#it’ll be natural light again and the panels will be gone because you’re not in ‘that’ story anymore

[swordmaid]

eden verse more like the slow realisation that the story you’re following is false…. it’s never been about you (the main character), you were just forced to play that role because someone else is trying to skew the story to fit them. it’s always been your story but never about you. in this fairy tale you were never the damsel that needed saving, but the knight who went in the journey to rescue the damsel how could you have forgotten that……….

[blu-joons]

When You Worry During Pregnancy ~ Super Junior Reaction

Leeteuk:

Your smile softened as Jeongsu laid himself down beside your bump, resting his hand across the middle of it delicately. “Can you believe there’s less than a month to go now?” He asked, tilting his head up to look at you.

Slowly your head nodded, “it’s gone so quick.” You tried to force a smile, but by the expression on your face, Jeongsu could tell something wasn’t right.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” He asked.

“The thought of giving birth is terrifying, there’s so many things that could go wrong,” you frowned, as he pushed himself up to lay beside you properly.

His lips pressed to your cheek, “you don’t need to be scared, I’ll be there.”

“But what if something goes wrong? We can’t prepare for every situation.”

“Exactly, no one knows what is going to happen, but worrying and stressing won’t help you or the baby,” he reminded you.

“I know,” you sighed, turning inwards towards his chest, “it’s just you see it on programmes and stuff, and they make it look so easy.”

He chuckled lightly, “I promise you it will be easier than you’re thinking, you’ve always worried yourself more than you need to.”

“I just can’t help it, it’s a scary time.”

“It’ll be fine, trust me.”

Heechul:

Your body relaxed as soon as Heechul’s arms draped around you on the sofa, throwing the blanket over both your bodies. “We’re going to need a bigger blanket soon,” he joked, carefully tucking it around your bump.

You groaned in response to him, “I’m glad your biggest worry is the size of the blanket, I’ve got to give birth to this giant thing in a couple of months.”

“Why are you being like that?” He questioned.

“I’m sorry, it’s just the past few days it’s really dawned on me that I’m pregnant,” you sighed, pinching at the end of the blanket, “it’s beginning to worry me.”

He smiled softly, “I’m worried too, you’re not the only one.”

“But you just get to stand back and watch me give birth Heechul.”

“And that’s what worries me the most, knowing that I’m going to have to stand there helplessly absolutely terrifies me,” he admitted, kissing against the side of your head.

“Trust me, if we could swap positions, I’d happily let you endure labour,” you chuckled, brushing your hand through his curls.

He smiled down at you, “and you know that I would swap positions a heartbeat. We’re both going to worry, but it will be alright.”

“We’ll have our baby by the end of it.”

“Exactly, and that’s something to look forward to.”

Yesung:

You struggled to keep it together as you watched Jungwoon begin to pack up the hospital bag on your bed. “Did you write the list that I asked you too?” He spoke, as he began to grab the essentials, he knew that you’d need.

You frowned, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, it completely slipped my mind, I’ve just been thinking about other things,” you frantically replied.

“Hey, take a breath,” he quickly instructed.

“All of this is making me so anxious,” you huffed as Jungwoon took a seat beside you, “why do people tell you pregnancy is exciting? When all I’m doing is worrying.”

His arm draped around your shoulder, “because you always worry.”

“I can’t believe I forgot to write the list, you told me enough times to do it.”

“We can just take our time and go through some things now,” he assured you, pulling out his phone. “Why don’t we make a list now?”

“But I should have done it last week,” you continued to groan, silenced by Jungwoon’s lips pressing against your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

A light giggle escaped from him, “you don’t need to apologise, let’s just blame it on the baby and do it now, how does that sound?”

“Why are you always so nice to me?”

“Because you’re my wife, and pregnant, that’s why.”

Shindong:

For a while Donghee had been watching you as you sat to the table and looked down at your final scan photo from earlier on in the day. “It doesn’t feel like that’s our last scan,” he commented as he came to the table with dinner.

Your eyes stayed fixated on the scan photo, “the next time we go to the hospital will probably be to give birth, that doesn’t sit right with me just yet.”

“Are you still worrying about all of this?” He queried.

“How can I not when it’s so close to my due date?” You nervously called out to him, moving closer to his side, “it’s all I can think about.”

He smiled softly, “you have to think positive thoughts though jagi.”

“I’m trying, but there’s always that voice in the back of my mind.”

“Please don’t fret about things you can’t change, neither of us will know what happens until it happens,” he whispered, resting his hand against you.

“That’s what worries me more, the fear of the unknown, or even worse, something going wrong,” you replied, getting yourself more worked up.

His grip around you tightened, “I promise you now that I will not let anything bad happen to you or the baby, I’ll protect you always.”

“How can you be so confident of that?”

“I just am, it’s a gut feeling.”

Eunhyuk:

Your figure spun as you looked over yourself in the mirror, adjusting your dress so it fitted better around your bump. “Don’t you look nice,” Hyukjae smiled as he joined you in the bedroom, fixing up his suit jacket.

You chuckled as he walked across to you, “I look like I’m carrying four babies not one. Why does everyone else have pretty bumps, but I don’t?”

“You’re talking absolute nonsense,” he laughed.

“Am I?” You asked, continued to tug at the material of your dress, “I look huge in this, do we even have to go to this dinner anyway?”

His head nodded, “let’s just show our face, but you do look nice.”

“Isn’t there some sort of clause that obliges you to say that as a husband?”

“There might be, but regardless, it’s true,” he hummed, nuzzling into your neck, “please trust me when I tell you that the dress looks incredible.”

“Can I steal one of your jackets to wear over it at least?” You asked, to which Hyukjae quickly nodded, dragging you over to his wardrobe.

He stood back as you picked one out, “you don’t need it, but if it makes you more comfortable, I won’t stop you from wearing one.”

“Are you going to be this nice all night long?”

“I’m always nice! How dare you!”

Siwon:

The page of your book turned dark as you glanced up and saw Siwon stood before you, prying the book out of your hands. “You’re doing yourself more harm reading all of this,” he commented, placing the book on the table.

Your head shook, watching as he placed it well out of reach, “they tell you all the things to expect during labour, which is actually quite handy.”

“But you don’t know what your labour will be like,” he retorted.

“I just want to be prepared,” you sighed, as he sat himself down beside you, “there’s so many situations that I could find myself in, I want to know what will happen.”

His expression softened, “what if it’s a new situation for anyone?”

“Can’t you just let me worry for once instead of try and make the situation better?”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to see you fret,” he frowned, pulling you into his toned chest, “you’re overthinking all of this too much.”

“I know you’re right, but I don’t know how else to cope, no one prepares you for this part of pregnancy,” you continued to vent.

His lips nudged against the side of your head, “you can talk to me, you’ve already said that I help to make the situation better.”

“You’ll get bored of listening to me moan.”

“I could never bore of listening to you.”

Donghae:

His eyes were focussed on your leg bouncing up and down as you sat in the waiting room of the hospital. “Are you that nervous?” He questioned, squeezing your hand gently that you had rested in his lap.

Your eyes glanced across at him, “hospitals always make me nervous; I always feel like someone will give me bad news in these places.”

“But our baby is good news, not bad news,” he comforted.

“I know, I still just have a feeling,” you sighed, resting your head against his shoulder, “it doesn’t feel right that something good can happen in a hospital.”

His head shook, “you might have to change that mindset whilst you’re pregnant.”

“I know, it’s stupid to think that something could go wrong.”

“It’s not stupid, it’s real,” he assured you, offering you a wide smile, “it’s natural to have a few worries in the back of your mind.”

“You worry too?” You asked, as his head nodded in response. “I thought it was just me being a protective mother.”

His fingers intertwined in with yours, “it’s not being protective, it’s what all parents are like, I’d worry if you weren’t worried jagi.”

“That’s made me feel a lot better Donghae.”

“Good, just try not to worry about a thing.”

Ryeowook:

You threw the screwdriver down to the floor as yet again the panel of the unit you tried to build fell apart. “I told you to let me do it,” Ryeowook chuckled as he walked back into the room with two mugs of hot coffee.

You shook your head bitterly, “I said that I’d help you build the stuff for the nursery, so that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll get the hang of it.”

“Remember you’re pregnant, please don’t stress yourself out too much,” he pleaded.

“I’m doing this to distract myself from being pregnant, I want to do normal things again,” you informed him, taking the mug that he offered out to you.

His head shook gently, “there’s plenty of things you can do, like rest.”

“All I’ve done for the past month and a half is rest, I think I’m rested out Ryeowook.”

“I think the baby will be the judge of that,” he joked, desperate to bring a smile back to your face, “if you want to carry on, stop stressing.”

“I’ll stop stressing when this nursery is built, it’s so much more hassle than I thought,” you admitted, brushing a hand through your hair.

His head nodded in agreement, “when the baby is here, the nursery will be complete, I’ll make sure of it. We still have time.”

“You really think we’ll get it done in time?”

“Of course, even if it will need a few late nights.”

Kyuhyun:

His smile softened as finally your tears dried, looking down at your restless figure laid out across his chest. “Do you want to know a secret?” He whispered down to you, pressing a feathery kiss to the top of your head.

You nodded, glancing up at him through teary eyes, “if you’re going to tell me you don’t want a baby, it’s a little too late.”

“Of course, I want it. What I was going to say is, I’m nervous too,” he admitted.

“You’re nervous?” You asked, slightly in disbelief. “But you’ve been so calm throughout all of this, you’ve never given me the impression that you’re scared.

He chuckled lightly, “that’s because I wanted to make sure you weren’t scared.”

“I’ve been scared since that test came back positive, it’s a constant mood at this point.”

“I know, but now I think it will make you feel better if you know you’re not alone in worrying,” he informed you, squeezing you a little tighter.

“I guess it does make me feel better knowing that you feel the same,” you muttered, thinking about it more, “I thought I was crazy.”

He paused for a moment furrowing his brows, “you’re definitely crazy,” he teased, earning himself a slap against the chest.

“Just because I’m defenceless, doesn’t mean you can be cruel.”

“I’m only messing with you, you’re a perfect pregnant mess to me.”

---

Masterlist

[bondsmagii]

Here’s something I really can’t explain.

To sum up: I shouldn’t be alive right now. I shouldn’t be writing this. I have no idea how any of this could have happened, but the fact you’re reading this now is kind of living proof that it did happen, so I suppose I’ll try and explain it as best as I can.

A little backstory for you. Way back in the late forties, my great-grandfather was a young man working with the local fire department. He came back after the war and just couldn’t settle into any kind of desk job, so despite my great-grandmother worrying about his mental state he ended up running into burning buildings for a living. Naturally he saw some messed up shit, but nothing haunted him more than a hotel fire that he attended.

At the time there had been an annual prize night for a local grammar school. Hundreds of kids and their families were crammed into the hotel’s large ballroom when a stray match lit up the curtains on the stage. Back in the day they weren’t exactly great about fire safety, and the walls and furniture were panelled or made with highly flammable materials. The whole room went up in minutes. Over one hundred people died, over half of which were children below the age of fifteen. It was an indescribable tragedy, and my great-grandfather – along with every first responder there – was scarred for life over the things he saw that evening.

My great-grandfather did his best to live with what happened, and for the most part he did well, all things considered. All of his grief seemed to be directed towards one little girl, who was never identified or claimed. She was badly burned but not unrecognisable; the theory was that her whole family had died with her, leaving nobody left to notice she was gone. She wasn’t the only person to suffer this fate, unfortunately – all told, five people were never claimed by families – but because my great-grandfather was the one to pull her body from the wreckage, he sort of became obsessed with her. He was preoccupied until his death with finding out her identity, and every year on the anniversary of the fire he visited her grave to lay a wreath. Unfortunately, he died without ever finding out who she was.

Fast forward a few decades, and I’m in my early twenties. My great-grandfather died when I was quite young, so I only had a small idea of this part of his history. It was, however, enough to make me wary of large fires – especially hotel fires. One summer, I’m visiting another city for my younger brother’s university graduation, and I stay the night in a hotel near the city centre. I remember fires were on my mind already, because initially they had tried to give me a room on the twenty-third floor, and I had politely refused and requested a lower floor. (An old maxim of my great-grandfather’s: never stay on a floor where you wouldn’t survive the fall.) Because of the graduation, the hotel was packed, and I ended up on the fifth floor in the end, but I figured it was better than nothing.

The first night was fine. The second night a fire broke out. The hotel had had some electrical rewiring done within the last month, and something went wrong. The fire smouldered for hours, undetected, before spreading into multiple parts of the ventilation system. Smoke and flame was pushed to all corners of the hotel before the fire cut out the power. Later, investigators would discover that the fire burned through the power for the smoke and fire detection alarms almost immediately – yet somehow the fire alarms went off. This is only the beginning of the inexplicable that night.

By the time the alarms woke me, my room was already filled with smoke. I had been drilled on this so many times as a child that it was instinctive for me to roll off the bed and onto the floor; only then did I start to panic. Luckily I had fallen asleep with the curtains open – the only time I had ever done that in a hotel – and the city lights illuminated the room enough to let me know the smoke was only in the top two thirds of the room, and not as thick as it could have been. I had time to crawl into the bathroom, wet a towel, and tie it around my nose and mouth. Then I crawled to the door and lay a hand flat on it. The door was cool, so I cautiously pulled it open.

In the hallway, it was pitch dark. This is the worst case scenario for any fire. Smoke disorientates people, and they feel ill from inhaling it. Panic compounds the confusion. People can get lost in their own homes – hotels are the worst place for something like this. People stand little chance of getting out if they haven’t memorised an exit, and even then it’s not foolproof. I should know. I always memorise exits, but when I went out of my room I turned the wrong way. I don’t know why. I was panicking, I was confused, and I just made the wrong choice. It should have cost me my life.

I realised my mistake as soon as I reached the end of the hall. The door there was propped open (fire safety hazard, I remember thinking, like it mattered at that point) but I could see no flames. The door led to the stairwell, and I had just crawled out onto it when the entire world went black. The smoke and flame had intensified, the fire sucking in oxygen and the smoke being forced up the stairwell like a huge chimney. It spilled over the edges of the landing and enveloped me even hunched on my hands and knees. My eyes began to sting and water; I couldn’t see anything. I crawled back and bumped into the wall, and for several long seconds that felt like minutes, I couldn’t find my way out of the stairwell. The heat was evaporating the water in the towel, and the sheer amount of smoke meant it wasn’t doing much good anyway. By the time I finally made it back out into the hall, I was coughing and choking. Panic made me pull the towel down. I only took the smallest breath before the floor tilted under me and I experienced a horrible rush of lightheadedness – with smoke so toxic, sometimes a breath is all it takes.

I kept crawling, heading back towards my room, now realising my mistake. At that point I was forcing myself to stay calm, but it wasn’t working. I had realised I had probably just gotten myself killed, and it was almost impossible to breathe. The temperature was climbing, and I knew the fire was close. I could hear screaming from somewhere nearby, doors slamming. Every single rational thought had left. I scrambled down the hallway in pure panic, and then I saw the child.

She was hunched down, looking right at me. She wasn’t in any kind of night clothing – she looked like she was still in the clothing she would have worn at the graduation ceremony, a neat little dress and polished shoes, a ribbon tied in her hair. She was perhaps eight years old at my best guess, and seeing her shocked some sense into me. Before I could speak or gesture to the direction she should go, she waved and then pointed.

“Come on, mister,” she said. “This way.”

Together we crawled to the other end of the hallway. Smoke was billowing from that stairwell, too, thick and dark though still not as bad as the other one. Either way it didn’t look good, but the little girl didn’t seem concerned – not even when we crawled out onto the landing, and the orange flicker of flames was visible several floors below.

“No,” I said. “It’ll be too hot.”

“Come on, mister,” she said again.

She began scrambling down the stairs, staying as low as possible. I could hardly leave her, so I followed.

The heat was unbearable, and by the time we were on the floor below, visibility was zero. The smoke was so thick and black that even the flicker of the flames had vanished; the only way I knew how close they were was from the heat and the deafening roar of it. Have you ever been near to a large bonfire? Have you heard how loudly it crackles? That’s nothing. Big fires, they roar. They sound closer to a freight train, a tornado. It’s a sound so loud that it sets off a primal kind of terror, even without the heat and the smoke to add to the danger. What I’m saying is that it’s something that’s very difficult to crawl towards, yet there we were.

I couldn’t see the little girl, but every time I began to panic she would reach back and touch me. The heat grew and I could smell my hair burning, my clothing threatening to catch. The floor was excruciating, and while I didn’t realise it at the time, I was in the process of receiving third degree burns on my hands and knees from the floor alone. I felt faint, the heat making my head pound. It seemed to drain my of my energy, and during those last seconds – as we passed directly past the floor where the inferno was at its worst – I was sure I was running only on pure animal instinct to get away.

Then we descended into the hallway below the fire, and it was all gone. The heat lingered, but it was nothing compared to what it was before. The smoke was hazy grey, high up by the ceiling. The little girl was tugging at me, and I realised I’d collapsed to the ground.

“Quickly, mister!” she said now. “Not far!”

In my pain and confusion, it didn’t occur to me that she wasn’t burned; that she had no difficulty breathing. She tugged hard at my clothing, and while I didn’t know that my clothing was alight at the time, later I remembered and wondered how she had done it. With her prompting and encouragement I made it down the last of the stairs and out into the hotel’s lobby, which was shockingly untouched. Alarms were blaring, but the room was free of smoke and many of the hotel’s employees remained there, grabbing people as they emerged, coughing, from stairwells and hurrying them outside. When I stumbled into the lobby I was immediately tackled by several employees who were, I was later told, beating the flames from me. I had stumbled into the lobby on fire.

I don’t remember anything else. I didn’t have time to mention the girl. I passed out, and was kept in a medically induced coma while my body recovered from serious burns. I very nearly didn’t make it, and when I awoke I had several months of painful operations and skin grafts to go. My hands were badly burned, though the doctors managed to save nearly all my fingers – I’m only missing the little fingers to the first knuckle, and while the scarring is bad I can use the hands well. My knees are badly scarred but functional. My back isn’t pretty to look at, but it doesn’t bother me now, not outside of itching in the heat. I forgot about the girl until just before I was released from hospital, five months later, but to my relief I was told that no children had died in the fire. Whoever she was, she had gotten out safe.

Almost a year later, my grandfather died. He was the son of my firefighter great-grandfather, and when my own father and I were around his house, sorting through his things, we came across some of my great-grandfather’s stuff. Medals, a few old photographs of the family, some letters. My father and I went through the pictures, my father pointing out relatives and telling a few stories here and there. What you would expect from such an occasion, really – but then I found an old picture of a little girl.

I recognised her immediately as the little girl I had seen in the hotel – there was no denying it. The picture was an unpleasant one, taken post-mortem, and while half of her body was badly charred the other half looked as though she could be sleeping. Her hair was the same, the bow singed but present. The dress was the same. I could even still hear how she sounded. Come on, mister! I was so shocked I didn’t say anything. My father looked at it for a long moment, and then he gave a sad sigh.

“I wish he had found out who she was,” he said. “That haunted him. He felt like he failed her.” He took the photo from me and looked a little more closely at it. “Nonsense, of course. He did everything for that little girl. I’m sure she would thank him if she could.”

She did, I thought. She did.

[call-signvalkyrie]

Ignite the Spark pt. 1

So I quit my shitty job today. Yay me! With the extra time I had today, I got a chance to finish the first chapter of a Poe Dameron series I’ve been working on. Let me know what you guys think!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: After years of undercover work for the Resistance, the daughter of Luke Skywalker has returned. Arriving on Ajan Kloss to a warm greeting from General Leia Organa, the Reader is given a gift and has their first meeting with everyone’s favorite pilot.

Pairings: Poe Dameron x Skywalker!Reader

Tags: talks of the Force, a few flashbacks, Poe being embarrassed lol

Word Count: around 3k

When your transport landed on Ajan Kloss, you weren’t sure you would be cut out for this. You’d spend so much time on backwater planets, filtering information to the resistance and doing your best to go unnoticed. You were so used to not interacting with anyone that the thought of being around so many people on a bustling base was a bit scary. All feelings of reservation were swept away, however, when the door of the transport opened to reveal the face of an older woman. Her hair was different since the last time you had seen her. Her face was aged from the many years of fighting the good fight for the rebellion. Her eyes, however, had not changed a day. They gleamed and twinkled in the dying twilight. Her smile made them sparkle even brighter as she reached out toward you.

“Aunt Leia,” you stepped off the transport and into her open arms. “It’s been too long.”

“Yes, it has. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have kept you away.” She smiled lovingly, taking your face in both hands.  

“I brought the data you asked for. I’ve got it all here.” You said, pulling a flash drive from your jacket pocket.

“That’s wonderful, Stardust.” You beamed with pride at the mention of your childhood nickname. “Lt. Connix, will you please take this data to the command center. Start running a detail immediately.”  

“Yes, General.” Lt. Connix took the flash drive and was gone before you could blink.

“Beaux, see to it that Lt. Skywalker’s bags are placed in her quarters, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Beaux gave you a quick wave before stepping onto the transport and out of sight.

“Now, Y/N, I want to give you a quick tour before you settle in. I’m sure you’re exhausted but I want you to be as familiar as possible with everything on this base. This is your home now. No more field missions, I need you with me.” Leia smiled again, taking your arm and leading you toward the left wing of the base and toward the living quarters.  

Home. Leia was the only thing you had left. Wherever she was, that’s where your home would be.  

After showing you where your quarters would be located as well as the mess hall, med bay, and a quick tour of the Command Center, you were ready to get settled in for the night.  

“Well, Y/N, if you need anything tonight, my quarters are right down the hall. You should have a data pad on your desk all charged and ready to go. It’ll have your clearance codes as well as any information you’ll need to know while on base. I’ll need you with me in the morning to debrief that data. It should be downloaded and ready so make sure to give it a look over before the morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You said, smiling softly at the older woman.

“Goodnight, Stardust.” Leia gave a quick wave before walking out the door.  

Turning on your heal, you took a quick second to familiarize yourself with your new home. Being the niece of the general had its perks. Your quarters were small, yes but they were cozy. A small bookshelf and dresser were along the wall to your left, a double bed and desk and chair to your right. The data pad Leia had mentioned was right where she said it would be, all charged and ready to go from the looks of it.  Straight ahead was your own private refresher. After unpacking your duffle of clothes, along with your rucksack containing a few personal mementos, you decided to take a quick shower before bed. You could wake up early and review that data for Leia. It wasn’t like you hadn’t spent the last 5 years gathering every piece of intel you could on the First Order.  

Grabbing a fresh pair of underwear, a grey tank and a pair of sleep shorts from your dresser, you stepped into the refresher. Ten minutes later you were scrubbed clean and feeling surprisingly relaxed. It was amazing what a proper shower could do. Opening the door and stepping into your room, you turned to hang your towel on the desk chair when you spotted something you hadn't noticed earlier. On the desk were two boxes accompanied by an envelope. Scrawled across the front in a familiar script was the word “Stardust”. Opening the envelope, you began to read:

Y/N,

For far too long I have kept you in the dark and for that I will always be in your debt. Please accept these as tokens of my sincerest apologies. I hope at least one of these will help light your way. I understand if you’re conflicted but I have hope that one day you will be able to continue your training. Your fathers only wish in life was to see you follow his footsteps. Maybe we can fix that now.  

