging to either side or isolated dogfights between starships.

Current Era

Age 710 - ongoing

On Planet Vegeta, progress still marches forward but at a much slower, organic rate. School and military training are heavily linked, with young Saiyans receiving a general education until their 12th year, after which from the onset of puberty onwards far into adulthood, most continue on into the military.

Birth castes factor into a Saiyan’s individual projected career path within the military, with 3rd classes typically filling in as infantry or leading small infiltration squads. 2nd class Saiyans are usually promoted to officer rank fairly soon, with the 1st class and Elite typically groomed and trained to become generals and councilmen from birth.

Should a Saiyan decide not to follow a military career, there’s some light stigma against the individual not being “Saiyan enough”, but as time lowers the genetic aggression brought on by Blutz wave overexposure, the stigma has lessened into generally light-hearted teasing. There’s also a practical reasoning in that a society would function very long with no other infrastructure beyond a military arm. And thus various other careers and academic ventures are offered elsewhere.

As our Saiyan society stands now, we are at a precipice of joining the galactic community at large. Though some argue for continued isolation from the Intergalactic Government, other say it’s only a matter of time.

Author Notes and Dedications

Daokin, 3rd Class Historian. Age 716

Well, this textbook has been a long time in the making. Since before the birth of my son Bardock, even. He’s five now, and a handful, just as brutal as his mother ( haha ). Not a day goes by that I don’t need my mate to rescue me from his roughhousing.

Speaking of my mate, thank you Commander Parsni for putting up with me as I whined more than our toddler when my deadlines loomed. I know more than once you were tempted to ( and nearly did ) frag me out my misery. Yes, but even this un-Saiyan recluse has something to live for, and my passion has always been our lost history. I hope it serves our next generations well.

May Rutaba and Yamoshi guide our race to glory among the stars.

Resources

The Salada Canticles, Vol. 3

Conflict Chronicles: An overview of notable wars in the cosmos, Argus Nox

Tracking the Past: Ancient Civilizations, Dar Ech

Cultivar Historia, Potaro, 2nd Class

Beyond Our Reach, Straba, Tuffle Scientist