#the surface of this planet and the layers close beneath are all full of life

[ulmus-spellook]

To any earth focused pagans I recommend learning about the primordial soup. I never feel more connected to the earth than I do when I read about the ~soup~ creationists are pussies for hating the soup. We are the result of ancient chemical reactions forming the very base of what are the ancestors of life. You come from the soup (if panspermia is a thing you would still come from soup somewhere) we come from the soup, and the soup was earth itself. The soup was made of a planet, probably our own present one

[gureishi]

Hii, Yoosung with a Fem!MC prompt 11 ? (And maybe some smut 👉🏼👈🏼)

@delfffi-lc and lovely anon, you both wanted smut with darling Yoosung for prompt 11, so this is for both of you~ 💖

don’t you know i dream about you

Yoosung X Reader, M, Words: 1529

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

His face, the moment before he wakes, is angelic.

You try not to disturb him—you do—but the way his eyelashes flutter against his soft cheeks as he begins to stir (wriggling beneath the blankets, hand reaching out automatically to curl over your hip) is so strikingly beautiful you can’t help but stare.

“Morning, sweetheart,” you purr as he blinks blearily, pink lips parted as he slips into the waking world. His mouth twitches at the sound of your voice, curling into a hazy, early morning smile.

He tugs you closer and nestles his head into your chest. You press your lips to his hairline and he squirms contentedly—almost purring.

“Morning,” he murmurs—ah, and his voice is deeper when he’s first waking, uncharacteristically low, still candy apple sweet. You run a hand through his hair, which falls every which way, soft golden locks falling haphazardly across his pillow.

It hasn’t been so long, you think, that you’ve been doing this—falling asleep beside him in his brand new apartment, waking up tangled in the luxurious sheets you picked out together. It still feels new to you: the way he sounds, when he’s just woken up (like he’s emerging from another universe, softer and steadier than he ever is in his daily life); the way he looks at you first thing in the morning (like he’s waited impatiently all night just to gaze at your face). You thought you knew every side of him, before; now that you’ve started sleeping next to him most nights—his arm thrown casually over your body, his face beside yours on the pillow—you feel you understand each other on a level you hadn’t even known existed.

He’s smiling, reaching out a hand to brush your hair from your face. He feels it too—you know he does: the sheer delight of waking up beside the person’s who’s long been the center of your fantasies.

“Did you have sweet dreams, darling?” You press your lips to the tip of his nose and he giggles, warm and soft. There’s another layer there too, you think—a sort of nervous energy, bubbling up in his sweet, familiar laugh.

“I did!” he sings, tilting his head to kiss your lips. His are soft as clear water—like floating on the very surface of a tranquil lake. “In fact…” he shifts nearer; you notice that he’s curled his fingers in the fabric of your pajama pants, and a little thrill runs up your spine. “I had an…interesting dream,” he says. There’s that low quality to his voice again—it stirs up a very specific feeling in your stomach, like flower petals in a windstorm.

“Yeah?” You disentangle your leg from the comforter to throw it over his body and his cheeks flush.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Soooo?” You wiggle closer; there’s a shimmer in his eyes that bewitches you. “What was it about?”

He laughs again—that laugh, you think, is perhaps the reason you fell for him in the first place. It makes you feel fizzy inside.

“Do you, um…” He’s so close, now: you feel his eyelashes brush your cheek. “Do you wanna see?”

“God, Yoosung,” you say. A ray of sunlight streaks through the window, lighting up his soft features, and you find you can’t catch your breath. “Of course I do,” you whisper.

“O-okay…” He’s nervous, you realize—but even though his voice trembles, his movements are certain. He props himself up on one elbow, and his violet eyes peer into yours with an intensity that takes you by surprise. “Can I kiss you?”

You purse your lips for him and he grins, dipping his head to brush his smile against yours. Soft, soft—you could get lost forever, you think, in the tenderness of his kisses.

He deepens the kiss; suddenly, he’s moving again, propping himself over you—and he kisses you harder, with a sort of heat that disarms you. The windstorm you imagine inside your chest picks up; the flower petals are scattered.

“Oh,” you say. His body hovers over yours—arms on either side of your head, hips dangerously close to your own. He’s not smiling anymore—he gazes at you with a heat that freezes you in place. He moves the comforter aside with delicate precision; tucks your hair behind your ear with a steady hand. And that is your Yoosung: darling and tender and irrefutably bold.

“Is this okay?” he whispers. He’s lowering himself over you; you squirm as you feel his hipbones pressing into your thighs.

“Yes,” you say, realizing that for once, you are the one who is helpless. He kisses you again—and then his hand is on your hip, soft fingers slipping effortlessly under the waistband of your pajama pants. The windstorm is a tornado; your head spins.

Yoosung’s fingers caress your thigh, and you squirm under his touch. This is new, and it thrills you. Even now that he’s living in an apartment of his own instead of his old dorm room—even as you’re spending more nights here than at your own home—you still find yourself taking the lead most of the time with him. But this—the confident way he moves, sliding your pants down over your hips now, hands skating over your exposed thighs—thoroughly overwhelms you.

You grasp at his shirt, and he sits back on your hips, letting you pull it over his head. You run your fingers over his soft skin—warmed by the sun that’s streaming through the windows he has yet to buy curtains for. You press your lips to his collarbone and he gasps.

“N-no,” he hisses—you peek at his face and his eyes are wide: bright and full of conviction. “No, I want to…”

Then he’s dipped his head, kissing the skin beneath your earlobe. Your breath stutters as he feathers tiny kisses down your neck—you feel him smiling against your skin, pleased by the way you’re reacting.

“Take this off?” he murmurs, sliding a hand under the overlarge t-shirt you sleep in. “Please?” You oblige him, of course, pulling it over your head and throwing it to the side; he watches you, captivated. Often he is timid, holding you tight rather than letting himself stare. This morning, though, he looks—and though his cheeks flush, he gazes unabashedly at your body. “You are so…” he murmurs hoarsely.

Then he is kissing you again, hands drifting to your hips; you wiggle and he tugs your pajama pants off, tossing them aside.

“Your dream,” you say—breath shallow, body shivering. His hands are on your legs—and now his lips are there too, fluttering light kisses over your thighs. “Yoosung, what did you dream about?”

“Oh,” he says—half-laughing, peeking up at you with dancing eyes. “This.”

The tornado in your mind splinters into a million tiny vortexes as Yoosung’s tongue darts out, tasting you. He does it again, shifting—parting your thighs with his hands, flitting his warm tongue against you. You shiver at the sight of his blonde head bobbing between your legs.

You tangle a hand in that soft hair, letting your head fall back onto the pillows. Yoosung moves against you so tenderly, like you are precious, breakable, cherished—you cannot help shuddering, toes curling, shivers running up and down your sun-warmed skin.

He is so sensitive to the way you respond—he moves faster, tongue fluttering as your legs shake. You will be blown away, you think—the gale inside will carry your poor, fragile body away on its strong arms. The sun streaks his hair and you think of lemon-scented summer days and air so hot it makes you shiver. It has never been quite like this before: frantic, fevered.

“I…” you pant. “I…”

He hears you, feels you. He is persistent. He senses the very precipice of your sanity—tongue flutters against you again and again—and you fall headfirst, the wind lifting you and carrying you off.

You whimper, aware you’re pulling his hair (probably too hard), absolutely helpless beneath him. He doesn’t hesitate—he is so stubborn, so beautifully resolute.

You’re intoxicated by him.

The windstorm deposits you back in his warm, disheveled bed. Fingers hopelessly entwined in his shimmering golden locks, you pull his head up, grinning at the sight of his dark eyes, swollen lips.

You find you still can’t catch your breath.

“That,” you hiss. “That is what you dreamt about?”

A sleepy grin spreads across his wonderstruck face.

“Uhh,” he says, giggling as positions himself over you again, flushed face hovering over your own. “That was the, um…the first part.”

“Kim Yoosung.” You grasp his shoulders with fingers that still shake. His eyes glimmer with a heady anticipation. “What has gotten into you?”

He kisses you, pressing your head back into your gigantic pile of pillows. He is, you think, more delightfully, shimmeringly alive than any other human on this planet.

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Do you think we should find out?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, lifting your hands to his hips, tugging him closer. “Show me.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Stars

Dannymay, 12,021 Human Era

Danny floated lazily on his back, a bag full of white and grey rocks orbiting him while he admired the lunar surface. It was going to be hard for anything short of crafting the rocks into something to top Wulf’s teachings letting him portal up to the moon whenever he wanted, barely tethered by its weak gravity and able to traverse it without disturbing the dust unless he picked up a rock. From his vantage point, the stars above and about were uncountable, and if he didn’t know better he’d say there was no end to them. His appearance had changed, even, from the silk-lined, spike studded, leather jacket that Sam and Tuck all but shoved onto him when it became clear that he’d be fighting ghosts regularly to a suit resembling the uniforms of NASA astronauts, black, white, green, and covered in silver stars.

Grinning to himself, Danny took off toward the Oceanus Procellarum, a camera he and Tuck had built recording the longest video he’d ever taken when a chill that dwarfed the cold of space ran down his spine and rose from his lungs and throat to his lips, blue vapor drifting in front of his face. There was a ghost, on the moon, and the idea of a hostile ghost following him up to space was so beyond aggravating that Danny’s hair ignited, his fangs sharp, the knuckles of his gloves sharpening into hardpoints, and his aura flaring up like a beacon of green and blue. Opening a portal to deposit his bag of moon rocks in his closet, Danny launched himself where he felt the other ghost’s presence, the logic that a ghost whose aura he couldn’t see but still feel on the moon’s surface, in one of her craters even, abandoned at the moment. That thought process is, of course, slammed into him the moment Danny sees exactly what it is that he’s sensed.

Their body was a slowly slithering mass of the purest darkness that could not be called something so bright as black, with violets and blues and colors that could not be seen, only experienced, dancing within them like ink within water, blue and red and green stars twinkling between the stretches of void, moving fast enough for Danny to know there even was movement of them, but slow enough to be mesmerized by the sight of it. Their face was a theatrical mask, bone white with red behind the eyes and a curve of a smile to mark the mouth, and from the void behind the mask curled horns of dark and beautiful amethyst and sapphire and onyx, somehow occupying the same space and curving in every which way. It was, frankly, impossible to make out all the details or to measure quite how massive the form of Nocturne was as he relaxed upon the surface of the moon’s ocean of storms. In all his conflicts, no ghost had ever made him feel quite so small simply by laying back, impossibly huge.

“My, my, ” he said, voice coming from the back of Danny’s head rather than the lack of air around him, even if their lips still moved to shape the words. “ Is that Danny Phantom in the flesh, not simply dreaming so big that you’ve learned to astral project without my guidance? Have you decided to make your fantasy reality and join me here?” They lifted part of their body and when Danny focused he saw the silhouette of a hand.

Danny had many questions, but the first one that came out of his gawking mouth as he rose to meet the giant’s face was, ”How did you get so big? Been munching on the muses of artists? Oh stars, are artistic muses actual spirits? Can you eat them?” While Danny usually appreciated a good laugh, that was when he said something as a joke, not asked a very good question. Nocturne’s laughter swept over him like a tidal wave of endearment and amusement.

“Ah, that’s right, you met me through a smaller emanation, didn’t you? I assure you, child, I’ve been this size for ages. Also, I do not consume muses, though whether that is because they do not exist in such a form that I could or because that would be an unsustainable form of sustenance, I shall leave you to consider. While the dreams of artists like you are rather vivid, the occasional idealist and average joe is good for diversity in palette. After all, each mind has such capacity for imaginative dreams.”

“Emanation?”

“A thin slice of myself sent down to help you sleep at my brother’s request. ” Danny scratched his head at that and Nocturne laughed again. “ The little game of hero and villain was delightful fun, though… you didn’t think that the ghost Master of Dreams needed helmets and machinery to harvest the energy of good dreams, did you?” Danny folded his arms with a pout that Nocturne couldn’t possibly have been able to make out when he was so small comparatively, and yet they chuckled anyway, shifting into what Danny was going to call a sitting position.

“So you aren’t going to leave everyone asleep forever?”

They frowned. “Of course not, you can’t dream forever. It isn’t healthy and leads to stagnation and, eugh, nightmares. Those the Fright Knight can have, whensoever he gets himself free from his imprisonment. ” Danny sighed, relaxing all over, and did his best not to flinch when Nocturne scooped him up in a claw talon tendril wing fin hand. “ Come to listen?”

Danny looked around and spread his arms slowly. “In the silent vacuum of space? To what?”

“My dear boy, can you not hear the star song? ” Nocturne tilted his head and their eyes locked for a long, headache inducing minute. “ No one has taught you how to percieve the spaces that layer upon themselves to form the world you know, have they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but I do have a headcahe now, so that’s great. What, the world is like origami and everything is singing underneath the top layer?”

“An apt comparison, yes, ” Nocturne said. “ Your liminal state of being considered, perhaps it would be simpler to show you, than to make you work your way through new senses. After all, what’s a dream without a bit of fantastical ease?”

Danny flew back a few paces, though he was still in Nocturne’s palm. “Is it safe for you to do that? I don’t wanna go forgetting how to be a living human being just to hear a song.” Nocturne huffed, puffing up like a bird in mild offense.

“Child, the mind is my domain, I know perfectly well what I am doing. You are not the first liminal whose mind I have touched, nor I imagine shall you be the last. But, if you do not care to hear the song that the earth, the moon and the stars sing…”

“I never said I don’t! I just, wanted to be sure.” Danny rubbed the back of his head before floating a bit higher. “Alright, alright what do I do?”

“Relax, little one. Imagine a door, it can be any door you like, between your mind and those minds around you. ” Danny closed his eyes, taking a superfluous breath that came up empty, his body relaxing slowly with each breath. He pictured a door, a hexagonal door to a space station. “ Very good, ” Nocturne said, and Danny felt his chest puff up with something like pride before he felt and heard a knock knock on the door in his mind. “ Now all you have to do is let me in.”

There was a moment where in Danny considered simply not letting Nocturne into his mind. After all, Danny would probably figure this out himself if he tried. It was a tempting idea, probably even the smartest idea when dealing with a being who had attacked him, even if they claimed it was a game. Still, the opportunity to experience space in a way that no one else could was a far bigger temptation, and so Danny turned the knob on the door to his mind and opened it up slowly.

There is the brush of Nocturne against the door and Danny both has himself drawn out and the universe slipped in and when he opens his eyes and his ears he cannot help but to let his mouth fall open as well. He can hear the voices of the endless universe singing under his feet. The hearts of stars singing deep beneath the lunar soil. Lost to the blooming nebulas staining the dark sky with color, miles upon miles of light and rivers of fire and the promise of something new. Danny can almost hear the words and language they speak; something so close, so distant, something he has never known -- but they ring with such magnificent, terrible truth that he thinks, maybe he has always known them. Maybe they have always lived inside him, alongside the bones. These melodies, these words, that burn with such ferocious clarity that if he just spoke them aloud then the far would become near and he could reach out and pluck the stars from the sky and cradle them in his hands or be cradled in their stellar flares.

The heavy elements known to those dull terrestrial creatures he began life as could only enter the universe with the death of a star, a fact that Danny knew very well, but it was one thing to know something on an academic level, and another to see and hear the voices of the ghosts left behind by those ancient stars, their magnificent fire shining from within every atom of the earth and the moon and the planets around him, harmonizing and rising into something yet more in the song of the Earth and her seas and forests and sky. Danny listens to the moon, and he knows that if he were to sing that song he could reach out to any body of water on Earth and pull it to him and him to it, and his call would be answered. That if he simply moved his lips and sang the words of the stars, he could call upon their fire, their gravity, could reach out to them and leave the chains of gravity rooting him to the Earth. It would be so easy to explore the universe, to leave and join the chorus of the stars and see all that one with an eternity at their hands could see.

Yet there was another song, this one smaller, softer, but no less wonderful song that wove around and within him, and listening to it brought to his mind yet more little songs, faint as the step of an ant against the dirt but still beautiful in all their own ways. He couldn’t go, not yet. Not without them. And so, Danny turned back to Nocturne and beamed up at him. “Thank you.”

“Of course, child. We may stop whenever you wish.” Danny nodded and rose up to circle around Nocturne, drinking in the sight of the universe, so that he could attempt - and fail and attempt again and again - to show his friends what he now experienced with paint and brush and pen. He had to return to Earth, but for now, he had the stars.

[cant-blink]

Prisoner, Ch. 1

Summary: Gigan and Megalon meet a young Ghidorah. Gigan is intent on converting the child into their pirate crew, whether he likes it or not. 

-

What the hell happened here?

Glancing between the red planet ahead of them and the radar meant to detect life, both seemed desolate. But that can’t be right, he’s heard all about this world and the rare fauna it held, valued on the exotic pet black-market. Yet the sensors were picking up no life down below. Not even a plant.

Gigan rechecked the coordinates, just to ensure that they made it to the right world. Yep, it was and he wondered if there was some sort of malfunction.

He glanced back, seeing Megalon play-wrestling with Scoli. He said nothing to the beetle and centipede, as he directed the ship to orbit this world. Maybe they were in a bad spot? But as they moved, there continued to be no signs of life down below. Odd, very odd indeed. It was almost li-

Wait, there we go! The radar was finally picking up life signatures by the world’s single giant ocean. That’s a relief.

He lets out a soft breath, a smile growing on his beak as his hooked claw reached out and delicately pushed some of the buttons on the control panel. He glanced back again at his crewmates.

“Hey,” he started, getting their attention. “We’re going in for a landing.”

And that’s the only warning they were getting to brace themselves before he plunged the ship down into the atmosphere with speed. Flames erupt from the front of the ship and the floor began to tremble slightly before increasing in intensity. The emergency light flashed as warnings came to the control panel’s computer to slow the fuck down! But Gigan held firm, his beak cracking into a wide grin. 

The screaming coming from behind him only encouraged his behavior as they cut through the last layer of cloud.

Cutting it a bit short, he leveled out the ship close enough to the ground to whip up a huge plume of dirt and debris. Their momentum held firm, the landscape zooming beneath them at breakneck speed.

Looming up from the horizon was a mountain, that they were heading straight for!

“GIGAN, STOP IT!!” he heard shouting and he was pretty sure it was Megalon. He lets out a laugh before activating the anti-gravity devices to lift the ship up higher to avoid a mountain range. There was the ocean just beyond, purple in color. Here we go. He finally brought the ship to a halt and began hovering it down towards the ground. Easy now, easy... Putting down the gears, the ship landed delicately onto the rocky shore. 

Perfect, as always!

Turning towards his crew, he saw Scoli clinging to a wall and Megalon stuck on his back and he shook his head slightly. But he did nothing to help up his clumsy friend as he refocused on the control panel. 

“Get ready to go. I’m going to activate the cameras; I want full 360 view of the place.” He glanced out a window. “Don’t want to miss out on an opportunity, after all.”

-

He’s almost done with this world.

Its lifeforms were quite large and plentiful, and so many of them had young. Perfect conditions for harvesting lifeforce and fueling his growth. He’s already gathered enough victims into his bio-sac dome to make the journey to the next world and was now occupying his time until his meal was ready for consumption. Nothing more fun than a round of exploration, and senseless murder!

He had just found the ocean, and he was playing with it. Its water seemed to have solidified into a thick purple substance, like gelatin, and it seemed to be alive in and of itself. It would rise up in thick tendrils and nudged against his legs in an attempt to engulf him; it reminded him of his bio-sac’s tentacles snatching up anything that came too close. 