All My Love,

Leia

Setting the letter to the side, you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. Picking up the smaller of the two boxes, you opened it to reveal a small jewelry box. Lifting the lid, you gasped allowed. Nestled on a small black pillow was a beautifully woven silver chain. Placed ever so delicately in the middle of the pillow was a pendant. Pulling the chain from the box, you let it dangle in front of you in the soft light.  

You never thought you would see this necklace again. Your father had given it to you when you left the Jedi temple to be with your aunt Leia all those years ago. When the temple fell and Kylo Ren rose to power, your necklace went missing in the night. That was almost 8 years ago now. Yet, here it was right in your hands like it was never gone. You ran the compass shaped pendant through your fingers, letting the wave of sadness and nostalgia run over you. On one side, a golden crescent moon surrounded by three silver stars embellished the surface. Turning it over, there was an engraving: Stardust.  

You gingerly pulled the chain around your neck and adjusted it to size. That’s why you had always loved this necklace.

“It will grow with you, Stardust.”  

Sniffling, you took a look at the other package. Thinking back to the note, you already knew what it was. How Leia had found it, you would never know but would be forever grateful. This box was longer, over a foot in length. The box was made of a soft wood that smelled faintly of burned embers. It had no exterior markings and no obvious way of exposing its contents. Slowly, you lowered the box to the floor. Taking a seat in front of it, closed your eyes. Reaching out with your mind, you felt it: The Force.

“The Force is all around you, Y/N. Reach out with your feelings and let it flow through you.”

“Okay, dad.”

“Ahem.”

“I mean: Yes, Master.”

The box gave no notice it had even opened. If some random onlooker happened to be watching, they would be none the wiser. You knew, however, the moment it happened. Lifting the lid, your breath caught in your throat. The inside of the box was lined with a soft, deep blue velvet pillow the color of the night sky. On top of the pillow, an emblem was stitched into the fabric. A shooting star wrapped in what looked like wings. Atop this pillow was a smooth cylindrical object, covered in beautiful ancient markings. It had a slightly curved handle for better grip for your smaller hands. You always favored nature and practicality over dominance and your build had reflected that.  

“You must gather your crystals quickly, younglings. The cave is only open for so long. We don’t want any of you getting stuck in here.” You could hear his soft chuckle even now.

Picking up the silver object, you ignited the switch. Your room began to buzz with the soft whir of noise from the object in your hand. Ethereal, green light radiated from the source. You disengaged the ignitor, taking the smooth metal in both hands. How could it have survived? You looked everywhere after the temple was burned and never found it. Had Leia had it all this time and was just waiting for the right time to return it? Who had taken your lightsaber?  

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of frantic beeping coming from the hallway. Quickly, you slid the blade back into the box. Tucking it away under your bunk, you scrambled to the door and hit the lock. The door opened with a soft shlick and you stepped into the hallway. Another round of agitated beeps could be heard coming down the hall followed by what sounded like combat boots. Coming around the corner was a small round droid, a BB Unit by the looks of him.  

“BeeBee-Ate, I’m sorry! Buddy, our room’s not even this way, where are you going?” a male voice called after the little droid.

“What do you mean you're telling Leia?! It’s the middle of the night, pal. She’s most likely asleep.”  

Leaning against the door to your quarters, you began to understand the little guy. He was angry because someone named Poe left him alone with the ship. AGAIN. And got captured and made him worry. AGAIN. You gave a slight chuckle as the little guy rolled by, angry beeps the whole way. Punching your code back into your door panel, you were just about to step back in when a voice called out to you. Stepping back into the hallway, you were greeted by a Resistance pilot. He was still wearing his bright orange flight suit. His thick, curly hair stuck up in odd directions from his helmet. He gave you a soft smile and waved.  

“I’m sorry for all the noise, it's been a weird day.” The pilot smiled at you apologetically. “I hope my friend didn’t wake you.”

“No, I was awake.” You smiled back, taking a step out of your room and into the hallway. “Just checking to make sure everything was alright. The General, however, won't be too happy about being disturbed.” You nodded toward the little droid, now rolling his body into your aunts' door at full force.  

“Gods, BB-Ate! It’s not that serious! I -” the pilots voice stopped in his throat as the shlick of the door BB-8 was throwing himself into slid open. The little droid went flying full force into the now open quarters of General Organa. You heard a loud clang followed by a series of confused beeps and whistles from the little droid.

“Dameron, you nerf herder! Get your droid out of my room right now or so help me not even the Force will be able to save you!” the General stepped out of her quarters and into the hallway, glairing toward the man to your right. You had to cover your face to hide the smile that was creeping onto it.  

“General, I am so sorry.” a deep blush began to creep up the man's neck and onto his face. “I tried to get him to calm down but he just wouldn’t! He insisted - “

“I don’t care, Dameron. Get him out of here NOW. You’re obviously alright so whatever it is can wait until morning.” Leia said, placing one hand on her hip. You hadn’t seen Leia this irritated since you were a child. You were glad that look was fixed on someone else for once.  

“Yes, ma’am.” The pilot said, lowering his eyes. “C’mon BB-8. It’s time for bed.” The little droid gave what you interpreted to be a light grumble but complied, rolling out to meet his master. Turning on his heal, the pilot gave you a light nod and started off in the direction he came from.  

“Y/N! Ben! Get in here.”

“I told you not to take her lightsaber!” You whispered to your cousin, jabbing him in the ribs.

“She’s my mom. I can take whatever I want from her.” Ben smirked at you and you rolled your eyes.

“Whatever, Bantha-breath! I’m gonna tell her you said that!” You skipped off toward your aunt's voice, Ben chasing close behind you.

“Y/N, you okay?” A hand touched your arm, bringing you back to reality.  

“Yeah, Aunt Leia, sorry. I think I’m just tired.” You yawned, covering your mouth lightly. “Hey, who was that guy?”  

“Oh, that’s Poe. Poe Dameron. He’s a pilot, leader of Black Squadron.” Leia said, exasperation in her voice.  

“Like, THE Poe Dameron? Wow.” You laughed lightly, shaking your head.  

“He’s a good guy, just has his head in his cockpit most of the time instead of down on solid ground.” Leia said, shaking her head with a smile.

“No, it’s not that. I just thought he’d be taller.” You both smiled, enjoying the joke between the two of you.  

“Well, between you and me, he really is the best pilot I’ve ever seen.” your aunt gave you a little wink before turning to go back into her own room.  

“Even better than...” but you stopped yourself, letting the thought trail on.  

“Almost. Maybe.” you could hear the smile in her answer as the door to her room shut behind her.  

[ot3]

your last post made me think about how I loooove how you use color in your art, it's so vibrant and full of life and movement and expression! I was wondering if you had any advice on how to do color studies? perhaps doing drawings with limited palettes? or anything similar?

First things first, thank you, I really do appreciate comments like these! this post now also has a follow up for finish limited palette pieces

I'm obviously very fond of limited palette art and color studies/color thumbnailing are great ways to get that done. When people think limited palette there's often the association of unrealistic and fantastical color palettes, but learning to limit your color use absolutely applies to semirealism and just builds stronger color theory in general. I was planning to talk about limited palettes in more realistic color use in this post, but this already ended up way too long. If that's something people want to hear about I can talk about it later.

Color theory basics crash-course! I'm sure almost anyone who has colored anything is familiar with this, so I'll be SUPER brief, but I want everyone to be on the same page for this. Color has three qualities you need to take into account: Hue, saturation, and brightness. Hue is what we think of as the 'color'. Saturation is the vibrancy of this color; how bold or dull it is. Brightness is how light or dark the color is. Here's this all labeled on a color picker I stole from google.

As a rule of thumb, things that look good in color should look good in grayscale. Having a strong range of values (brightness) makes for a strong image. Keep this in mind when you're picking colors – knowing what areas need to be light and what areas need to be dark before you start coloring will make your life easier. I'm going to teach you when and how to break this rule later, but for now let's just talk about picking a palette. I've found five to seven different colors to be a really nice sweet spot for working with limited palettes.

There are three main types of color palettes ill work with and ill provide examples each of them. I expect you to all politely refrain commenting on the amount of homestuck fanart that's here.

Monochromatic, where the piece is all within one color family with slight variations in hue, and larger variations in brightness and saturation

Accent, which is essentially the same as a monochromatic type with the addition of a strong, contrasting secondary color in one or two variants. Normally the accent color is lighter and serves as a highlight. This is not any kind of a hard rule, but is instead just what I like.

Split. There are two (or more) main colors at play, each with a couple of different shades.

Cool. Now lets see how we'd go about making one of these palettes.

 I'm grabbing an inconsequential sketch i've already got and we're gonna slap some color on it. Let's start monochromatic – I've gone and just tossed six pretty random shades of green on it, picking what goes where based on what I want to be light and what I want to be darker. 

Keep in mind, by monochromatic, I don't mean just picking one color and making it lighter or darker! Adjust your hue within the same color family – some of these are very blue, definitely more blue than green, and some are much warmer and yellower. Play around. In this stage I like to have every color on a distinct layer, so I can just recolor the entire layer at once as I tweak the palette.

 On the right, I have each color lined up in order of lightest to darkest just so I can get a sense of what I'm working with. Lets go ahead and call this one thumbnail. Now I'm gonna group the layers, duplicate them, and flatten the copy. I'll shrink it down and shove it off to the side so I can compare it to the other ones I make later.

Okay, I did a few more almost completely arbitrary monochromatic palettes. Here they are compared with their grayscale counterparts. 

All of them have the same number of colors, and lights stay lights, darks stay dark, midtones stay mid consistent between all of them, but the range of values is different between them all. The difference in light or dark between each tone is different and it gives a different mood that you can see even in black and white. None of them is more 'correct' than any other, and it's all about establishing the tone and atmosphere you want. Experimentation is key.

Now lets try making this a complimentary palette. With a strong accent color, your accent should be placed at areas of importance. People are naturally drawn to contrast and when using an accent color in a piece it'll make that area stick out, so make sure you're placing your colors with intent. For this I went back to that first set of greens I had because it was my favorite. Since this palette is over all very dark, I am going to make my accent the lightest color, because that'll stand out more. In a lighter palette, try making your accent the darkest color. Once again I must stress these are not hard rules – there are very few hard rules in art at all – but these are very useful tips for getting emphasis in the right place. This is just an example piece so I'm not being huuugely thoughtful with how I'm placing the color. 

Here's the same image but with the lightest green just swapped out for a far more vibrant accent of yellow. Looks pretty terrible. I don't want all of the papers and blinds to seem so prominent. So let's scrap this and try a different approach. We're gonna instead add our accent as a sixth color to our palette.

By adding another color, I've added another level of detail. Figuring out how to manage detail isn't just dependent on how many colors you have, but this is already going to be ridiculously long so I'll spare you that spiel. This is another one of those things I'll talk about more later if people want to hear my #thots. Using the new yellow accent, I emphasized the eyes, the mug, and added some interior detailing to the objects on the table. I also decided to place yellow in some of the windows of the outside buildings, to add a bit more interest in that area, and to justify giving yellow back lighting to our little goblin lad here, which makes him stand out nicely.

A split palette makes things a whole lot more complicated. Now that you're gonna be working with two different base colors you don't just only have to worry about which one is lighter or darker, you have to worry about how the hues look next to each other. Lets work with an orange on top of our original green here. I picked two of the greens and replaced the darker one with a darker orange, and the lighter one with a lighter orange. Now our palette is six colors split 50/50 between orange+yellow, and green. 

But now something interesting is happening. Let's take a look. If you're particularly keen eyed, you might have noticed that there's a third set of colors here, using a greyish brown in place of the oranges. What's up with that?

Well, what's up with that is, they are orange. The palette on the far right is what happens if, instead of choosing my own oranges, I simply hue-shifted the bluegreens until they were technically orange in hue. 

The oranges I chose just based on how they looked without actually checking the value and saturation of actually changed the value hierarchy of the whole piece. The table, instead of being in between the objects stacked upon it in terms of brightness, is lighter than either. This isnt bad at all – there's absolutely nothing wrong here. It's just important to be aware of things like this! This is why I said a split palette is the most complicated of the three I'm talking about here – in many occasions, the hue hierarchy can top the value hierarchy. Keep that in mind for slightly later.

I think split palettes work really well for comics, and I like to make my comics with split palettes. Whereas with a single illustration, you can just putz around with your color thumbnails until you get something good, for a comic you're locked into your palette once you've done the first page. Unless you're some sort of insanely meticulous person, in which case I envy you, you probably don't have every single page of your comic blocked out with respective values and can't apply your palette to the whole thing at once to test it. This means you'll need a palette that's pretty versatile. Having a split palette where one of the hue sets is lighter than the other overall allows you to decide whether you're going to create an overall light panel with dark accents, or vice versa. I'm gonna compare two palettes I'm using for comics to make this point. 

Here's a sampling of the comic pages in full color, at 0% saturation, and adjusted for grayscale respectively. You'll notice a slight difference between the desaturated colors and the grayscale colors – grayscale seems to hold truer to the full color version, doesn't it?

Now, here are the palettes themselves, and some grids showing the relationship between every pair of colors. When you don't know exactly what you're going to be using any given palette for, the relationship between any two colors becomes more important than ever. The bottom palette is split three ways, red yellow and blue each with a light and a dark, and then a completely neutral dark gray color. I'm using it for a long ongoing ace attorney comic I'm drawing. The top one has 4 shades of blue that go from darker and cooler to lighter and warmer, then 3 shades of orange that get yellower as they get lighter. Underneath is just the values – you'll notice that the top palette has a larger value range, with its lightest color being lighter than that of the bottom palette, and it's mid tones spaced further apart. 

What you'll also notice about the bottom palette is that instead of the reds being lighter than the blues and darker than the yellows, the value alternates dark red dark yellow light red light yellow. Take a look at the color grids. You'll notice that for the most part, every color in the palette on the right looks good with every other color. That's not nearly as true for the palette on the left. The light blue has a weird vibration where it meets either of the reds, and a few of the pairings just aren't particularly pleasant. Honestly, from any objective ideas of color theory, this palette kind of sucks shit. Lets make some adjustments to it.

I've changed the dark yellow and light red hues so now the light red is slightly darker than the dark yellow. That's the palette that's on top now. Looks better, doesn't it? But so now the question becomes why am I using a palette that looks awkward, disharmonious, and visually strained when I know exactly how to fix it? The simple answer is because I wanted a color palette that's awkward. I wanted that visual strain. I have trouble working on comics and general, especially anything as long as this one, and I wanted a color palette that already meant things would come out looking a little bit wonky, so I wouldn't be as concerned with nitpicking all the details and making everything pretty. I think the sort of visual upset also fits the tone I'm keeping with a lot of the comic.

Remember earlier when I said I'd talk about breaking the rule of stuff looking good in gray scale and in color? That's now. Take a look at this image. 

Which of the three colors is darker: the red, blue, or yellow? The stupid truth of it is that there's not really a proper way to tell. All three are technically the same 'brightness' but our brain tells us that the blue is the darkest, and the yellow is the lightest. Why do our brains do this? Let’s make em gray now.

On the bottom you can see what the colors look like when they are set to 0% saturation; as you'd expect it's a homogeneous gray blob. So then what the fuck is going on with the grayscale one? The grayscale one is closer to the way our brains interpret the colors, but we know this to be an improper rendering of their respective values. Which is the correct version, then – the grayscale or the desaturation? Luckily, we're using a computer, so we can have photoshop tell us the exact balance of hue, saturation, and brightness of any given pixel. Let's take a look now.

Wait, huh? We can plainly see that all three of the colors are at 49% brightness. But neither the desaturated value or any of the 3 grayscale values have a brightness of 49%. So what does a brightness of 49% look like?

Okay. Sure. Why not.

All of what I've just shown you regarding grayscale is to emphasize the point that your best judgment for which colors look good is a far better measuring stick for a good color palette than any technicalities. Even if the value is the same, the hue can differ enough that you can still get a beautiful finished drawing. Color and our perception of it is so, so vastly technically complex. You can not allow yourself to be bogged down by this. Simply practice, and color will become intuitive to you over time. I have a lot more I could say on the subject of picking and using your colors, but this is already insanely long. Feel free to ask any follow up questions, I hope this was of literally any use!

[idreamofplaid]

Flashes of Freedom

Summary: This is how freedom to live your own life looks.

Characters: Sam x Reader; Callie (OFC); Dean and Jody mentioned

Word Count: 1824

A/N: This is a request for @awesomesusiebstuff . I wanted to write something for Susan for being so wonderfully warm and thoughtful. She got me tickets to Jensen’s and Jared’s Stageit panels. This is the best way I know to say thank you! 😘💗 I loved them both.

Flash #1

I’m still getting used to the whole idea. I ran from this life, but I couldn’t. Not really. It wasn’t because Chuck was pulling all the strings either. It was because I felt a sense of duty to my family, to Dean, and ultimately to myself. I couldn’t turn my back on who I was. I had a role to play that was bigger than I could have comprehended, and I had to face that head on with my brother. We both made choices over the years that we aren’t proud of, but maybe now we can finally come to peace with those regrets. Maybe we can hang onto the parts of ourselves and what we’ve done that are good and let go of all the rest.

One of the things I wanted to hang onto was Baby. She was my home before there was a bunker, but she belongs to Dean. They’ve always had a special bond, so I found my own Baby. It took awhile. I scoured the country for months looking for another black ‘67 Impala. I finally found her; I call her My Baby. The doors don’t squeak the same, but maybe in time. 

I took My Baby, and I hit the road. Dean headed up to hang out at Jody’s for a few days, saying something about home cooked meals and wanting to experience how a family lives since now that might be an actual possibility for us.

It’s still hard for me to wrap my head around the idea that we’re free to have lives. After all that fighting and struggle, we can truly control our own destinies. I feel like mine’s in North Carolina. Sounds weird, but something is drawing me there. It isn’t a part of the country I’ve been to very much. I tried California once. That didn’t work out too well, so I’m heading in the opposite direction.

I like the mountains here. They’re soft and rolling. They give everything they surround a secure and sheltered feeling. It’s beautiful and serene. I could stay here, I think, start a new life. 

There’s something I need to do to start this new life. It’s a symbol of starting a new chapter. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, and I believe I’m finally ready. I scan the main street of the little town until I find what I’m looking for. It’s not a barber shop. I don’t want all my hair gone, just shorter. I’m thinking the barely hit my collar kind of short, that wouldn’t be short enough for Dean, but it’ll make the statement I want. It will tell me things are different now. It makes me a little nervous getting it cut because it’s been a part of me for so long. I settle on a salon that has a slightly modern look for a town like this.

Inside, it’s lots of chrome, clean lines, and green plants. I like the feel of it. It’s welcoming, but there’s also an air of competent efficiency. I need both. I’m really going to do this, so I want to feel comfortable and like this person who’s going to do it knows what they’re doing. 

The receptionist takes my name, and I sit down to wait. I sift through the magazines on the table; nothing grabs my interest, so I decide to just wait. You catch my attention as soon as you walk into the reception area, and I feel my heart do a little flip. You call my name, and I follow you. Yeah, you’re the woman I can trust to cut my hair.

You run your fingers through my hair and lift it up, professionally assessing it; but how my hair might look when you’re done isn’t where my mind goes. It’s been awhile since I thought about a woman like this, and I notice how pretty your smile is when you ask me for the second time, “Are you sure you want to cut it?”

I take a look at myself in the mirror. I’m completely covered by a black cape except for my head, to me it looks like a blank slate. I give you a nod. “Yeah, cut it.”

When you finish, you give me a handheld mirror and turn me around so I can see the back. It’s different, and that’s what I need. You spin me back around to face the big mirror again and tilt your head, looking at my reflection. “You’re still handsome, but I did like the hair.” Your flirtiness sparks some courage in me, and I take my next big step; I ask you out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flash #2

The next night I take you to what you have told me is the only Italian restaurant in town. It’s classic and traditional from the red and white checked tablecloths covering the tables to the wooden paneling on the walls. Each table has a white candle in a heavy red glass container that creates a soft glow of light and an intimate atmosphere. The way your eyes look in the candlelight does things to me; it makes me feel hopeful.

I’m relaxed with you, truly at ease. For the first time in forever, I don’t feel like I’m looking over my shoulder. We choose a bottle of wine and get to know each other better while we sip the full bodied red and wait for our food. You tell me you’ve lived in this area all your life, thought about leaving briefly for something bigger and more exciting; but you realized your roots were here.

It all sounded about as far away from the life I’d known as it could be. I noticed everything about you that night, so many details that wrapped me up in the web of you. Little things, like the way you twisted your spaghetti around your fork before you put it in your mouth. I saw the bigger things too, the life changing things. You look into my eyes when I’m talking like I’m saying the most fascinating thing you’ve ever heard, but I know it can’t be; I’m still holding so much back from you. I don’t want to scare you off, and my life has been a scary thing. I’m holding it back, but I want you to know. I want you to know me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flash #3

Your hair is plastered to your forehead, and the strain is evident on your face. I tell you to breathe, and you push your breath out deliberately through your lips as slow and steady as you can. It’s hard to watch you in this much pain, and there isn’t really anything I can do.

When the contraction passes, I guide your head down to the pillow so you can rest for a few minutes before the next one hits. You’re weak from all the effort of bringing our baby into the world, but still you smile at me. “I love you, Sam.”

I’m still holding your hand in mine; I raise it to my lips and kiss it gently. I return your smile and push your damp hair back from your forehead. “You’re amazing.” I didn’t get a chance to say anything else because another contraction tore through your body.

Our daughter was born a few minutes later. Seeing her in your arms and watching the way you looked at her was the most incredible moment of my life. My heart was filled with more love than it could hold and my eyes filled with tears. It was the first time in my life I cried because I was happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flash #4

“Wake up, Sam.” I feel you dragging your hand down my chest and over my stomach. You’re whispering in my ear, calling for me, “Sam?”

I’m not fully awake when I turn to you and take you in my arms, kissing you deeply. It’s instinctual now, as natural as breathing. I’m used to having you beside me, sharing a bed with me, and wanting me. You’ve been wanting me more often lately, just like you did at this point in your pregnancy with Callie. I’m not complaining at all, far from it. I love giving you what you need, and I’m pleasantly tired. We made love when we came to bed tonight, and if you want me again already; you’re going to have me any way you want. 

In the dark of our bedroom, in the middle of the night, I love you. I give you, at least try to, everything you have given to me. I show you with my body things I still don’t think I’ve found the words to tell you exactly how I feel. The way you’re kissing me back tells me that you know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flash #5

It’s a morning like all our other mornings, but there’s nothing ordinary about it. You’re sitting by the window, holding our baby son, and singing quietly to him. Callie is on my lap, and I’m reading her favorite book to her. She has the words memorized now, and can tell the story along with me.

Our little girl’s laughter is such a sweet sound. Her delighted reaction is always the same, like it’s the first time she’s ever heard the story. I close the book and bop her on the nose. That makes her giggle even louder, and you lift your head to look over at us and smile. Callie grins at me; her big Y/E/C are exactly like yours. “Can we read another story, Daddy?”

My heart gets bigger when I hear her say it. There’s no other love like the love you feel for your child, and you gave me the gift of that twice. “Sure we can, turtle.” She flashes her cute little smile filled with baby teeth when she hears the name. You started calling her that when she was toddling around and taking her favorite plushie, a yellow turtle, with her everywhere. Callie goes over to the bookcase, much more steady on her feet now, and brings another book back to me. 

You’re putting our baby boy down in his cradle by your chair for his nap when Callie crawls back into my lap. She settles and opens the cover of the book, but then she turns. If it was possible to plot with a two year old, I’d believe you and our daughter planned what she did next. She reached up and took a fistful of my hair that’s grown back down to my shoulders into her little hand. “Daddy, your hair’s pretty.”

You’ve been listening and crossing the room to us this whole time. You place a kiss on top of her head. “Yes, baby, Daddy’s has pretty hair.” The look you give me is pleased, content, and suggestive. Silently, you let me know it’s going to be your hands in my hair tonight. I’m glad I let it grow back.

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @gh0stgurl @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @sea040561 @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @oldfreakything 

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @winchesterxfamilybusiness @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @i-joined-social-media-finally @autumninavonlea @spnxbsessed​ @durinsbride​ @deansyahtzee​ @wendibird​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @waywardnerd67​ @fullmooner​ @neii3n​ @supernatural-took-me-over​ @julesthequirky​ 

[mollymauk-teafleak]

be as you’ve always been

Alternate Title: everyone’s nb bitch, let’s get you some gender affirming underwear

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This is based on a request by the lovely @minky-for-short and some truly beautiful art of Caduceus which you can see and bask in here. Huge thanks to @tendermosses for letting me base a ficlet on their work and for always doing such amazing art for fjord and caduceus! 

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Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 or reblogging to let me know what you think!

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Caduceus had known, since moving out of the grove and into the city, that his life went at a very different pace to most people’s. He didn’t know if it was because he was a firbolg, because he talked more to trees with lifespans of centuries than to people or because of brain chemistry reasons. But why's had never particularly concerned Caduceus, he tried to take people as they were, as long as they did the same for him.

And these people made decisions almost without thinking, they moved from one task to the next without pause, one word could send them careening onto a completely new train of thought while Caduceus was stuck on one three stations back.

And some did it so quickly, so without any kind of traceable logic, that all Caduceus could do was cling on as tight as he could and follow along in complete ignorance to see where he ended up.

But then he spoke to some of his friends and realised, to his mild relief, that no. That was just what Mollymauk and Jester were like.

He also realised that sometimes it led to very good things.

Molly and Jester were two of his closest friends and two of his most regular customers, given that the theatre where Mollymauk worked was just down the block and that Jester had an addiction to sweet things. They were usually there, talking together or with their partners, and Caduceus had grown to love the sound of their voices mixing pleasantly with the noise of the cafe.

That evening, a half hour shy of closing, they had both been sitting on the tall chairs against the counter, Jester’s short legs swinging happily halfway up, Molly’s lanky ones folded underneath him but they would have touched the floor if he’d let them. The discussion had turned to sewing, how best to work with the sequined and beaded fabric Molly needed to wrestle for the theatre’s next show without breaking his sewing machine.

Caduceus had been scoring tomorrow’s loaves with the elaborate leaf and vine patterns he liked to do, bringing his work out onto the counter because there were no other customers in and so he could listen to his friend’s chatter. Jester had been recounting a memorable night with some sequinned lingerie she’d bought the other week, how so many had come loose and turned up in places they weren’t meant to be that she’d had to buy new sheets, Molly cackling and snorting at all the appropriate places. Or, rather, inappropriate places.

Caduceus had murmured, not particularly minding whether they heard him or not, that lingerie mystified him a little but he’d always wanted to give it a try.

The immediate silence told him his friends had definitely heard. And the look they gave each other, barely concealed glee and eagerness, told him they intended to do something about it.

Which brought Cad to where he was now, legs folded almost up to his chest, in the cramped passenger seat of Mollymauk’s car. Caduceus didn’t know a lot about cars but it didn’t take much to see that Molly’s had gone beyond being on its last legs and was now running on pure willpower and prayers to the Moonweaver. It felt like the bass of the music pouring out of the speakers was going to be enough to shake it apart and Jester piped up from the back seat that the door handle had come off.

“There’s duct tape under the seat, babe,” Molly called back, unconcerned, learning forward to turn down the volume when he saw how Cad was wincing but being too awkward to say anything.

“You really don’t need to do this,” Cad insisted gently, “You’ve both been working all day, it’s getting late...”

“So have you,” Jester pointed out, voice a little indistinct through the strip of tape she was holding in her teeth, “And we don’t mind, it’ll be fun! We can help you pick out something nice! Anyhow, Beau and Yasha are at the gym until eight, Fjord too.”

“And Caleb has the kids,” Molly hummed, spinning the wheel lazily, far further than he should really have to just to take an easy corner, “This is a bonding exercise, Deucey. You need back up on something like this. You need your GNC club.”

“GNC?” Caduceus tilted his head.

“Gender non conforming,” Molly supplied, “You know, people who get it. Gender’s dead but friendship is not.”

“Your NB buddies!” Jester grinned, her head pushing in between the two of them, duct tape stuck to her horns, catching her homemade earrings with the plastic gummy bears, “Wait...your NBuddies!”

Caduceus considered that, his ears flapping a little as he took the tape off for Jester. He liked the idea of being part of a club. Even more, he liked the idea of being understood. He’d been worried about that when he’d first moved, breaking away from the grove where things were fluid and constantly changing as nature itself and entering a place where there might be rules and expectations in place that made sense to everyone but him. Where he would have to explain himself and define himself with terms that weren’t his own.

But here he was, feeling safe in a very unsafe vehicle, with friends to gladly cheer him on as he threw open the windows of the self he’d made a home in and tried new things.

Caduceus folded the piece of tape over and over in his long fingers and smiled.

“So what is it that mystifies you, exactly?” Mollymauk twitched some scandalous lace as they moved deeper into the boutique. Apparently this is where he and Jester had been coming for ages, enough that the drow behind the counter had known their names and greeted them with high fives.

“I guess...the concept?” Caduceus held his tail so it wouldn’t knock anything over, some of the displays were elaborate and delicate looking and full of things that would probably vibrate loudly if they hit the floor and that would be embarrassing, “I thought the idea of sex was to wear nothing rather than something. Where in the whole...process does this stuff come in?”

Molly nodded, managing to listen intently while dragging Jester by the tail so she wouldn’t dive headfirst into the costumes part of the shop, “Anywhere really. They make stuff you can still fuck in, if efficiency is what you’re worried about. But I think the function of this kind of outfit is to make you feel pretty, y’know? Get you in the right headspace, get you feeling yourself, yeah? It doesn’t always need to be about sex.”

“Sometimes I just wear pretty lingerie under my clothes cos it puts me in a good mood!” Jester bounced on the balls of her feet, ducking behind racks to sneak sips of the milkshake she’d smuggled past the cashier, “Helps me feel more like me.”

“Oh,” Cad said softly, tilting his head to consider the silk and satin and lace around them in a different way, “That sounds nice, actually.”

“Which is why it’s important to choose things you really like,” Molly nodded encouragingly, taking a sip of Jester’s shake and dodging the punch she aimed at his shoulder, “It’s a treat for yourself, this kind of stuff. And, when it inevitably shortens Fjord’s shorts by a good few inches because you’re going to look utterly stunning, that’s a bonus.”

Caduceus turned pink under his fur, a smile playing on his lips, “You think he’d like me wearing this kind of thing?”

“If you love yourself in it, Caddy, he will,” Jester beamed confidently.

“So...what’s catching your eye?” Molly prompted, seeing the excitement in his bright purple eyes, “They’ve got a good size range here, gaps for tails. Anything you like, they’ll have it to fit you.”

Caduceus looked around, ears lifting and whiskers twitching with interest. Anything he liked. No need to wonder if they would have things made to fit his tall, awkward body, no need to feel the pinching anxiety he’d grown too familiar with in clothing shops. A place where he could fit. And the only purpose was to make him feel beautiful.

“I like...green. And I like flowers.”

Molly and Jester shared that look again, the look of remembering when they’d had that moment of realisation too, when they’d discovered the world had space for them as they were. A look of delight at seeing it happen for their friend too and knowing they’d had a hand in it.

“Let’s get to work then,” Molly grinned.

Caduceus still had a little more time before Fjord came back from the gym. They’d checked and double checked the sizes on everything but Mollymauk still advised trying them on to make sure he was happy with them. And honestly, Cad’s excitement meant he didn’t want to wait.

So he stood in front of the full length mirror, after clearing away the clothes that were draped over it, with his hair gathered up in a thick bun at the nape of his neck, wearing little beyond the dull gold light of the sunset coming in through the windows. He’d bought three sets at the store and a few bits of jewellery to go through his piercings, actually a rather modest haul compared to what Molly and Jester bought for themselves but he was just starting out, after all.

There was one in green silk with garters and lace panels. There was a bodysuit made of mostly straps in a mossy blue colour that reminded him of water and looked pretty against his fur. But he quickly decided his favourite. The main material was sheer, meant to look like it wasn’t there at all, so the effect was that he’d laid a number of beautiful, intricately embroidered flowers across his body, teasingly concealing the barest amount.

That one he couldn’t quite bear to take off, even after he saw it fit him perfectly. Caduceus kept turning this way and that, grinning widely, seeing how it looked from different angles, touching the fabric, feeling how the stitches rose and fell under his fingertips. He looked like a dryad, wearing only sunlight and flowers, glowing from the inside out with an ethereal, untouchable kind of beauty.

And he liked it. He liked it a lot.

Caduceus had always felt mostly at home with how he expressed himself. He’d had eighty years to decide who he was and to know it was okay, that the Wildmother would always accept him and some individuals would not and that was outside of his control. Dysphoria was a word he’d learned the meaning of only after he’d moved to the city.

But this was the first time he’d been able to understand why Fjord looked at him the way he did, why he wanted him. Those dark nights when he’d lain awake with his head on his boyfriend’s chest and listened to the heart that was promised to him and wondered why, of all the people in the world, Fjord’s body stirred for him, those nights felt far away right now. Because he could see it for himself now. There was a connection in his mind, clear as day, that had been dark before.

He was beautiful. He was desirable. And this was good to know.

Caduceus mustn’t have heard the front door open, more in his head and in the mirror than in their bedroom. He mustn’t have heard Fjord throwing his bag down in the hall, his heavy footfalls across the old, creaking wood.

All Cad heard was the bedroom door starting to swing and his boyfriend’s call of, “I’m home, love, just going to showe-oh.”

Cad turned quickly, the magic broken, suddenly only able to think about the fact that he was wearing ridiculous lingerie with absolutely no warning, no rose petals or candles or glasses of champagne to try and pretend this was a deliberate surprise, “Fjord! Sorry, I...I was just…”

He faltered for words but couldn’t find any. Though it seemed Fjord was having the same difficulty. He was in his gym clothes, shirt still sticking to his chest and hair pushed back from his damp forehead with a simple band. And his jaw was on the floor. And his eyes...

“Um...Molly and Jester took me shopping today?” Cad explained, feeling heat rise to the surface of his skin for a different reason, “I thought I’d try something new.”

Fjord swallowed hard, his eyes wide and darting, unable to decide which part of Caduceus they wanted to stare at most, “Yeah? You...you look...I mean, god, Cad…”

Cad’s smile was back, flickering into life, “I look pretty, don’t I?”

Fjord gave a soft laugh, his eyes practically flooding over, “Pretty? Cad, there aren’t even words, love.”

Caduceus’ ears flapped and his tail curled in the air. He liked that. He liked the idea of things that could be said without words.

“Can I?” Fjord stepped forward, muscles coiled and ready, body telegraphing his need as clearly as a hunting animal.

“Oh please,” Cad breathed, “Fjord, please.”

It was well and truly night by the time they were done and Caduceus was pleased to learn he could feel just as beautiful once the lingerie had been eagerly pulled away. It was like a light had been switched on somewhere inside him and on it would stay.

He slept contentedly, easily, head resting on Fjord’s chest. His braid was undone, hair settling over his shoulders in waves made wild by his boyfriend’s fingers passing through it again and again. His lips were swollen pleasantly and flushed, his body would be full of well earned aches in the morning.

He was the most beautiful thing Fjord had ever seen.

He was ready for sleep himself, more than ready, but before he settled down to let himself drift away in his boyfriend’s arms, the only way he could ever really sleep completely peacefully, he had something to do. He pulled his phone out, fortunately within reach because his shorts had ended up hanging off the bedside lamp. Just a quick text, sent to two of his friends- Little Blue and Peacock according to his contact list.

thank you. seriously guys THANK. YOU.

And if Molly and Jester hadn’t been busy with their own partners, their own purchases, their own bliss, they would have seen it and grinned that grin again.

But there would be time in the morning.

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Being Human - Chapter 13

<= Chapter 12

Summary : Snatcher makes up with the kids Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826561/chapters/65582983

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Another chapter, yohoo ! I hope you'll like it ! Thank you for all your lovely comments, you're all so nice !!

The “Oh The Humanity” AU belongs to @doodledrawsthings​ !

Happy reading !

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Chapter 13 - “What’s ‘Corgi Quest’?”

With Cooking Cat to help him to stay stable in the hallway, going back to the spaceship hub was easier. Snatcher didn’t like being reminded of how weak he looked at the moment, but he had managed to push his pride aside, if only for a brief moment. The cat was nice and considerate enough to make no comments about it, which was more than welcome for the former spirit.

It didn’t take them long to leave the first hallway and to cross the machine room. When they reached the second and last hallway before reaching the hub, voices could be heard from the other side of the door, informing them that the little girls were there. Suddenly, Snatcher felt his heart sunk in his chest. God, why was he reacting this way! There was literally nothing to be afraid of! It wasn’t the first time he had angered the brats and it certainly wouldn’t be the la-

Wait. Why was he even worried about that anyway? He was the powerful ghost of Subcon Forest! He had killed so many people and now he was worried about little children being mad at him? Oh please, what a joke. He rolled his eyes at himself, Gods, he was so stupid.

A little pat on his hand cut his thoughts short, catching his attention. Just like before, Cooking Cat was patting him, trying to reassure him, to comfort him. Ugh.

-“It’ll be okay,” she assured with a smile: “I’m sure they forgave you already.”

The former spirit glanced away, both irritated and embarrassed, because heck, he hated being this easy to read. How was she even able to do that? Well, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was annoying and that it made Snatcher think about things he’d rather ignore. He let out a long and exhausted sigh, turning to the cat with a scowl on his face:

-“Oh please, I don’t care what they think. They might as well be sulking, it changes absolutely nothing for me,” he groaned, more than exasperated: “All I care about is to be dead again. That’s all.”

The other only nodded her head as an answer. She probably knew it was best not to argue with him on that topic, considering how sensitive it was for the moment. Whatever wanted to say at his words, she kept it for herself, staying silent and motionless instead. She was waiting for him to approach the door for it to open, not rushing him.

Gods. He was so ridiculous.

The former ghost took a deep breath and, ignoring how much his legs felt like cotton, took a few steps towards the door. As soon as it opened, the mechanical sound echoing all around, it was like a weight settled on his stomach, twisting his guts as soon as his eyes spotted the two little girls. They had changed and were now wearing coloured pyjamas, still wearing their signature headgear, weirdly enough. They were sitting in front of the television, watching, no, doing something with it? He wasn’t sure what, he was not very informed regarding new technologies, considering he lived in the same forest for centuries. They were holding weird things in their hands, black devices with coloured buttons on it. Whatever they were doing, they were also bumping each other with their shoulders, loud high-pitched giggles resonating in the room. However, when they heard the door, they both turned around in his direction.

-“Oh, you’re back,” started the hatted brat, her voice almost passive aggressive. Yep, she was mad, just like he had thought. She seemed to make an effort as her younger friend “discretly” nudged her in the back, instructing her to be nice: “You feeling better?” she asked with a more neutral tone.

Did he feel better? He supposed he did, though it was hard to say. His mind was like a cacophony of thoughts, all very, very different from one another. Some part of him did feel better, it was true, while his pride was screaming at how sappy and mushy the whole situation was. It was most likely this part of himself that snapped earlier, or had at least contributed to his meltdown. It really was strange and uncomfortable to say the least.

-“Yeah,” he replied, still with a grumpy expression on his face: “guess so.”

He had been tempted to go with his usual approach, putting a show with the loud persona he had fabricated through the centuries. After all, it had almost completely fused with his, well, original personality, having been kept in a cold cellar for days changing him greatly, just like the after-life did. He was not the nice and compassionate Prince anymore. He was The Snatcher, a powerful soul-stealing ghost that had no remorse over killing people for his own survival and, by now, even for fun. And yet… And yet, sometimes, putting on the mask that had become such a second nature to him became… Difficult. Unnatural.

Right now was one of those times.

For a brief instant, he thought he saw a remorseful look on the hat-wearing child’s expression, though it quickly died down as he glanced away. She looked like she wanted to forgive him, but it was a bit too early for her to completely do so. At least, that’s what Snatcher thought it meant, it wasn’t like he was some kind of social behaviour specialist. If anything, law was his forte, but this? He was just guessing at this point.

His thoughts were cut short as the bow-wearing kid joined the conversation, lifting a plate of grilled cheese sandwich that had been on the ground until now. She was smiling at him, yet it was easy to see she was somewhat trying to hide her unease behind a warm expression:

-“We saved some for you,” she informed him with a gentle voice before cringing a bit as she glanced down at the food: “… Well, it’s cold now, but we can always reheat it later when you want!”

Snatcher frowned, feeling something akin to guilt rise in his chest. It felt wrong, so, so wrong, and he couldn’t help but grit his teeth. He normally didn’t care about being the bad guy, about being unfair or mean, or, well, murderous. Yet, there was something in this very specific situation that gave him an awful feeling of shame, one he really wished he could ignore.

What was happening to him?

-“Yeah, fine,” he simply replied, embarrassment unfortunately clearly audible in his voice as he walked closer, not comfortable enough to say the magic word just yet. It just got stuck in his throat. Thankfully, the kids didn’t mention it. Just as he was about to ask what they were doing with the television and what they were holding in their hands, Cooking Cat’s voiced echoed just behind them:

-“Well,” she started, straightening her chef’s hat with her usual smile: “it’s getting late, I think it’s time for me to go home. I had a lot of fun today, thank you for inviting me!” she said to the kids before turning to him: “I hope you’ll teach me how to tell scary stories soon! But, on a more serious note, I really hope your wish to be a ghost again will come true. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to experience being alive after so much time as a spirit.”

Snatcher glanced away:

-“It’s… Not so great, yeah,” he confirmed with a frown.

Her smile disappeared for a bit, quickly replaced by a serious and compassionate expression:

-“Don’t push yourself too hard,” she advised with a caring tone: “Do what you can and if that doesn’t work out, it’s okay. You’ve been human for a day or two, barely, and I can only guess how much it is to take in. Try being nicer to yourself, it’s fine to fail sometimes.”

The former ghost scoffed at how corny this all was. Oh sure, what a great idea to rest and relax while his crazy ex could wreck havoc in his forest, freezing everything and everyone again! Of course, he’d have the right to, since he could “be nicer to himself” and that it was “fine to fail sometimes”! And if he came back to see the whole forest being covered in ice again, well, “whoopsie daisy!”, right?!

What a joke.

Cooking Cat could obviously tell that Snatcher wasn’t taking her words well, but knew better than to insist. She looked away, a bit embarrassed, though she tried to smile again. She turned to the children, who had watched the scene, silently:

-“Can you teleport me down there?” she gestured to the floor, or what was under it. The planet.

-“Yeah, of course,” replied the hatted girl, moving to the control panel, before waving at her: “See you soon, Cookie!”

The younger kid soon imitated her:

-“See you, take care!”

The cat looked happier from the kids’ kind words and waved back at them. Her eyes then glanced to the former spirit, smiling back at him:

-“Goodbye, Snatcher. I hope I’ll see you soon as well, in your true form this time,”

Snatcher only nodded in response, feeling all the stares being fixed on him once more. He liked attention, sure… But not like this. This one was oppressive, stressful and… In this meat sack of a body, he didn’t feel completely safe. However, Cooking Cat seemed satisfied with his answer, and nodded to the hat-wearing little girl, telling her she was ready for teleportation. Honestly, the man couldn’t help but be impressed at her calm face: his own experience through scientific teleportation was… Not a good one. He had always been fine teleporting magically, but this? This could be labelled as a vomit-inducing machine and he wouldn’t even be surprised.

The cat disappeared in a blink, a blue light quickly engulfing her for a second before it was gone, leaving no trace from her, as if she had never come onto the ship.

Silence fell in the room as the trio was left alone once more. The atmosphere was tense, almost palpable, no one knowing what to say after everything that had happened in only one single day. After all, it was a lot, it made sense that tensions started to appear after a while. Well, perhaps they mostly appeared because of him, but it didn’t matter.

Eventually, after a while, the bow-wearing kid gestured to the television with an awkward smile:

-“Wanna keep on playing Corgi Quest?” she offered, winking at the hatted brat, once more very “discreetly”. But it seemed to work as the other sighed yet shrugged nonetheless, visibly exhausted from the events of the day:

-“Yeah, fine, sounds good to me.”

Snatcher watched them walk to the television and sit on the nearby coloured pillows. Confusion was plastered on his face as he wondered what they could be talking about. ‘Corgi Quest’? What was that? Was it what they were doing before he and Cooking Cat entered the room? Was this a “TV thing” he wasn’t aware about? That could very well be the case, seeing as he only knew what a television was from what he learnt with his ex-contractors.

So, not a lot, considering they didn’t live long enough to explain what it was in further details. Not like he had thought he would need it someday, though…

-“What’s ‘Corgi Quest’?” he questioned, voicing his confusion, glancing at the kids then the television repeatedly, trying to understand.

-“Our favourite video game,” answered the hatted child, picking up one of the device from earlier -what was it?-, pushing some of the buttons and… Controlling what was happening on the screen? What? His brow furrowed even more: how did that work?

-“It sounds pretty simple, but Corgi Quest actually has a deep storyline!” added the younger child, her eyes full of stars: “It’s also very cute, and there’s even a multiplayer mode! Much better than in the last game, Corgi Quest 6. Oh yeah, we’re playing the 7th one, but you don’t need to have played the oth-”

-“Woah, woah, kiddo, stop,” interrupted Snatcher by lifting his hands in the air, already feeling a headache coming up just from hearing about all this stuff he couldn’t understand. What were they even talking about? He took a deep breath and pinched his nose, stopping soon afterwards. Wait, he never did that before, was it because he had a nose now?

-“First, I don’t care about all of that,” he established, though it was a lie: he was curious, at least on the way this was working: “Second, what the heck is a video game?”

This was a simple question, really, one he thought was basic and pretty common… And yet, as soon as the words left his mouth, the two children gasped as if he had insulted their parents in the worst possible ways. Wait, did he ever do that? He didn’t remember. Still, they were staring at him with wide eyes, clearly not believing a single word he had just said. Was it that obvious? If it was, why didn’t he hear about that from his victi- oh wait, right, he usually killed them before they got the chance to talk. Not that he wanted to, life outside of his forest didn’t interest him usually. And it wasn’t like talking with his “brain-dead servants” were entertaining, hearing them scream in pain was though.

His thoughts were cut short as the little girls exclaimed at the same time:

-“You don’t know what a video game is?!”

Snatcher shook his head, warier and warier as seconds passed. This was getting extremely suspicious and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know anymore, given the reactions he got just from not knowing whatever that thing was. In any case, apparently, said thing was pretty famous or at least common now.

The two kids shared a knowing and decided look, as if they telepathically agreed on something.

All of a sudden, Snatcher felt like he should have kept his mouth shut. But he didn’t have the time to think more, as the bow-wearing little girl moved behind him and pushed him more towards the television, while the older kid placed more pillows on the floor for him to sit on.