Luckily, it was very easy for him to pull free and it only encouraged his curiosity. He would bite into the jelly and his teeth would penetrate a transparent layer. There was the taste of salt-water in the fluid that poured into his maw. 

Blegh.

He wasn’t a fan of eating it, and he lets the pieces splatter onto the ground from his mouth. But biting chunks out of it was still very fun indeed. What was more fun, though, was him spotting a creature further out to sea. It wasn’t a species he’s met before, and how could he resist flying out to meet it?

This prey was the largest creature he’s met in his short life so far, about half his size. It stood upright, without front appendages beyond a few small tentacles at the front of its body. Its disproportionately large feet were gouging chunks out of the gelatin ocean as it walked on its surface. It had a crest structure jutting out the back of its head and a large glowing... eye on either side of it, glowing a bright amber. 

It seemed so blissfully unaware of his presence as he flew over it, as if it was confident its sheer size would protect it from harm. No doubt, it had no natural predators on this measly planet, but he was anything but natural.

He opened his jaws and shot flaming energy balls at it. The thick purple liquid rippled out as some of his fireballs struck the surface, explosions coming up around his prey. It lets out an echoing booming cry and the young Ghidorah does not let up. He shoots another trio of fireballs, one of them striking its tail and severing it to fall into the disturbed ocean. The tentacles thrashed around as its cries grow more high-pitched in distress.

Chuckling to himself, the young dragon swooped in from behind, his talons out to sink into the creature’s flesh. It began to struggle, but he was not to be dislodged as his three jaws surged forward to tear into its flesh. Rip it apart bit by bit.

After a moment spent torturing this creature, his wings began to flap. Luckily, this world had a thick atmosphere with light gravity, allowing him to take off with relative ease even with this added burden.

There was a bit of a suction effect trying to pull it off the ocean, as if the creature was gripping it, but with another tug, he ripped it free. Chunks of the purple gelatin fell from its feet and back onto the rest of the ocean.

He flew this creature back to the beach, and dropped it onto land without care. Its collision onto the beach was not a pleasant one from the sound of it and it seemed to struggle getting itself back up. He doesn’t allow it to recover as he landed beside it, his jaws clamping onto different parts of its mangled broken body before lifting it into the air.

Hearing the cries of fear and pain as he slammed his prey into the ground repeatedly was like music to his ears and always had him wanting to hear more. He hoped this was a plentiful species, as he was starting to run out of toys to play with.

It was a sure sign that soon, it’ll be time to move on. 

Dropping his still-living prey onto the ground one last time, he planted a foot onto it to keep it pinned and leaned down to start stripping flesh from its body to devour. He didn’t require flesh to survive, he needed only to sap their life energy. But it was still fun to taste, to rip apart, even better if they were still alive while he did so.

His right head caught sight of something flashing through the sky over the mountains. His left head focused on it as well as he fed, his large eyes taking in every detail.

Not a meteor, but a ship. It was landing somewhere much further up the beach.

Oh, good! More toys to play with! It’s not often that prey just hand themselves on a silver platter like this.

Licking his bloodied lips, he shifted his foot to where its giant amber eyes were, assuming this must be the head. The creature wasn’t even struggling anymore, even as he placed all his weight onto that foot, crushing it beneath his weight. Feeling the bones break apart and the blood spreading over his sole, he pulled his foot away to admire his work for a moment before turning away. He started running towards the ship, his wings fanning open wider to catch the wind until he built up enough speed to kick off the ground and fly into the air.

Let’s have some fun.

-

“Ghidorah?”

Megalon tilted his head, looking back at the screen Gigan was watching, spotting a small kaiju flying in. The cyborg had the image zoomed in and enhanced, and he can see a three headed creature making a bee-line straight for them. The beetle has never met this infamous ‘Ghidorah’ before, so he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. This, however, wasn’t it.

“That’s Ghidorah?” he couldn’t help but ask. This was the creature that killed off Gigan’s Masters? The one the cyborg was lusting over? The one the beetle declared as his rival? THIS was the cosmic terror?!

Well, beating this thing to a pulp was going to be easier than he thought and he was about to hurry outside to do just that when Gigan speaks up.

“He’s not my Ghidorah,” he told him with audible confusion and disbelief. “This is a whole new one. I never heard of another Ghidorah being created.” The cyborg chuckled slightly as he watched the screen. This hydra was a lot smaller than the one he knew, a youngster most likely. Was his Ghidorah breeding somewhere out there and this was one of his offspring? Isn’t that very interesting...

“What do we do with it?” Scoli asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Gigan chortled. “We invite him to join us. A Ghidorah, even a young one like this, will be more valuable than anything else we can poach from this planet.”

“If he’s so valuable, shouldn’t we sell him?” Megalon asked with an edge to his voice. He didn’t want to have this... thing with them, so he’s willing to say anything to get rid of this little dragon. Gigan’s Ghidorah or not, Megalon didn’t want the potential competition for the cyborg’s attention.

Gigan was more than aware of what the beetle was trying to do and he couldn’t hold back a smirk at Megalon’s jealousy. “No amount of money would be good enough.” He heard the ‘hmph’ from the insect and turned back to look at the little hydra. “Like it or not, Megalon, we’re keeping him.” He looked towards Scoli. “Clear out one of the containment units, one of the heavy duty ones, just in case. We’ll meet you outside.”

Scoli nodded softly before turning and scurrying away towards the lower decks. Gigan spent another moment to watch the little dragon come in for a landing nearby before opening the doors and moving towards the exit.

Megalon rushed to keep up. “But what if it’s not a Ghidorah and it’s just some random thing that LOOKS like a Ghidorah?” What did he have to say to discourage this cyborg’s interest in this youngster?

“You’re being silly now, babe,” Gigan said with humor before continuing. “I know what a Ghidorah looks like. There’s no mistaking them for anything else.”

“But... but... He’s so tiny! Are we really going to play baby-sitter until he’s all grown-up?”

“I play baby-sitter with you all the time, soooooo...” Gigan drawled before he looked over his shoulder at him, knowing exactly how to shut this beetle up. “You’re not trusting me, Megalon. Acting all jealous over a kid of all things.” He maintained hard eye-contact with the insect. “Keep yourself in check, or I’ll start reconsidering our friendship.”

Megalon froze for a moment. Did Gigan just call him- “I’m not jealous!” the beetle stated defensively, fumbling over his thoughts a bit as he tries to come up with a valid excuse for his behavior. “I just don’t think this is a good-”

Suddenly, the sound of an explosion came and the ship’s foundation shook. Gigan knew immediately what was happening; the damn kid was attacking their ship! Without another word towards Megalon, he rushed outside and turned in the direction the young Ghidorah should be. There he was, shooting... fire at the hull.

He never knew his own Ghidorah to spit fire. In the time they spent together in Nebulan captivity, he’s only ever seen him shoot lightning. Very interesting...

The little one very quickly caught sight of his movement and all three of those heads turned towards him.

Silence...

-

Well, this wasn’t what he was expecting.

He was expecting small lesser creatures to be in this ship; that’s always been the case in his experience. But what came out was no small creature, oh no. This one was damn near twice his size!

He’s never seen anything so huge in his short life; in fact, he’s never met a fellow kaiju before. He was still young enough that different races still held novelty to him, and his eyes took in every detail. The creature had green flesh and gold... scales? And three wings, and one eye. And 2 extra appendages that ended in silver hooks. A weapon, that’s what this thing is.

But he was not one to be easily intimidated; even as young as he is, a Ghidorah was still not a creature to mess with. Besides, can you imagine how much life-force he can syphon out of this thing? Sure, it’s not as potent as the souls of children, but the sheer amount would more than make up for it. It would be enough to fuel TWO trips to the next world!! This thing looks very pointy and sharp though, so best to be carefu-

“Hey, kid,” the creature spoke in an odd mixture of a natural and mechanical voice. Really, the fact it talks at all was most surprising. The young Ghidorah never had anyone actually talk to him in a way he understands. Supposed it was an inevitability, but what now?

Flee, or try to kill it for that bounty of lifeforce? Never before has he ever had to make that kind of decision. He usually just defaulted to the latter.

“Ghidorah, right?”

Wait, how did it know his name...?

...

Heh, seems his reputation has preceded him. But then, what did this thing want? It knew who he was and yet doesn’t run in fear? His suspicions were starting to overcome his pride. For the first time, he engaged in this conversation. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Gigan,” the creature said in a strangely casual tone that did nothing to ease the young dragon.

“How do you know who I am?”

“Heh, I know another Ghidorah,” he told him. “Great friends, him and I. Used to work together in another solar system. A pleasant surprise to see another one here. You’ve been having fun, I see.”

The young dragon narrowed a pair of eyes. Another Ghidorah? He had no idea there were other Ghidorah out there. The idea any of them would be friends with this thing was dubious though. 

“Why did you come here?” He had no intentions on stopping his questioning, especially not while he was still on edge about this whole situation. 

"Glad you asked. Y'see, I travel around, stripping worlds of their resources, and life," At once the young Ghidorah's eyes lit up a bit with interest, and this 'Gigan' seemed to notice as he chuckled. "Yeah, sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Exactly why I worked so well with the other Ghidorah, when our goals align perfectly, huh?" He took a step closer and the dragon's body tensed up, still apprehensive. Thankfully, Gigan comes no closer. "I came to this world looking for a good time. And here we are. Fate works in strange ways, bringing us together, huh?"

The youngster can already tell where this was going before this funny-looking creature said it.

“How can I not give you the opportunity to join me? Whaddya say, kid? Interested?” 

The hydra doesn’t answer or move for a long moment. So many red flags were shooting up in his heads, and he was unsure if it was just his natural instinct to distrust other lifeforms. He just... didn’t like this thing. He didn’t like how it spoke to him or the words it was saying. It just... seemed manipulative.

He should get out of here. Whatever this thing has planned, it wasn’t good and he takes a step back. 

His instincts seemed to prove correct as the creature’s beak twisted into a smirk at seeing him step back. His tone too seemed to change, still friendly but with an edge laced into it. 

“You sure you want to do that? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

The little Ghidorah said nothing, glaring at this creature before shaking his heads. Yeah, it was time to leave. He should fly back to his bio-sac and devour what he can before vacating this planet. Now. The urgency in his instincts only got worse when he spotted movement by the door to find another giant kaiju, roughly the same size as the one in front of him. It wasn’t as sharp-looking, but it did have pointy front limbs. It had no wings that he can see and it had a strange... horn between giant golden eyes that looked to be made of a bunch of little eyes.

“Such a shame,” the pointy one continued, the red jewel on that forehead starting to glow. “I was hoping you’d be smarter than the last Ghidorah.”

The youngster couldn’t ignore the red-flags anymore and he attempted to make a run for it. But no sooner had he turned his heads than he felt a jolt as a red beam erupted from the creature, hitting the scales in his chest.

Thankfully, his underside had heavy plated armor that held up well, but it was still enough force to stumble him back. He screeched in anger before regaining his balance, facing the two giant kaiju.

Seemed he had no choice but to stand and fight, in what would be the most dangerous battle he’s ever faced in his young life.

[bakemeats]

Houseki no Kuni Encyclopedia Translations, part 1/?

hey all!! i’m going to share some of my translations of the encyclopedia since the translations going around right now are quite rough. This post includes information about the gems as a species, as well as information about their winter clothing! I did not include the foreword; I may translate this at a later date, but I was most interested in the information directly related to the gems. Images are not included because I don’t want to infringe any copyrights!!

GEMS

----- “Y-3579203181277's native inorganic crystal life form. They're one of the planet's larger species, standing at 150cm tall. Due to harvesting by the invading Lunarians, their numbers can fluctuate at a moment’s notice, but ordinarily, around 26 individuals exist together. Their crystals are generated deep within the earth, and they are borne out of a cliff on a sandy cape at a frequency of every hundred to a thousand years. The illustration on the left depicts the appearance at the time of birth. After being born, Kongou (see page 64) refines them into a uniform shape, and they are given the moniker of "Gem." They have no sex, and lack any reproductive function. They can produce sound using vibrations from their oral cavity, and communicate via speech. Each individual crystal life form's body has its own color, but in order to prevent surface erosion via ultraviolet rays and the salt breeze, their daily lives are spent with their bodies coated in a plant-based white powder and glue. While the blanket term "mineral life forms" is used, in truth, various types of them exist, ranging from the exceptionally sturdy diamond to the brittle and hazardous cinnabar, and there are large differences in their individual personalities; each uses their own particular skills and qualities to supplement the group's lifestyle. They can be damaged or even dismembered without feeling pain, and are extremely insensitive to changes in temperature. Even if their body is destroyed and scattered, they can regain their individual self if their pieces are rearranged. Due to this, they have a poor sense of danger, and are strongly curious. By and large, they have a pure and vivacious temperment, but due to the considerable physical differences they're born with, their sense of cooperation is somewhat poor. Basking in the sun gives the microscopic organisms called "inclusions" living in their bodies energy, allowing their normally inflexible crystal and mineral bodies to move. It is thought that the inclusions utilize ancient proteins from living creatures. Additionally, the inclusions store the gems' memories, and if a gem loses a piece of their body, the corresponding memories stored in those inclusions are lost. At night, their movements become sluggish due to the lack of sunlight. As they are unable to reproduce and can survive as long as there's sunlight, there was originally no need for them to live in groups. The existence and instruction of their leader, Kongou, as well as the war with the Lunarians, has caused them to become a more militant, communal species.” ----

WINTER CLOTHES, PART 1

---- “Clothes worn by the crystal life forms. The season for this particular type of apparel is defined as " from the point when there are fewer summer flowers and the grass becomes more yellow, up until hibernation begins." Using the soft portion of the stem from the plant they call "asa,” they create a fiber from which their fabrics are made. The remaining parts of the plant are used to produce paper. Asa naturally grows in the northern parts of the island, and, in late summer, blooms with cute white and pale blue flowers. Among the scarce resources of the island, asa grows in comparatively plentiful numbers and can be safely gathered, and can be made into a sturdy but lightweight textile. To our knowledge, it is extremely similar to the linen fabric created from flax. The clothing design undergoes frequent revisions. This outfit consists of a white high-collared shirt worn with a black piece on top. The white shirt closes with wooden buttons down to the stomach area, and there are many romper-style black pieces that fasten below the waist with the same. They also have techniques for dyeing their fabrics. Their five basic colors include: the undyed original color of the "asa;" the black skin of the plant called "ade;" a bleach white made from pressing the remains of white butterflies; a yellow derived from the pistil of the "fuyukoyame" flower; and a purple dye found in the sap-filled galls of a tree called "yuragi." Of these, the growth speed of the "yuragi" is extremely slow; as such, only a few galls are harvested every few decades, and the dye is considered very valuable. By mixing a small amount of the yuragi sap with the seeds of the ade plant, a deep black dye can be made. Furthermore, mixing the yuragi sap with the butterfly secretions creates a vibrant red color. Other bright colors such as blue and pink can be expressed through different mixtures, but because they all require the sap of the yuragi tree, they are only used specially for embroidery thread. The hooks of the high collars and the buttons on the shirt are made of wood. The belts are made of bleached tree bark, which is stretched after being softened and fixed around the waist. This material is flexible and durable, and will not tear even when holding up the gems’ black swords. Additionally, there are some variations of the black clothes with embroidered elements on the reverse side. These are typically floral motifs made with decorative fibers, and they appear most frequently on the winter clothes of gems staying inside. The profundity and cultural significance of these fabrics seem an ill match for the war-bound gems, and as such, the clothes carry an impression of both great gain and great sacrifice.”

----

WINTER CLOTHES, PART 2

----

“The amount of sunlight that reaches the earth decreases during the winter season in the northern hemisphere; as such, the gems enter a state of hibernation. A select few gems appointed to winter duty, along with Kongou, remain awake and handle daily chores, as well as fight back any invading Lunarians. An average of 2.2 meters of snow blankets the ground, and ice floes begin to encroach on the island. These ice floes have a peculiar shape, such that when they scrape against each other, they release a terrific screech that interrupts the hibernation of the gems. For this reason, the gems that undertake winter duty wield unique weapons resembling ice saws, and use them to split apart the floes - their main mission during the winter. As the majority of their work is both outdoors and done alone, they wear white clothes so as not to stand out against the snow. The uniforms worn by winter duty gems are specially crafted. Firstly, in order to turn the fabric snow-white, bleach must be created from the secretions of decomposing white butterfly innards. These butterflies appear in explosive numbers during late summer; after reaching adulthood, they lose their mouthparts and therefore their ability to process food, and only live for about three days. The gems all come together as a group to harvest the bodies left behind. Once decomposition begins, directly touching the butterfly's body is dangerous, so they're gathered using chopstick-like implements. Once the bleach is obtained, fibers from the asa plant are soaked in it to remove their color. Through this process, the fabric turns as white as newfallen snow; however, it's also very soft and near-transparent, so the outer coat is made with three layers of it. The high-collared shirt is worn beneath and created by weaving together two layers. The reverse side of the outer coat is lavishly decorated with fanciful embroideries made from vivid blue, red, black, or otherwise colorful asa threads. Compared to the other winter uniforms, these costumes are sewn with a great deal of care and effort. It seems likely that these garments are packed full of the compassion and gratitude of the gems who craft them, honoring the winter gems who work essentially alone through the long winter. The necktie and belt are identical to those of the regular winter uniform. Figure A depicts the winter uniform worn by "Antarcticite," who works once their body hardens in the winter season. Figure B depicts the long-sleeved uniform worn by "Cairngorm," whose arm was damaged previously. During the time period of our observations, the gems who undertook winter duty had white or clear hair. It seems gems that camouflage well against the snow are the ones chosen.”