-“Wait, wait, what-” The former ghost tried to protest, but was interrupted as the brats forced him to sit down, his opinion clearly ignored from now on. Soon, one of the strange-looking device was placed in his hands, and he turned his head to the kids, even more perplexed than before.

-“Okay, so you definitely failed in life just not knowing what a video game was,” informed the hat-wearing child, an exaggerated look of disappointment in her eyes: “Allow us to educate you on that topic.”

-“Trust us,” added the younger one, placing her hand on her chest as if what she was saying was extremely important -when it wasn’t-: “We’re specialists.”

Snatcher’s confusion was now reaching new heights. He had no idea what they were talking about, and he was so bewildered by what was happening that, despite his wish to protest, his voice got stuck in his throat. His brain was trying so very hard to understand what was happening, but soon, the brats sat next to him… And started to explain things and concepts he had no idea existed before.

How did this even happen…? Whatever the answer was… Snatcher knew he was stuck with them until he learnt what those ‘video game’ things were.

This was it. Snatcher was cursed, and he had the feeling this was not going to end soon.

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Well, everything goes well ! Isn't that wonderful ? Truly, it would be such a SHAME if SOMEONE were to ruin that................. Not that it's going to happen or anything !! ... Unless...?

:)c

Anyway, thank you all for your comments, they mean so much to me !

=> Chapter 14

[thevirtualcanvas]

Tin Man

Mando x Reader [GN]

No real pairings? Just friendship 

Suitable for all. 

2.3K

After escaping Nevarro - Mando gets into a dog fight and ends up crash landing on a small planet in the outer-rim. Where he meets you. A little snippet about Mando learning to trust. 

Enjoy! 

He's a man with three names. A faceless figure, a lonely entity travelling across the galaxy to pay a debt of life until he draws his last. Those who fear him call him The Mandalorian. It's a title and a mantle. A creed on the brink but courageous and unwavering none the less. They whisper it, as they cower on a remote rock at the edge of the outer rim. Yell, as they notice the glimmer of the unmistakable helm walking towards them with silent determination. His title trembles from their terrified mouths, battered and bruised as his quarries offer tithes and bribes, promises of a life of riches if only he –  Just. Let. Them. Go. An indistinguishable grunt is all he offers, we all pay our dues. This is the way.

Some call him Mando. It's spoken with familiarity, contempt. They think they know him well enough to accost him with a nickname. They believe because they require his services, that makes them safe from his ire. Some laugh, call him friend, or partner, slapping him fondly on the back of the shoulder, all the while watching cautiously as he leaves, a nervous tick in the corner of their eyes wondering if they'll become his next bounty. They imagine themselves serving time, petrified and stuck in their own minds in his terrifying carbonite jail. He keeps quiet, indiscriminate, that fear serves him well.  

His third name is a treasure, known by few. It travels with him through the galaxy like star dust, dying silently as it travels unspoken in the lonely void of space. Only to spark and shimmer in a warm explosion of light as it dances across your lips. Din... He chokes back a barrage of feelings when you repeat back to him. The last people to speak that name, who gave him that identity are gone, another casualty of a war that claimed the lives of millions. He's not sure why he told you. You were a stranger, an unknown – but you and yours took them in, kept them fed, gave them a room and fixed the Razor Crest. He felt like this was a way to repay that debt.

The Mandalorian protested at first – his stay is unnecessary, dangerous. Him and the child were being hunted and you disarm him with a smile and a soft laugh, the planets sun bouncing light of your cheeks through a deep set canopy.

The real danger is on the idiots that venture into my home with the intent to harm. Relax, Bounty Hunter. Your clan is safe here.

The Child lets out a high pitched giggle from his silver cradle and it seems as though it's decided this is their hiding place – for the time being.

You're from a small planetoid, it has no name, but locally known as Arbor. It's made up of dense forests and rocky crags with one port and a few sparse holdings across it's terrain. You and your father live like hermits, in a small dome like homestead covered in moss and flora and surrounded by a few cattle of some variety. You saw the Razor Crest bombing through the atmosphere, pieces of metal flaking off and burning as it flew through the sky. As you reached the smoking, charred hull you saw him – covered in metal dints, soot and the fabric of his cloak drenched from the monsoon rains. The Mandalorian is reluctant, he's stoic, guarded, and wary of your intent.

We can help you repair your ship.

A grunt. No thanks. He smacks a panel with a silent rage.

What about a dry roof over your head until the monsoon stops?

No.

You shrug, as you rest against your walking stick, the light attached glowing softly. Your eye catches something small at the opening of the ship. Then how about you come with me and we can feed your kid?

With a sense of exasperation, The Mandalorian follows you in the rain. You lead him through the valley to your home, and the small guest house, watching him assess and postulate dangers like wild animal on it's haunches. Your father greets the new guests and finds extra plates and spoons for dinner.

Get settled, do your perimeter walk if needs be, I'll be back in a little while with dinner. I'll also bring some extra blankets and some logs for the fire. My dad can help you get your ship fixed tomorrow.

The man is surprised at your lack of fear – it's new to him and you're either cocky or stupid. Wait. He calls as you leave. Don't you know what I am?

You lean against the door frame, watching his tilted helmet with a matter of fact Yeah? And?

The man's huff is broadcasted in a tinny warble. Doesn't that bother you? Or why I'm here?

Your laugh quickly warms the inside of his helmet. It was pure fluke, I saw you crashing through the atmosphere and landing in our neighbours backyard. I'm helping – it's what we do. You're not so scary, Tin Man.

The man is affronted, almost embarrassed. He tries to assert some that fear that he's expects of the people around him. The modulator cracks as he speaks. A warning. You have no idea what I'm capable of.

You take a step closer, watching your own reflection in the visor. Likewise. Besides, if your kid isn't scared. I see no reason to be. You point at the small green bundle with oversized ears, twitching as he sleeps soundly by the bed. Tiny squeaks escaping his mouth as he dreams.

He watches you through the night, observing as you and your old man take shifts in a crows nest, practically hidden in the canopy if it weren't for the embedded tech in his helmet. He hears one blaster shot, muffled, in the distance and then sleeps soundly with his blaster resting against his chest.

Your father leaves for the port on a small personal speeder, leaving you with the Bounty Hunter and his charge. He spends the week watching over his shoulder and being agitated at your ability to get under his Beskar, being respectful of his creed and down-right disrespectful at the same time. You never forced him to eat with you, gave him his space to look after his boy and check his surroundings. Never questioned his appearance, the arsenal of weapons at his disposal or the reason he was on the run.

We all have things we're running from, Tin Man.

It's steel, and, thank you – for not prying.

You shrug with nonchalance and throw him a pail. C'mon if we want milk we'd better get milking, Tin Man.

There are things the Mandalorian notices. Like the crows nest, or the ship in the barn, the EMP disruptors on the edge of the farm's perimeter. Or the fact there is some form of clone-war era blaster or pulse rifle in every concealed place he can see. Your words rumble in his skull. We all have things we're running from. Then he shakes them, it's not his place to pry.

Soon your Father returns, with a bundle of parts and a worried look on his tired face. Imps, in town – a lot them. He doesn't think he was followed but then again you can never be too sure. You spend the night in the crows nest, scope to your eye, scouting the trees for danger. The Mandalorian hears three shots that night, and he doesn't sleep.

In the morning, just as you're preparing breakfast he confronts you. Last night...

It's sorted. Don't worry. But he can see the fatigue and hear the way you draw the words out.

Din doesn't know how to be soft. He doesn't really know how to react to kindness beyond absolute loyalty and due diligence – but he tries. I appreciate the help from you and your Father but it's time for us to move on. I want you to have this. He places a coin pouch on the table. To cover your losses. Don't worry – it's new Republic.

You make a face at the money.

Is it not suitable?

No...it's not the money. I've just enjoyed the company. I'll miss it.

You can hear a rumble through the vocoder It has been an unexpected... but a welcome break for the kid.

Just the kid?

An explosion erupts through the canopy and can be seen through the kitchen window, a violent collusion of orange and red against the plush green of the forest.. His training kicks in and he reaches for his blaster as he tears through the house to rush the guest house for the kid and his gear. You're right behind him, resolute with a blaster held high scouting the edge of brush for that tell tale glint of white.

The Mandalorian puts the kid in the crib and seals it tight, promising him it'll be alright. When turns with pulse blaster in arms you can see the coiled tenseness in his stance, the adrenaline pumping, he'd done this dance before.

I'll get you back to your ship. My dad down is in the valley, air-tightening the shell.

The Mandalorian simply nods.

There is an unease to forest. Silence. You move quickly through the rivulets and, natural bridleways, An Imperial speeder dashes at the edge of your eye-line, headed in the same direction as the Razor Crest. Pulling the scope to your eye, you line a little ahead, take a deep breath, and squeeze. The rider slumps, and the speeder pelts into a tree exploding on impact. The silence is replaced by confusion and you tell the Mandalorian to run as you offer a diversion. He's conflicted, he's not a coward – that is not the way of the creed, but he has the little one to worry about. There is a troupe of Stormtroopers headed back to where their comrade fell, guns held high and squawking like chickens as they scour the treeline for the shooter.

Go. I'll follow. Make sure my Dad is okay.

He reluctantly agrees and flanks the Stormtroopers, watching as you drop them like flies. Not giving them the chance to return fire.

He makes it to the Razor Crest, taking out the stragglers from another one-sided gun fight. Blaster held high, your Father emerges from the inside of the hull. Dazed and bloody, but alive. He asks for you, grabbing on the Mandalorian by the armour and demanding why he left you.

That is what they asked. I was to find you and ensure your safety.

You stupid boy! I'm the son of a clone trooper – war is in my blood! That is not the life I wanted for my child!

The pieces click for the Mandalorian. The Imperials weren't just here for him. No, they were still hunting down the remnants of a time long gone. They must have seen the old man at the port and scanned him. Capturing both a Mandalorian and a failed experiment at the same time would mean a big reward for the solider brave enough to take them on.

Move out of my way, I'll find them myself.

But before he takes the step, you emerge into the crash – made clearing. Sweat on your brow, huffing like you'd just a marathon.

Calm down old man, I'm fine. I told the Tin Man to find you. Good thing too, looks like you were struggling.

Your father huffs. You cheeky pup, I took out more than you.

The Mandalorian looks to the trees, the thermals in his helmet detect more on their way. More are coming. I need to get the kid out of here. He taps on the bracer and the crib floats into the hull.

Then get out of here. Your father chides as he tries to straighten himself, readying for a second wave. But do me one favour, Mandalorian. Take my child too. Save them from this. Take them from this rock and find them somewhere safe.

Dad...no... I can't leave you.

He looks at you, placing a comforting arm against your shoulder, relishing the memory of this final touch. I always knew they would find me. It was just a matter of time. I even look like them. He points to the angular, rich features; unmistakably that of a clone. But you don't have to have this life. Do I have your word, Mandalorian?

The Mandalorian thought money would be payment enough, but the man behind it knew this was the way. Yes. You have my word. I'll keep them safe.

Your Dad sags slightly in relief. Good. Now go. You press your brow to his as the Mandalorian grabs you by the wrist, pulling you away from your life and your family.

You don't speak another word as the pressurised door closes and as the final image of the man who raised you imprints on your memory. The ship rattles as it's thrusters come online and you leave the atmosphere. Your eyes tear as the implications hit you – raw emotion boils over and you collapse to the deck, crying out in grief. Once you hit hyper-space, the man stands nearby waiting patiently until you can process what happened.

What now Tin Man? You say after a while, watching as tiny clawed hands pull at your tunic in sympathy. You don't turn to him, just focus on the soft, mewls of the little green alien who is desperate to be held. Picking him up with one arm and rubbing at your puffy eyes with the other.

He says something. You didn't quite pick it up. You turn and he repeats himself with a tinny clearing of his throat.

It's Din. My name is Din.

He folds his arms and you give him something resembling a smile.

Well, Din. You say as you get to your feet, his child in your arms. I guess that's a start. But I think I'll stick with Tin Man, for now.

He was a man with three names. The Mandalorian, Mando, and Din. They brought fear, respect and pain. In his arsenal he now carries a fourth, it speaks of friendship and kinship. It speaks of unpredictability and the ever-changing pace of life. It speaks to him. Tin Man.

[fizzypunks]

its a date but its not a date

fandom: My Hero Academia/ Boku No Hero Academia word count: 3.8k/oneshot rating: t summary: hizashi takes shouta to a little festival and insists its not a date... just pure fluff bc <3

ship: Aizawa Shouta/ Hizashi Yamada | Erasermic

note: this reads better in AO3 because it keeps formatting for italics, which tumblr does not!

AO3

___

Yamada Hizashi wasn’t a timid person – it wasn’t even a quirk thing, it was just his nature, and it was something he was proud of. Sure, he’d been called loud and obnoxious, and some have been less than kind about his quirk when it’s gotten out of control. His quirk control wasn’t great for a very long time, but none of what he’d been called or heard had really changed the way he carries himself, and that  includes  his extroverted nature.

 He was, however, a panicked person, when it came to matters of  interest .

 Love. 

  Whatever .

 And, because love was the one thing that made him think twice about what he says, what he does or doesn’t do, that has landed him in the exact predicament that he’s facing right now.

 Hizashi tapped his pen against his essay, the half filled pages of his stationary blurring together into a mass of lines and half-assed penmanship. He’d been staring at it for the past five minutes, when he’d given up on trying to ignore his annoying problem.

  Shouta .

 It’s been getting harder to ignore the stupid pull of something he’s recently identified as  yearning  that comes every time he thinks of his best friend. Stronger than any hurricane gale, it pulls in every thought he has until there are no more to be had. Just Shouta, and his messy hair, and the eyes he thinks are pretty despite always being so blood-shot.

 Hizashi groans, faintly feeling heat spill across his cheeks. “God, why must I be so fucked?”

It’s not like he’s even asking him out on a  date  – no, he’s not bold enough to do that in their last year  and semester of school– there’s no need for distractions like that right now, whatever outcome may or may not come from it…. no, he’s just asking to take Shouta to the Autumn festival at the park, because Shouta should do something fun and get out of his room and not explode from stress.

 The poor guy has been spending all his time studying and stressing and sleeping even  less , so of course Hizashi would want to help his friend out and get him to relax.

 Yeah, that’s what it was – one friend asking another friend out because stress is bad.

 That doesn’t change the nervous skip in his heart right now, as he sits at his desk and thinks about…

 Hizashi groans again, tipping back in his chair and hooking his foot against the back of his desk so that he’s less likely to tumble. Theoretically, at least.

 Why does it feel so  significant  right now? He’d asked Shouta to do countless things with him! He’d gotten him to agree to go to the movies a bunch of times, and to a party or two, and, most recently, he’d even been able to rope him into going to a karaoke club! He didn’t sing, they left earlier than he’d planned, but Shouta had fun!

 Hizashi narrowed his eyes at the white ceiling and the ceiling fan that whirled past his vision, playing with the very edge of the wooden panel that kept him from tumbling onto his carpet.

 This wasn’t supposed to mean anything, but somehow it did.

 It felt like a declaration, no matter how he phrased it in his head, and he doesn’t understand the logic behind it.

  Fine. Whatever! I’ll just ask, and be blunt, and do it right before I leave so there’s no room for thinking, and it’ll be okay! 

 Something like,  “Hey, Shouta, let’s go to this festival! It’ll be so much fun! PLUS, I think you’ll look cute sharing cocoa with me!”

 Hizashi’s eyes widened, his foot slipped in that one moment of lost focus, and he fell –

 “ Fuck!”

 It was a little too loud, bordering on quirk use, but he had other problems to think about beside  that .

 He rubbed the back of his head.

 “Man…”

 If he can’t even imagine it the right way… how was he supposed to  actually  ask? It would be pretty stupid to try when he knew he could act a little too carelessly and, potentially, damage the good friendship they had going on.It was probably better left un-asked.

 Unsaid, un-asked, and out of mind.

 ~

 It was most certainly not out of mind, that is clear.

 Shouta is sitting across from him, half-mast eyes scanning the copy of his English text book in a way that looked a lot more performative than informative. Their booth was tucked more toward the back of the cafe, and it would normally be a bit more secluded and quiet, but midterms brought students from the woodwork and into any coffee-scented establishment, which their happened to be.

  What great luck.

 All around them was the sound of machines grinding coffee, books being shifted around, and light conversation in between bouts of half-silences – and a heavy vale of constant movement that proved to be less than ideal for studying, despite all the students trying to do  just that .

 It was to be expected this time of year, but it was still enough to bother Shouta. He concentrated better with silence, and he happened to be struggling a lot more on English than he does on his other subjects.

 Hizashi, thankfully, understood the material enough for the both of them and then some, and already finished his homework – the papers in front of him were notes, ready to be explained the moment Shouta needed it, with hand-writing that was still pretty bad but…

 For Shouta, he’d made an effort. The result was somewhat-legible scribbles lining the papers, and when he referenced it, Shouta didn’t have to ask too many questions about,  “what is this right here?”

 “I’m not going to pass.”

 Hizashi turned his eyes to Shouta, like he hadn’t been trying to find a reason to look at him longer. He was wearing a big, thick red scarf, which his hair was somewhat tucked into. He didn’t look up, he just kept his eyes on his text book. His irises weren’t moving on the page.

 “Oh man, don’t say that! How’d you think you’re gonna pass if you don’t believe in yourself?”

 “It’s because I don’t believe in myself.”

 Hizashi grabbed his warm cocoa and took a sip, if only to busy his hands with  something . “Shouta! I don’t like this type of negativity!”

 “Well, you’ve chosen the wrong friendship then.”

 “Or, maybe, the  right one!”

 Shouta looked up, and Hizashi held his gaze. His eyes had been given a break over the past few days of written work, so the redness that often lined them was almost completely gone.

 His skin looked soft too…

 His hair, it was fluffy and cute, also..

 “Hizashi?”

 He’d been staring and not talking and he leaned back into his seat like a magnet to metal. He started laughing, holding his drink up to his face. “Well, maybe I can cheer you up! What are friends for, right? And maybe it will turn that attitude around, ya think?”

 “You’re not making any sense?”

 Hizashi hated that it was true but there’s no going back now – his mouth was ten steps ahead of him anyway, and not even  he  could stop it.

 He smiled widely at Shouta. “I mean, maybe I’m here to make sure you don’t stress yourself out so much! You always do so much but never  check  yourself, and I’m here to fix that!”

 Shouta huffed, head bobbing just a bit. Then he smirked and Hizashi had to concentrate on his breathing. “And how do you propose you’d do that?”

 Oh, it was so easy – this was the opportunity the  gods  gave him after seeing him fall on his ass just a few days before.

 Hizashi leaned forward, and set his elbows down on his notes, a hot cocoa between them. “One word.  Festival .”

 Shouta’s eyebrows quirked down just a bit, and he tilted his head to the side, his hair tilting with him. “Festival?”

 “What do ya say? The park next to my neighborhood has one this weekend, and it’s free, and there’s food, and I really wanna go!”

 Hizashi grew pink at the admission, fought against the urge to cover his mouth, but Shouta didn’t comment. 

 Then, a little surprisingly, instead of arguing or finding reasons why it wasn’t logical to take time away from studies so close to exams, he gave him a smile.

 A small, intentional,  Shouta  smile. “Sure.”

 Hizashi tried to not sound over-enthused – just nodded his head and almost squeezed his cup too hard. “Yes! I finally got you to agree to do something!”

 “You always get me to do things.”

 “Yes, and I did it again!”

 Shouta rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back down to the English he’d never really understand.

 ~

 Hizashi was certain he looked fine. He wasn’t sure if it was  great  , but it was probably fine, and  whatever.

 Beside, had many other things to worry about, that were a lot more important than whether or not his shirt matched his shoes. Like, for one, how he still couldn’t quite shake the feeling of  significance .

 It was back, that nagging intrusion into his thoughts that insisted that something was supposed to be different this time. As he looked over his outfit in his body mirror, pulling over his heavy, long jacket, he had to remind himself that there was nothing different about today. Even if he really, in his heart,  wanted  there to be something different. 

 Huh.

 So maybe the difference was the  amount of yearning – Hizashi sighed, thinking about his feelings last year and comparing them to now. 

 He huffed, a huge sigh finally making itself known.

 Yeah, the feelings he had now were bigger and grander than they’d been last year and they threatened to take over his life if he let them…

 Hizashi sighed, rubbed his hands over his face, and pushed his hair back only to reveal his pink, flustered expression to its fullest.

 “Sweet lord, have mercy on me! I am an idiot with a crush!”

 He collapsed onto his bed and waited out the last of the thirty minutes before Shouta was going to arrive at his door.

 ~

 Shouta knocked, and Hizashi was already ready – his heart doing flips like he’d never experienced, but oddly enough, it didn’t feel bad. It felt exciting, and loving, and when he opened the door to the crisp autumn air, it felt like  home .

  Stop that!

 Shouta, for all his questionable outfits, looked  nice . And he always looked nice, but now he was wearing black boots, and brown khakis that somehow sort of matched Hizashi’s own, and a black tee underneath a black jacket.

 He never went anywhere in the cold without a scarf, either, and today was no exception. A red variety  was ceremoniously draped around his neck, loose enough to not be covering his face.

 Hizashi tried not to beam, but felt the shape his eyes took at the other and knew it wasn’t working. “Ready?!” He asked, a little too loud.

 “Yes… you said it was close, right? At the park?”

 Hizashi nodded, stepping out and slipping his hand into a pocket to make sure he had his keys and wallet. Confirming quickly, he shut the door behind him, again, with a little too much enthusiasm.

 He was  buzzing . Some type of energy that he normally had built up in him, that he normally kept pretty good reins on, was taking over –

 He was so excited, but, even more – he was just  happy .

 He looked to Shouta, and smiled, and then led the way down his steps and onto the quiet street. The sky was clear, save for some cloud further down on the horizon. The trees were starting to make themselves barren, and the smell of wood burning fires started to break out as soon as the sun hit its peak.

 The neighborhood, secluded and at peace, was quiet, and Shouta walked beside him in comfort.

 Hizashi never struggled to say anything, and now is no different – except it is, when he thinks he’ll say something dumb like  “hey i like you so much, you make my world right, also I love you. ”

 He can’t say that. 

 But he really,  really wants to.

 He’s wanted to for years, and he’s almost said it more than once, and now he’s let the silence build around them…

 Shouta often takes mercy on him, and so he did it again this time. Their pace was slow and there was a little bit of space between them, and he sighs. “This is really nice.”

 Hizashi smiles, keeps his eyes on the road as it winds forward. “I’m glad you think so! We’ve stressed so much, it’s a good weekend getaway, don’t you think?”

 Shouta laughs – it’s more of a chuckle, but it’s a laugh where Shouta is concerned. “Yeah, you’re right. I needed this, a lot, I think…”

 They reach the corner, looking for cars that weren’t coming. The crest of trees a few blocks ahead could be seen above rooftops, and that’s where Hizashi fixes his gaze. “Me too,” he says softly, and leaves it at that because he’s always on the verge of  too  many words.

 “You seem really… energized.”

 Hizashi fumbles with his hands, pretending to warm them up and not like he’s nervous. “When am I not!”

 Shouta hums, and it’s so deep and close that it makes Hizashi wish he could just…

 But then Shouta reaches out, and grabs at the hands Hizashi is cradling in front of him, blunt and to the point. He takes Hizashi’s left hand and slots their fingers together in his right, and Hizashi knows he can feel the clamminess…

 He looks back, sputtering, his heart erratic, “Shou – wha– I’m –”

  Does he know this is messing with me?