[dokoni-mo]

Breaking Rules || Captain Rex x Reader

(A/N: Hello hello!! I wrote this for my good friend @captainrexstan​ ‘s birthday!! Go send her some love!! I hope you enjoy this bb :)) taglist is open for anything!! enjoy! Also, reader is a padawan, but they are of age!! no illegal activity here) 

WARNINGS: light cursing, some sexual innuendos, but otherwise none!! This bad boy is some tooth-rooting, cotton candy fluff 

Key: (F/N) = first name 

Word Count: ~2400

~~~

You always hated in when Rex didn’t follow along with your antics, but found it hard to stay mad. 

This was mostly due to how damn cute he was when he was trying to remain as by-the-book as possible. He would always come up with a million reasons why what you were trying to do with him was wrong, but this never stopped you from dragging him along for the ride. This didn’t stop you, however, because you just had so much damn fun with him. 

You often wondered if he secretly enjoyed moments like this. You were his lover, after all, why wouldn't he enjoy spending time with you? Even if in these moments he complained to no end. 

One of these moments was now. 

“Cyare,” he said from behind you, his accent thick with worry and complaint. You were currently leading him by the hand through the vegetation of the planet Master Skywalker and Master Obi-Wan, your master, had taken you, him, the 501st, and the 212th. Even though you were supposed to drive out a group of separatists in the morning, you couldn’t find the strength to care. Upon your entrance to the planet, you had immediately noticed the hot springs that lined the perimeter of your camp. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, you took the sight as the perfect opportunity to sneak off with your secret clone boyfriend. 

Even if he was going to complain the whole time. 

“Cyare,” Rex said from behind you again, only this time a bit louder, “(F/N), please, I know you’re excited, but we have to-” 

“Rex! Please!” you said, turning your head over your shoulder to look at him. 

He was so damn handsome in the pale light of the grass. His golden, honey eyes were filled with both worry and even a twinge of curiosity, slightly crinkled as he focused on your form in front of him. You had whisked him away when he was in the middle of taking off his armor, so his chest piece, shoulder pads, and helmet were gone, leaving him in his black shirt, belt, and leg armor. Dropping your gaze for a second, you admired how his muscles looked under his blacks. 

How in the world did you get so damn lucky? 

You never expected to meet someone like him upon your entrance into the jedi order. 

“Just trust me, okay?” you continued, picking up your gaze and shooting him a smile, “You’re gonna love this!” 

“I don't doubt that, cyare, I just…” his gaze faltered for a second, “I don’t want to get in trouble. I don't want you to get in trouble with General Kenobi or General Skywalker.” 

You let out a giggle as you continued to drag him through the tall grass. 

He was so damn cute. 

“I highly doubt Master Skywalker would be mad at me for his, Rex. Or mad at you for that matter. Plus, my master will probably just give me the look if he finds out, so don’t worry, okay?”

You heard Rex sigh from behind you. Picking up on his tone, you sensed no annoyance from him. Instead, you only sensed… content. 

Maker above, you loved that man. 

“If you say so, cyare.” 

Looking over your shoulder again at him, you instantly noticed the way he looked at you. Rex’s face was full of nothing but pure, unfiltered adoration as he gazed upon your frame. The way you made him feel was indescribable. Never in his albeit short life had he ever felt as happy as he was with you. You constantly reminded him that there was more to life than fighting a war, that there was real purpose inside him, and not just what the kaminoans had programmed him to care about. Each day, he was grateful for you, for everything you had done for him. 

You both agreed without speaking that disobeying the jedi code and the republic rules was one of the best decisions of your lives. 

You felt your heart swell at the small smile Rex gave you in that tall grass. 

Continuing on for a short while, you both started to notice how humid the air was getting. Of course, your boyfriend was the one to complain about it. 

“(F/N),” he said, “Do you feel that? It’s getting hot. And muggy.” 

“Yes, I do.” you said with a giggle, “That means we’re close!” 

“Close?” Rex asked, “W-What do you mean?” 

As if on cue, you pulled aside the final piece of tall grass separating you and Rex from your destination. As the grass moved, the two of you were met by the sight of a small pool of steaming water, puffs of vapor radiating off of it's surface. Surrounding the pool was a plethora of flowers, some of which gave off their own, faint bioluminescence, sending cascades of color across the surface of the hot water. Along with the flowers, a few trees surrounded the perimeter of the pool, their hanging moss providing a partial curtain for the pool. 

The sight just screamed (F/N) and Rex. 

Proud of yourself, you looked up at your lover with a smile on your face as your crossed your arms. You felt your cheeks redden at his expression. Rex looked almost shocked. You wondered if he had ever seen something like this before. 

“(F/N),” he eventually said quietly, “I, erm… wow, cyare, this is…” 

“Totally great? Yeah, I know.” you finished for him, taking a step closer to him and giving him a soft, quick peck on the cheek. 

Before you could get too far away, Rex reached out his hands with a soft smile on his face, planting them upon your sides to keep you close to him. Your cheeks reddening, you looked up at him as he spoke. 

“Is this a bad time to tell you how amazing you are?” 

Your cheeks tinting a deeper tone, you giggled again as you rested your hands upon his chest. 

“It’s never a bad time.” you said before standing on your tip-toes, closing the distance between the pair of you to plant a firm yet soft kiss upon his lips. 

Rex always tasted so sweet. 

You wondered where he got it from.

Before you let the display of affection get too… passionate, you pulled away from Rex, planting your feet flat back onto the ground. 

“Now, come on,” you said, pulling lightly on his black top, “take off your clothes.” 

Your eyes instantly widened as you finished your sentence. 

You didn’t mean for what you said to sound the way it did.

Your face reddening to match the color of your blood, you couldn’t help but hide your face in his chest as you heard him chuckle. Letting out a groan of embarrassment, you felt Rex’s lips make contact with your forehead as he pulled you closer for a quick hug, telling you that it was alright without the usage of words.

“Well, if you insist, commander.” he teased, purposely making his voice an octave lower. Your shoulders stiffening, you pulled away and gave him a playful push on his shoulder, making you giggle and him let out another chuckle. 

“You know what I mean!” you exclaimed, your cheeks still stained red. 

“Yes, of course, commander,” he teased again, turning around to face the opposite direction, “I promise I won’t peek.” 

Letting out a playful scoff, you turned your back to face Rex’s as you slid off your outer layers of clothing, only stopping when you were only left in your underwear. It took Rex a moment longer to shed his clothing, since he also had to deal with his armor. Crossing your arms, you stared at the sights before you as you waited for him to finish. 

When he did, however, you weren’t expecting the way he would tell you he was done. 

Catching you off-guard, you felt two large, strong arms wrap themselves around your waist, startling you a little and making you jump. Your cheeks dusting pink, you were pulled against the arms’ owner’s chest, his head resting in the crook of your neck. Instinctively, you rested your arms overtop of his, turning your head slightly towards his own. 

“Have I ever told you how perfect you are for me, cyare?” you heard Rex ask, your heart swelling at the sound of his low, accented voice filling your ears. 

Your heart swelled with pure, raw joy.

This was the best feeling in the world. 

Love. 

“You do it all the time, sweets.” you responded, trailing soft, slow patterns on his arms. 

“And do you believe me?” he asked. 

“Yes, of course.” you responded.

“Good,” he began, breaking to press a kiss to your temple, “Don’t ever forget it, cyare.” 

Smiling a broad, goofy smile, you gently slid out of Rex’s grasp, taking one of his hands into your own as you looked at him.

“Come on, lover boy,” you said, “I didn’t take you here for nothing.” 

Leading him over to the pool of steaming water, you held firmly onto Rex’s calloused hand, and continued to do so as you guided him into the water. Letting go as you both sat down, you assumed one side of the pool as he did the other. Watching his face morph from one of concentration to one of amusement, then surprise, then bliss, you let out another giggle, hugging your knees to your chest. 

He looked so handsome in the light of the bioluminescent flowers. 

You wished you and him could stay there for the rest of time. 

“Feel bad for complaining so much yet?” you teasingly asked. All you were met with in response was a low humm of content and affirmation from him, making you let out a short laugh. 

Watching him lean his head back and close his eyes from comfort, you felt a smile form on your lips as you looked down, playing with the water beneath your gaze. You figured he wouldn’t want to talk for a little while. 

You didn’t mind. 

Just seeing him relax for once made the trip here all worth while. 

As you played with the ripples in the water, you didn’t notice how Rex had picked his gaze up. You didn’t notice how intently he was now staring at you, your body and face illuminated with a flurry of colors from the flowers. 

Almighty maker above, you were absolutely breathtaking. 

You were far more gorgeous than any woman he had ever seen. 

You put every single queen, senator, princess, and duchess to shame. 

If you were to die right then and go to heaven, the angles would have to hide their faces in shame, for they would know they could never compare to you. 

Rex was so deeply in love with you. 

Rex had never felt this strongly about anyone before. 

Looking at your frame in the steaming water, glossy from the vapor, he envisioned the rest of his life with you. 

After the war, he knew. 

He knew he wanted to settle down with you. He knew he wanted to go far away from Coruscant with you. He knew he wanted to marry you. He knew he wanted to have a family with you. 

He cursed the war for holding him back from this, as well as the jedi code. 

But, he knew.. 

He would rearrange every star in the sky, if it meant he got to spend just one more second with you. 

He didn’t know how to tell you this. He had no idea where to begin. 

Be brushed it all to the side for the time being.

He would tell you in due time. 

Instead, Rex decided to focus on now. 

“Cyare,” he said, making your gaze snap back up to him. 

“Yeah, Rex?”

“Why are you so far away?” He asked. Noticing the blush on your cheeks, he lounged one of his arms around the rim of the pool, inviting you to come to him. 

“Come here, baby.” he continued. 

Your blush deepening, you nodded your head, shifting through the water to rest yourself underneath Rex’s arms. Once you were secure next to him, Rex wrapped his arm around your shoulders. Resting your head on his strong, bare shoulder, Rex reached his free hand down in the water, lifting up your legs to drape over his lap as he gave you a kiss on the forehead. 

Did the two of you die? 

You both could have sworn that this infinitesimally small spot in the infinite vastness of the galaxy… 

Was heaven. 

‘You’re very warm.” you spoke after a long moment, your voice just loud enough for him to hear. 

You felt his lips tighten into a smile. 

“You are too.” Rex responded. 

“Too hot for ya, Captain?” you teased, breathing out a smile. 

Another chuckle from him, “Never.” 

Looking up at him, you had no idea what came over you. In a fleeting moment, you shifted your weight so that you sat up, moving your legs so that you straddled his lap, shifting up your hands to have one lie on his chest and the other on his neck. A certain look glossing over his eyes, Rex moved his hands to rest upon your hips, holding you in place so that you wouldn’t slide off, his large hands wrapping around you oh so good. 

“Aren’t you the eager one tonight, huh?” He asked, his tone laced with a slight husk as his honey-colored eyes bore into yours. 

You giggled, “Hard to control myself with such a handsome soldier right here next to me.” 

Breathing out a smile, Rex leaned his blonde, buzz-cut head up to you, locking your lips together in a quick kiss. 

When the kiss broke, you slowly opened your eyes, locking your gaze into the very core of his own honey ones. 

You were so glad you dragged him here. 

And even more glad you could tolerate his complaining. 

“I love you, Rex.” you breathed out, rubbing your thumb against this chiseled jawline and cheek, “So much. I’ll never love anyone else in my life.” 

It was his turn to smile, “I love you too, (F/N). I would break every rule in the book if it was for you.” 

Giggling and pressing another kiss to his soft lips, you allowed the feeling of his hands to creep all over your body, promising of quite the long night for you and him. 

~~~

TAGS: @captainrexstan​ , @spaghetti-666​ , @breakfastpizzagalaxy​ 

[egotheplanet]

One Soul (Chapter 2)  Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: Din and his new wife are finally back to work after their honeymoon. What they don’t realize is they’re opening a whole new chapter in their life in the form of a small fussy alien baby.

Word Count: 6.5K

Part One

•••••

‘My hair is getting long. Way longer than I like .’ Din thinks to himself, holding his chin and turning his head side to side to get a good look at the state of his hairy appearance.

The Mandalorian is at the emergence of a longer do and a stiff stubble with a defined mustache.

Beneath the sink is the cabinet filled with soaps, razors, extra papers of all sort, and scissors which beckon him.

His hand reaches down and pulls up his straight razor. He decides the first thing to go is his god awful beard.

‘Well.. I may hate it but I know someone who didn’t.’

He smirks slightly as the memory of a few days ago reappears in his mind. His wife was very expressive in remarking her opinion on the hair.

“F-Fuck, put your tongue right here!” Her fingers guide his lips to her most sensitive spot. The bundle of nerves almost twitch in anticipation.

His facial hair brushes against her inner thighs and creates an even juicier friction than she was used to.

His tongue flicks quickly up and down while he forms more saliva to lubricate as he sucks on her clit. His middle finger sinks into her down to the knuckle, squeezing and flexing inside of her as he continues his pressure.

Her thighs squeeze his head tight, his longer hair providing plenty of grip for her as she begins to see stars.

“Don’t stop! Go f-faster!” Her back arches and he shakes his head from side to side as he sucks her bud, his finger starting to bend in the ‘come hither’ motion as well as sliding in and out. “Fuck! Fuck! I’m cumming! Din, don’t stop— ah!!” Her body convulses, her eyes squeeze shut and she curls her toes while her ankles link around his body.

He doesn’t stop when she hits her high, he continues to push her through it. Prolonging her orgasm for a few seconds before she finally rests limp on their bed. Din pulls his finger out of her throbbing core, sucking his finger clean before wiping it haphazardly on his skin to rid himself of the moisture.

“That was a long one. I counted about thirty four seconds straight.” He climbs up her body, planting kisses on the road to her lips where he leaves a feverish smooch.

He rolls off of her to lay on his back. His hand interlocks with her own, squeezing in reassurance.

“It’s the beard.” She speaks, breathlessly while her chest heaves. Her nipples rise and fall dramatically in addition. “The extra friction just makes me dizzy. Don’t ever shave it.” She turns her head to her husband, pleading.

“It’s scratchy. And ugly.” He grumbles and scratches his cheek. “Not to mention, patchy.”

She laughs and turns her body so that she’s laying on her side, her breasts pressed against his ribs.

“Well I love it.”

The razor makes quick work of the abrasive little hairs. Falling into the sink, he stops every few strokes to brush them into the drain. A slight pet-peeve of his gorgeous wife, but he’s a man with a silly routine.

Taking a damp rag to his cheeks, he drags it across his face before dropping it into the sink.

Looking in the mirror and once again taking his chin in his hand, he turns his face from side to side. Ensuring he got every last hair, he smiles in satisfaction. He reaches under the sink to put the razor back and returns his hand to the top with the scissors.

They’re old and raggedy and he definitely hates this part of the year. His semi-annual haircut takes him almost an hour. After all, if he does a poor job he could end up looking worse than before. Not that he would usually care since it used to be hidden by the helmet. But now he had someone to impress.

‘Maybe I should just let it grow and be a full wookie.’

“What’s going on in here?” Y/N hugs the doorframe and smiles at his reflection, which returns the grin.

“Shaving. And in a few moments, trimming.” He lifts the scissors up to show her. “It’s getting a bit long for my taste.” He shrugs and sets them clattering down into the sink.

“Not the beard too!” She comes forward and gently touches his cheeks with the pads of her fingers. “Damn it. You knew how I felt about the beard, Din.” She huffs and drops her hands to her side in defeat.

“I’m sorry.” He smiles lovingly and maybe even a little teasingly, his fingertips playing with her hips gently.

He turns to pick the scissors up again and with one hand, chooses a random piece of hair to snip first.

“Whoa, you’re just going to cut your own hair like that?”

He pauses and turns around to face her once again, arms still poised to trim.

“What’s wrong with the way I cut my hair?”

“You look like a crazy person. Let me do it.” She gently removes the shears from his hand, leading him to sit on their small stool so he’s at a low enough level to reach.

“I’ve cut my own hair since I was a child, I know what I’m doing.” He mutters.

“Yeah, well you don’t have to cut your own hair if someone else is willing to do it for you.” She presses a soft kiss to his temple before beginning to style.

His body is rigid as she gets going. Her speed and proximity to his scalp is cause for concern but Mando has to rely on his instincts to trust her.

Minutes pass and suddenly he feels the hands on his head pull away.

“Done! What do you think?” She proudly dusts off his shoulders as he stands to take in his reflection.

He’s quiet as he assesses his appearance.

“I like it. Thank you.” He runs a hand through the brown strands, more than content with the results.

A beep sounds from further in the ship and gathers their attention.

“Sounds like we’re all gassed up. Did you finish tying down the supplies in the cargo area?” The mandalorian speaks softly while walking out of the restrooms threshold.

“Yes, everything is ready for take off and return to Nevarro.” Y/N mentally checks off their list as she walks through the ship, ensuring all of their supplies are in place and will be kept there during the rocky ascension.

Three weeks of complete solitude on a small sunny planet was the perfect way to introduce the couple to married life. A honeymoon fit for bounty hunters was tough to come by but not impossible to find.

They enjoyed countless hours of talking about their futures, hiking the nearby areas, swimming in the lakes and rivers, having tons of sex in their ship, and basking in each other’s presence. The Mandalorian spent most of the time helmet-less, of course.

But the time had come to resume their duties as bounty hunters. Their supplies have begun to dwindle. Besides, bounty hunters start to get paranoid when things go smooth for too long.

Their living reserves aren’t the only thing running low. The stash of units has begun to diminish.

Y/N carefully wraps her jewels, rings and necklaces in soft tissue paper. Once they’re covered properly, she puts them in a small box to keep them safe. Opening a drawer in her shared dresser, she fits the box snuggly between sweaters and shirts.

Closing the drawer and dusting her hands off, she smiles at her handiwork.

The jewels were definitely not her idea, oh no. They were her beloved husbands surprising affliction. He loves to adorn his new wife with the finest jewels they can find.

In fact, it’s something that he enjoys seeing on her naked body. Nothing but gold and silver encrusted with designer jewels on her savory s/c flesh.

Her smile widens as she feels two arms snake around her waist, squeezing her to a toned chest. A soft and clean shaven cheek pressing against her neck as he plants soft, wet kisses to her collarbone from behind.

“You know we wouldn’t leave so early if it wasn’t for your vigorous spending.” Y/N softly speaks, a layer of comfort surrounding them as she lazily caresses his forearms.

“You know our sex wouldn’t have been nearly as incredible if I didn’t treat you like a goddess the way you deserve.” His smirk as he speaks sends her heart into an overload.

Her face is flushed with embarrassment and she pulls away.

“Let’s go already, you big flirt.” She walks over to the ladder leading up to the cockpit.

Watching her figure as she climbs up, he sighs to himself.

Time to get back to work.

The mandalorian grabs his helmet from a nearby table, holding it between his arm and rib cage as he climbs up to pilot them home.

They make quick work of flipping switches, pressing buttons and setting courses.

Before they know it, they’re in the air headed deeper into space.

“Jumping into hyperspace in three.. two..” He warns just as the ship begins to rattle, the two of them pressing into their seats more than usual at the extra force presented to them.

Once they’re used to it, the resume their usual postures.

“I’ll be dropping out of hyperdrive in a few moments. It’s time to put the helmet back on.” He leans his head from side to side to crack the pressure buildup in his neck, sighing as he lifts the helmet up.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.” Her voice is soft but holds plenty of emotion, pulling his eyes over to her.

“It’s not goodbye. I’m still here, just under some beskar.” He speaks equally as soft, one hand dropping from the helmet to reach for her.

“I know but.. it’s goodbye to your nose.”

“My.. nose?” He’s bewildered but interested.

“You have the cutest nose! It’s almost bird like.” She uses her right hand to trace her own nose.

“I’m going to pretend that’s a compliment.” He slides the helmet on.

In response, it hisses and clicks into place.

“It is a compliment.” She squeezes his shoulder and buckles into her seat to prepare for the rapid slow of the ship as it drops out of hyperdrive.

“Dropping out of hyperdrive in three.. two...”

A larger jolt occurs this time as Nevarro comes into sight.

“I did not miss this view.” Y/N sighs as she unbuckles and heads down the ladder to prepare the landing equipment.

Din guides the ship safely through the atmosphere and onto the dry planets surface.

Parking just a ways away from the guilds cantina, the pair readies themselves for an interaction with the guild.

The ramp opens slowly, the couple slipping weapons into their holsters as they walk down.

“I sent a message to Greef Karga before we left asking him to keep the higher paying jobs aside for us once we get back.” She walks on the left side of Din, keeping up with his surprisingly brisk walking pace.

“And?” He looks straight ahead, walking to the doors.

“He said ‘congrats’ and that ‘he’d think about it.’”

The mandalorian scoffs out, “Of course.”

Walking into the cantina, the pair ignores the stares from their rival patrons.

They deal with stares on a regular basis and can definitely ignore that much, but they cannot willingly tune-out whispers.

“That’s the mandalorian!” An alien who’s skin holds a blue hue frantically whispers to her counterpart.

A few men on the opposite side of the cantina whisper amongst themselves.

“That’s Y/N.. I heard she chopped some guy up for copping a feel.”

The woman smirks to herself at the mention, proud of defending herself despite the fact she didn’t really chop anyone up. It was more of a swift punch in the throat and kick in the groin.

“Rumor through the coms is that they just came back from a private mission. Someone said they got paid for the asset.”

The pair covertly tune into that conversation, clueing onto ‘the asset’.

“There’s no way they got that job and succeeded. Do you see his stingy armor? I bet they’re living off eating womp-rats.”

Y/N stops in her tracks, glaring and griping her blaster that rests on her hip. A few chairs screech as patrons stand abruptly, clearly prepared in case anything goes down while the room stills.

Before anything comes of it, a booming voice welcomes the duo home.

“Mando! And the ever lovely Y/N. So great to have you back.” Greef Karga proudly gestures for the couple to join him.

They silently walk over, the room slowly resuming its previous boisterous volume. Their heads remain staring ahead, acting aloof in comparison to Kargas direct eye contact.

Their entire demeanor commands ‘no bullshit’ and it seeps across the table to their companion.

“You received my message.” Y/N says, her words concise.

“Ah, yes. You two never want the quick and easy. Not anymore at least. I remember when you first joined the guild Ms-“

“Mrs. And please, don’t bore us with stories of yesterday. What do you have for us?”

The outnumbered and almost outsmarted man clears his throat and shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

Din smirks beneath his helmet, proud of his wife for standing up for herself.

‘Never needed a mans help in any way and never will.’ He silently praises her independence.

“Well.. Nothing of high value has drifted around these parts for weeks. And whatever did come through, I had to give out as they were time sensitive.”

“Just tell us if you have something or not. Don’t waste our time or our fuel.” Feigning nonchalance, she speaks softer while leaning in. “I heard whispers of an ‘asset’. Tell us about it.”

Greef clears his throat and leans back just as far.

“I’m not sure you want that one-“

Y/N glares harshly, her lips parting to protest but closing quickly at the touch on her thigh under the table.

“Don’t choose anything for us.” Mando finally utters, rubbing a small comforting circle on his lovers leg.

Greef scoffs and reaches into his pocket.

The duo reach for their blasters since it appears he’s doing the same.

“Relax. I’m just getting.. this.” He sits a chit on the table.

The couple glance down at it and back up, clearly waiting for elaboration on the client and the target.

“All I can offer at the value you’re requesting is this. The asset. The whispers and rumors which revolve around this.”

He holds up the chit once more.

“No puck. Face to face. Direct commission. Deep pocket.” He nods as he continues. “Do you want it or not?”

Y/N clenches her jaw as she thinks it over. Looking to her side and up at her husbands helmet she can tell he’s doing the same. Their gazes meet and she takes the small device.

“We’ll take it.”

******* This is a time skip indicating a significant jump in setting. *******

The IG-11 droids blasters make quick work of breaking through the containment door where the bounty is hidden away. Y/N squints her eyes at the bright sparks it produces and assists in kicking down what remains of the door, granting them entrance after a lengthy battle with the guards stationed on this Arvala-7.

The sudden approach of a hidden guard is a surprise but not for the Mandalorian who blasts him down immediately.

“The tracking fob is still active. My sensors indicate there is still a life form present.” IG-11 scans the area as they walk through the junk surrounding the ground.

The tracking fob beeps erratically in Y/N’s hand as they approach the vessel which supposedly contains their prize.

Din hesitantly presses a button on the pod which causes it to open with a whir.

Nestled in the blankets, the trio stare into the cradle to see an infant who visibly appears no more than a year old.

“Wait. They said fifty years old.” The Mandalorian is bewildered and slightly angry at the aspect of eliminating a child target.

Y/N looks up at him in concern, not knowing if she can go through with this bounty.

“Species age differently. Perhaps it could live many centuries.” IG-11 emotionlessly drones out.

“As if that doesn’t change the fact we were sent here to assassinate a baby!” Y/N holsters her weapon and takes a step back. “Are we really supposed to.. blast it? And you said it could live for centuries?”

“Sadly, we’ll never know.” The droid lifts an arm to drain the life from the seemingly helpless infant before it.

“No!” The Mandalorian stops its arm. “We’ll bring it in alive.”

“The commission was quite specific. The asset was to be terminated.” IG-11 shifts it’s gaze from Din to the child.

It lifts its arm once again and Y/N looks away, not wanting to see innocent blood spilt.

A resounding blast echoes through the room and her eyes burst open at the sound of clattering metal hit the floor.

“What did you just do?” She bends to the droid which lay on the ground in bits.

“I’m not killing a kid. I know you didn’t want to either. We’ll take it in alive.” The Mandalorian offers no room for debate.

“You’re right, I didn’t want to kill it.” She frowns and rises once again. They both look into the cradle as two large eyes stare back.

The child coos.

Din reaches a hand out to it, a finger extending as a place to grip. The baby reaches out, taking the finger curiously.

“Right. Let’s get the pod back to the ship so we can bring the kid to the client.” Y/N says, attaching the pod to her husbands wrist command.

“I wasn’t planning on bringing a baby back onto our ship. We don’t have supplies or the knowledge to keep it alive until then.”

“What do you propose we do? We can’t leave it here and we aren’t killing it. Besides. What’s so difficult about keeping a weird little baby alive?” She smiles down at the child. “Plus, it’s good practice for us.”

The Mandalorians eyes widen beneath his helmet and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“Let’s just head back before anything happens to the ship.” He turns to walk out the busted door, the pod following close behind.

As if he was able to see the future, the Mandalorians premonition of difficulties surrounding the ship come true. Jawas raid the ship in their absence. With the negotiation skills of their trusted friend Kuiil, an agreement was made in exchange for their parts.  

An egg was mentioned and quickly produced in exchange for the missing pieces of ship. Angry mudhorn do not provide fair wrestling conditions. In the end, Y/N had to sneak into the lair to retrieve the delicacy while her husband received the brunt end of the horn.

While in the cave, she missed an interesting development regarding the ability of their new prisoner.

Lifting the mudhorn and tossing it aside, the child aided his captives in winning the match.

Finally back in their ship and able to clean themselves off, the couple takes a moment to wind down before take off.

Y/N sits in front of the cradle, hellbent on trying to get the child to smile at her. She’s sacrificed her dignity with blowing raspberries, crossing her eyes and waving in an over exaggerated fashion.

The baby stares for a while, deciding whether or not his captives are to be trusted. But as normal babies do, he quickly decides they’re the best of chums and rewards the large female with giggles and a green little grin.

She gasps softly at the development and uses the pad on her index finger to rub the child’s wrinkled forehead in adoration.

‘So sweet.’ She happily enjoys the company of her little friend.

The Mandalorian sits at their small table, reading a layout of the systems to decide the quickest route back to Nevarro.

He glances up slightly, his eyes training on his wife making a fool of herself for the child.

“Don’t get attached. It’s still a bounty and going to our client.” He speaks honestly and rather callously.

She stands back up, straightening her posture and clearing her throat as if she was caught doing something embarrassing. Which to her, she was.

“I won’t.”

She turns to the ladder to climb up and start the ship only to stop halfway at the sound of small cries.

Two pairs of adult eyes turn to the cradle where small hands grip at the air and the child inside sobs loudly.

They both make their way to the pod, looking in with matching concern.

“What do you think’s wrong with it?” Y/N asks as she removes the tiny blanket covering the majority of the child’s body.

“Maybe it’s hungry. That or..” He vaguely alludes to the diaper being full and his wife quickly steps back, arms crossing against her chest.

“No way. I did NOT sign up for any of that.”

“Neither did I.” Din looks at her through the screen of his helmet and shrugs.

They stay eerily quiet despite the continuous cries of anguish coming from the pod, mutually deciding to ignore it.

But the cries intensify and the child looks desperate for interaction.

“Okay, we have to feed it.” Y/N says, rubbing her temples which have begun to throb in response to the noise.

“We don’t have any food suitable for a baby.” Mando quickly walks to their pantry, scanning all the labels and jars.

“There has to be an outpost around here somewhere. It can’t be that expensive to feed a kid for a day.” She says, looking at the same map her husband was checking earlier.

Sensing a solution coming soon, the child begins to quiet down. Sobs turn to cries and cries turn to sniffles.

Before they know what’s happened, they’ve arrived at a small community outpost run by locals on a tiny desert planet.

Tucked away from the main area, the ship is hidden well so as not to attract unwanted attention.

Placing his blaster back on his hip and a second one on his ankle for extra measures, Din suits up to head out.

“I’ll go get the food, you stay here with the kid.” He finishes tying his shoe and stands back up to his full height.

Y/N lifts the sniffling child out of his nursery pod, holding him gently against her chest. She pats it’s back with enough force to offer comfort but not enough to cause pain.

“Alright, try to be quick. I love you.” She smiles as she starts to bounce slightly in an attempt to make the little green person happy.

Watching his wife hold an infant, despite its green complexion, made the future seem closer than usual for Din. He never put much thought into having children before he met Y/N but later fell in love with the idea of having a house full of mini versions of her. He felt his heart clench at the sight of her taking on such a caretaking role so easily.

“I love you too.” He walks off the ship and into the vegetation surrounded streets.

He wanders for a moment before finding his bearings, leading him directly to the market.

It’s not long before he comes across a food vendor with plenty of varying jars. He narrows down the possibilities to a few filled with mush.

He picks them up, walking over to a stall worker.

“Is this stuff meant for babies? Children?” He hopes he doesn’t look at lost as he feels.

The attendant glances up from another customer and nods before looking back down and continuing their conversation.

Din takes the jars to the other counter, swiftly paying and grunting in frustration at the price.

‘This bounty better be worth it.’

He shoves the jars into his side bag and makes haste back to the ship. Climbing the ramp and opening the bag to put the jars on the table, he doesn’t get very far into the ship before he’s confronted by his wife.

Covered in an unknown substance, hair pulled from her elastic band and child tugging her nose downward, she’s the epitome of the word frazzled.

“Where have you been! You’ve been gone for almost two hours, Din!” She’s panicked and for some reason the child is diaper-less.

“What the hell happened when I was gone?” Din looks around his home, beyond surprised at the state of things.

“It exploded! We need some sort of cloth or diaper or whatever you can grab to cover it to keep it from spewing!” She says, holding the child out in front of her an arms length away from her body.  

He starts to back out of the ship onto the ramp, nervously taking in the situation.

“Should I go get diapers from the outpost-“

“No!! Don’t leave me with him!!” She pulls the child back to her arms since he started wiggling in protest of being further away from her.

“Him?” Behind the helmet, the mandalorian raises a brow.

“I found out he’s a boy pretty quickly after he peed all over me.” Y/N shudders at the very recent memory.

The child coos as he looks around the room, craving to get down and waddle around like he was when the Mandalorian was out.

“Great.” Din comes back into the ship, shutting the ramp and beginning to ruffle around a dresser, finding an old shirt.

He rips it up and sets it aside on the same table he puts the jars of food on.

“Let’s clean him off first before we feed or dress him.” Y/N sighs out softly, looking around the room at the wreckage.

“I can do that if you clean up the mess.” Mando takes the baby from her arms and to the bathroom, washing him off thoroughly.

“You’re a lot of trouble, aren’t you? Ya little womp-rat.” He whispers so his wife doesn’t hear him reprimanding the child.  

The baby looks up at him and giggles, enjoying the chrome reflection of himself.

Finished with the bath, Mando wraps baby yoda in a towel. He carries him back to the living area which has been cleaned in record time.

Y/N aids her husband in dressing the child in its tiny tan clothes. The diaper fashioned out of an old shirt and safety pins took some coaxing but ultimately worked.

“There! Now we can feed him. What did you get?” Y/N rubs her hands together in excitement.

“I don’t really know.. I was told this was baby food and I grabbed a few different flavors and got outta there.” He rubs the back of his neck over his shirt, suddenly worried his selection is lacking.

Lifting the child and putting him back into the carrier, Mando sits on a chair beside his wife in front of it. He takes the soft spoon that came with the jar and dips it into the first option. It’s blue and has a strange language on it that neither of the hunters can read.

The baby turns his head away after a small sniff of the spoon and whimpers. The couple can hear it’s stomach growl in anticipation.

“He doesn’t like that one.” Y/N urges and bites her nail in anxious form.

“He hasn’t even tried it. How could he not like it?” Mando grumbles as he continues to try and put the spoon up to the baby’s mouth.

Again and again, he continues to turn away.

“Try the brown one.”

“Okay.” Mando grabs it, opens it, and submerges the spoon. Trying to feed it to the baby, Din feels his frustration levels start to rise as the child turns his head again and begins openly crying. “You have to pick one! How can he dislike it if he won’t even eat it?”

“What if his species is only vegetarian?” Y/N thinks aloud.

“The blue one was vegetarian, I think. The brown one was meat.” Trying once more to get the child to even take a small lick, Din leans back abruptly and puts the jar back on the table. “Maybe he doesn’t eat at all.”

Mando grumbles in annoyance and his wife nudges him suddenly.

“Look he wants that green one!”

Looking up, he sees the child reach for the green jar.

Mando grabs it at the interest of the baby and dips the spoon in.

The green monster actually looks enticed and takes a large munch off the spoon. Some of the content dribbles down his face. This results in another upset.

Mando quickly uses the edge of the spoon slide against the chin and cheeks of the baby in an attempt to gather the excess food.

The child grows even more agitated and Dins temper begins to flare at the difficulty to appease.

“Be careful with the way you’re scraping the spoon against his face.” Y/N says as she leans across her husband to reach for a napkin on the table.

“I’m not scraping it against his face.” Mando says with a false calm and a slight tone, making Y/N side-eye him.

“Yes, you are. You’re doing it to hard and it’s upsetting him.” Y/N says, standing up and straightening out.

The baby watches the two of them, trying to read the rooms tone and decide whether to laugh or cry. He, of course, chooses the latter.

Mando stiffens up and his frustrations boil over.

“I am not doing it too hard! If you want to do it you can go ahead.” Mando grunts and gestures his shoulders and arms forward at the baby which stares back.

“I will do it just give me the spoon.” Y/N reaches over him for the jar but Mando takes it back in his hands quicker.

“No, I’m doing it fine. I’m not doing it that hard.” Mando says as he leans forward to try and feed him once again.

Baby doesn’t like the tone and starts a whole new whimper.

“Look! You’re upsetting him.” Y/N says and swats lightly at mandos shoulder as if to say ‘way to go’.

“I’m not upsetting him. I’m not even doing anything! You’re the one who’s getting upset for no reason.” Mando says, his voice slightly raising.

“I am not upset, I’m just saying you’re doing it so hard you’re upsetting him. Which you already did which is why he’s crying.” Y/N says, not hiding her offense.

“He’s not upset he’s hungry because you’re not letting me feed him.” The Mandalorians aggravations manifest into gesturing with the baby food and the spoon.

It’s silent for a moment save for the soft cries coming from the pod before them.

“Look, just let me do it so we can get out of here.” Y/N says rolling up her sleeves and trying to take the food.

“No I’m— fine, here. You know what? You just do it.” Mando finally gives up and hands the jar and spoon to her, leaving his chair in the process and walking to the cockpit ladder.

“Thank you, that’s what I wanted.” Y/N sits in his seat and uses a cloth napkin to dab at the baby’s mouth.

The tears slowly come to a stop in his large, dark eyes. The baby suddenly comes to the decision that his captors are no longer friendly. He bites Y/N’s hand as she wipes the stray food off his mouth. She reels back and seethes in pain, her chair screeching against the floor and the food dropping to the ground, the glass jar in shattered fragments beneath the pod.

Mando starts to climb the ladder but hearing the noise and looking behind him to see his wife bleeding, he rushes to her and grabs a clean cloth.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry.” He holds her hand with pressure to stop the bleeding and immediately regrets being short with her.

The injury makes all thoughts of being overwhelmed cease to exist.

“I’m fine, it’s fine.” She says laughing slightly, shocked the infant retaliated.

His gaze lifts from her hand to her face, her glossy eyes reflecting back at her in his helmet.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice.” Mando says, and it’s heartfelt.

She nods, “I’m sorry for being so demanding over something so trivial.” she says and it’s heartfelt.

He brings a hand up to the back of her neck, pulling her head forward to join their foreheads in a loving keldabe kiss. The cold metal from his helmet causes goosebumps to rise on her skin.

Baby yoda stares at them, softly hiccuping from his latest tear session and then looks down at the remnants of his food.

He begins crying again out of hunger.

Y/N parts from the gentle embrace and unwraps her hand, the bloody cloth forgotten in her husbands grasp.

She lifts the infant back into her arms, mumbling apologies and forgiveness for the bite. He quickly calms in her arms and coos once she bounces gently.

“I wonder why anyone would order the elimination of such a strange little creature.” She says, allowing the baby to grip her finger the same way it gripped Dins earlier.

“I don’t know but something tells me he’s tougher than he looks.” He points to her hand which is slowly healing while being held by a tiny green claw.

They exchange a look of surprise and look back down at the child, clearly exhausted from the feat. It’s wrinkly head rests against her collarbone tiredly and his eyes look around all slow.

“I guess this is why the guild doesn’t ask questions.” Y/N mutters and sighs, regretting ever taking on such a demanding bounty.

The baby looks up at the table and notices the brown jar once more, reaching for it weakly.

Y/N sits back down to feed him, more than happy to finally get some food into the cranky little brat when he turns his head again.

“He’s still not eating it.” She says as she drags a hand down her face.

“Now you get what I was trying to tell you. I guess he’s not eating it because you’re trying to shove it in his mouth.” Din tries and fails to jest about the earlier argument.

“I’m not trying to shove it in his mouth, you were the one scraping the spoon against his face.” Y/N completely misses her husbands attempt at a joke because of her exhaustion.

The Mandalorians brows furrow in offense.

“I did not scrape anything against anybody’s face— look I’m not doing this again. If we can’t take care of it until the drop, we’ll just return it back to that garage.”

Her head snaps up at the mere mention of taking the child back.

“How can you say that?!” She’s horrified.

Baby yoda looks up too but seems unbothered since he doesn’t understand what’s being said.

“I’m not just saying.” He shrugs. “We could if we needed to because if we can’t keep it alive, we’re doing the exact thing we wanted to avoid in that hangar. Just slower and more inhumane.” Mando says as if he’s speaking logically.

“Din, ‘it’s’ just a little baby. We can’t just drop it off wherever and forget about this! Someone wants him dead! Someone wants to kill a little baby and you’re okay with that?”

“It’s 50 years old!” Dins exasperated and running through every possible option in his mind.

“So? It’s still a baby! You heard what the IG droid said! ‘Species age in different ways’. The least we could do is get him to the client alive and try to get an explanation.”

“We have had this thing-“ Mando begins but stops and clears his throat at the glare of his wife for referring to the child as a thing. “Baby.. for hours and it’s already exhausted us of our energy and our units.”

“The food was not that expensive. And don’t be so melodramatic. I’m not even tired!”

“Yes, you are. I can see it in your eyes and the way your posture is leaning down. You’re beat and want to spend more time with the child before we have to turn it over because you feel guilty for taking on the bounty. You can’t fool me.” He shakes his head and steps forward, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not trying to-“ She feels as if she’s been caught for having feelings and looks anywhere but at him.

“Y/N, my heart, please don’t get any more attached than you already are.” He whispers out as if he’s a little disappointed.

She feels like he thinks lowly of her for having emotions. As if she’s gone ‘soft’ in the ways of bounty hunting.

Offended, she runs her hands over her face after sitting the jar of baby food on side of the table nearest to the infants crib.

Baby yoda wastes no time in sticking his hand out of his pod to reach the jar, pulling it to his lap. He shoves his hand in and then into his mouth, gorging himself on the mush.