 And Shouta, in that calm, stupid way he always carries himself, smiles. “Maybe that’s what I’m here for.”

 He squeezes their hands, and Hizashi must look confused because Shouta laughs.

 “You always try to bring me up, so I think I can help bring you calm… You seem nervous, so,” he looked at their hands, swung them just a bit for emphasis. “Calm.”

 Hizashi feels every bit of himself crumble, falls away like a cliff against a storm, and smiles because it’s all he can do. He blushes and he can feel how it spreads, and he doesn’t say anything because every sentence ends in  I love you .

 ~

 The festival was a pleasant and home-y affair, and after they’d gotten there, they’d learned that it was quite bigger than either of them anticipated. Though it was still a neighborhood one, hosted by the local families and park itself, it was still filled to every corner.

 They’d gotten there during the peak of the sun, but it quickly descended as they wove in and out of the scattered foot traffic. The air was crisper where the lake sat in the center of the park, and the trees casted half shadows around the food and merchant vendors.

 They were walking around for less than an hour before the lanterns and torches were starting to light around them.

 Shouta still held Hizashi’s hand, and once he’d accepted the lovely fact, he’d loosened up enough to feel like his mouth wasn’t going to get him into trouble.

 “Wow! Shou! Look!” He pointed out, across the deep blue lake, to the hovering lights that surrounded it. 

 Shouta hummed warmly. “It looks very nice.”

 Hizashi was still smiling, still enamored by the lights as they floated out across his vision – the way the cool air from the dipping sun brushed against his skin and somehow made all the warmth in him  that  much warmer.

 He quickly cast his eyes down to Shouta, and found him looking at him.

 Hizashi’s ears burned and he looked away really fast, heart thumping deep in the cage of his chest.

  Oh don’t you dare say it. Don’t you DARE.

 “Um…” He said softly, intentionally because otherwise his quirk might get the best of him – he didn’t know if he was embarrassed by his enthusiasm, or by the way Shouta was watching him, but it all went away when Shouta tugged them along the side of the lake.

 It’s a few more moments before Hizashi gathers up the right words to say – the ones that aren’t gushy and filled with emotions he’s certain Shouta wouldn’t reflect. 

 “So!” He starts, looking around now that they were near the cluster of food stands. The air was filled with burning wood, meat, sauce, alive with the sound of simmering and laughter. “Want food? My treat! We can’t walk away without trying everything at  least once!”

 “I didn’t know you were rich enough to do that.”

 Hizashi chuckled. “I’m serious, though. Whatever you want!”

 Hizashi ignored the eyes tilted his way, right before leading off to Hizashi’s right. Hizashi turns around enough to look at the little stand and it’s cloth menu.

 It was a takoyaki shop, with different bao, and there was no line. 

 Hizashi smiled, and it was his turn to tug Shouta forward. He couldn’t really  look  at him, not just yet any way, but he could hear the light lilt in his voice when he ordered from the kind eyed older man at the register. Hizashi made his order quickly, and paid, and they walked away with various stacks of food.

 It wasn’t even a question where they’d go, and they found a spot under a tree to sit with their food. 

 The grass was cut, and the little hill they sat on overlooked a great deal of the sprawling festival that surrounded them. Up here, the voices that surrounded them, the chatter, the laughter that Hizashi was not interested in, was duller – muted, and when Shouta hummed in hungry appreciation at his bao, it made his heart ache all the more.

 He snuck a look to his right, graced by the mercy of Shouta closing his eyes. He’d just taken a bite, had unravelled most of his scarf to do so, and was now enjoying it for all it’s worth.

 Hizashi’s eyes softened at the sight.

  God.

 And Shouta opened his eyes, in his direction like he just knew.

 Hizashi looked down and took his bao. “This looks good! I should eat like this more.”

 “You should take me to more festivals, too.”

 Hizashi choked a bit – he recovered fast, and cast a glance toward Shouta. “Sure thing!”

  This feeling... 

 Maybe this is what he had been feeling – the lead up to whatever moment this was. The way Shouta really took the time to look at him, not through him. Like he was paying attention.

 Maybe…

 Hizashi held his oversized bao in both hands and looked forward. It suddenly didn’t feel like such a bad idea to speak. To say whatever it was that he was going to say, because for Shouta, it would always be okay…

 Didn’t make him feel any more at ease, not with the stupid thought in his head that maybe he was misreading whatever today was. Who knows, maybe Shouta always paid attention to him like this? And sure, the hands thing… that was new, but maybe Shouta just really likes holding hands but he needs to be comfortable with the person, and now after three years he’s  finally comfortable with Hizashi?

  If you’re gonna say something…

 “Hey,” he started. 

  Say it now.

 “I’m having a really good time.”

 He doesn’t take his wide, blown-out eyes from the festival. It was dark enough that every lantern stood out like little stars, and the breeze was so nice…

 “If you want… we can, um, do this again. I’ll find another festival, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be free this time, but I’ll try! And I’ll see if I can sneak in some home made food too so we can spend more money on like, cute stuff from the merchants. I saw this plush down there, actually, and it was a  cat , so maybe –”

 No, Hizashi wasn’t a timid person – but,  still , it was probably for the best that Shouta was the first one to move. He grabbed Hizashi’s hand, urging it away from the bao so that he could hold it again. 

 He’d pulled his attention to the forefront, and his eyes to finally meet his, and he realized that Shouta had moved so much closer…

 The dark of his eyes was so close, and he was  smiling …

 “You talk a lot when you’re nervous.”

 There wasn’t a way to hide the flush, so Hizashi looked down, feeling too open. “I’m sorry…”

 He couldn’t see his eyes, but he could see his smile. “I like it, though.”

 “What about if I say I like you...  Will you still like it?”

  Please…!

 Shouta didn’t leave him any time to doubt.

 “It makes it a lot easier… for me to say I like you, too… yeah, I’d like it…”

 Hizashi’s entire body was fireworks – explosions and exclamations and that same buzzing energy that gripped him every time he thought of Shouta. He grinned, and looked up to see Shouta was just as embarrassed and flustered as he was.

 He’d normally have to look away, but he assumed he had permission now, and…

  God you’re so pretty…

 His eyes, his eyelashes, the way his eyes bend against his smile and how he’d never seen him smile like this before… 

 Hizashi abandoned the bao in his lap and pushed away the hair that framed his face, slowly, not sure if it was too much to hold his face – 

 “I’m – I’m sorry, can I?”

 Shouta nodded. “And you can kiss me too, in case you weren’t sure…”

 That was all the reason he needed.

 He’d had so many reasons, so many countless reasons he  loved him...

 He cupped his jaw, still acutely aware of the way Shouta was still holding on to his hand in the grass – 

 It was cold, that was true, but right now he was warm with nerves and excitement and  love , and he leaned in –

 His breath, so warm –

 His lips, so soft –

 And neither of them were particularly experienced or daring, so after a few seconds when he finally parted their lips just a bit, they pulled away, just enough to speak.

 “Mmm, you taste like bao,” he said, and then wished someone was there in his brain to stop whatever dumb shit was trying to get out.

 Shouta just laughed. “So do you.”

 The rest of their night was spent on that hill, kissing and talking and, eventually, finishing their food. When they finally left, Hizashi found that plush cat at the vendor near the entrance of the park and gave it to Shouta. Shouta blushed, and Hizashi glowed with comfortable warmth, glad that he can now get cute things for his boyfriend.

[thewickling]

winding moonrise - hike through memory lane

master post

[Context: This occurs after interlude (aka the Lan juniors go from hiding their junk food to earnestly defending LWJ in their hearts) and is in the present timeline.]

The woods surrounding the Lan residence are dense, thick growth. The paths drawn on it arise from the natural patterns of moving animals (aside from the few needed to upkeep their only human facade). So as the sun acrosses the sky, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian's journey is a brisk hike through towering trees and healthy undergrowth.

Despite the nonstop marching, neither of the men break a sweat. Imagining how nice and cool Lan Wangji's touch must be, Wei Wuxian's palms itch. His dark clothes are helpful for hiding blood stains and blending into the night but when it comes to this though his skin does not enjoy the oppressive heat condensed by the black covering the majority of it. Wei Wuxian thinks to himself that Lan Wangji's cold aura probably turns the air near him refreshing light. Glancing over, he wonders aloud, "How does your family get around? I'm pretty athletic and this a little rough. It'll take at least another two or three hours to get off your land."

"We have cars. The roads here aren't fit for them," he says, raising a brow pointedly.

"Right, werewolves." Snapping his fingers, Wei Wuxian nods. "Oh. This must be annoying. Human walking speed."

Lan Wangji angles his head. Frustration never crosses his mind. He still basks in the familiarity of walking side-by-side with his dearest person, especially in the comfort that this is neither a memory nor a dream (the kind anyone else would call a nightmare because it pierces each time him with the reality that he will never again hear his moon's laughter, smell the vibrant lake breeze, feel his playful touch).

Lan Wangji swallows a lump.

He bathes in the easy company, in the embrace of Wei Wuxian's endless commentary, and in the slight brush of shoulders that tells him that Wei Wuxian is solid. They could meander for hours upon hours and he could have no complaint.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind reminds him this is temporary. That this action promises no future. Even factoring out his obligations, this moment can be savored, etched into his bones, and treasured but it not extend into eternity. His moon will never love a canine and so their paths will always divert.

Still, he says, by way of explanation, "Unnecessary transformation is prohibited."

"But," Wei Wuxian furrows his brow. Half of him understands the need for restrictions, but the other hand feels like he would die in the Lan pack. He vaguely recalls Nie Huaisang bragging about his da-ge's impressive form and general strength in the middle of campus in broad daylight. "You don't need to change to use speed or strength or ..."

He gestures vaguely to fill in the gaps. "If you weren't burdened by me, you'd be up in the mountains already, sniffing for clues."

A light bulb goes off. He grins, "You carried me before you can carry me again."

He peers at Lan Wangji's stoic face. He awaits the reaction. His fingers brush a qinggong talisman, readying his wrist to flick it out. He grins, thinking all the times Lan Wangji's jumped, glared, or otherwise displayed the affronted reaction of a sheltered boy being scandalized for the first time.

"Mnn."

Lan Wangji kneels in front of a bewildered Wei Wuxian.

"When could you take a joke?" he gasps, staring at the broad back in front of him. "No-"

Lan Wangji lifts him. His actions come so jerky and abrupt that Wei Wuxian has no choice but to cling to sturdy shoulders. The world blurs around him. Wei Wuxian tenses.

His protest dies.

His memory stirs. His mind overlaps events with the elegant back in front of him. It plays simultaneously:

He faintly feels the rough leather of his father's jacket. His tiny fingers dug into short hair. A blurred figure, who must be his father, carried him on stable shoulders.

An indistinct road stretches out in front of them. Wei Ying giggled as his father grabbed his hands and lifted him. He is delivered into his mother's lap. Her laughter vibrated through him and his father chuckles from above. The reins of mule he and his mother sat on laid in his father's grasp.

The wind carries away his heat, feeding the summoned memories.

A chill seeped into his bare feet. He pulled on his ratty shirt. It barely covered his front.

A kind voice called him.

Wei Ying pointed to his chest, vaguely recalling shape of his name.

"Do you want to go home with uncle?" the man kneeled.

"Is it away from dogs?"

The kind man frowned, causing Wei Ying to question if he asked for too much. He nodded, centimeter by centimeter as if it pained him.

Wei Ying found himself high above the street where fierce fangs wouldn't steal his food. The clean and rich texture of Jiang Fengmian's robe engraved in his heart.

His mind whirls. His senses narrow to the warmth under his hands.

Wei Ying's trembled on Jiang Yanli's delicate back. His scrapes stung and watered his eyes, but he swallowed his complaints with a quivering lip.

She promised forgiveness and food and family. Things he later knew she could not guarrante but his da-jie was no more than twelve or thirteen as she trekked through the night. She called him "didi" and sighed "A-Cheng" when she had to pull her other brother from a ditch.

She carried Wei Ying and held Jiang Cheng's hand. He forgot how his palms stung from splinters and recalled only her warmth.That infused with the gentle sensation that spread through his veins with the soup she made.

The taste of laughter lingers in his mouth. His mind conjures.

Wei Ying wailed. His shoulders screamed. Bands of heat radiate from his back.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. "Stop shouting or I'll drop you.

He clung tighter to Jiang Cheng. His feet skimmed the wood panels. The two preteens teethered precariously. The difference in their heights was only a handful of centimeters but the proportions were not equal. Even at that age, his legs outpaced the rest of him only defeated by the rate he could chatter.

"How could Lan-laoshi be so cruel?" he whined, pressing his face into his wrist pitifully.

Furrowing his brow, Jiang Chen hefted him higher. "You're lucky he didn't call father."

"A-Cheng, whose side are you on?"

He glared. "If you don't shut up, I'll break your legs."

"Try it." He pulled tigher becoming a second skin. "Let's see who suffers first."

One boy scoffed and the other chuckled.

Jiang Cheng's back was not huge or fitter than Wei Ying's (especially at that age) but it was reliable enough to climb when a dog was near or to lean on when he caused too much mischief.

Wei Wuxian doesn't know when it shifted, when others no longer picked him up, when it became his duty to carry others. He has no complaints. All these associations bloom in a second, living in a few heartbeats like flowers in a dessert. A short life that captures his senses.

He freezes atop Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji questions what possessed him. His heart thunders, carrying his moon. The transfusion of heat is a blessing. In equal measure, it is a curse. He will pay the price for how much he will yearn for it when it is gone.

Wei Wuxian's breath brushes his cheek. His face burns. A slight turn and their cheeks would kiss. A touch more and he could devour Wei Wuxian's mouth.

Clenching his jaw, he locks his neck. He picks up pace. He thinks, Regulate yourself.

He inhales.

The vibrant and enrich earth of his pack lands fill his lungs along with the refreshing, clean, and salty scent of Wei Wuxian. They mingle to form a lake nestled deep in the mountains. If anyone asked Lan Wangji how he imagined heavens smelled he would describe this: his moon's scent intertwined in the memory of his home.

That breath seizes his heart rather than calms him. Even with that pinch of ash and incense, he wants it bottled in his lungs.

He picks up pace. Twigs crunch. He would love to indulge in more of this, but he has no right to hoard Wei Wuxian's warmth or touch or scent. He picks up pace.

The wind whips through his hair, bringing Wei Wuxian to himself. The momentum threatens to drag him off. Huddling down, all Wei Wuxian can do is spit out hair. His fringe razes his vision; he inquires the heavens how even as his hair becomes a bird's nest Lan Wangji appears like a portrait.

His hair sweeps back artistically as if arranged by the air spirits to frame his phoenix eyes and high cheek bones. Wei Wuxian has to squint yet Lan Wangji lowered lids show off how his eyelashs seem painted on with a fine brush. He wonders, What merits did Lan Zhan achieve in his past life to be blessed with such beauty? Too bad he always looks so somber.

*

Lan Wangji stops several meters from the cave opening. He releases Wei Wuxian. The lack of warmth and pressure burdens his heart. He smooths out nonexistent wrinkles.

Wei Wuxian whistles a hauntingly sweet tune.

The hairs on Lan Wangji's neck rise. Werewolves are not attuned to magic as many paranatural beings are, but his keen senses translate the increase in yin energy as wrongness in the atmosphere.

A pale figure emerges from the opening.

"Wei-gongzi," a hestiant voice calls out, pausing. He stammers, "Lan er-gongzi?"

Lan Wangji stares at the ghost in broad daylight.

"Wen Qionglin."

He recognizes Wen Ning immediately as he would Nie Huaisang or Jiang Cheng or any other dormmate of Wei Wuxian's. Though the quiet man never entered Wei Wuxian's inner circle of friends or had many friends, Lan Wangji memorized anyone who held his moon's attention. (The aggressive Wens repelled everyone except other bullies and even if Wen Ning did not fit within his own family he had no place outside of it.)

Wen Ning hovers. His clothes discolored and tattered from a terrible accident. His throat shows trailing gnashes sealed up like scars. He would be frightening if he weren't peering at Lan Wangji with confusion and curiosity.

"Good! The two of you recognize each other. We don't have to go through plesantaries." Wei Wuxian rattles off. "Wen Ning, how's our captive doing?"

An outstretched arm blocks Wei Wuxian's path forward.

"Wei Ying."

Rubbing his neck, Wei Wuxian says, "Long story."

"Are you a necromancer?"

He pauses. Terms never bothered Wei Wuxian. He never understood people who harped on the differences between wizards, mages, and magus. All that mattered was the message it relayed: someone who can cast magic. He nods.

Lan Wangji blinks. Digesting that his moon falls under the most wretched, immoral, and accursed of casters, he can't swallow it. Certainly Wei Wuxian commands the dead, he witnessed it. Yet the definition of a necromancer as a being of evil and rotten ethics did not match Wei Wuxian in the slightest. He whispers, "Why?"

"Lan Zhan." His mouth curves but the smile does not reach his eyes. He, himself, does not notice the bitterness on his tongue. The little joy he gained from being accepted and treated kindly slips from his heart like grains of sand in an hourglass. "You're mistaken. I am not the kind of necromancer you're think of. Maybe in a world where digging up corpses wasn't so difficult I might have gone down that path. But I'm more of a spirit summoner."

"Of course my hands aren't clean. But I don't twist spirits to my will either," he laughs as screams and curses ring in his ears. "I don't need to. A vengeful spirit doesn't need much encouragment to cause harm."

Wei Ying, he thinks, overturns my world again.

Lan Wangji locks in place with desire to hide Wei Wuxian away from the world and guide him back to righteous path. That battles with the directive to never cause his moon distress. The heady cocktail of emotions spewing from Wei Wuxian like molten rock state that he has failed.

The pack prohibits infringing on another person, including their scent. A person has a right to privacy. And unlike what the movies make it out to be, emotions are not aromas beyond a handful such as fear and hatred. Is a scent like a forest? Or did you take pine, moist soil, and fresh water to be a forest rather than a park? The intensity of Wei Wuxian's emotions spit his pheromones everywhere.

His wolf whimpers to soothe their mate. His wolf urges bring Wei Wuxian to their den. His wolf screams defend their moon.

Lan Wangji learned from young that first instincts are often wrong. That he should follow protocol. In case that would be to cease all contact with the hated necromancer and report to the pack.

He frowns. He's essence protests, picturing how he might not even have another hour with his moon. Digging his nails into his palms, he emotionally trembles between the multiple conflicting truths he holds.

"I'm sorry," Wei Wuxian says kindly, "I should have mentioned it earlier. Thank you for the meal. If you disagree with my methods, after this, we can each go our own way with no hard feelings.

Lan Wangji snaps back to himself. His palm itches to cover Wei Wuxian's mouth. He hates those words. If he could ban them from being spoken he would. He doesn't need or want Wei Wuxian's apologies or gratitude. All he wants is to have the honor of revolting around his moon.

He inhales. The spectral chill stings his nostrils along with the telling hint of incense. His instincts state that Wen Ning is not merely a wandering spirit.

He skims Wei Wuxian's folded arms and tense shoulders. He bites his cheek.

It was Wei Wuxian who taught him that the teachings that guarranted his pack's survival should also be questioned. It was always Wei Wuxian who challenged him:

"If the families of a serial killer's 30 victims joined together and killed him, should they be guilty of murder?"

"They are guilty," Lan Wangji said, lengthening his stride to escape the bundle of emotions teeming in his chest.

"Ah," he hummed, tapping his chin. Wei Wuxian had a few centimeters on Lan Wangji so he matched the change easily.

Licking seam of his mouth, he tried his hardest not to follow the finger up to Wei Wuxian's pursed lips."I said should they be guilty."

"They committed the crime. They are guilty," he says, matter-of-fact. "The suspect should have been turned over."

"What if the suspect was arrested and released." He punctuated his statements with his finger. "But he objective killed those families' sons and daughters?"

Pushing down the urge to nip that finger, Lan Wangji stated, "That is unjust."

"It happens. Like when the killer is the son of an untouchable politician." He shrugged.

"The courts should be investigated."

"Let's put aside the ethics of the corruptible organizations," he debated. "But does that circumstance change whether or not the families should be guilty? Because if it does,..."

Lan Wangji does not remember how that conversation ended. In all likelihood, he stormed off because he was so overwhelmed by Wei Wuxian's presence and muddled by his words, that he could not stay there.

It resurfaced in his mind as the details of the Jiang arson were released. It was quite clear who set off the fires, the Wen clan snubs subtlety. Yet the case was deemed unsolveable. He did not fault the police for not understanding magic but clearly several Wens died in the fire and the animity between the two clans was quite clear.

He never considered that inquiry more than a hypothetical. Now in that situation, while he could not call himself family or take vengence, when the Wens died under mysterious circumstances, he understood those imagined people's motive.

He didn't relish their deaths nor did he approve of the slaughter of the young and old. Even if his reasoning was shaken, he trusted the pack's principles. Yet when he saw how easily his elders looked the other way and called the deaths correct when every lesson they pressed in him asserted otherwise, he bitterly smiled that even dead his moon could shake his foundations.

So, perhaps his understanding of necromancers is shallow. That he must reflect more. His teachings are not wrong he simply must adapt them to his present.

In his innermost thoughts, the ones he had been taught to supress, he knew his true motive: he could not bear to part with Wei Wuxian after those words. It was as simple and selfish and shameful as that. As he will bear the karma for supporting the Wen annihilation, he will the consequence of this decision. He is committed to Wei Wuxian.

He questions, "Can you control it?"

Wei Wuxian angles his head. A second later, he gets it. That madness is associated with necromancers almost as much as it is with the elderitch meddling warlocks.

Vestigal ash and smoke fill his lungs. The stickiness of blood raining down on him never quite leaves his dreams. Screams and pleads pound on his ears.

If he met past himself, he would whack that egoistic, hubris filled, and edgey child and snap the idiotic tool he created much earlier.

Appraising the pinnacle of a Confucian gentlemen, he nods. He swears, "If I go too far, I'll accept any verdict of yours. If I die by your hands, that would only be proper."

He gestures toward the cavern opening. He questions which interaction of theirs sparked the second oath. He swears in his oul to never allow to come to that point.

The space is dim and dusty. The air within pulls several degrees lower than the forest outside. Amongst the nature there's a touch of unpleasant scents: vomit, urine, and feces masked with liberal bleach usage.

Wei Wuxian hums.

A will-o-wisp drifts down from the ceiling followed by another. The two cast flickering lights around the tunnel.

Four meters in, a man dressed like a deliquent glares at them.

"Bringing a guard dog? Do you think I'm scared?" the vampire sneers from several layered wards.

Wen Ning reveals, "He flinched when I floated too close."

"I don't think you can trick me," he hissed, "commanding your Ghost General to be pretend to be docile."

Wei Wuxian chuckles.

Lan Wangji notes the title. It tickles the back of mind.

"If you won't talk," he gestures. "Wen Ning do your thing."

Wen Ning darts forward. His aura thickens with yin energy. He reaches out as if to gouge the vampire's skulll.

"Stop! No fuck. I'll die." He scrambles backwards.

Gesturing stop, he asks, "Well? Have you loosened your tongue?"

"You and your mutt have no idea what you're getting into."

Wei Wuxian frowns. Walking up to the ward boundary, he gestures. "Can you be more original? Dog and now mutt? And aren't you ashamed of calling such this gentleman a mutt?"

Lan Wangji wrinkles his nose. A nettle of smoke claws his senses. He yanks Wei Wuxian.

Smoke rises from the vampire. Wide-eyed, he looks down and to Wei Wuxian. He pleads with the air, "I didn't betray you."