“I’m not attached! I’m not tired, I’m not leaning down and I’m not putting him back in that trash hole just because we can’t figure out how to feed him!!” She stomps her foot in anger as she pushes Dins hand away.

It’s quiet for a split second as both Mando and the child stare at her after the explosive episode.

The couple slowly turn to the crib at the sound of suckling to see the child gleefully eating. They feel dumb for not realizing he only wanted to feed himself the entire time.

“I-I’m sorry. That wasn’t.. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. You’re just looking out for me-“

“It’s okay. I know.” He pulls her into his chest for a tight hug. “Let’s just close the pod and you try to get some shuteye for a couple hours.”

“It’s too dark in there and what if he can’t breathe too well when it’s shut? Are you sure I can’t just.. nap with him in our bed?” She looks up from her feet with a small smile.

“Are you kidding? It’s not even potty trained! Why do you want it in our bed?”

“It’s only for a few hours. We both need to rest. I’m sure he’s beat after crying for so long, finally eating and doing whatever he did to my hand.”

They look down at the child who licks the inside of the jar as much as he possibly can.

“Fine. Only for a few hours.”

He takes the jar and sits it on the table, bending down to start cleaning the glass and blue food littering the floor.

“But we’re only about a day away from Nevarro so don’t get too attached.” He points a finger up at her, knowing fully well his own emotional strings to the child have begun to form.

•••••••••••••••

Taglist:

@jedi-jesi​

@xxsirensong​

@killtherandomness​

@epaige0914​

@randomness501​

@coonflix​

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@sebastianstanslefteyebrow​

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[lizzieraindrops]

Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Destiny (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eris Morn/Ikora Rey Characters: Eris Morn, Ikora Rey Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Hello destiny sapphics; allow me to introduce myself, Femslash, if nobody is going to write the content i want to see then i will create it myself, listen. it's about perceiving the weak and wounded places in someone you love, and lavishing love and care upon them even when they won't admit they need it, it's about the Mutual Support, it's about being kind to them even when you don't know how to be kind to yourself, Light Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, oh and ikora has the most Distinguished Bisexual energy i've ever seen so jot that down, it doesn't come up but you needed to know, this is all just a bunch of softness and tenderness don't @ me okay

Summary:

Five storms Eris and Ikora weathered and one they didn't need to.

The Shadowkeep weblore lives in my head rent free. Set post-Taken King and mostly during Shadowkeep.

“As I told Asher, there is a storm coming...” “Oryx is dead. We’ve weathered the storm.” Ikora is upset. She has yet to understand the bigger picture. “Yet his sisters would see his will done. There will always be another storm.” “Then let’s weather it together.” -Shadowkeep Narrative Preview #1

Many thanks to @hencegoodfortune for the beta read and of course for the memes.

Chapter: |  1  |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5  |  +1  |

Set just after The Taken King.

Eris knows she is not in the Hellmouth. Although the Tower has never felt the same since her ordeal on Luna, she recognizes it easily nonetheless. At every moment, the freshness of the open air reminds her that she is here, she is on Earth. She has been for some time now.

However, she has never forgotten how to move like a ribbon through the darkness, arcing undetected round predator and prey alike. She doubts that she ever will. Sometimes the habit returns of its own accord, and she’ll find her feet and hands floating weightless as she moves. Joints and muscle and sinew flex in careful concert to absorb every sound before it is made. The lines of lightly tensed limbs spiral seamlessly into the coiled core of her, tethering her in perfect silence. At the same time, she remains ever ready to fight, ready to flee. How often has Eris’ last, Lightless life lay along the knife’s edge of a split-second choice, the divergence between action and stillness, vengeance or survival?

Somehow, the smooth stone of the Tower’s level floors is harder to walk quietly on than the rough winding warrens through Luna’s porous rock. There are no edges to test with the edge of her boot, no uneven surface to ease her soles onto by swift and silent increments. There is only the unsubtle strike of heels on a flat, unforgiving surface. She makes the most of it, as every Hunter here does. Still, it leaves her uneasy. Her feet cannot quite keep to the ground.

Consequently, she often finds herself pacing, wandering from her post in the heart of the Tower whenever she grows restless. Every step falls lighter than the last, chasing silence in a meditation on weightlessness. It does not make her feel any better.

After so long underground, she is unaccustomed to the plenitude of open space here. While she has traced much of the Tower’s perimeters, the negative spaces in the centers of broad rooms and vaulted halls she leaves less frequented. She is too exposed there.

Yet maybe she is less affected by the empty space than the sheer number of souls that so often fill it. After so long so alone, they are simply so many, pressing at her survival-sharpened awareness from every angle. Not to mention she attracts too many of their stares in the crowded plazas. Although detection here is not followed by shrieking howls or the lightning strike of boomers, distrustful eyes still make her hunger for shelter. The choice to endure or to withdraw still needs to be be made. And whether well-meaning or ill-intentioned, a close approach still makes her instinctively recoil.

Eris has scraped out a place for herself here, lingering close enough to share with those who will listen the knowledge she has gained at a terrible price. But it has been made clear enough that she does not belong here anymore, not as she once did. If the condemnation of the Speaker and the only begrudging trust of the Vanguard’s Commander were not enough to tell her that, then the wary regard of most of the Tower’s populace would. So she holds herself back, toward the edges of things. It is difficult to do so at her station so near the Hall of Guardians, the greatest locus of Guardian activity on the planet. She draws herself to her full height and stands there proud, but never takes the ground she stands on for granted. When it becomes too much, like now, she paces.

This time, her pacing has led her to the edge of the Tower where her ship was once tethered. With how wary she has grown of exposed spaces, the open sky above that lays bare every courtyard and balcony should send her seeking cover - and yet, it does not. If anything, its incomprehensibly vast expanse calls to her. Strange.

Eris has traversed the spaces between planets with her own fragile body, with only a ship’s hull to keep the cold from swallowing what remains of her. Yet from Earth’s surface, a few mere miles of atmosphere transforms that emptiness, and its beauty holds her spellbound. It scatters sun into prismatic slices of light. The stars’ unblinking gaze softens into a flutter of eyelashes. No longer can she see the narrow spectrum of colors that humans evolved to discern; it has all faded into endless shades of the same hue. But the contrast of such brightnesses against the dark have become sharper than ever. Indeed, daylight has become a blaze to truly blind her. These stolen eyes of hers were made instead for depths and shadows.

Even so, she often finds herself staring out into the searing sky until her head aches. The sensations make her remember. She is no longer buried beneath stone, lost to this cosmos. She is free now, in some ways.

Eventually, her wanderings bring her back to the shaded refuge beneath the stairs just outside the Hall of Guardians. She is glad for this, too. Her station provides some small respite for her sensitive, ever-weeping eyes. And there she stays, until exhaustion drives her to rest, or else grief or fear or restlessness or her ever-smoldering rage drive her to pacing once again.

It’s true that many other eyes pass by that shadowed alcove of hers. Guardians constantly sweep in and out on either side of her, running and jumping and gliding up and down the stairs with urgent reports and important orders and burning questions for the Vanguard. They are so bright. Few of them spare a glance for her, these days, save for startled new Lights.

There are a few, though, who look upon her not with distrust or fear or begrudging tolerance, but with recognition. Once in a great while, cousin Asher will grace her with his inimitable company. It gladdens her heart, even when he merely stops to exchange research notes or brief insults. He cleaves to his research with a passionate vengeance, as does she. Unlike most, he pays more attention to her knowledge and her current work than her past. With the way he helped care for her in the months after her escape from Luna, she has come to hold him in close confidence.

On occasion, her friend the Guardian, who avenged her fireteam upon the very souls of Crota and Oryx, stops to greet her. Sometimes they bring her news from Luna or Mars. Words are few with that one lately, though. These days, their outgoing ghost is the one who relays whatever tidings they carry. The change leaves a cold shadow over Eris’ heart. Therefore, she values their quiet presence all the more. She fears for them.

Of course, Ikora’s is the kind regard she is subject to most often. Eris has never forgotten that Ikora believed her since the beginning. Most met her genuine warnings of inbound danger from the Hive with distrust, dismissal, or fear. Ikora not only listened, but met her with endless kindness. Even now, as the Warlock Vanguard steps into nearer chamber of the Hall for a brief consultation with Lord Shaxx, she spares a moment and a smile for Eris.

Ikora’s smile has always been warm and real and reassuring, a balm on the fibers of frayed nerves. Among the very few who welcomed Eris back to Earth, that smile was a signal of genuine care and safety that she homed in on immediately. The one directed at Eris now is subtle, a mere quirk of the lips. Yet it hints at the vast depths of passion and compassion below the surface, like a ripple that disappears swiftly on the surface of a deep, deep pool.

Ikora’s outward cool composure that obscures that intensity is not a façade. It is more an ingenius piece of architecture, a mighty aqueduct capable of holding and channelling the endless font of her inner immensities. It is an elegant and functional work of art well-kept and expanded over centuries.

The warmth that must be behind such a small yet genuine smile is palpable; it falls on Eris like the creeping warmth of sunlight, sinking in deep even though it scarcely touches her skin. Even the lower half of her face, where her many layers do not shield her from long-lost Sol, is still sallow and nearly as grayed as the dust of Luna. She hadn’t known at first, with the changes to her vision, not until Asher had told her. He never does shy away from the speaking of truth. In those endless years of darkness, the lack of light and loss of Light took something from Eris, sapped something vital, and left something strange in its place.

Yet Eris can feel the sun again, now. She can walk out into the courtyard at any time of day, find a south-facing wall to lean on, and bask in the radiating warmth like an ectothermic reptile.

Even without leaving the cool shadows of her post, another warmth still reaches her. Ikora offers her one more smile as she goes to return to her own station. Eris stands a little taller under the aegis of her regard, her spine the stem of a sunflower lifting her toward its steady kindness.

Eris takes not a single one of these boons for granted. Each one is a precious gift far beyond what she ever expected to experience again, after her descent into the Hellmouth. Yet none of it can quell her restlessness, for it springs from the same source as her gratefulness. It always comes back to what happened to her on Luna.

Each time she returns to her pacing, the Tower feels a little smaller. The scope of the sky distracts her for a shorter time. Now, even after her sworn vengeance upon the Hive has been fulfilled twice over in double deicide, the path of her vow still pulls her feet forward. She does not know where its shrouded course leads, only that there is still a threat yet to be met along it. More and more, she is certain that she cannot wait here to meet it, or it will be too late.

However, she never expected to leave behind wounds when she leaves. After she departs to sight the next storm on the horizon, she is haunted as often by the surprised hurt that she left in Ikora’s eyes as by the memory of her smile.

[littleladymab]

The Phoenix Suite (SW Rebels Pod+Fic)

Do you know what a phoenix is? It is said that the bird would go out in a burst of flames, and then rise from its ashes, born again. Even if we lose here, the Rebellion will never go out. Someone will always be the spark.

((Kallus tries to get a message to the Rebellion, but he fails -- tries to get a message to the Rebellion but he fails -- but he fails -- he fails))

Series: Star Wars Rebels Characters: Kallus, Thrawn, and the Ghost Crew Rating: Teen Tags: S3 Finale, time-loop, warnings for implied torture/character death/suicide (but again, it's a time loop, so it doesn't stick)

Read by Litra (link to stream)

----

Kallus hits the ground, hard.

He wheezes, more in shock than in pain, and inhales a lungful of dust and air tinged with the ozone of blaster fire. His shoulder takes the brunt of the blow, hands cuffed uselessly behind him.

Still, he’s able to roll into the fall and scrambles to his feet as the call goes up behind him.

“Grand Admiral!” a trooper shouts. “The prisoner is trying to escape!”

Kallus can’t hear Thrawn’s response, but the screams of the dying Rebel forces and the heavy tread of the walkers is enough of an answer: He’ll die with Atollon, and with the Rebellion.

For a wild, frantic second, Kallus considers charging one of the rear guards and taking their blaster, dragging down whoever else he can with his inevitable demise.

But then the part of his brain that clings to survival, to the barest glimmer of hope that this can still be salvaged, urges him onward.

So he runs — away from the sounds of the massacre, away from the orderly advance of the troopers and their walkers. Far enough that the only thing he can hear is the distant roar of chaos and ships crashing to the planet’s surface in his ears.

Breaking the cuffs is easy when he has a moment. He knows where to apply the right amount of pressure, even with his hands locked behind him.

There’s a faint and ominous skittering sound to his left, so he banks right. He has no knowledge of Atollon, and he certainly doesn’t want to learn about the local fauna.

Not when his brain is reeling and clawing desperately for a solution. Not when he’s staunchly ignoring the voice in the back of his head, the cold, calculated tone of the ISB Agent, as it scoffs and says you know a hopeless case when you see one.

Because he does. He knew from the moment he woke up in the cell after being knocked out by Thrawn on the communications tower.

Shit, probably earlier than that, if he’s being completely honest.

Playing at being a Rebel, thinking he could handle the mantle of Fulcrum.

The moment Thrawn walked into the picture, he was fucked.

His feet carry him without thought, winding away deeper and deeper into the wilds of this uninhabited planet. Further, he thinks, from the remains of his failure.

Until he crests a ridge and he’s standing on a cliff and he can see it all spread out before him. The base flattened, like a bug squashed beneath a boot. The white shapes of troopers picking their way through the remains, and the occasional flash of blaster fire when they find a survivor.

His stomach turns at the sight, the now familiar sickening sensation that this is the mighty hand of the Empire. This is not a war, and it never will be.

And it’s not that he wanted to go down in a blaze of glory or anything. He just wanted to make a difference for once. The tug in his chest, the last desperate pull of hope that led him this way, finally dies, leaving him standing on uneasy legs at the edge of the precipice.

“This is all my fault,” he says to the valley below, and wishes that it could be more of an apology and less of a goodbye.

“Which side do you mourn for?” a voice like thunder asks, and Kallus whirls around — reaching for a weapon that isn’t there.

But instead of a man, instead of Grand Admiral Thrawn with his glowing red eyes or the emotionless mask of a trooper, Kallus finds himself facing a creature that towers like a mountain above him. Its head is framed in a halo of dust as constellations of atmo burners light up behind it, and eyes like twin suns stare down at the human.

Kallus is speechless. Nothing in all of his training has prepared him for this. “What are you?” he asks instead.

“I,” the creature intones, shifting its head so that its silhouette is visible in the fading light, “am the Bendu.” It creaks with every movement, the coral that forms its antlers and outer shell grinding together as the beast lowers itself to Kallus’ level. “And what are you? You found me, yet… you are not a Jedi.”

Kallus wonders what makes being a Jedi a prerequisite for this. “I am…” Kallus starts, but in the end, he can’t figure out what the answer should be.

“Alexsandr Kallus, Imperial Security Bureau Agent 021,” the creature supplies, and Kallus feels hot and cold inside all at once.

He grinds his teeth and clenches his hands into fists and refuses to give into a physical display of his anger. “Not any longer.”

The Bendu studies him, those burning yellow eyes peeling him away layer by layer. “You wear the uniform. You keep that name close to your heart. Who are you, Alexsandr Kallus, if not an agent of the Empire?”

Enough is enough.

Every bruise and broken rib and laceration stings, the pain pulsing in time to his ragged breathing and his labored heartbeat. They are what reminds him of who he is, because everything he can see and hear tells him that the Bendu is right, he still is ISB-021.

He draws himself up to his full height, and throws his shoulders back in a way that he has seen Rebellion fighters do — one that conveys defiance instead of the perfectly postured lines of the Empire. “I am Fulcrum,” he says. “I am a Rebel spy, an Imperial defector. I am—” Here he falters, voice finally cracking. “I am well and truly fucked.”

The Bendu gives a low growl of something that might be understanding deep in its chest. “So then, Alexsandr Kallus: Which side do you mourn for?”

A laugh, strained and hysterical, boils up the back of his throat, but he swallows it down before it can get loose. “Why would I mourn the Imperials? They are the clear victors here.”

“Ah,” the Bendu says, as if it had caught Kallus in a particularly clever trap. “But in their victory, have they not also lost? Things they don’t even realize are missing.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Kallus counters. “If you were here, why didn’t you help the Rebellion? Why didn’t you help the Jedi?”

There is another rumble, this time like a storm, and the blazing suns of the Bendu’s eyes flash in warning. “I am the one in the middle. As I told the Jedi Knight who came and asked for my assistance, I take no side.”

Kallus just barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. More Force and Jedi nonsense taken to the extreme. “This is a war. You side with the oppressors when you refuse to take action against them.”

“You picked a side, Agent. You carry pride for what you have done. Who are you, with your accolades and titles bestowed upon you by your Empire, to tell me that I do more harm than good? I am the Bendu. I am the one in the middle.”

Standing there on the cliff’s edge, still in his ISB uniform, Kallus wonders if he himself isn’t currently dangling precariously in the middle. Stranded between two worlds, no longer one but not truly another. He rejected the Empire, but was never fully accepted by the Rebellion.

Except that’s not true, is it? Not really. It wasn’t all that long ago that he was in the detention cell, undoing Ezra Bridger’s handcuffs, and the boy turned to look up at him with an expression of distrust but determination. The crew of the Ghost put everything on the line to try and save him, but he had said no. I can do more good here.

“I didn’t think that I had a choice,” Kallus finally says. “I didn’t know anything else.”

“Then what changed?”

How to answer? A part of him had died after that night on Bahryn. The person who crawled his way out of the ice and into the trader’s ship was someone else entirely.

Kallus had been given a choice; several, in fact.

He had spared Garazeb Orrelios’ life, twice. He had declined the invitation to be rescued by the Ghost crew.

That’s when he began to acknowledge the cracks — the chipping veneer on the Empire’s elaborate portrait of the future. When given the chance to do something more, he knew that there was another answer than the easy one offered by the Empire.

Eventually, he gives a helpless shrug. “Everything.”

The Bendu considers this, considers him. It’s similar to the feeling of being studied by Kanan Jarrus, or by the Inquisitor. That depth in their gaze that sees beyond this moment, like they know something is about to happen.

Someone who can see the full picture, where Kallus cannot.

Kallus knows, without a doubt, that he’s about to be given another choice. He is a man who takes disjointed pieces and knows how to put them together into a narrative. He is a man who has thrived on logic and reason for so long that they are second nature to him.

There is nothing left for him except execution at the hands of the Empire, or a slow death in the wilds of Atollon. There is no other way for this story to end, except for the choice that he will be offered.

“Would you change this, if you could?” The Bendu waves one massive hand, encompassing Kallus beaten and bloody, the smoldering valley below, the remains of destroyed ships like falling stars in the hazy sky.

“Yes,” Kallus says without hesitating.

“What would you change?”

Another shrug, not knowing where to begin. “Everything.”

The Bendu leans in closer still, until its eyes are the only thing that Kallus can see, and its hot breath washes over him. “If you could do this over again, would you?”

Now is not the time for logic and reason. Now is the time for gut instinct, in trusting something bigger than himself, bigger than the Empire.

Alexsandr Kallus, no longer an ISB Agent, no longer Fulcrum, dead man walking, looks the Bendu straight in the eyes and says, “Yes.”

It happens all at once. (It happens over the course of an eternity.) [It happens in juddering starts and stops and flashes of moments strung together.]

Kallus feels like he’s being plunged into a pool (into the dead cold of space) [like he’s being torn apart and reconfigured]. There is a weight on his chest that saps the air from his lungs and before he can get a chance to wonder if he’s made a mistake, everything goes black.

(( read the rest on ao3 ))

[glorious-blackout]

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Fix-It Part Two:

@rock-n-roll-fantasy Turns out I can’t chastise you too much for not feeling satisfied with your own work because I’m not sure I’m ever going to be happy with this part 😅 Hopefully I’ve been able to (mostly) salvage it from its messy first draft form. I’ve been editing Part Three in tandem with this one so hopefully it won’t take me too long to finish that off as well. With all that preamble out of the way, I hope you enjoy this part 🥰

Part One

Original Fic

**********************************************************

Alex awoke to the sight of gentle sunbeams drifting through the window, highlighting floating dust motes as golden light cascaded towards the floorboards.  

It was as warm as the clear skies outside would suggest. The logs residing in the extinguished burner had been reduced to mere blackened husks surrounded by papery strips of ash. Judging by the growing discomfort caused by the many layers covering Alex’s frame, the warmth they once provided was no longer an urgent necessity.  

It took a couple of seconds for his surroundings to make sense. The unfamiliar sights and smells of the seaside cabin left him drifting in confusion, unable to remember how he wound up sleeping on the floor among a pile of sweaty bedsheets. It was only when his subconscious noted a rather significant absence that the events of yesterday resurfaced with a jolt, and he found himself torn between slipping back into a dreamless slumber and lurching to his feet in search of Matt.

Because Matt should have been there, shouldn’t he? A scattered mess of tangled bedsheets remained in the spot where he had been lying last night, but when Alex placed a hand upon their surface he found that they had grown cold. The cabin remained quiet with the exception of occasional footfalls as someone pottered about behind him, but they sounded far too heavy to belong to Matt. On top of that, Matt’s lurid jacket had been left in a heap atop the pile of sheets, the mass of LED panels dim and lifeless in the absence of power. Alex knew, or he assumed he did, that if Matt had any intention of leaving then he would have woken him first, but much as he tried, he could not remember any attempts to rouse him.

The growing heat was getting to him. Alex groaned in discomfort as he became acutely aware of the sweat gluing his jeans to his thighs, and he kicked wildly at the sheets which had entrapped him overnight. The downside of lying on a firm wooden surface with little padding made itself evident as he sat up, noting every new ache across his body with a groan as the room span in the wake of his sudden movements. Only when the world stilled and the nausea settled in his gut did he acknowledge that he appeared to be the last one up. The only person remaining in the cabin besides himself was a well-rested Jeremiah who - despite being at least two decades older than Alex - appeared to have more energy in that moment than the younger man could dream of having.  

Jeremiah had noticed his tortuous awakening, if the amusement glinting in his eyes was any indication. Alex’s discomfort must have been clear as day, for the older man immediately wandered towards the stockpile of water and freed one bottle before chucking it in Alex’s direction. The action was followed by the suggestive rise of a finger to Jeremiah’s lips, leaving Alex with the distinct impression that his partner would hardly appreciate this gratuitous sharing of supplies.  

Not that George appeared to be here either.  

Alex barely had time to be thankful for George’s absence, for his attention was immediately drawn to the precious bottle in his hands. It occurred to him that his sluggish, pseudo-hungover state could have more to do with the fact that his mouth was as dry as a desert than he’d previously appreciated. Without a second thought, he ripped the lid from the bottle and gulped as much of the lukewarm water as he could manage in one go. He could hear a distant chuckle over the sound of liquid cascading down his throat, but any self-consciousness over what he must look like left him in an instant. He was parched and sore and far too overheated for comfort, and he’d emerged less than twenty-four hours ago onto a planet that had been ruined beyond repair. Shame was hardly an emotion he had the energy to experience.

The bottle was completely drained in record time, and Alex closed his eyes in quiet satisfaction for a moment. Only upon opening them again did he remember what had roused him with such urgency, and he cast his eyes around the cabin as though Matt could somehow be concealed within its walls. The sheer impossibility of this notion became obvious quickly, given how small their living space was, but even the outside world seemed far too quiet for his liking.  

George’s absence was equally unexplained, and Alex started to wonder if the two were linked. Much as he liked and implicitly trusted Jeremiah, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy about George. The man had made no secret of his dislike for strangers the second he set eyes upon the pair of newcomers. At one point his manner had even evoked echoes of Murphy, which was hardly a marker of good character in Alex’s book. Admittedly, he knew that Matt had encountered and ultimately defeated worse foes than a grumpy middle-aged man, but it appeared that finding himself exposed to this unfamiliar world had taken hold of Alex’s nerves and dialled them up to eleven.

A fact which must have been blatantly obvious to anyone with eyes.  

“Yer boy’s alright, don’t you worry,” Jeremiah announced out of the blue, chuckling with mirth when Alex turned to him, wide-eyed and more than a little frazzled. Mornings had never been his strong suit, and this one was proving to be especially strenuous. Jeremiah, on the other hand, looked perfectly serene - or as serene as a grizzled survivor could look anyway. He had been in the process of strapping himself into a pair of thick walking boots before Alex’s panic had become too blatant to ignore.

“George was all fer kickin’ ya out, but yer friend made a case fer ya hangin’ around and earnin’ yer keep,” Jeremiah explained further, heaving a sigh at the mention of his partner’s lack of hospitality. Alex felt a sliver of fear creep up his spine at the prospect of having to leave their newfound shelter so soon, followed by a spark of gratitude over the fact that Matt had apparently wrangled his way out of an early eviction. “I woulda been happy with ya stayin’ regardless, but a little extra help would be nice I s’pose. They headed off about an hour ago. George always likes ta head out before the sun grows fierce.”

“Oh,” was all Alex could say, unsure whether he should feel reassured or not. At least he finally had an explanation for Matt’s whereabouts, though he imagined it would be easier to take comfort from that if he hadn’t been paired with the very man who’d wandered into the cabin wielding a shotgun last night.  

The unspoken implications of Matt’s bargaining tactics weren’t lost on him either. “Take it I’m joining you then?”

His phrasing made him come across as far more reluctant than intended, though if Jeremiah took any offence, he was gracious enough not to show it.  

“Only if ya fancy it,” the older man said with a bashful shrug. Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he could detect a trace of disappointment in the man’s otherwise cheerful tone, and an uncomfortable sense of guilt coiled in his gut. “Ya could always cook dinner or give the place a bit o’ a scrub if you’d prefer?”

The proposal was almost tempting. Casting a glance around the cabin was enough to assure Alex that the place was hardly in need of an intensive cleaning session, and no doubt he could whip up something edible from the extensive stockpile of canned goods their hosts had amassed. Staying here on his own would give him time to unwind. Time to breathe. He could take a stroll across the beach and let his body sink beneath the waves, just for a little while, until any trace of lingering doubt vanished from his mind and he allowed himself to accept the fact that he had made it home.  

Only, the longer he dwelled on it, the more obvious it became that spending the day alone would be a terrible idea. In Jeremiah’s company, he would at least be provided with a distraction. Someone to bounce conversation off of; someone who could offer valuable information about this world which had become so alien to him. The alternative would inevitably result in his mind subjecting him to cruel imaginings regarding the fates of his loved ones, and he knew full well that his sanity was hanging by a thread as it was. Subjecting himself to loneliness was not a good idea right now, no matter how enticing the notion may seem at first glance.

“Best not,” Alex conceded, masking his inner turmoil behind a weak smile. “Me mates always say I’m hopeless at cookin’. Doubt me mum ever rated my cleaning skills either, come to think of it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jeremiah said with a faint chuckle, wearing an expression so carefree that his eyes were practically twinkling. He broke eye contact for only a moment, as he gathered together an old hiking rucksack and a pair of ancient fishing rods, before turning his attention back to Alex. “You ever been crab-fishin', lad?”

He had. Bitter melancholy cascaded over him as the question transported him to seaside holidays from his youth; back to lazy afternoons sat by rocky piers as his dad patiently taught him the process of fishing for crabs. As he remembered it, he always found the venture exciting for a solid half-hour, before deciding that his bucket was better-suited to building sandcastles on the nearby beach. Of all the things to be consumed by nostalgia for, he’d hardly expected crab-fishing to be one of them, but he supposed in this day and age he was doomed to become wistful about every aspect of his former life.

“Once or twice,” Alex admitted eventually. “Not since I were a kid though.”

“That’s alright,” Jeremiah said, beaming. “I ain’t had the chance to show someone the ropes for a while. Could be fun.”

With that said, he gathered his equipment together and disappeared out the door, leaving Alex on the floor with sleep clinging to his eyes and what was likely a serious case of bed-head. It struck him that Jeremiah may have expected him to follow, and with some reluctance he rose to his feet, pointedly ignoring the growl emanating from his stomach. Some food would hardly go amiss before setting off on what promised to be an intensive trip, nor would the chance to shed his sweat-stained clothes. He would not be surprised if such luxuries were denied, however. Judging by the bright sunlight beyond the window, he had likely wasted a significant chunk of the morning already, and he would no doubt be pushing his luck if he attempted to bargain for more time.

Or so he thought. While in the process of shedding his cotton jacket, Alex started as Jeremiah popped his head in the door once again with a jovialness which seemed as instinctive to him as breathing.

“You grab some breakfast now,” he ordered. While Alex doubted the man had the ability to sound stern, his tone was firm enough to convey that the demand was far from optional. Jeremiah motioned towards the extensive food stockpile with a quirk of his head – the ‘take what you like’ remaining unspoken – before pointing towards a narrow cupboard which rested beside one of the neatly-made beds. “If yer wanting a change a’ clothes, there’ll be some in that cupboard there. Can’t promise we’ll have any in yer size, but maybe you’ll get lucky. Just grab me outside when yer ready and we’ll head out together, sound like a plan?”

Once again, Alex found himself struck dumb by the man’s generosity, and all he could offer in response was a single nod. This seemed to suffice, for Jeremiah returned the action with a cheerful grin before disappearing again, whistling a jaunty tune as he went. Alex’s eyes remained pinned to the door for only a moment, until he grew tired of standing awkwardly in the middle of the room like a startled deer. Feeling empowered by Jeremiah’s offer, he made quick work of filling his belly with leftover soup and rifling through the assorted mass of clothes which had been stored away, searching for something which didn’t carry an overpowering stench of sweat.  

The heat was already beginning to grow uncomfortable by the time they headed off. Alex had settled for a crumpled cotton shirt which felt more like a tunic on his slight frame, while choosing to keep his torn jeans in favour of the gaudy oversized shorts which served as his only alternative. Overhead, the sun gradually made her ascent as a colony of gulls circled the gentle waters below, squawking shrilly in vague perturbation. Treading along the sandy path towards town felt like wading through hot treacle; the air so stifling that only the breeze offered any reprieve.  

Alex was grateful for the bottles of water Jeremiah had packed in his rucksack, though he knew deep down that he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself once he took that initial desperate sip. Perhaps if the agenda for the day really did involve sitting by the shore fishing for crabs, he could fling himself into the cool waters once the heat became unbearable. It was already consuming all of his willpower to avoid sprinting towards the waves as they drew closer to the smoking remnants of an abandoned resort.

The trail eventually led onto a vast car-park which stemmed from what was once a rich seaside promenade. Only two vehicles remained, strewn haphazardly across fading white lines on the cracked tarmac. No doubt they had been rotting there for years, judging by the shattered windows and rust-eaten exteriors; any attempt to drive them now would be the ultimate exercise in futility.  

Jeremiah led him onwards, the route ahead seemingly memorised. Alex held his tongue as they wandered along a road lined with blackened, long-dead palm trees and gutted stores which sported naïve signs declaring a temporary closure. Though there was no sign of active fires, the smell of smoke lingered heavily in the air as they passed the ruins of what must once have been a bustling resort, accompanied by another, fouler stench which Alex could not place. Occasionally they would pass by abandoned cars or overturned buses, but no evidence of humanity remained even in the form of charred corpses. Alex had steeled himself to endure that much at least, but it would appear that fate had decided to spare him from that sight.  

Not that the remains of his old home were any better. Alex had known this walkway once. During their earlier trips to LA, he had strolled along the seafront with Jamie and Matt by his side, nibbling on ice-cream and joking that moving out here wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. The city had seemed so exciting and untouchable then; an exaggerated form of reality which didn’t play by the same rules as the rest of the universe.  

Those qualities clearly hadn’t protected it from being reduced to a burning husk.

He was grateful when Jeremiah finally steered him away from the shattered resort, strolling towards the sandy beach instead. Their journey ultimately led them onto an elevated wooden pier which stretched beyond the shoreline and into the depths of the water. The structure creaked awkwardly with every footfall as they strolled towards the far end, and Alex allowed himself to breathe again as the thick stench of smoke made way for the tang of salt. The sun remained as punishing as ever but her effects were dulled, somewhat, by a cool sea breeze which ruffled his hair and kissed his sunburnt cheeks. As they approached the very end of the pier, Alex gazed into the lapping waves below and grinned as he envisioned himself diving beneath the surface and letting the cold seep into his bones.

His guide promptly got to work setting up their equipment, content to let Alex watch as he talked him through each step. A rudimentary fishing line was shoved into Alex’s hands with the hook dangling precariously from a flimsy piece of string, before Jeremiah dug through his rucksack and freed a partially squashed tin of sardines. Jeremiah wasted no time peeling the tin open and tearing one of the unfortunate sardines into two, skewering one half onto the hook of his own line before handing the other to Alex and informing him to do the same. Alex obeyed, managing not to screw up his face at the texture as he cracked a wistful joke over the days his dad would tell him to use bacon instead. Jeremiah simply guffawed, before informing him plainly that if - by some miracle - they ever stumbled upon edible bacon again, the crabs sure as hell weren’t getting a slice.

“Right, just pop the line in the water there,” Jeremiah ordered once they were ready, leaning over the wooden barrier to cast his line into the waters below. Alex did the same, keeping his distance so as not to get their lines caught in a tangle. The hook dipped beneath the surface with a subtle splash, the waters just murky enough to conceal it from view. “Crabs have a good sense a’ smell, they’ll latch on quick. Once ya feel ‘em tuggin’, ya pull ‘em up gently. Keep yer hand steady now, or the damn things’ll smash against the pier and escape.”

Alex nodded and turned his head towards the drifting line, waiting for evidence of a subtle tug. Memories of boyhood holidays by the seafront flooded back to him as his attention was consumed by the shifting waves. He recalled his father feeding him instructions in the same, easygoing manner that Jeremiah himself had adopted. He remembered the excitement of pulling on the line and spotting a crab dangling on the end. He remembered gathering his prizes in a bucket and carrying them from the pier to the shore, only to tip the bucket onto its side and watch as his crabs raced towards the waves; cheering on his favourites and ultimately chastising them when they dawdled. Alex doubted that any catches today would be so lucky. Childish games hardly had a place in the world anymore.

Soon enough, Alex began to experimentally raise his line only to find unlucky crabs nibbling at the remains embedded on the hook. Following Jeremiah’s guidance, he raised the line upwards with a gentle hand, wary of the slightest breeze which could dislodge his prey from their perch. Despite his best efforts, one or two did end up diving beneath the waves, having devoured the sardines and escaped for freedom, but for the most part he was able to ease his catches over the railing and dump the stunned crabs into the bucket Jeremiah had provided. Neither of them were particularly chatty while they worked, but Alex did catch sight of the other man’s lips curling upwards once or twice.

“Who knows?” Jeremiah said, shortly after Alex teased his third disgruntled catch of the day into the bucket. “If yer any good at this, I might take ya out on the boat one o’ these days. Haven’t had a good shipmate in a while.”

There was something wistful in the man’s tone, and Alex thought he could see a trace of sadness in his gentle blue eyes as they stretched across the waves. Alex followed his gaze and allowed himself to imagine a quiet trip on a fishing boat, with the shattered remains of LA so far behind him that he could pretend it no longer existed in that state. He imagined the crisp sea air washing over his skin and the tales Jeremiah would tell of his past life as a humble fisherman. Such a quiet fantasy to latch onto, and yet it made his heart ache all the same. The fact that it was even a possibility felt like a novelty after all those years stranded on the moon.  

“I think I’d like that,” Alex said, throwing Jeremiah a shy smile which the older man eagerly returned. A trace of sadness still remained and Alex could feel his own longing for a simpler past tugging at his heart, but he cast such feelings aside and turned his attention back to the task at hand.  

The sun grew hotter as the day wore on, but Alex found he no longer minded. The routine of fishing gave him something to focus on beyond the sweat trickling from his brow, and the occasional splashes from particularly vigorous waves provided ample relief. Jeremiah had finally relented and retrieved the bottles of water from his rucksack, and they cracked them open and said ‘cheers’ as though sharing a particularly cool beer. From the way their faces crumpled with relief, one could be forgiven for assuming they were enjoying something far more luxurious, though Alex had to concede that a couple of ice-cubes wouldn’t have gone amiss.

For the most part they remained quiet and focused, though after a couple of hours Alex decided to try his luck and threw some general questions in Jeremiah’s direction. Not enough to pry into the man’s private life – he doubted they were friendly enough for that – but enough to get a general gist of what life had been like in recent years. The events that transpired after his hand slipped from Miles’ grasp remained a complete mystery to him; a fact he had to be careful to conceal so as not to betray his overwhelming ignorance.  

Not that the older man seemed to notice. He was quite happy to chat away while Alex listened intently, gathering clues as the conversation went on. He learned that Jeremiah had always lived by the sea and that his earliest memories revolved around going out in fishing boats with his mother. He learned that he had known George for upwards of thirty years and that the pair’s fondness for each other had survived in spite of George’s hatred of the open water and Jeremiah’s general dislike of hiking.  

Perhaps most importantly, he learned that the world had started to fall apart only five years prior. Jeremiah and George had fled to the coast alongside thousands of other evacuees as wildfires tore through the forests before ultimately claiming every town and city in their path. The actual disintegration of humanity had stretched over several endless months, heralded by one disaster after another, but Jeremiah had stubbornly waited it out while the other evacuees fled towards hope which grew slimmer by the hour. At one point, he said, the beaches had been so overrun with desperate city folk that you could barely move without trampling on some poor sod who had stumbled to the ground. Many had fled as soon as hopeful stories cropped up from elsewhere, though Jeremiah could only conclude that the vast majority had wound up running to their deaths.

No doubt that knowledge had weighed heavily on Jeremiah’s mind once. Even now it appeared that he had little desire to dwell on it, for the conversation staggered to a halt and the older man simply returned to his task with a weary sigh. Alex was grateful for this, despite his curiosity. Had he pried any further, Jeremiah may have turned the tables on him and started demanding explanations he simply didn’t have. He doubted this world-weary survivor would appreciate being told that Alex had only lasted this long because his mind and body had been ensnared by a monster with the ability to create alternate realities at will. No doubt that if Alex - and by extension Matt – had been forced to experience the apocalypse at face value, they would have met the same unfortunate fate as the desperate souls who’d gathered on the beach to escape the rising flames.

On the other hand, Jeremiah seemed like the type of man who was always destined to survive such a disaster. Watching him go about his work in silent concentration gave Alex the distinct impression that, overall, his life had barely altered in the wake of the apocalypse. Perhaps certain aspects had even become easier. In many ways he seemed like a relic of a distant past, fixated only on surviving day to day while enjoying simple pleasures as and when he encountered them.  

Alex couldn’t help but wonder if he would be able to achieve that level of contentment too, many years down the line.  

By the time the sun began to dip, the bucket was threatening to overflow as their catches wrestled each other in a bid to reach the top. Alex carefully guided the line containing his last helping of sardines upward, watching as an unsuspecting crab latched onto its last meal with vigour. It had been several hours since he’d lost a catch to the waves below, and his patience served him well as he eased the line over the wooden barrier and roughly shook the crab free, clumps of meat still clenched in its jagged claws as it tumbled into the bucket. Despite the lack of facial expression, Alex got the dimpression that the creature was regarding him with a look of utmost betrayal once it had recovered from shock.