Flames lick the wards. Pushing on them, it distorts the air where the magics clash. A funnel of fire and smoke burn out in ten seconds, leaving only ash atop cinnabar markings.

"Well, that isn't good." Wei Wuxian says at least.

Wen Ning floats down, craning his neck. He wonders, Why the two as still standing so close?

"We'll have to take a closer look where A-Zhui was held then."

"Wait."

Wei Wuxain grabs and pulls. "Hm?"

"What would Wen-gongzi do?"

"Oh. That." Wei Wuxian shrugs. "I have no idea. I figured if he was afraid of Wen Ning maybe that would push him to talk. But from that fire and the vampire's words,..."

He peeks at Lan Wangji's stern expression. "How much do you understand about oaths?"

"Was that backfire?"

Wei Wuxian gestures meh with his body. "From his words, it doesn't seem so. My best guess is he had a pretty one-sided oat or maybe a contract. Since he didn't show up, they decided to cut their lost. This is the third one I lost like this. I figure if I catch enough of them one'll crack."

"Third?"

He clarifies, "Third vampire. First group of them. Most of them are pretty careful but there's been a string of disappearances. I noticed when it kicked up to ripping people out of bars."

"Hm... what do you suspect?"

Stopping at the back of the cave, there was a two or three cages pushed to the wall which was definitely not good news.

Wei Wuxian directs the will-o-wisp to light the area properly. "At first, I thought it was an immature vampire without a sire. Or one that went mad. It fit the random pattern in its victims. Most vamps are have a type after all."

"Then I floated around the idea that maybe there was a reckless sire making vamplings. Or maybe a coven formed that doesn't follow the rules." Wei Wuxian surveys the fairly empty space. "But now..."

He points at the cages.

"Human trafficking?"

"Hm... Did you pack hear anything?"

He shakes.

"I figured." He points to a drawn the walls. "Silencing glyph."

Wei Wuxian interwines his fingers. Twisting, he faces his palms upwards, he stretches, "I guess it's down to paper and pen investigation."

[cutebutstillsingle]

A lot of still-single people don’t realize there is a difference between “values and standards” on a character level, and “preferences”.  i used to get the feedback all the time that I was “too picky”, and it used to infuriate me to hear it.  Turns out, people were half-way right.  I was too picky.  But the truth was that I was too picky on “preferences” and not picky enough when it came to “values and standards”.  And also, my standards were fully out of touch with reality, because I didn’t realize there is no such thing as a “perfect” straight out the box. 

Ok so let’s start with preferences. This is the area where I was foolishly being too picky.  These are things like “enjoys nature, lean body, has college degree”.  Preferences kinda matter, but ultimately people’s preferences are dictated by their more deeply important ‘values and standards’. 

When you start to become overly hung-up on preferences, this can lead you to believe that no one else will ever compare to your terrible ex boyfriend or girlfriend.  Because you will think “what is the likelihood that I will ever find someone again who possesses that particular unique pairing of preferences?”.  Maybe you won’t.  But would you rather have someone that has maybe half the preferences of your ex, but 110% of the character and standards you dream of?  Exactly. 

The truth is, half your preferences don’t actually matter; and honestly, “values and standards” are going to naturally filter preferences out for you.  Preferences are tangible, external measures that, no joke, most people on the planet are potentially capable of learning and developing if they have the desire and enough time and resources at their disposal.  That being said, outside of race preferences (and I’ve already made a post about being straight up actually racist.  Being legit racist will keep you single), anyone who loves you enough, if these kinds of external preferences mattered to the two of you you that profoundly, would want to try and pursue the things that you value, so that the two you could potentially grow closer and continue to walk alongside each other while pursuing your life goals.  

Values and standards, however, are intangible in nature.    They can’t be known just by meeting someone on a superficial level.  It is not until you actually start to experience how somebody carries out their life, in person, that their values and standards can come to light.  Values and standards are what allows each person to decide for him or herself what are the “musts” and the “dealbreakers”; and these genuinely drive the long-term potential behind every romantic connection.  Values and standards are what’s behind a person’s habits, hobbies, preferences, and decisions.  

For example, “health” is a value and a non-negotiable standard for me.  Someone else who values the standard of health is probably going to have a few pictures on his dating profile of him doing stuff outdoors for enjoyment.  He will say that his use of intoxicants is minimal or nonexistent.  You might see him eating an acai bowl and enjoying a family dinner with all his cousins.  These are examples of how values and standards reveal themselves through preferences, but how preferences should not be the barometer.  

More importantly, values and standards usually come from a person’s character.  And a rare character is the true thing that makes someone so uniquely desirable.  Pay attention to that word “rare”.  A person of amazing character and values really is rare to stumble upon.  There are a million girls that look like the Alana Blanchard, or Tyra Banks, or Lucy Liu type, who all work out and do the same hobbies.  But it’s the character that makes THAT particular Alana Blanchard clone so rare and desirable.  

Why do we all keep expecting our “perfect” dream partner to be a real thing?  It’s not.  The reality is that there is no such thing as Mr. or Mrs. Perfect.  And even thinking that you can show up to the table “perfectly” is just never going to happen. Nor is your partner going to show up with all of your preferences and dreams dialed in.  It’s kind of like the olympic games.  Chances are very high they will get a 10.0 from most of the criteria on the panel, and then they’re going to majorly sink in a few areas.  It’ll be like “floor routine: 10, vault: 10, balance beam: 10, gymnastic rings: 2, uneven bars: 2″.  Alana Blanchard can’t do everything perfectly, and she can’t be every man’s version of “perfect”no matter how hard she tries.  But for Jack, she works.  

Most of us are over here expecting 10s across the board because of social media, and the fact that the real life couples we know don’t usually go around disclosing the difficulties in their relationships and the flaws in their partner’s character.  I literally would ask my coupled friends general questions so that I could learn what to expect or what to look for while dating (ie was this normal?), and my friends would literally respond back saying “I’m not trying to expose my husband’s dirty laundry”.  It is not our fault, singles of America, that we are so misguided.  Literally no one is showing us the truth.  So we keep holding fast to our unattainable, out of touch standards and preferences.  

I now realize how important it is to make a list of your own values and standards (every few years).  Not to be confused with “the values and standards I want in a partner”-- no.  I’m talking about what values and standards matter to you regarding the reality of your life.  I now believe it is critical that every adult take time to sit down with yourself and list, in a journal, the values and standards that truly matter to you in your life-- the life that you intend on sharing during a life partnership with someone else.  These are what need to matter the most, because as you are out dating and getting to know people, your values and standards are what your brain is going to be subconsciously looking for and attracted to. 

Particularly as we each endure the inevitable hardships of life that will come our way, these also recalibrate the standards and values that we think matter. I used to think I wanted to be an occupational therapist (works in rehab in hospitals alongside physical therapists) and as time progressed through the reality of busting my ass in OT grad school, turns out, no.   I don’t want to have to do patient transfers or have to deal with physically aggressive cognitively impaired patients who basically abuse me at work.  So now, I’m an educator and I still make a paycheck big enough to survive off of, and live a life I’m very content with.  

You may have also gone your whole life thinking something like, say, ‘health’ wasn’t a value.  And then something happens in  your life that changes everything.  Life should change and strengthen your character and values.  So keep doing this values exercise at regular intervals (like once every 3-5 years?), whether you're still single, and when you’re in a partnership. It will show you if you’re still growing in the same direction as your partner, and whether you’re still growing in a direction you appreciate for yourself, whether partnered or not.  

Finally,  how much of your ‘values and standards’ list do you actually embody right now?  After you make your list,  you need to assess how good of a job you are doing being the values you have listed.  Because it is unfair to magically expect your partner to possess qualities that deeply matter to you, and yet you can’t even embody those things yourself.  It’s safe to say that values you long for in a partner are things your soul longs for in your reality, period.  And there is no reason they can’t come from you first.   If you notice that you have listed a standard or value that you yourself have not yet been able to develop, well then... keep working on you and shift the focus off of expecting your partner to be that thing for you.  (and yes, I’m always speaking to myself when I write these posts, too). 

[michaelmyersmalewife]

LEVIATHAN | 10. A Light in the Dark | MASTERLIST

words: 6k+

A/N: nothing to say other that there’s a lot of little nuggets here !!

you can also support this fic on wattpad & ao3

As they departed from the Argo, Jodie and the rest of the team were met with both military and government officials alike. Admiral Stenz was at the forefront of the welcoming party, and he didn't look too happy.

"Colonel," Admiral Stenz said to Foster. "I'd like a moment with you and your men."

Foster's eyes flickered to the floor with resentment before nodding to the rest of G-Team. As they followed the admiral out of the hangar, Stenz regarded the rest of them. "I'll see you momentarily."

"What's the deal with that?" Mark said as soon as they were a distance away. "I thought they were with Monarch."

"Yes and no," Coleman answered. "They're sort of on a loan. Until now, we've never really had to test the chain of command."

Jodie's mind flashed back to Emma's speech back in Isla de Mara. Would G-Team really be willing to carry out the government's impending command to kill all titans? Despite everything, she hoped not.

Back in Castle Bravo's situation room, scenes straight out of a sci-fi movie played out on the monitors that hung on one of the room's walls. What had once been cities were now smoking ruins, each filled with military units combating nearly a dozen different titans to no avail. Everyone was aghast - especially Mark - but Jodie found herself feeling numb-er than ever. She knew that every one of the hundreds, if not thousands, of people were suffering and dying at the hands of the titans, but she couldn't find the energy within her to allow herself to grieve. She felt that if she did, she'd lose her mind. But that didn't mean she would let it continue to rage on.

But then the meeting began, Stenz walking to the front of the room.

"Moscow, London, Washington D.C. All under attack. On every continent, the titans are triggering earthquakes, wildfires, tsunamis, and disasters we don't even have names for yet."

As he spoke, more images appeared. Ghidorah's storm was now a whole system of hurricanes, from super-cells to immense squalls sweeping through inland areas, spawning thunderstorms and tornadoes by the hundreds. With every passing minute, severe flash floods were already washing away cities and the people within them.

And Ghidorah wasn't the only one causing chaos, Rodan was out there too. Feedback from planes and bases showed volcanoes erupting as he flew past them, and satellite data presented a string of eruptions that coincided with his flight path, sending tons of volcanic ash and gases into the atmosphere. He also seemed to be following Ghidorah's same path, like they were working in tandem instead of ripping each other to shreds. Jodie could only watch in horror. It was almost like they were trying to tear the earth apart, stripping its ecosystems down to the bone and starting anew.

Or maybe Ghidorah just hated everything that much, that the malice she had seen in his eyes extended to the planet that kept him trapped for eons. And the needless destruction was just a process, a goal for him to meet. He truly felt like a god, an angry god ready to smite anything and everything that opposed him. She wanted to believe that that was the case, to give it meaning somehow. But what scared her the most was the possibility that Ghidorah was causing all of this simply because he was bored.

Whatever his reasons, Ghidorah had undoubtedly tried this before and was able to be stopped. And if Chen was right, humans had been a part of his defeat.

"As before, we've been trying to lure the creatures with nuclear materials." Stenz went on. "But they're not taking the bait this time. Their behavior has become random. Erratic. And with our forces spread desperately thin - and these things roaming the globe unimpeded - we're running out of options. And time."

"Not random." Mark muttered.

The admiral noticed, turning his steely gaze toward him.

"Something to add?"

"Their behavior - it's not random or erratic." Mark said as he pointed to a map across the room. It detailed the movements of the various titans since their release.

"If I may," he said, walking toward the map. "As amazing as this sounds, they're moving like a pack. They're hunting. And like all packs from wolves to killer whales they all respond directly to an alpha. Grid..Gheedar -"

"Ghidorah?" Jodie said.

"Yeah. Him." he said. "And with Godzilla gone, he's the one calling the shots. They're acting like an extension of him. If we stop him, we stop them all."

Stenz only stared at him. Jodie could almost hear the gears turning in his head.

"Is there another creature that might stand a chance against him?" Foster asked.

"No," Serizawa answered. "Ghidorah and Godzilla's rivalry was ancient, unique."

"We believe it was their last battle that trapped Ghidorah in the ice, ages ago." Graham interjected.

"So you're telling me we just killed our best shot at beating this thing?" Jodie said.

"Outside of a miracle, yes." Chen said, sounding a little somber.

She was right, though. It was more than clear that the military didn't stand a chance against him, and that was including the Oxygen Destroyer. And since Godzilla's passing, none of the other titans had even attempted to stand up to the three-headed monstrosity. And that included Rodan, who seemed to be acting like his right-hand despite nearly being beaten to ashes by him not too long ago.

Jodie looked around at all the hopeless expressions that engulfed everyone present. It was suffocating. Suddenly, Mark left the room.

"Where are you going?" Jodie asked.

"To look for a miracle."

She sighed, rubbing her tired eyes.

_____

"If you even think about -"

The Regulator shushed her, carefully walking closer to them as they were backed against the control panel.

"Listen, I'm not.." her brows furrowed in frustration. It was an odd sight to see. "You're safe with me."

Elena scoffed. "Safe? You honestly expect me to believe that?"

"I know how ridiculous it sounds - and I can't quite believe it myself - but we're currently headed towards the city you call Boston. And if you wish to remain unharmed, you'll listen to me."

She was silent for a moment, considering the situation before speaking up. "I'm giving you five minutes to explain yourself before I call that monster of yours over."

The Regulator smiled. "That may have fooled my superior but you can drop the act, Elena."

She stiffened, crossing her arms. "Fine, just..you better give me a good reason."

With a quiet sigh, the Regulator stepped past Elena and toward the control panel. After a quick swipe, the same intercom turned on, a voice in the middle of conversation filling the room. It was Emma's.

"- idn't hit the reset, we hit the detonator."

"Madison is a child." the Controller's voice cut in. "This is what you were fighting for, remember? You came to us."

"You're avoiding the question -"

"Listen."

Emma's voice continued. "No, I won't. And I didn't. It was dumb luck that you managed to even pick up the ORCA's signal." she said. "And I thought we were fighting to restore the natural order, that you had come here to help the planet. So excuse me for seriously starting to think otherwise."

There was a short bout of silence before Emma started again. "Humans and titans coexisting in balance - that was the goal. But with Godzilla gone, Monster Zero isn't restoring anything - he's destroying it. This isn't coexistence, it's extinction."

Madison sucked in a sharp breath as she turned away from the control panel. Elena had suspected that death was inevitable in whatever plot she had been thrown in. Death was something natural, a fact of nature. Something she was all too familiar with. And sometimes there was a little more of it than usual but life found a way. She found a way.

But at the rate things were going, Ghidorah wouldn't leave anything left to grow back. It was worse than any mass extinction the world had witnessed, worse than the damage humanity itself had been steadily causing. Looking at the nearly endless destruction, Ghidorah and the titans under his control had done as much damage as humanity had in the last century in the span of a day.

"But not for us." the Controller said.

"Excuse me?"

"I've seen human nature firsthand, we've observed your kind for centuries. It doesn't change. It just gets worse." he said as calmly as one would in a conversation about the weather. "But you've already opened Pandora's box, and there's no closing it now."

Elena bristled at that comment. It was almost too accurate. But she thought back to that old myth, how the one thing that remained in the box was something small, but something powerful. Hope. Almost as if Emma had heard her thoughts, she responded.

"Maybe there is." she mused.

"Oh, don't be stupid. You broadcast that toy of yours again and you'll ruin your own plan."

"No, it'll ruin yours."

Emma's voice became slightly more distant, as though she was leaving the room.

"This was never about taking back your property, wasn't it. You wanted this to happen."

"And what do you expect to do about it, hm?" Elena could practically hear the smugness in his voice. "Tell Monarch? I'm sure your friends will be very happy to hear from you again."

"This isn't the world I wanted, the one you promised."

"You once said that the world always belonged to them, so maybe it's time you gave it back."

"No. Not like this."

The sound of her footsteps was interrupted by the sound of the Controller's gun whirring to life. Madison leaped for the panel. "Mom -!" Elena held her back.

"The things I've seen..humanity is a disease, and the fewer of them there are the better. I suppose I should thank you, doctor. You've made our job much easier."

After a beat, the Controller spoke to another person in the room. "Enforcer?"

"Sir?"

"If Dr. Russell goes anywhere near the ORCA, throw her daughter out of the airlock."

The Regulator shut off the feed. She looked stricken with fear, but was quickly trying to calm herself down.

Madison, however, felt nauseous. The relief she had felt at her mother possibly coming to her senses had been ripped from her mind at the Controller's comment. She knew that if not for her ability, she would've been disposed of a long time ago. And she suspected that her mother knew that too. Despite the countless lives sacrificed for the 'greater good', Madison knew that that line was drawn when it came to her family.

"Was all that necessary?" Elena asked, trying to process the conversation they had just eavesdropped.

"I'm afraid it was." the Regulator replied. "You see, I too wish to atone."

Touching the screen, she pulled up an image of a planet. It definitely wasn't Earth, in fact it didn't look like any planet within the solar system.

"My kind has been working alongside the creature you call Monster Zero for ages, bound in a sort of pact. On my world he's known as the Golden Demise - King Ghidorah. In exchange for keeping our own planet safe from his reach, we lead him to planets bearing life, allowing him to shape it to his liking."

"Jesus.."

"But this world...it's been uncharacteristically resistant. Almost to the point we were just about ready to move on to the next target. But my superior, after seeing your planet's natural defense system, he wants to use it for his own gain. And he can be...persistent."

Persistent was an understatement.

"For years I'd never thought I'd see the day where there'd be a chance to break free of this cycle - until now."

"But, Godzilla.." Madison said before finding a frog in her throat.

The Regulator nodded. Elena sighed, frustrated.

"I know you wish to stop him, but I'm afraid now there may not be another way." the Regulator said, pulling up a map on the screen. Madison and Elena looked at it for a minute before the girl spoke up.

"Hey, we're not that far from Boston."

"...That is correct."

She opened her mouth only to close it, face twisting in thought. "But the ORCA's under that creep's watch."

"What are you thinking?" Elena asked.

"The titans talk to each other like whales, right? If we can get the ORCA, we can broadcast it from Fenway. It's not too far from where we're at now." Madison said, looking at the beeping dot that moved across the map.

"I'm not sure about this." Elena thought out loud. "That thing's done nothing but piss them off."

"Exactly. It could distract him long enough to break off the attacks. Maybe give Monarch some time to figure something out."

"Our scanners indicate the city is nearing the end of its evacuation. In an hour or so, it should be safe." the Regulator chimed in. "But we are running out of time. Soon, we will land and settle in one of Monarch's bunkers. But before then, there's still time to exit the ship before we're trapped underground. There, it'll only be harder to escape."

It was a long shot, one that could get them all killed. And with the Regulator, that chance only increased. But there just wasn't the time to think. They could turn the tables, but only if they acted quick enough. Elena's hands tightened into fists.

"We've got one shot at this." Turning to the Regulator, Elena looked desperate. "I'm trusting you. Okay?"

The Regulator nodded.

_____

On Castle Bravo's deck, the fuming clouds above pelted everything with rain. Ghidorah's storm had nearly doubled in size, bigger than any storm system ever recorded. They weren't sure how long he could keep it up, but it didn't seem to be letting up any time soon. If he blanketed the earth - or even a quarter of it - for weeks, months, it could send the planet into what was essentially a nuclear winter. Plants would die, followed by practically everything else. And that was if there was anything that survived the floods.

Jodie wanted to cry. They had murdered the only thing that might have stopped him. Of course, if Monarch hadn't kept Monster Zero alive in the first place none of this would've happened. But they couldn't have known, could they? Even then, it wasn't easy to kill a titan. Any attempt to euthanize Ghidorah could very well have ended in him waking up. Maybe, despite anything they could've done, Ghidorah was inevitable.

And none of that even mattered anymore. Jodie still found herself standing out there in rain, feeling as hopeless as ever.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she called over the deluge.

Mark kept walking.

"So you're just gonna walk away? What about the ORCA? You haven't even -"

"I can't just sit down there, kid. I gotta do something." he said, boarding an Osprey. Jodie rolled her eyes.

"Like what?"

"Like go find my daughter."

"How? Where are you gonna go, there's no -"

"She's the only thing I got left, Jodie." he said, yelling over the thunder. "I wasn't there for her, I'm not gonna let it happen again."

They both hung there for a moment, the two of them enduring the curtains of stinging rain. She had felt something strike her in the heart. She hadn't been there for Gill, and she wished with all her power that she could take that experience away from her. She found herself nodding at him.

"Good luck." she said, genuine understanding gleaming in her eyes.

Mark nodded back, hauling the two duffle bags in his hand on board the Osprey.

"And sorry about punching you in the face!" she shouted just before he closed the doors behind him.

He chuckled at that, shaking his head. "I was asking for that, wasn't I?" he shouted back.

And with that he disappeared. She was understanding, sure, but even if he managed to get airborne where could he go? It was anyone's guess as to where Emma and Madison actually were, and she doubted he knew the locations of any of Monarch's shelters. And even then, there were dozens of titans to keep an eye out for. It'd take a miracle for anyone to survive out there based on a couple of hunches.

But suddenly, unbelievably, the rain slackened.

The wind had dropped to nothing but a loud whistle, the smell of the first rays of sunlight hitting the damp earth after a summer shower filling the air. Petrichor. Jodie paused. They were out at sea, far from the mainland - how in the hell is that even possible, she thought. And then there was a sound. No - a song.

Looking up at the sky, brilliant rays of light filtered through the dark clouds. They were warm, comforting. And the song, almost like a whale call but somehow far more beautiful, descended from the steadily emerging sun. Mark stepped out of the Osprey as everyone else on the deck stopped in their tracks to witness the strange sight. Jodie shielded her eyes as the sun became brighter - closer?

Her eyes widened.

With an operatic cry, the clouds parted. Mothra, descending from the heavens as if she were an angel, hovered above the base. In spite of all that was happening, this didn't feel like an attack. She was just revealing herself, like she wanted them to know something. Jodie flashed back to the larva in the Yunnan footage, how different the titan had felt just a short time ago. In fact, calling her a titan felt like a disservice, as it didn't quite capture the ethereal presence Jodie was seeing before her eyes. She certainly didn't look like your stereotypical angel, all carapace and pointed limbs. But she felt like one, like an answer to a prayer. A miracle.

And as if to drive that fact home, Mothra's shorter forelimbs found purchase on the rim of the base, bending low as if she were bowing. But she wasn't. Squinting through the light, she could barely make out two humanoid figures climbing off of the giant moth's back. Wait.

The figures ran toward her, and she nearly felt herself want to faint as Gill rapidly approached her. She all but collapsed in her embrace as soon as she felt her arms around her.

"Gill?!"

Looking above her shoulder, a familiar face walked toward them - Dr. Ling.

"Gill, what are you - wh..?"

She was interrupted by the sound of Mothra's wings flapping, sending herself into the air once more as she hovered not too far away from the base. With each flap of her wings, the light shone brightly off of its gossamer surface. Ghidorah's storm seemed to continue receding, as if it could not stand Mothra's light.

That was new. Even with Godzilla gone, Ghidorah didn't seem to have as much control as they thought. In that moment, something clicked within her mind. Those cave paintings Chen had shown them, they had all depicted the same thing. Godzilla and humans, fighting side by side with her.

For the first time in a while, Jodie felt hope.

She cupped Gill's cheeks, trying her best not to burst into tears.

"What are you - how are you here?"

She nodded to Mothra. "She knows how to help."