The heat had begun to settle, for which Alex was grateful. His bottle of water had long since been drained and he could easily envision the cherry-red hue his cheeks had acquired over the course of the afternoon. Goosebumps rose along his bare arms in the wake of a cool breeze and he found himself wiping sweat from his brow less frequently as the hours wore on. Concluding that his efforts for the day had been enough, he rested his back against the railing and let his eyes slip shut as an icy spray splashed across his back.  

Jeremiah too appeared to be winding down. The man had discarded the empty tin into the depths of the water once the last clump of meat had been salvaged, and was in the process of enticing a rather stubborn crab over the precipice. Alex watched intently as the creature twisted awkwardly on the line, claw caught on the dangling hook. Before it could plunge to the depths below, Jeremiah shot out an arm and caught it mid-fall, dumping the creature alongside its friends before it could nip at his hand. With their last victim finally ensnared, Jeremiah took a moment to assess their yield before securing the bucket with a plastic lid and collecting their equipment into a neat pile.

“Not bad!” he announced with a wide grin hiding beneath his bushy beard. The sun had darkened his cheeks to a fiery red and his wild locks had been flattened under the weight of damp sweat, but the discomfort did not seem to bother him in the slightest. “Not bad at all. Ya might survive the apocalypse yet.”

His words were followed by a wink which made Alex laugh despite himself. They took a moment to simply enjoy the cool sea air; the gentle rush of waves lapping beneath their feet as the first traces of orange and pink spread across the darkening sky. With this view stretched out before them, it was easy to pretend that everything was normal. Alex could almost convince himself that the world was truly as peaceful and unbroken as it appeared, and that his home was still waiting for him mere miles away. He knew it was dangerous to get lost in thoughts like that. He knew they would only bring further pain in the long run, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. If reality insisted on being awful then he felt he was owed time to indulge in fantasy.  

He’d become well-practiced in that particular art after all.

The moment passed. Jeremiah packed away the twin set of fishing lines and secured his rucksack before throwing it over his back, while Alex lifted the weighty bucket and set off in pursuit as the older man led the way.  

The trip back seemed considerably more bearable in spite of the exhaustion creeping into his bones. Perhaps seeing the devastated remains of civilisation had been like tearing off a plaster, to the point where even the foul smells lacked the ability to horrify him. The promenade seemed shorter than he remembered and evidence of ancient tourist traps soon dwindled to make way for the slender walkway which would lead them back to the cabins. By the time they were on the home-stretch, the sun was beginning to sink beneath the glittering blue waves and the sky was ablaze with tangerine streaks.  

It occurred to Alex that he had officially been back in the real world for over twenty-four hours. Long enough to convince himself that perhaps this wasn’t a cruelly elaborate dream after all.

George and Matthew were still nowhere to be seen by the time they reached the cabin. A sliver of discomfort eased its way into Alex’s gut at the pervasive quiet which greeted him. Jeremiah didn’t seem particularly bothered by their absence, however, and was quick to assure him that George rarely made it home before he did. This didn’t strike Alex as being particularly heartening, as surely having an extra pair of hands would have made George’s role considerably easier, but he elected not to mention it. Instead, he allowed Jeremiah to take the bucket from his hands and gladly agreed when the older man suggested he go outside and start a campfire, as it turned out he had little desire to watch the unfortunate crabs meet their fate once Jeremiah started preparing dinner.  

Starting a campfire was a considerably easier task than Alex had expected. The fact that George had amassed an impressive quantity of lighters and matches certainly helped, as did the abundance of brittle branches which lay scattered across the beach. George and Jeremiah had already created a tiny nook for such a purpose; the remains of previous campfires lay scorched and blackened within a ring of scattered logs which provided adequate seating. Childhood memories of countryside holidays once again proved fruitful as Alex got to work, and before long he found himself warming his hands above crackling flames as a mere spark succeeded in setting his collection of sticks alight. The sky above provided a similar fiery glow, with scattered grey clouds giving the impression of smoke drifting among orange embers. Content with his task, Alex settled against one of the fallen logs and simply gazed at the sky as exhaustion and hunger took hold and the fire bathed him in pleasant warmth.

It wasn’t long before an orange glow emanated from the cabin windows. Shadows were visible from within as Jeremiah set about preparing their evening meal, his large mass occasionally passing by the window and blocking the firelight from view. Bored of the sky, Alex directed his attention towards the resort, keeping his eyes peeled for a pair of returning travelers. He knew deep down that he should take comfort from Jeremiah’s lack of concern, yet anxiety clawed at his throat regardless. Matt and George had been gone far longer than Alex had even been awake. Given the late hour at which George had arrived home last night, his mind filled with images of Matt in nothing more than a t-shirt and jeans, slowly freezing as George plowed on in thermals and a snug jacket. The chill was nowhere near that fierce just yet – if anything the breeze was a pleasantly cool balm after the earlier scorch – but Alex knew from experience that it would not be long before the cold was creeping upon them like an icy specter.  

Such fears were unfounded of course, though that did little to calm the sense of relief which gripped him as a trio of shadows appeared on the horizon. Midnight’s slender form was unmistakable as she was led by the reins by a much smaller shadow, both of them tailing a hulking giant of a man. The leader plowed on with little regard for his companions, but seeing as Alex had envisioned Matt being left for dead in a ditch somewhere, he was willing to take the fact that all three had returned as a sign that George didn’t completely hate the idea of company.  

George appeared to change course as soon as he noted the smoking campfire, detouring away from the cabin towards the small nook where Alex had settled himself. As much as he knew his feelings were irrational, Alex couldn’t help but squirm as the older man approached with his lips set in a grim line and eyes narrowed to grey slits.

“Your friend’s an idiot,” he announced with zero preamble, before turning on his heel and storming off towards the cabin. His stuffed rucksack weighed him down as he went, giving him a hunchbacked appearance which Alex may have laughed at if he had the courage. He valued his life far too highly for that however, and settled instead for turning to the approaching figure of Matt in stunned silence, hoping that he may be able to provide some form of explanation for their host’s wrath.

In contrast to George’s simmering anger, Matt looked positively chuffed as he approached with a stoic Midnight in tow. It struck Alex then that this was the only time he had ever seen Matt wearing normal clothes. The bright red jeans still clung to his legs and no doubt his trainers were the same shiny monstrosities from before, albeit thick mud had since claimed every inch of their surface. Instead of shimmering neon decorating his torso there was only a white t-shirt, however. His face was faintly pink and his arms were tanned from the sun, a paler outline just visible beneath the fabric as he tethered Midnight to a log, but his ridiculous sunglasses were nowhere to be seen. One could almost mistake him for ordinary in this light.  

They would be wrong of course, but Alex wouldn’t blame anyone for thinking it.

The source of Matt’s joy and George’s displeasure became obvious soon enough. Once he’d overcome the distraction of Matt looking like a normal person rather than a reality-hopping outlaw, Alex’s eyes widened as he set his sights on the acoustic strapped precariously to Matt’s back. His excitement was clearly obvious, for Matt halted his delicate strokes of Midnight’s mane in order to flip the guitar round his torso until it was perfectly balanced in his hands, his long fingers resting over the delicate strings.  

The instrument had clearly seen better days. Its once sleek mahogany surface was tarnished by scuff marks and scratches, and the strings would ideally need changing before any attempts were made to play them, though that didn’t dissuade Matt from carefully tuning them as he came to sit by Alex’s side. The neck was intact at least, though Alex had heard enough rumours of Matt’s onstage antics to wonder just how long the poor thing would survive. Not that he could talk, considering how many roadies he had pissed off back in the day due to his flagrant abuse of microphone stands.  

“George thinks you’re an idiot for rescuing that thing, by the way,” Alex informed Matt with a playful smirk as the man started to play a classical melody. The tone was surprisingly pleasant given that the instrument likely hadn’t been touched in years, and Alex’s jibe did little to distract Matt from weaving a complex improvisation with ease.  

“Oh I know,” Matt shot back with a wicked grin, letting the melody fade out before amusing himself by strumming simple chords instead. “He wouldn’t shut up about it the whole way back. Kept going on about the fact that his excursions are about searching for food and medicine and stuff that’s actually ‘useful’. Don’t think he appreciated it when I told him that life without a guitar isn’t worth living.”

“He’s not a connoisseur of music then?” Alex remarked. “You know what, I’d never have guessed.”

“Nah, doubt he’s whimsical enough for any of that nonsense,” Matt agreed, his smile softening as he raised the ragged guitar-strap over his head and settled his new love gently by his feet. A small carrier bag joined it on the sand, in which Alex could see a collection of t-shirts and likely outdated packets of paracetamol, but it seemed Matt had spent more energy carting the guitar back than salvaging anything George would consider valuable. “He wasn’t so bad though. I mean, he clearly didn’t like the idea of me tagging along, but he started to open up a bit once we got going. Stopped treating me like I was invisible anyway. I bet he’s a real softie once you get to know him.”  

As much as Matt’s words dripped with sarcasm, something about his sincere smile implied that on some level, he believed what he was saying. Whether that was merely naïve optimism or an acute observation based on his time with George was unclear, but Alex was willing to take it as a somewhat reassuring sign. Perhaps their host really was a mere grump as opposed to the dangerous menace his imagination had concocted.

Any retort died on his tongue as he spotted Jeremiah and George approaching from the cabin, each sporting a pair of steaming bowls. The aroma of rich soup grew more enticing as they came closer, and by the time Jeremiah carefully eased one of the bowls into Alex’s waiting hands his mouth was watering as his stomach growled with hunger. The creamy soup closely resembled the seafood chowder from the night before, with the exception that this one had been created with crabmeat alone. Any guilt over the fate of his unfortunate catches vanished in an instant as Alex inhaled deeply before digging in with only slightly more tact than the night before.  

They ate in relative peace, the quiet broken only by the crackling fire and the hushed voices of Jeremiah and George as they compared notes from their day. Despite George’s intimidating approach upon returning to the cabin, he showed little animosity towards his guests as they sat by the campfire. Alex could even have sworn that he’d given Matt a friendly nod upon handing him his bowl. Jeremiah remained his usual jovial self - which was considerably less surprising - and even asked Alex if he wanted seconds once his bowl was empty, to which he politely declined. As delicious as the soup was, everyone seemed to agree that it was far too filling for the notion of second portions to be entertained, and so they simply sat back once all four bowls were polished off, feeling full and sated.

It wasn’t long before the sun finally dipped beneath the waves and deep blues permeated the sky. Any remaining streaks of tangerine were banished in favour of an ever-darkening canvas dotted with glowing stars. The breeze started to carry the threat of ice with it, sending a shiver through Alex’s frame whenever it beckoned, but the heat from the flickering flames provided ample protection for the moment.  

Without prompting, Matt lifted the rescued acoustic and started to strum absent-mindedly at the strings, frowning at every imperceptible error and twisting the tuning pegs until the rich sound satisfied him fully. He seemed entirely ignorant of his audience, closing his eyes and losing himself to the music once it overcame him. His fingers danced elegantly across the strings, unleashing a gorgeous Spanish-inspired piece as though he’d been performing onstage only yesterday. Perhaps Alex would have been slightly jealous once upon a time, but for now he was content to simply watch with a small smile tugging at his lips. The piece eventually faded into the distantly familiar chords of ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’,  and Alex spotted Matt opening his mouth a couple of times as though intending to sing before ultimately deciding against it.  

The final chords sounded abruptly as Matt opened his eyes and became aware of the three sets of eyes fixated on him. Nobody said a word, perhaps too enthralled to urge him to continue, but his eyes met Alex’s and he smiled before freeing himself from the strap and handing the guitar over. It lingered between them for several seconds as Alex gaped at it, torn between desperation to lay his hands on a real guitar and terror at the possibility that his skills may have left him. Even if his experiences in the hotel counted for anything, he still spent upwards of five years relying mostly on piano, with the guitar being reserved for special occasions or more energetic crowds.  

Ultimately, the itch to play again overcame any self-consciousness. He took the instrument in his hands with a degree of reverence before letting it rest in his lap. For a few moments his fingers merely ghosted over the frets as songs battled for dominance in his brain; everything from his own work to David Bowie screaming to be played while his hands remained stock-still. When he finally did begin to play, the song remained a mystery even to him. He took a moment to simply adapt to the instrument and the sensation of playing again, grateful that his muscle memory appeared to be serving him well, and a shy smile crept over his face as the familiar notes of Leonard Cohen washed over the small gathering.  

The urge to sing wrestled with him too, but he crushed it down and focused on the simple act of playing the chords to ‘Is This What You Wanted’. A sharp ache pierced his heart like an arrowhead as the music transported him to a summer he’d never wanted to end; to non-stop laughter and the sweet sensation of looking across the stage to find Miles smiling back at him. He imagined that even if he wanted to sing, he would find himself choking on the words and butchering the song in the process, so the stripped-down instrumental would have to suffice.  

Or so he thought, only to be proven wrong the instant a rich baritone voice joined the fray. Alex’s fingers stumbled for only a millisecond before he recovered himself. He looked up to watch as Jeremiah sang along with his eyes closed, a wistful smile playing across his lips as the music seemed to transport him back to a distant past.  

His voice could hardly be called perfect on a technical level, but that only made it more beautiful. His tone was rich – the imperfections adding more character than polish ever could – and his raspy vocals added a maturity that Alex doubted he would have been able to capture himself. He grinned when Jeremiah opened his eyes and winked at him, before turning his attention fully to the acoustic, ensuring that each note landed perfectly so as not to ruin the impromptu performance.  

The air was broken by an excitable whoop and applause from Matt once the final notes faded into nothingness, and Jeremiah chuckled before giving the gathering a little bow. Alex’s heart was so lifted that he thought nothing of shedding the acoustic and offering it over to George, who happened to be closest to him. In keeping with the man’s earlier attitude, he simply refused with a shake of his head, though in the flickering firelight his eyes appeared softer than Alex had ever seen them. Undeterred, Alex simply shrugged before handing the guitar back to Matt. His friend seemed to have been rejuvenated by his and Jeremiah’s unconventional duet, and once the guitar was back in his hands, he launched into an excitable interrogation of the older man, employing his usual scatter-gun delivery in the process.

The pair quickly bonded over a shared love of Nina Simone and especially Tom Waits. Before long, Matt was launching into the guitar chords of ‘Blue Valentine’ while Jeremiah effortlessly sang the vocal, capturing the precise gravitas that such a song demanded despite the smile lurking on his jolly face. Alex contented himself with simply sitting back and watching, before turning his eyes to George.  

The man had been conspicuously quiet all night. Alex wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to find on his face, though he would have bet money on detecting a certain degree of disapproval resting upon a deep frown. What he wasn’t expecting was the unmistakable fondness radiating from the man’s eyes as his gaze lingered heavily on Jeremiah, nor the gentle smile tugging at his lips as he fought to keep his expression neutral. Any tension which had gripped his bulky frame had melted away and he seemed positively relaxed, in sharp contrast to every interaction Alex had shared with him. The sight made him wonder if Matt’s earlier assessment could be closer to the truth than he had previously appreciated. At the very least, it appeared that Jeremiah was George’s sole weakness, and the sight tugged at Alex’s heart in a manner which forced him to avert his eyes.

They continued their back-and-forth with Matt and Alex taking turns on the guitar while Jeremiah took up vocal duties, until the fire started to die within its nest and the night’s chill chased them all back towards the cabin. Thankfully their temporary home had been gradually warmed by the log burner and Alex wasn’t forced to relive the bone-chilling sensations of the previous night. A strange wave of contentment gripped him by the hand and settled in his chest as he laid down and rested his head upon the folded jumper which served as his makeshift pillow. He was still exhausted from the day’s trek and a degree of uncertainty remained over how long he and Matt would be able to remain as guests, but none of that mattered.  

In contrast to the fear which had consumed him the night before, the pervading feeling which claimed him as Jeremiah bade them all a sleepy ‘goodnight’ was that, somehow, the future might not be entirely terrible.

[narastories]

Happy 280th Birthday Tom!

After having such a great fun with doing this for Lord John, I decided to do a reading for our wee Byrd as well.

A Natal Chart Reading for Tom Byrd

Disclaimers:

I am still not an astrologer

This is made in the spirit of appreciation of this character and his story. The purpose of this is pure fun on my part and hopefully to entertain some of you as well. Plus, to maybe provide some character-study-style insight or inspiration.

Tom Byrd’s character belong to Diana Gabaldon - duh -

Tom has no official canon birth date as far as we know it. A few of us decided on a whim to celebrate him on this day, and oh boy is it perfect from an astrological standpoint. Of course, it is. But that’s it, it’s just adoring fan-silliness from our part.

Again, I take full responsibility for the time of day chosen. I have cycled through the day by the hour, compared charts and decided on the one that I’ve found most fitting and just went with that.

Tom Byrd’s character has appeared only in the Lord John books so far, so every example I’m giving here will be from there. Nothing too spoilery.

This is astrology applied to a fictional character, you have been warned. Continue at your own discretion.

Let’s transport ourselves into the world of Outlander, and imagine the day that world was gifted with the presence of this cute and complicated character. What do the stars tell us about him?

Double Cancer 

No one ever said that Cancerians would be easy to understand. People born under the Crab are capable of holding many contradictions in their personality, and this is twice as true in the case of Tom Byrd who has both the Sun and the Moon in Cancer. When the two most powerful planets of a chart are in the same sign it tends to make the characteristics of that sign very prominent.

He is extremely cautious, but won’t hesitate taking the initiative when he needs to. Others tend to underestimate him at first, because he will stick to the rules. That is until he breaks them. He does not welcome change, but still adapts quickly to changing circumstances.

Tom appreciates safety, like the security that comes from stable employment, but still has a secret love for adventure. Luckily he can satisfy both of those cravings as the valet of Lord John Grey, because we all know that his lordship has the talent of getting into the most bizarre situations and is more than happy to keep Tom around to accompany him. (#zombies #succubus)

Just like a little crab crawling sideways he might have an indirect approach to things, but eventually he will always get where he wants to go.

He is sensitive and kind, but since his feelings are so dominant his mood can change fast. This is usually concealed by a carefully constructed exterior built from propriety and good manners. He uses this to hide deep feelings and extreme sensitivity underneath. He might be calm and collected on the surface most of the time, but there is a constantly shifting tide of emotions in his heart. He has the tendency to worry too much, to brood silently when he’s hurting or sulk when he disapproves, but no one listens to him.

Those who know him a little better will know that this grumpy little valet has a heart of gold. He is extremely caring and has a natural talent for making others comfortable and cared for.

At the same time Tom is cautious about revealing too much, which makes him naturally discrete. Besides his skill at giving a close shave this was one of the characteristics that made Lord John keep him as a valet just after just a short while of knowing him. Tom is also exceptionally perceptive and hard to deceive. He will notice the tiniest of details. This, and his high sensitivity to people’s emotions makes him good at figuring out others’ motivations. His intuition also makes him great at sensing public trends, and this combined with his creativity contributes to him becoming a good valet. He has a good memory and likes to collect information and store away small details later to be used.

His most admirable trait is probably his loyalty. When he is caring for someone, nothing can deter him. Crabs are known to retreat to safety at the first sign of danger. Don’t be fooled by Tom’s occasional outburst heroism, bravery is not his default setting. (#roaches) And because of that it means so much more when he does choose to stay and fight.