____

Jodie, Gill, Mark, and Ling were soaked by the time they reached the base's control room. But they found that everyone else's attention was glued to the display outside.

"Beautiful.." Serizawa murmured to himself.

Mothra was, in more ways than one, a light in the dark. Thinking back to all of his talk about balance, Jodie could see how anyone would deify a being such as her. But she was still the only one fighting against Ghidorah's influence. With all the other titans still under his control, what chances would she have against them?

"Mothra, queen of the monsters." Chen whispered, pride and reverence evident in her voice. She reached for her sister's hand as they both stared out the window.

Jodie's eyes flickered over to them. She knew that their family's involvement with Monarch dated back generations, but after all of this, she suspected that maybe the twins knew more about the titan than they let on.

"Are you recording this, Stanton?" Mark asked.

"I record everything, man." he said. "Everything."

Turning up the sound on the bioacoustics monitor, the room was filled with what sounded like a whale call mixed with crickets or cicadas. But somehow more musical than that. It sounded desperate, yearning.

"It's like a song." Jodie mused.

"You have no idea." Gill said under her breath, a small grin appearing on her face.

"Could she be trying to communicate with..?" Graham whispered to Serizawa.

"There's more," Stanton said, looking at his screen. "It's just outside our hearing range."

"I'll bet there's only one thing that can understand this." Mark commented.

"Gojira.." Serizawa said.

Typing away at his keyboard, Stanton pulled up a faint but visible reading. "Yeah, I got it," he confirmed. "I'm picking up a reply. Bringing it up."

Another sound joined Mothra's chorus, a familiar rumble, a pained moan.

"He's still alive." Jodie said in disbelieving relief.

Serizawa sucked in a breath, Graham letting out a breathless laugh as she shook his shoulder. Others, however, were not so reverent.

"So her and Godzilla, they like.." Barnes gestured to the goddess outside. "They got a thing going on?"

"Symbiotic relationships between different species aren't all that uncommon." Graham said.

"I think it's kinda cute." Gill commented.

"It's been this way since the beginning," Chen said. "A Titanus Gojira and a Titanus Mosura, working together to keep the balance."

"They are bound together by a sense of duty, and sometimes even compassion." Ling finished with a wistful smile.

"Still weird, if you ask me." Barnes muttered.

"Can you track him?" Serizawa asked Stanton.

As much as she'd rather debate the giant lizard's relationship status, there was no time to waste. The world was spiraling into chaos, and if there was a chance of stopping it, they'd have to act fast.

"No, signal's too weak."

"But she can." Chen said, still gazing out the window with her sister. She placed a hand against the glass.

"You wanted a miracle," Jodie said, glancing toward Mark. "I think we just got one."

"She knows where he is, but she can't get to him on her own." Ling said, hand closing around the space over her heart.

Thinking for a moment, Mark stepped toward Stenz. "How many nukes do you have?"

"Why?" Serizawa asked.

"I think I know how we can help him."

For the first time in a while, Serizawa smiled. Realizing what he was implying, Stenz turned to Colonel Foster.

"Contact Captain Brody."

_____

The plan had come together quickly.

Stenz' fleet was fueled, provisioned, and ready for anything Ghidorah could throw at them. Or as ready as they could possibly be. Ships, aircraft carriers, jets, and at least a dozen subs were all following Mothra's lead. She was their best shot - their only shot - at finding Godzilla.

It was odd, seeing Monarch and the government finally working together. But none of that would matter without Godzilla. Everything rested on a hacked-together plan and a good feeling.

Jodie studied the thermal map Foster pulled up, tracing Ghidorah's path as he tore his way through the east coast. It was the biggest storm in recent history, but that wasn't what made it creepy. Somewhere in the eye of the storm, she could barely make out a blob of electromagnetic and radioactive energy. Ghidorah.

"This Category six hurricane over D.C. is where Ghidorah is nesting," Foster briefed. "Working with all four branches of the military, this will be a joint operation to lure it away from the mainland so that we can continue the evacuations long enough for our submersible team to complete their mission."

"Uh, what do those nerds think they're gonna do down there with a bunch of nukes?" Griffin asked.

"Didn't you hear?" Barnes said. "They wanna bring Godzilla back from the dead."

Coleman, Foster, and Ling were staying with the Argo, keeping an eye on Mothra and coordinating the action against Ghidorah. Just outside, the titan had stopped in her tracks, hovering above a specific area of the ocean. As she flapped her wings, light still gleaming from her body like a beacon, dust-like particles spilled into the ocean. As they sunk to the bottom, it almost seemed like she was giving them a trail to follow. Looks like they arrived at their destination.

Sam looked scared out of his mind, and Jodie could practically feel his anxiety shooting through the roof. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"See you soon, man." she said, pulling him in for a quick hug.

"Just don't be gone long, okay?"

She nodded, giving him a half-assured smile.

Jodie, Gill, Serizawa, Graham, Chen, Mark and Stanton walked through the docking bay to the sub.

"This plan," Stanton spoke nervously. "It's what you call a long shot, right?"

"No," Serizawa said, as serious as ever. "It's our only shot."

"Alright," he said, pulling a flask from his pocket. "Cool."

She had been in subs before, the depths of the ocean were no problem for her. Hell, she spent most of her time within Castle Bravo's walls, and that was more than enough to acclimate even the most thalassophobic of folks. But this felt different from all the other expeditions she had tagged along with. There was a sliver a dread that was slowly but surely creeping its way into her mind. She did her best to shake off the feeling. At the very least, it was reassuring that she had Gill with her.

As the hatches closed, engines coming to life, she already found herself feeling more than a little anxious. And they weren't even underwater yet. She grabbed Gill's hand.

In her whole life, she never would've thought they'd come all this way. To think that she was helping to revive Godzilla - that he was even real to begin with - was still hard to wrap her mind around. And that wasn't even scratching the surface.

Then, the sub began to move, nosing toward Mothra, who almost seemed to be beckoning them toward the space she hovered over. It was a hunch, but Jodie found that she trusted the titan. Something about her was just different from the others. Gill seemed to have the same thought in mind, and she'd trust her judgement more than anyone else in that room. Serizawa being the only exception.

Suddenly, the video feed from the Argo snapped on the sub's main screen.

"We'll be out of range while you're down there." Foster told them. "But a squadron will stay behind to keep an eye out for you."

"We appreciate it." Serizawa said.

"And Mark," Coleman said. "We'll keep listening out for Emma and Madison. Good luck."

"Thanks," he said. "We'll need it."

Ling shot them a thumbs up before returning to her post.

Finally, they dove, her ears popping from the sudden change in pressure.

Everyone around her was in motion. The sub's commander was busy plotting a course with Serizawa. Stanton and Graham were mapping Godzilla's vitals, trying to get just a sliver of an idea as to where the lizard was resting. Gill and Chen were looking over historical documents and folkloric artifacts. Mark was analyzing Godzilla's bioacoustics, comparing them to Mothra's, trying to decode the ORCA.

For once, Jodie felt like the odd one out, but for once that was okay. It seemed like forever since she was allowed to just do nothing. To just sit in comfortable silence, finally letting herself process the events from the past two days - soon to be three.

An hour had passed, and everything was quiet, the only sound coming from the water outside and the beeping of the sub's countless instruments.

Jodie was roused from her nap as she heard something clink on the desk in front of her. It was Mark, back from the mess hall and holding two cups of coffee. Handing one to Graham, he offered the other to her. Sitting up from her previous position on Gill's shoulder, Jodie happily took it.

Across the room, Serizawa was messing around with his pocket watch again. He looked nervous, or maybe thoughtful? Probably both, as the man wasn't exactly known for being able to relax.

"What time is it?" Mark asked.

A barely noticeable nostalgic smile drew across Serizawa's face. "Time to get a new watch."

Jodie observed the exchange, sipping her coffee.

"Andrew's favorite joke." Serizawa said, staring off at nothing in particular.

"You could never take that thing out without him asking.." Mark's voice trailed off. Suddenly he took a deep, shaky breath. "If you told me five years ago that I'd be trying to save the thing that took my son, that it'd be the only way to save the family I have left..."

"Sometimes," Serizawa said, considering the words in his mind. "The only way to heal our wounds is to make peace with the demons who created them."

"You really believe that?"

"Don't you?" Serizawa replied, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt. "Isn't that why you're here?"

Mark looked like he was at a loss for words.

"There are some things beyond our control, Mark." Serizawa continued. "The laws of nature are cruel, unfair. But they can also be beautiful. We cannot control these things or run from them. We must accept them and learn from them - because these moments of crisis are also potential moments of faith. A time when we either come together or fall apart. And nature always has a way of balancing itself. The only question is..what part will we play?"

Jodie, Gill and Graham sat in stunned silence. Even Mark looked a little floored. Serizawa was known for his wise quips, laconic though they were, but this was by far the longest she had ever heard.

"I'll drink to that." Jodie said, taking a long swig of her coffee.

She nearly found herself choking just a second later as the sub lurched violently, rocking like they were stuck in a whirlpool. Ear-splitting alarms blared throughout the sub. It couldn't be Ghidorah, could it? Jodie ran the names of all the other possible aquatic titans that could've been set loose. Leviathan? Ebirah? Titanosaurus? Surely they would've seen them in the tracking data, right?

But they weren't being rammed by a sea monster, or eaten. Since the initial bump it almost felt like they were spinning, twisting in some powerful current.

"Bowman, status of the ship?" the commander said.

"Some sort of vortex." he replied. "It's dragging us down."

Everyone clung for dear life as the hull of the ship groaned, metal straining against the pressure. Spiraling further downward into ever deeper water, Jodie felt ready to pass out.

"Still descending." Bowman said, counting down toward the sea floor. "Four hundred feet. One hundred. Fifty."

"Brace for impact!" the commander shouted.

_____

The bridge of the ship was nearly empty as all personnel was preparing to land.

They weren't even doing a whole lot of guarding or patrolling, and with the Regulator guiding them down the hall, nothing about it seemed out of place. But that didn't stop Madison's heart from hammering in her chest. She gripped her backpack.

Despite hearing that comforting voice not too long ago, Godzilla's vacancy had left her feeling different. Like a part of her was missing.

Worry not, young Speaker. He is old but he is strong, and you are smart. Just keep moving forward, the voice said. Madison could do nothing more than trust it.

Stopping in front of what looked like a supplies closet, the Regulator punched in a code. Inside were scores of rations and what she assumed were medical supplies, albeit strange-looking. And in the back of the space were rows of the small handguns everyone carried around. The Regulator loaded her backpack with the supplies.

In spite of their advantages, they had to work fast. Once the Controller realized they weren't anywhere on the ship, things would definitely heat up. And she didn't want to be around for that.

As they quick-walked toward the control room, the Regulator stopped them. The halls were clear, but if anyone saw them enter the room - with her backpack no less - it would raise more than a couple eyebrows.

"Wait here." the Regulator said in a low whisper, entering the room.

Suddenly, Elena pulled Madison to the side, flattening themselves against the corner of the wall. The Controller and one of his men came out, walking down the opposite side of the corridor. The Regulator stuck her head out of the room, waving them inside.

In the center of the room was the ORCA. Madison was worried they might've hid it someplace, maybe even destroyed it, but that didn't seem to be the Controller's style. She was starting to think he enjoyed mocking them like this, that he thought making her mother able to look at her creation but never being able to touch it was funny. A triumphant smirk grew on her face as she stepped forward to unplug the ORCA from its place. But she suddenly froze, feeling eyes on the back of her head.

The faint scuff of shoes and a shadow casting itself over them made her turn around. She had hoped it was her mother, but instead came face to face with one of the Controller's men looming over them. She had seen him around before, and she didn't know his designation but in her mind she had been referring to him as "The Mountain" due to his size. Madison gulped.

He wasn't given the chance to so much as take a breath before the Regulator's hand flew to her side, drawing her gun and shooting him square in the chest. It seemed to stun him, as he jerked on the floor like a fish before settling with a thud. A satisfied, mildly amused grin appeared on the Regulator's face.

As the Regulator grabbed the same pair of headsets from Antarctica, Elena grabbed the ORCA, tucking it under one arm as they moved on to the next phase of their plan. Walking a short ways out into the hall, the Regulator bent to the ground, fingers searching the fine seams in the floor before lifting up a thin panel. Gesturing for them to hop inside, Madison jumped in first, and then Elena. The Regulator climbed in afterward, shifting the panel back to its place. She and Elena followed her lead.

It was stuffy, and Madison could already feel herself start to sweat through her jacket, but she continued walking through the narrow, cramped space. Every now and then they would stop, hearing footsteps above them, and after a beat, they continued walking. The only light in the tunnel came from the dull glow of the pipes around them, running with a noxious yellow, odorless substance she hoped wouldn't kill her. She wasn't sure how long it would take to get to their destination, but it almost felt like they were spiraling downward. She felt a bit like Orpheus, but Madison didn't look back, knowing that if she really wanted to turn the tables, it was do or die.

We're gonna be fine, she reassured herself. By the time they figure it out we'll be out and away.

Every now and then they would pass in front of a grate, filtering light from above. They'd pause before then, the Regulator peeking through the slits and gesturing for them to scurry past when all was clear. Madison wasn't sure where they had ended up when she stopped them, peering up.

Next to the grate was someone sitting down at what looked like a table. Did these people even have a mess hall? If so, the room seemed to resemble one. Seeing that whoever the person was wasn't paying attention, she waved them through. But looking up, Madison caught a glimpse of the person there. It was her mother. Her breath caught in her throat, momentarily paralyzed.

She was just sitting there, and it looked like the events of the past day were finally catching up with her. She knew her mother could push her feelings pretty far down, so far that it was hard to gauge whether or not she could feel anything at all. But she couldn't erase them, and now they were finally coming back up like a geyser.

She knew her mother wasn't a bad person. She had definitely made some bad choices, some of which Madison thought she might never forgive, but it all came from a good place.

"Madison, come on." Elena whispered, impatient.

"Sorry." she muttered.

But as she turned away from the grate, something on her backpack snagged on one of the wires in the already crowded tunnel.

"Shit," she hissed, trying to get it unstuck as quietly as she could.

Elena helped her, the Regulator stopping in her tracks.

"What are you doing?" she murmured.

With every rattle of the pipes, Madison felt her stomach lurch with anxiety, hoping that the sound wouldn't carry to the floor above. At last, she wrenched the backpack free from the wires, sighing quietly.

"Madison?"

She jumped, swallowing a yelp. Blocking the view from the grate was her mother, staring down at all three of them with a quizzical gaze.

"I-I can -" she muttered, suddenly stopping to grab the Regulator's arm as she heard the whirring of her stun gun. "I can explain."

"What do you think you're doing?" she whispered harshly, seeing the ORCA in Elena's arms.

Madison breathed for a moment, her mind scrambled but finally finding a response. "Closing Pandora's box."

She said nothing. Gently nudging her to the side, Elena stepped forward. "Emma, you can still help stop Ghidorah..undo your mistakes."

Emma thought for a moment, eyes flickering to the side. She let out a heavy sigh.

"I'm not going."

"Mom -"

"Maddie, if I leave they'll find us. Just..Just let me buy you some time."

Madison felt tears appearing in the corners of her eyes. "I'll be fine." Emma continued. "Once we're in the bunker, I'll come find you."

After a moment, Madison replied. "Fenway Park. Stay safe, okay?"

Emma smiled sadly. "I think I should be the one saying that to you."

Her gaze lingered on her mother for another heartbeat before moving on, continuing on their path for just a little while longer. With each second, Madison expected to hear some sort of alarm or shouting from above. Surely the person the Regulator had stunned had recovered by now, or someone had found him. Either way, their time was as limited as ever.

Finally, the Regulator stopped, popping open a panel in the floor above them and looking around. Eventually, she climbed out, helping her and Elena out of the tunnel.

They were in the hangar, the banged up Osprey from Antarctica sitting in its center. They weren't planning on taking that, were they?

The Regulator approached a series of panels in the wall, accompanied by five separate tubes that connected to circular spaces on the floor. She punched in a code on three of the tubes, motioning for Elena and Madison to each step into one.

"Uh, that won't drop us in midair, right?" she spoke, hanging onto her backpack a little tighter.

"Well, yes, but not in the way you're thinking."

The Regulator stepped inside, shutting the tube's sliding door behind her. "Just press this button," she pointed to the one in the top right corner of the keypad. "And try not to breathe. I'll meet you on the ground."

Closing her eyes, she was engulfed in a thousand beams of light, her particles seeming to disintegrate before them. When the light disappeared, the Regulator was gone altogether. It was like something straight out of Star Trek. Shrugging, Elena stepped in. Madison was nervous, but she was trying her best to hide it. As she walked into the chute, she could feel her heart crowding up into her throat. And when the door closed, her lungs felt like they were growing smaller and smaller. Out of the corner of her eye, Elena was already gone. Pressing the button, she closed her eyes.

Madison couldn't quite explain how she felt.

It didn't burn, but it had happened so fast she couldn't really register what happened. When she opened her eyes, there were no tubes or wires or sterile-white walls. She was surrounded by trees and underbrush. Looking next to her, also slightly disoriented, was Elena and the Regulator, looking off into the distance. They seemed to be in a patch of woods, but as she followed the Regulator's gaze she saw swarms of aircraft flitting above a familiar skyline.

Boston. Home.

Without hesitation, the three began their trek. Madison hefted the backpack further up her shoulders as Elena hauled the ORCA.

It was going to be a long walk.

[macabretrees]

Title: Four is a Crowd Summary: When Obi-Wan had gone Sith, he had thrown caution to the wind and boarded the nearest available shuttle. He had hoped that his journey to the Dark Side would be a solo act.However, he hadn’t counted on the three cadets hiding away on the ship.

a/n:for @celebrate-the-clone-wars​ Your Reputation Precedes you :D If you want more follow it on ao3! i’ll be updating it there! Also I’m my own beta, so beware! Feed back and reblogs appreciated! 

“St-stay where you are!”

Obi-Wan fought the urge to groan as he heard the small voice come from behind him. How he had failed to sense the stowaways before he’d launched himself into space was a mystery to him (it could have been the fact that there were twenty other clones shooting at him, and a very grief stricken, confused Anakin was doing everything in his power to drag Obi-Wan away from the docking port), but now that he had finally noticed them, it was time to address the situation.

“Are you going to shoot me?” He asked slyly, as he stood up from his seat and slowly made his way towards the braver of the three, who stood before the other two with his pistol pointed at Obi-Wan with a shaky grip.

The Former Jedi smirked, “You wouldn’t kill a--”

A blue bolt erupted from the blaster before he could even finish his sentence, and in a swift movement, the entire corridor was filled with a blinding white light as Obi-Wan activated his saber. Not only was the bolt deflected into the control panel, but the gun had been cut in two.

The cadet looked in horror as his weapon fell to the ground in a heap of metal and soot.

“Y-you’re no Jedi!” Piped up another, who’d been cowering behind his brother, “A Jedi would never  attack a clone!”

“Need I remind you that you did shoot at me first,” began the older man as his saber deactivated,  “I was simply defending myself.”

The trio erupted.

“You were going to kill us, don’t pretend like you weren’t!”

“You stole a ship! And you attacked the other Jedi.” The gun-toting cadet pointed out, “There’s something wrong with you.”

Obi-Wan denied  neither of the accusations, for each held a bit of truth to them. However, he was not going to kill them. He may’ve been a Sith, but there was nothing good to come out of killing a trio of defenseless cadets. Especially when they all reminded him of his commander. He stopped his thought process there. Thinking about Cody would inevitably lead to him think about the war, and then the Jedi Order, and then Anakin.

“He’s a sith.” Explained the quiet one, who’d hidden in the shadows the moment Obi-wan had advanced towards them, “That’s what they were saying….and his eyes….look at his eyes.”

That was enough to break Obi-Wan out of his thoughts.

“I’m glad  my reputation precedes me. I’m curious to know what else they’ve said about me.”

The cadets panicked.

“Sith have golden eyes!” The rambunctious one said, “Bright golden eyes--like his !”

“Says who?”

“Says General Ti!”

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I can let you three off on the nearest habitable planet,” Obi-Wan  interrupted, slightly agitated. Thinking about Shaak-Ti wouldn’t help him either.

“We can’t just go back?”  Hopeful and slightly nervous, the more neutral of the three ask, “Back to Coruscant.”

“Forgive me for not wanting to be arrested.”

“You should have thought about that before you  ran off!” Ever the resilient, the gunslinging cadet had seized the opportunity to duck under Obi-Wan and dart towards the controls.  Naturally his brothers had moved to restrain the older man.

Correction--one brother had attempted to restrain the other man. The other remained in the shadows.

It didn’t take long for Obi-Wan to seize them with the force.

“Why were  you three on this ship?” Asked the General, turning the question on them, “I don’t believe you had any permission to be here either. And If I’m correct, you had already entered coordinates well away from Coruscant.”

They were silent, though a look of  pure guilt was exchanged amongst them.

“I won’t put you down until you tell me.”

“We were running away.”

Two pairs of amber eyes--one shocked and the other angry--turned towards the shadowed clone.

“Snoop?” They said in unison, “What the hell? You can’t tell a Jedi we’re deserting.”

“Oh this should be entertaining.” Obi-Wan mused as he crossed his arms, slowly allowing the cadets to touch the ground, “And you wanted to turn me in.”

“Easy for you to say, Jedi. It isn’t your brothers who’re being marched to their deaths every day--”

“What he means to say,” Said the other, “Is that we’re more aware than our brothers.”

“And he’s not a Jedi, remember.” Snoop spoke up again, “He’s like us.”

The gunslinger disagreed, wholeheartedly, but Obi-Wan wasn’t blaming him. If they had anything in common, it was that they were all stuck together in the ship. They weren’t wrong about their brothers, all the bloodshed, all the death and devastation....Obi-Wan couldn’t understand that, not like a clone.

But he could understand why it might make them want to leave. He didn’t blame any clone for deserting.

“If you’re trying to flee, why on Earth would you want me to bring you back?”

“Because you were trying to kill us!” The Gunslinger bluttered, as if it were the most obvious answer.

“We thought you were trying to kill us,” corrected the neutral one, “But now that we know you aren’t….we need this ship.”

“Finders keepers,” Obi-Wan teased, “I need it.”

“That’s not even how that works?” Gunslinger responded, “We were in the ship first.”

“Fine, let’s say I give you the ship,” Obi-Wan began, “Where would you go.”

Another stretch of silence.

“You have no idea what you want to do.” Stated the former Jedi, with a raised brow.

The Gunslinger snorted, “And you do?”

“I know how to survive if need be,” Obi-Wan retired, “Do you?” He hadn’t meant for the last words to come out, and in all honesty he was being his usually snarky self.

He never fathomed the adventure it would entail.

“Help us?” Snoop was beside him in an instant, “We’ll die without you.”

“Who knows how long it’ll take for the Republic to pick us up?” asked the other, “we could be stolen.”

He was a little taken aback by their sudden change of heart. Though he’d expected it with Snoop, the neutral cadet has been a surprise. But he could sense their worry leaking into the Force, their uncertainty as well. They weren’t prepared for this journey.

Obi-Wan should have said no. But there was a large part of him that yearned to give these cadets a better life than he had his own men, to perhaps start his reparations with the clones with these three younglings if possible.

“Are all three of you in agreement?”

They turned towards the gunslinger, whom had his arms crossed and an eternal scowl on his face, “What the hell. Freedom seems nice. So does not dying.”

“Very well then.” Obi-wan sighed, much as he did when he came to an understanding with Anakin after a long argument,  “What are your names?”

“Snoop!”

“Hotshot!” Cried the Gunslinger.

“Lore!” Cried the neutral one. They yelled like they were being called to attention, and the Sith couldn’t help but chuckle.

Obi-Wan nodded, “Well I’m Obi-Wan, but you already knew that though.”

Reblog if you liked it! And check it out on ao3!

[boogiewrites]

Don’t Call Her Annie 7 Memories & Monologues

Characters: Jim Hopper x Reader (OFC)

Word Count: 3500

Summary:  Annette Horowitz is Joyce’s younger sister. She hasn’t been the perfect sibling or aunt but after she finds out Will is missing, she finds herself crashing back into Hawkins to do everything in her power to help, driven by a need to prove herself. She hasn’t been around much in the past 20 or so years, but when she comes back home she finds old friends, old habits and old feelings she’d thought she’d finally escaped. Can she really change or is she just kidding herself?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 8

You can check out my other work on My Masterlist.

Warnings/Tags: Angst. Fluff. Intense Situations. Violence. Slight Gore. Language. Feelings (insert Crowley gif here). Slow burn.

A/N:  I'm tweaking their reality here, I know. But this fan fiction, so...I can do that. (Fun side note. This is the first piece I wrote for this series. This moment was what played in my head for months before I let myself write it and inspired the entire story. This is not the end...I hope you enjoy it.)

Tagged folks are at the bottom, if you’d like to be added or removed, just leave a reply and I’ll see it! Any positive feedback or messages are appreciated. Thanks!

Memory

One night after being grounded, but still getting wasted in your room you find Hopper outside alone. You were in your pajamas, which happened to be ones you'd worn before you hit puberty, so at this point, a robe would've been appropriate to have worn over it if you're getting out of bed. But at your level of sobriety in combination with your naive, aloof mind, you went outside in it anyway.  You can't remember why you had gone outside, or why he was there too, but you were a drunk teenager and that felt like a lifetime ago. You do remember he was upset about something. But mostly you remember that the look on his face when he became distracted and flustered at your body made you feel things. So naturally, in your drunken, pathetic rebellion you said something inappropriate. Neither of you said much to each other after that night for a while. Your crush, however, remained, if not worsened through your denial of it. Your young, naive heart thought you loved him.

Then Joyce got pregnant. It crashed your outlook, it made you feel scared for her, for your relationship as sisters which had become strained as you tried to force everyone away from you. You saw her with Lonnie. You hated Lonnie. You and Hopper both loathed him. This was something you instantly bonded over. You'd seen the way he looked at him, it was how you looked at him too. Like he was taking something that belonged to you. You started being able to hold conversations alone together again. You weren't the same girl you were the last time you'd been close though. Because after Joyce got pregnant and you saw the life she had now you wanted to run scared. You wanted out of Hawkins. You felt caged and didn't want what happened to her to happen to you. This would be a theme that would follow you around your entire adult life up until you hear about Will going missing.

You'd thought the reason Hop stayed around so long after Joyce got pregnant was because of how much he loved her. He wanted to leave after he found out, he found it hell to deal with, but he saw how you reacted to the news. He knew Joyce wouldn't be able to handle you anymore with a baby and an abusive husband. He didn't want you to get hurt in the wake of the consequences of Joyce's bad decisions. He felt compelled to stay and make sure you didn't get in too much trouble because he saw your life going that way unless someone was there to look after you. Once he thought you had matured enough, which happened surprisingly quickly, he found after he started trying to correct your behavior, he felt he could leave without the weight of it on his shoulders. Very shortly after he left, you did too.

Sure you'd not been the best aunt. You had come to holidays when you weren't too far away to make it. You sent cards and called for birthdays and celebrations when you remembered. Sure you hadn't been as close as you wanted to be to your family, but every time you'd tried to settle down for yourself or with them, you got itchy and ran. You loved them, deeply and dearly you had just let yourself forget how to show and say that.

And all that brought you here. To this moment. This was how you would show them how much they meant to you. To Joyce, to your nephews, to Hopper. 

October

"Why are you doing this?" he says slowly, his emotions in his eyes, his voice cracked. Shutting the door to the room across the hall he'd dragged you into without asking you first. He'd just grabbed you and moved.

"Because besides you, I'm the only one that can." you say matter-of-factly.

"Did you ever think they don't want you to do this? That I don't want you to do this?" his voice is hushed, he bares his teeth when he speaks to you unintentionally. How was he supposed to keep control when you kept breaking his heart like this.

"I have to." you say through gritted teeth, standing and wiping your face.

"Jesus, Ann! No, you don't!" his hands raise in the air in frustration. His nails digging into his palms as he tries to stay quiet and alert while also having this loaded conversation.

"If you think for one second, that I would even hesitate to die for them," you stutter, his shoulders wincing at your words. "then you clearly don't know me as well as you think you do, Jim." the tears sting your eyes, your stomach knots and you hold back.

His head falls down, he closes his eyes.

"You aren't the only one allowed to go and put yourself in danger you know," you growl at him, your hands planted on your hips, still mad about you and Joyce having to save him from his own recklessness in the tunnels.

He turns back to you, his hands on your shoulders, he takes a deep breath, "You know chances are you don't make it back, right?" he's never looked this intensely at you. You pull your mouth into a tight line so your lips don't tremble. A wave of nausea hits you.

"I know," you whisper, tears cresting out of your eyes and slowly rolling down your cheek. "It's worth it if you get them out of here." your voice cracks, you're having a hard time keeping all this in. He pulls you into his arms. You feel his face on the top of your head. "Promise me you'll get them out of here." your hands hold on tightly to his shirt, you close your eyes and rest your face against him.

"I promise." his voice was more somber, you feel a breath hitch in his chest.

You push away from him, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt. You and Jim share a weighted moment, just looking at each other. Neither of you had the words right now.

You reach to the doorknob and open the door after he moves out of the way to let you out. You look up and see Joyce standing there, her arms crossed, she's sobbing and practically leaps into your arms, this was going to be ugly. -----------------------------

He stands next to you while he helps secure everything on you, his face is hard and he hasn't said much. He put your earpiece in, checks the gun before handing it to you, and tightens the strap onto your shoulder. The rhythmic pulsing of the alarm light is the only illumination in the dark stairwell. This'll be the last time you see him. You'd said your goodbyes to everyone but him really. Well, the things you really wanted to say to him anyway.  

"I know you're mad. I'm sorry." your eyes follow him as he continues not engaging with you, as he checks you over again. "As cliche, as it is I want you all to try to not feel bad too long." you grab his hands and shake them until he looks at you. He meets your gaze from where he'd held it at the ceiling. "At least leave me with the illusion that you'll try to be happy again." you frown and sigh.  

"Alright. You're good to go." he motions to your gear with his head. You see he wasn't going to be honest unless you made a grand, sweeping gesture first. You grumble and take off the gun, he looks at you, confusion on his face.

"Give me your shirt, Jim." you hold your hand out, your shoulders low, your voice already tired.

"Why?" he shakes his head at you.

"Just give it to me." you groan. His eyes narrow at you, he takes off the flannel shirt layer. You walk over the glass panel still intact on the nearest door and you slip on the shirt. At first, you button a few buttons, admiring your reflection in the glass. Then you roll up the sleeves, and tie it at the waist and put your gun back on.

"That's just gonna slow you down, you know that. It'll get caught on something or grabbed or-"

"Shut up, Jim." you put your hands on his arms, your eyes tired.

"Look, I want you to come back, I know it's not realistic but I have to hold onto that as long as I can to deal with this. So if I let you go in that, I know it'll be my fault if it's what gets you killed and I can't have that added on top of everything else." it comes tumbling out of him, his shoulders falling as his words continued on. You were left with Jim. Class of '60 Jim. The golden boy of your teen years. You saw the same eyes, the same look on his face when he was truly exhausted.

"Can't you just let a girl die in your shirt, Jim? Jesus." you roll your eyes and let go of him, moving to the strap on your shoulder.

"Wait." he grabs your arm. "What?" his brow is bent but not angry.

"You really wanna know right now?" you raise your eyebrows at him with an annoyed attitude.

"Fuck. Well, I have to now that you said that." you almost smile.

"I didn't want to die not knowing what I looked like in one of your shirts." you admit much more easily than you thought. Your eyes move from side to side at your own surprise to the admission. You say it calmly, returning your eyes to his face after having no better way to share this information with him.

He goes through lots of expressions on a micro level, his eyes mostly read of surprise.

"Jim..." you chew the inside of your cheek, taking a big breath in. You decide to not hold back in the last moments you'd have here with him. You put your hands on the sides of his face and stare into his eyes.

You wouldn't have believed it if your older self could've told your younger self that your so-called first love would get even more handsome the older he got. The way his eyes crinkled and his cheeks folded as he smiled. The beard he'd be thrilled to have known he could grow eventually had come in. He grew even taller somehow, broader, stronger. You adored the soft middle he'd accumulated, you thought it matched his insides better than the rest of his rough outer appearance. You weren't completely sure if you wanted to be with him, you had thought you might over the past year. You didn't know if there was some happy ending for you two, probably not, especially not together. But you did know you loved him. Not just the smidge of romantic love that refused to leave your heart, left over from your teen years. But a fully thought out mutual respect that grew the more he revealed about himself. He was good, you'd known very few good men in your life and he deserved to be loved.

"There are so many things I'd love to tell you. I'll tell you next time I see you, okay?" you smile at him, genuinely.

"Annie..." he whispers, his face falling, he swallows hard as he holds in tears. You let him say your childhood name without rejection. But it doesn't come without its pain.

"But in the meantime, know I find it very fitting that you're the one here with me for this. I wouldn't want anyone else here with me right now." the corner of your mouth pulls back into a sad and reluctant smile. You let go of his face and sigh at him, taking it in one last time.

"Not even Joyce?" his voice is soft and quiet. You're surprised by his response.

"No. I don't need her for this. I need you." your voice is calm and confident.

He repeats your name. He grabs your face and his mouth opens, you never thought you'd live to see Jim Hopper's lips trembling at your expense. A few tears fall down your face as he moves in close to you. "Please, don't go." he hoarsely whispers. He couldn't help but feel the irony of his words, as you'd asked the same thing of him when he told you he was leaving Hawkins decades before. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of his voice, it's painful. He keeps saying your name and each time it hurts more than the last.

"I'm going to be a pain in the ass until the end. Especially yours. Same as it's always been." you put one of your hands over his.

"I'm sorry." you feel him shake his head as he squeezes you again. "For everything. For when you were younger and now. I'm sorry you were drawn into this. You don't deserve this." he rushes out his apology, you feel his breath tinging across your scalp.

"But I do deserve it." you sigh, you felt it was true, deep down.

"Don't say that." he says into your hair. "You are," he composes himself for a moment, "You are a pain in the ass." he lets out a huff of a laugh and you follow. "But you're also irreplaceable. I know you don't see how important you are but that doesn't change that fact." you could hear the anger bubbling under the surface of his kind words. "I really wanted better for you, sweetheart, I'm so sorry I couldn't do that."

"I gave up on trying to hold things against you a very long time ago, Jim." you give him a tight-lipped smile. "I forgive you for whatever you've made up in your head to be guilty about. None of this is on you." you shake your head at him. You start to pull back and he brings your lips together. Sharing a few slow movements before parting. At least you could die without wondering what his lips felt like against yours now. You sniffle as he pulls away, neither of you could tell who started crying first because both your faces were wet. You try to quiet your loud breathing, slow your chest trying to panic, your heart wanting to explode from the overload of emotions.

You stretch and crack your joints, taking many deep breaths, you stand at the edge of the stairs. You look down into the darkness. You put your hands around the large gun, and close your eyes. You feel Jim standing very close to you.

"Please. Don't do anything stupid. Try to come back to us." he pushes his forehead against the side of your head.

"I always find my way back to you, don't I? Whether I mean to or not it seems." you don't look at him, your heart is beating too fast to handle any more surging emotions.

He doesn't respond. He squeezes your hand and kisses your hair again.

"Maybe we'll get this right in the next lifetime." one hand rests on your chest to steady your heartbeat. It stays because you feel like it's the weakest part of you right now, on the edge of bursting and breaking. "I'm glad we had the chance to be friends again. No matter what you'll tell yourself later, I'm okay with this ending." you want to clarify, you could only imagine the years of his life he'll spend carrying the guilt of your death on his shoulders, even though he shouldn't. You turn your face to look into his eyes. "I love ya, Jim." you say with a slump of your shoulders. It felt so good to say it. You wished you'd had time to sit and live in the feeling of relief, but you didn't.

"I love you too, Annie." His face softens as the words fall past his lips. "Too bad we couldn't have said it more often." his face screws up slightly. You nod and give him one last kiss.

He backs away and stands in the doorway to the stairwell. Your lips quiver and you clear your throat and squeeze your eyelids shut to clear your eyes of tears. You couldn't kill these things if you let your eyes blur. Time to tap into your muscle memory. You take the first step down the stairs.

Jim hears you humming softly to yourself as you head down the stairs, your steps a beat to your favorite song. He slowly backs away, trying to recall the tune, it was so familiar. He thinks he recognizes the song as your voice drifts too far from his ears to hear and he goes back to the surveillance room. --------

"It's getting a little crowded up here so we're going to have to take this slow." Dr. Owens voice carries over the walkie-talkie you have in one hand, the gun in the other. Your eyes are wide, your heart pounding in your chest. Your ears try to pick up every possible sound and its cause around you. The buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights was deafening.

You start walking. You try to control your breathing. Heel, toe, heel, toe you move down the echoing hallways. You follow his instructions. You do everything you're supposed to but that didn't mean anything in this scenario. You hide around corners, in closets, you hold your breath and try to focus. It all happens so fast.

"RUN!" you hear over the walkie-talkie, your eyes land on one of the monsters. As your heart drops into your stomach and you push with all your strength against the floor. Your feet hit the tile in fast pats that mimic the rising rate of your heart.

You break through another set of doors. You see the front lobby, you hear your sister.

"ANNIE!" she screams. You feel the whoosh of air as the monsters break down the doors right behind you. You only lock eyes for a second with Joyce. You lunge out of the way and you hear her scream. You see Jim aiming the gun and your heart is beating so fast you make desperate noises with every movement you make, pushing your body to work as hard and fast as it can. You scurry across the floor, losing your walkie-talkie in the struggle. You see at least 5 more of the creatures moving together out of the bursting door. You make your way to the nearest clear doorway, pushing through them without looking back.

You hear Joyce screaming incoherently, gunfire,  the sounds of the monsters growling and scurrying across the floor, more gunfire. When you hear the wood of the door you'd just ran through from the lobby split and crack, then you hear Jim scream. You involuntarily join them as you make your way blindly through the maze of hallways. You hear snarls and scratches coming from everywhere. You're dodging bloody bodies as you jump and slide your way farther and farther from the exit.

You see the metal door crumpled up against a wall, you dart into the room without thinking. You see the lift, you know it goes somewhere, you don't care where right now, you slam it shut and push the buttons and groan at how slow time is passing. As it lowers into the darkness, you hold the side of the basket, gasping for air, feeling your entire body shake with adrenaline and fear. A few hard sobs convulse your body as you descend. As you land you're grasping your gun again. You look around. It's quiet, you don't trust it. You feel air blowing on your neck and you turn to see dimly tunnels behind you. Your eyes adjust fully, seeing the cavernous expanse of the tunnels like Jim had been in when you and Joyce had saved him. The uneven pulsing floor underneath your feet made you stumble slightly. You didn't know why there weren't any of those things here, it didn't make any sense. You know this is your last chance to get out, you huff a determined noise and pick a tunnel to follow.

Chapter 8

The marked through ones I could not tag. Sorry!

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[minc3meat-blog]

I said I’d post some of my writing so here’s a little snippet:

Voyager

“There is only an infinitesimal chance that the plaque will ever be seen by a single extraterrestrial, but it will certainly be seen by billions of terrestrials. Its real function, therefore, is to appeal to and expand the human spirit, and to make contact with extraterrestrial intelligence a welcome expectation of mankind.”       B.M. Oliver

1: “Conception”

                                “Like a ghost, my reflection on the cabin window smirks back at me. Were it not for the thick-heeled work boots laced up to underneath my knees, I probably wouldn’t be able to see out the window at all. My overalls and shirt, unbuttoned just enough to display a hydraulic oil stained tee, hang off my skin like Navy banners.  My unmanageably curly red hair, coated in a sheen of the natural dust from the ship, droops over my eyes and ears in similar fashion. Radiation tans on my arms and legs from too much time in the cockpit on my otherwise fair skin clash against the freckles on my cheeks. Not the vision of a ship captain most would imagine, but a ship captain nevertheless. Staring from the rear deck of my ship, a dozen dark shapes drifting away from the workcrew hold, I can’t help but to take in the scene. Against an endless pool of black, the dark blobs are dwarfed by the rubble and debris of the asteroid field. Skeleton wrecks and decrepit hulls of vessels from times and wars gone by. Corroded reminders of a past long forgotten. Monuments of heroes and men, lives saved and lost. Cables and tubing, unaware of the emotional ties they grip, ensnare and squeeze steel and cargo alike. Looming over the hulking wrecks are the watchful eyes of Dastrov’s four moons. Gaseous and dark, casting a looming shadow of poison and radiation over the asteroid field. Demigods of this corner of the universe, they exploit their power to hold the floating graveyard in place, trapped in a gravitational purgatory for all of eternity. A stranger in this sacred space, a lone ship slowly makes its way through a passable corridor through the catacombs of metal. With a large hull and tiny forward cockpit, it looked more like a giant beetle than a scavenging ship. Hazard lights on all sections of it flash intermittently, illuminating its way through the corroded tunnels of junk. It putters and shakes as it goes, feeling the need to announce its age and mechanical issues.  Twelve rusted, robotic insects zip in and out of the wrecks, only stopping to drop their finds into the cargo hold of the ship.  Like flies, they bounce from corpse to corpse, their host leading the way through the field of the dead.

“Like a ghost, my reflection on the cabin window smirks back at me?” my copilot giggled, which sounded more like someone choking on metal scrap. “Thas’ a bit overdramatic dontcha’ think?” Renna, my copilot, leaned over the nav console. Her tall, built frame and grey skin made her look like a formation of boulders in a forest of cables and tubing of our ships cockpit. Her jet black hair, tied in a single ropelike braid and draped between to grey horns, reached all the way down to the back of her ankles. Her eyes were almost as dark as her hair, with the exception of the dim glow of retina implants. From eyebrow to chin: piercings. One arm, studded with patches of unfinished sleeve tattoos, glowed fluorescent in the ambient lighting emitting from the flight computers. The other, a mechanical prosthetic, whirred and twitched as it gripped an empty drink glass. She’d almost pass as human, if not for half her body being machine parts. “I’m sorry,” I spun on my heel to face her, closing the voice dictation window on my arm computer. “How many autobiographies for an Old World civilization have you written?” She swirled the watered down ice in the bottom of her now-empty drink glass. “You really think we’re gonna’ find this thing, dontcha’?” “I mean, we wanted to get paid, right?” She tapped her drink onto the holographic screen, making the pixels sputter and dance. The sweat beads from the side of the glass glistened like diamonds against the readout. “Well, duh,” she snorted. “But like, you... Want to find this rusty ‘ol probe. Want-want.” I did want-want to find it. The contract source was sketchy but the payout was huge, regardless of whether or not we found the Old World probe intact.. Or if at all. It’d been spotted orbiting around GB-44 for a few decades, before suddenly sputtering off to Serpens Arcturus, which was what alarmed the Navy… because ancient propulsion-less probes don’t usually sputter off at all. Of course, rather than sending their expensive autonomous patrols to track the unknown, the Navy contracted the mission to lower-tier organic pilots. Whatever the probe was, it had spooked the most powerful fleet in the Imperium. What intrigued me about chasing a metallic ghost from the past wasn’t the bounty (entirely), but the chance to send a message: two giant middle fingers to the Navy Federation and entwined Corporation dealings. A warning to people of Old about the nightmare that they would unknowingly incubate, and possibly saving them from themselves before they could dig their grave too deep. But whatever the true reason, it was a good chance to shake things up. The week to week grind of automaton wreck salvaging had gotten less cost effective, not to mention monotonous. “Primary tethers offline. Machine error recorded.” a computerized voice chimed. “Fock it,” Renna cursed, scrambling to the salvage controls. “It’s that busted relay coil again, ‘innit!?” “Yes, Renna. It is that busted relay coil again. May I remind you… AGAIN… to service said part as soon as possible.” “Aw, yes mum. I’ll get right on it, mum.” Renna smirked, glaring at the ceiling. “Mum, can we have the talk about the birds n’ the bees?” “Which species intercourse behaviors would you like to discuss?” Renna spat out the piece of ice she had been chewing loudly on. “I was joking you filthy, ceiling lady voice!” she turned to me. “That AI’s got quite the mouth, dontcha’ think?” “Can you fix the coil, or is this a spoiled run?” I asked, ignoring her childish banter with an inanimate machine. Renna shook her head. “Shit if I know, isn’t that why you got a flight mechanic?” We did have a flight mechanic.. Or at least I think we had a flight mechanic. His name was Diz, and I’d never actually seen him. Renna had hired him some time ago, and to be completely honest, I don’t think she’s ever paid him. On occasion, I’d hear a soft sigh or clamoring in the vents. Sometimes I’d even see his little antennae pop up from behind a console, or in between pistons.. I think he lives and feeds off the ship, like a parasite. As unnerving as it sounded, Diz did good work… except for now, of course. “No fix!” a soft voiced hissed from behind the salvage computer panels. “Diz, you lil’ cunt, fix the damned coil!” “No fixxxxx!” Diz hissed again, as shuffling sounds moved across the back of the command console. “No fix, no go.” If I leaned forward just a bit, I probably could’ve caught a glimpse of our illusive mechanic. At this point, I almost didn’t want to ruin the mystery, so I remained still as I called out to him. “Where don’t you wanna go?” “He doesn’t want to go probe chasing,” Renna interrupted. “He’s the only one who hates change more than you do.” I shrugged. She wasn’t wrong. “I’m not forcing you to come with us, but you do need to fix that coil for the job we’re on now.” Diz grumbled softly in agreement from behind the entanglement of cables and servers, than shuffled back over to behind the salvage console. With a loud clang, he was into the ventilation system and off to fix the coil. “What’s got him all uptight? I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk.” “Somethin’s got him shook about this ‘ol probe thing. Weird, ‘innit? I’ve never seen ‘em get spooked ‘fore…” Renna replied, rapping her long fingernails against the idle salvage controlpad. “This ‘ol things even got me a bit frazzled, but I’m excited too, ya’ know?” “You’re actually excited about this?” I questioned. “I mean, it wouldn’t have been my first choice of a job. The Navy’s just usin’ us as cannon fodder to chase after some rusty piece of junk they’re scared of. Which is actually pretty typical… ‘s just the way they went about it. And the amount of coin they’re offerin’..” “It is pretty sketchy, I’ll admit. But Navy contracts never usually put us in any more danger than we’re used to, so I’m sure we’ll be fine.” “Well that’s a glimmerin’ endorsement...” “The Navy’s never fucked us over… directly…” I muttered, exhuming anxieties about the contract I thought I had buried alive a few hours earlier. “Oh boy.” Renna laughed. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!” she cheered, pouring another glass of whatever sludge she considered liquor. “The last organic crew in the system, escapin’ the mundane, on an adventure to discover to find some creepy probe and make payday!” I smiled, albeit warily. I knew what they’d write on our headstones.