Cancerians tend to be quite the people-collectors. They don’t easily let people they know out of their sight. So fyi: there is no way Tom Byrd would willingly abandon Lord John Grey or let him out of his life completely. I think he would have loved if Jack decided to stay with them, but you know… his brother had his own loyalties.

Underneath all these layers Tom hides a fragile heart. He secretly needs and craves support and encouragement. He tries to hide it, but he has a lot of insecurities and can be a bit shy.

He is passionate about fixing other people’s problems. It comes from a strong urge to care for others even if it can be a bit overbearing sometimes.

Having the Moon in Cancer as well makes him even more protective and persistent. He perceives the world through his emotions, rather than rational arguments. This can cause a conflict with people who try to argue their feelings away - khm John khm - because that is very hard to understand for Tom. Other aspects of his chart play into this as well (Mars in Taurus) Sometimes he won’t be willing to see someone else’s point, especially if he knows that person feels differently than the argument they intellectually make.

No matter how in tune with his feelings he is, he doesn’t usually show them openly and as hypersensitive he is to other people’s emotions, he can sometimes be blinded by his own.

He is best in a deep, committed and loving relationship with someone who will appreciate his delicate heart and will dispel his feelings of unworthiness.

Capricorn Rising

Tom Byrd has a serious outward demeanor. No matter how young, inexperienced or out of his depth he may be in a certain situation, he is more than capable of employing the ‘fake it ‘till you make it’ tactic.  

With strangers he is often quiet and reserved. He also possesses great willpower and determination. It is important to him that he achieves things through his own hard work and that he feels like his life is meaningful. (Mars in Taurus) He has all the necessary discipline, ambition and patience to do just so. Becoming a lord’s valet is something he takes pride in, no matter the initial circumstances.

He has an active mind, quick intelligence, and the ability to concentrate. He likes to map things out ahead of time, because he doesn’t like to be caught unprepared. Fussing over details is his way of staying in control. He’s also a bit of a perfectionist.

He is a worrier. He loves deeply, and goes out of his way to be kind to others, but on the other hand he will hold onto hurt, and will hold a grudge.

His chart is ruled by Saturn which is in Cancer in the 7th house of partnership. This might suggest that he is emotionally too dependent on others. However, he is great at seeing a task through completion. Can be sly if he wants to. (see how he inserted himself into John’s life? see??) The obstacles he needs to overcome are his insecurity and lack of confidence.

Other interesting tidbits

The evils of propriety

Tom is mindful of decency and societal norms. (Capricorn Rising) That doesn’t mean he is not ready to throw them out the window, this is just another one of his contradictions. With him belonging to one of the Uranus in Capricorn generations he has the confidence to break through old established ideas. This aspect of his chart does oppose the likewise generational Neptune in Cancer, which suggests that this conflict is something he has a lot to do with in his life. Old-fashioned values vs. change for the better. Being compassionate towards others and maintaining harmony vs. fighting for your values and/or goals.

Sweet little cupcake

Tom is irresistibly likeable and naturally attracts warm feelings from others. (Venus in Leo) Do I need to say more? He is adorable and I have fallen under his spell. Points to Venus - there is my excuse lol

Twin influences

Tom has Mercury in Gemini, which gives an interesting quicksilver quality to his personality. He is surprisingly hard to pin down (get your mind out of the gutter ;P ). He is curious, versatile and quick witted. A great example of this is when in Private Matter John is trying to be very discreet about inquiring about his brother, and is surprised to find that against this effort, Tom immediately sees through him that he considers the possibility of his brother being guilty.

He also has Jupiter in Gemini, which again points to his adventurous nature and the knack for getting into advantageous situations. Do I need to say more?

Detective

My favourite small tidbit in his chart is a complex trine which suggests that he is good at looking beneath the surface for answers, good at investigating and unearthing things, and that he finds great allies in this. He is quite a little detective, our Tom. Seems like a small thing, but the placement of it suggests that this aids him in a great way. Which we know is true ;)

I hope you enjoyed this little ramble. It was fun to write, and it just made me fall twice as madly in love with our wee Byrd. Not that I need the encouragement on any day lol

[jolinar]

A Very Star Wars Fictober (in December!) Day 26

(I bet you thought I’d given up, huh? But no. Here I am, rising from the ashes because rebellions are built on hope...or something...)

Prompt number: #26 “How about you trust me for once?”

Fandom: Star Wars 

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings/Tags: Luke and Leia sibling bickering 

Word Count: 1497

Summary: Leia and Luke have words while planning to free Han from Jabba’s Palace. 

Read it on Ao3

“You want me to trust you? After what you and Han got into?”

“Luke!”

“Leia!”

They stared each other down, two immovable objects leaning forward in nearly identical poses. The holotable between them was littered with tablets, flimsies, half-scribbled notes, old kaf mugs, dirty plates, and broken styluses. In the center of the mess, a layout of Jabba’s Palace on Tatooine glowed an intermittent blue. Wordlessly, they glared at each other.

Surprisingly, Leia was the first one to break eye contact. She paced away, armed crossed, and Luke felt a moment of triumph -- then she wheeled to face him.

“I don’t see what your problem is," she said in precise, clipped tones. She sounded haughty, almost bored, as though his concerns were too base to even remark on. 

“What my problem is that your plan is needlessly complicated. While you’re waiting for all these pieces to fit together, Han could be dying.”

Leia flinched as though he had slapped her. Luke felt, again a moment of triumph, before she rallied again. 

“Jabba wants to use him as trophy -- you said that yourself: 'the Hutts love that kind of thing.' They’ll keep him alive. They have to.”

“And if you’re wrong??”

In answer to this, Leia drew her eyebrows together and pointed at him. “How about you trust me for once, hmm?” Luke was momentarily nonplussed. The expression and gesture...they were so Han. Leia wore them like a child trying on their parents' clothes. Luke shook his head and laughed. 

 “What? What is it? Do you think this is funny --” she demanded. She shifted her hands to her hips, a gesture entirely her own.

“No, it’s nothing --” She raised an eyebrow at him and he continued: “You sounded just like him there, like Han.”

Leia shut her eyes and took in a deep shuddering breath. “Oh no, he’s rubbing off on me.”

Luke suppressed a smile. “Looks like it.”

She let out a long sigh. “I’m serious. Luke. I need you to trust me here. I’ve trusted you since the beginning -- since you broke into my cell in that ridiculous stormtrooper armor. And I trusted you when I heard you on Bespin.”

There it was. The thing they’d avoided talking about. He’d dreaded her asking about it because, in truth, he didn’t know what it meant either. He’d been reaching out for old Ben Kenobi, searching the Force for someone familiar. But he’d found her instead. 

“I heard you, I heard your voice in my head and I trusted it. Now it’s your turn to trust me. Just walking into Jabba’s palace and demanding that he let Han go -- that’s not going to work. We need layers, plans within plans and failsafes if this is going to work.”

He looked into her face, into her earnest and somewhat pleading expression. He could feel her hurt, pulsing beneath her brave and impenetrable surface. 

“But why can’t we just break in and grab him?” Luke asked. “If we were fast enough --”

But Leia had already cut him off with a hand wave. "No, no, that won't work. If you'd just listen..." she gestured over her holo of Jabba’s Palace, talking rapidly but with a confident cadence. Her eyes were full of excitement and purpose. She liked this, Luke realized studying her, this planning. She thrived on it. And he knew that however unnecessary this may seem to him, she would be able to convince the others. That fire in her eyes would ignite even the weakest kindling. 

As he turned this over in his mind, he had another flash of insight. “You miss him.” He’d said it out loud without realizing it. Leia looped up and raised an eyebrow at him, as though he was an exceptionally slow child asking an impertinent question. He opened his mouth to retort, but she beat him to it.

“Do I miss Han? Yes, Luke, we...we talked about this. Han and I, we --”

But Luke shook his head, and leaned forward across the table, cutting her off this time. “No. You father. You miss him.” He gestured towards the table, the notes. “This is the kind of thing you used to do with him. Go over a plan. And you miss it.”

A normal person might have been upset, confused as to how he could have known this. But not Leia. She took it in her stride. Without betraying any emotion, she leaned back against the console, regarding him, arms crossed. Finally, she said: 

“You want to go there? Okay. I was adopted as a baby, but he and my mother were the only parents I ever knew. I loved my mother, but my father and I were very close," she paused for a moment, gathering herself. "Sometimes I miss him so much. Too much. I miss all of Alderaan. And I wish --" he could have sworn her voice cracked slightly before she could rein it under control, "I wish more than anything I could talk to him. Even when we both so busy, he would always write or record a message. That’s the hardest, I think...knowing he’ll never write to me again.” She paused and Luke felt as though something was unlocking within her, he was seeing a part of Leia that he had never seen before. But at the same time, he was thinking of himself. His adoptive parents had never written to him. They hadn't needed to; he'd hardly been out of yelling distance in his whole life. Of his own father, what he’d thought of him, what he’d turned out to be. How would Leia feel when one day she learned that his father had been instrumental in killing hers, and her whole planet? 

Leia saved him any further thought by pressing onwards: "But I can’t stop. I can’t mourn. Not him or my mother or my aunts or all of Alderaan. Not now. And I won’t, I can’t lose anyone else.” She was pointing at him again, that Han Solo gesture that was so incongruous to her small form. Her eyes were overbright, but Luke didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to comfort her. So instead, he just nodded. 

“I was adopted, too,” he said, after a moment, wanting to offer some common ground. “My aunt and uncle took me in, anyway. After,” he hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing, “after my parents died.”

“In the clone wars?”

Luke nodded. It was the easiest explanation and note entirely a lie. Maybe that's why his aunt and uncle had gravitated towards it. “And now Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru...they’re gone too. Killed by the Empire, they --” in his mind he saw again the charred remains of their homestead. He felt anger and tried to distance himself, pull away. Master Yoda had told him where anger led. He cast his eyes around the room, trying to find something else to hold on to. He found it in Leia. She held his gaze, firm and steadfast despite her own tears. 

They stood in silence for a moment. They were each deep in a grief that was both shared and unimaginable to the other. Then, tentatively, Luke said:

 “Well, I think your father would be proud of you.”

“Really?” Leia asked, incredulous. “I lost most of my men, the people I was responsible for, on Hoth. Even this plan...we’re not going after the Empire, we’re going after one man, we --”

“But you’re still moving forward, still carrying his dream. That counts for something, right?”

Leia looked at him sideways. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Yes?”

She laughed a little. “For what it’s worth, it’s working.” Then, more seriously: “Thank you.”

“And for what it’s worth, I do trust you." He held out his hands, gesturing at the table below them. “Tell me what you need me to do and I’ll do it.” As he said it, he realized that for him, it really want that easy. He could help Han and make Leia feel better, so he’d do it. And her plan hadn’t been that bad, it just took too long. But if it meant success...maybe that was part of the lesson that Master Yoda had been trying to impart as he'd left. If he could see something through, not get distracted...

Ironically, he was then distracted by Leia clearing her throat. He looked up at her expectantly. All trace of grief in her face was now gone, replaced instead with an almost mad fervor.

“I might need you to play an all-knowing and mysterious Jedi,” she tilted her head to the side, regarding critically. “Think you're up for it?"

Luke smiled wryly. "I'll do my best. What else?"

“Rule One: always have a man on the inside. I bet we could get someone on Jabba’s guard staff easily enough...” she looked up at him meaningfully. 

“Me? I don’t --”

“No, Lando.”

“He’ll do it? I thought you said --”

“He owes me a favor,” Leia replied, eyes flashing. “He’ll do it.”

[therealvagabird]

Jasper Reed

I have a new short story out - a little fluff piece featuring a farming girl rehabilitating a desolate world. More of a short character showcase for an OC and the little homesteader life she leads than anything.

Below the cut, though you can also give it a read and leave a comment on WordPress.

Jasper felt as though her lungs were filled with pure energy when she took a hit from the oxygen canister. Putting the supplemental to her lips like an inhaler, she helped herself to a long drag of fortified O2 as she watched the storm on the horizon.

The sky was grey, as it always was, but far over the western wastes it darkened in an abrupt wall of thunderheads that flashed and crackled with silent lightning, the thunder coming long moments after like a diminished drumroll. There was no telling yet if it would spell rain. Across the barren, rocky expanses of the countryside, transitioning from her small patch of black-soil flats to broad waves of glassy, igneous hills, the sheer size and majesty of the storm couldn’t be ignored. With no mountains to block their progress, and nothing but dust and stone beneath them, the winds could be a fearsome force.

Managing to pull her eyes from the awesome sight, Jasper Reed set her attention back to the task at hand. She wasn’t afraid of the storm – at least she didn’t fear for her life. Regardless, if it decided to roll in the direction of her farmstead it could spell trouble for all her operations if proper precautions weren’t taken. She pulled her facemask back on to ward against the cold, though she yanked off one glove to access the maintenance hatch of the machine in front of her; one of the pipeline regulator pylons which managed the flow of fuel, water, waste, and other underground conduits that fed through its section of the property. Jasper had seen to shutting down all conduits to the outer perimeter of the farm to ensure that if they were damaged in the storm it wouldn’t cause leakage problems. Of course, when she’d accessed the main controls back at the house, just one pylon had to be acting up.

“Ornery thing…” she muttered to herself, muffled by layers of cold-weather gear. One dexterous hand worked its way along several rows of breakers, before she disengaged another latch that allowed access to the circuitry of the controls themselves. She saw that one of the rotors had stripped itself, though she had no clue how. Preparedness was her middle name, however, and so she stepped away to access the half-buried repairs trunk that was attached right by the pylon’s base. A second rotor was retrieved and, with cursing all the while, installed in place of its broken predecessor. Another round of fiddling with the breakers, and the regulator came to life, just to be shut down in the proper manner by Jasper.

“There!” the homesteader exclaimed with a mix of satisfaction and tired relief, slamming the access panel shut and heading back for her home.

Her’s was a multipurpose farmstead in the more rural reaches of Q11-R01-D33-S49. Locals preferred the name Evernest. On the horizon, not an hour’s transit by rover, could be seen the lights of Silvermead township. About the town, a few miles removed from its outer buildings, rose the artificial forms of great steel and concrete buffer walls, same as those that rose like miniature mountains at broken intervals past the edges of the Reed Farmstead, beyond the outer fields and the micro-quarries. It was these buffer walls that ensured storms rolling in off the wastes were seldom fatal, as their colossal bulk prevented largescale uptake of the fragile soil, or even lesser buildings. Still, the walls couldn’t do as much for the other symptoms of the storm, and so people and animals were always encouraged to seek shelter.

Evernest, that region of the countryside in which Silvermead lay, was a rural settlement defined by its prosperous coastline and black-soil flats, along with the glass hills that marked where the wastelands began. It looked like many other places on the barren world of Epsilon Iota IV, or “Menelaus”. Silvermead was itself an ancillary town to the geodesic city of Erde, with the Reed Farmstead included as part of the township. It was – like the vast majority of settlements on Menelaus that were not massive, industrial cities – a colony dedicated to the long-term terraforming of the rocky, near-lifeless planet into something close to what it once was.

Jasper ran up to the steps of her house as the winds began to pick up again. Whether or not the storm passed over was irrelevant when the freezing winds of this time of year were reason alone to shelter inside. Her house – built something like a castle due to the way the architecture of colonial ready-made, reinforced construction approximated a traditional rustic manor – issued a golden glow from its windows promising warmth and reprieve within its otherwise imposing walls.

The beleaguered woman tramped inside and punched in the code to finalize the storm-readiness sequence for the whole farmstead on the terminal in the foyer. Silvermead didn’t have access to many outright luxuries, but they had all the tools needed to survive and thrive in the inhospitable stretches of the Menelaen wastes. Though the changes weren’t obvious to an outside observer, a complex series of mechanical failsafes were in place to prevent any catastrophic damage to the property, whether by natural disaster or freak accident.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Jasper pulled off her outer gear and hung it up in the entryway closet, mind turning to a hot mug of tea.

Jasper Reed was a well-built individual of average height, with broad shoulders and a fair amount of musculature, though her’s was more the build of a working individual and outdoorsman rather than something like a soldier. Her skin was a rich umber, and her features were strong and pronounced, though balanced by enough femininity to appear almost androgynous, with an elegant nose, full lips, sharp jaw, and bold eyes. Those eyes were one of her two more exotic markers, as her irises were a vibrant shade of gold – the color being a purposeful side-effect of expensive enhancements she’d splurged on many years ago. Her hair, likewise, was a rich violet. That was nothing more than simple dye, as her natural hair color was a straw blonde, despite what her dark skin would imply. Her cascading purple locks were brought together into two half-braided pigtails that were tucked away over her shoulders for convenience.

Heading into the kitchen, she had boiling water in just a few moments thanks to the automatic kettle and selected some homegrown loose-leaf she’d dried just at the end of autumn. Seasons were not too different on Menelaus, despite how alien and desolate it appeared, than other temperate or otherwise Terra-like worlds. Most of the year the weather was mild, if dry, with summer being hot but bearable save for the very worst days, while winter was about the same.

As she set the pot to steep, she spared another look out one of the house’s front windows. The Reed stead was a fair plot of black-soil flats, about twenty acres altogether. Most of that was given over to growing plots, though the barrier fences and squat, sturdy shapes of the stables, livestock barn, coops, and the like could be seen at the far edge of the property. Beyond them were the micro-quarries which ground down the glassy stones of the surrounding barrens into more usable topsoil. Quite compact. For almost four years now Jasper had sunk everything she had into maximizing the efficiency and quality of her little piece of Evernest. Where once she’d gotten by on subsistence farming and a few cash crops, now she was the proud producer of most of Silvermead’s artisanal goods and considered among the up-and-coming leaders of the township’s community. Even Erde City had taken notice, though Jasper had been hesitant about accepting anything from the local government, even in the ways of tax credits. She’d helped herself to more irrigation allotments, though. As her farm contributed to large-scale soil fixing and O2 balancing as part of the terraforming effort, she was entitled to enough water to compensate for the lack of natural rains in the thin atmosphere.

Among the fields could be spotted intermittent structures, no more than a handful, but with a distinct rounded shape and greebled texture that seemed to blend with the rest of the farm’s technology only when not given a closer inspection. Jasper, of course, knew what they were, and they were one of the major keys to her meteoric rise to success.

Not three decades had passed since the end of the War. Though the farmer looked about that old herself, she’d been in her teens during that time, and remembered life as a refugee on far-off Terra. A strange virus had swept the scope of the colonies, turning the burgeoning AI systems of humanity against them. It had almost spelled extinction for the entire human race, but by some miracle the machines had been halted, rehabilitated, and all that was left was to rebuild a now fractured galaxy.

Menelaus had once been a garden world of significant population, but both sides of the war had deployed superweapons of devastating power in their battles here, and now most of the planet’s surface was nothing but carbonized glass. It was the Terran Central Government’s wish that one day, through many, many years of careful terraforming, the planet might be coaxed back into working order. Of course, technology was only so advanced, even in this age, and so it was the task of simple people like Jasper to try, acre by acre, to set the natural magic of farming, moisture-locking, fertilizing, excavating, and various other life-seeding techniques to work. To build a biosphere from scratch.

The tea was ready, and as Jasper poured herself a cup her attention was drawn to a shuffling sound from the living room hallway, the kitchen being open to the living room itself.

“Have a nice nap?” Jasper smiled, “It’s alright, I was just freezing to death outdoors, but I’m glad you’re having a relaxing weekend.”

“I’m sorry—” Poppy’s voice sounded apologetic through a yawn, but Jasper just smiled and shook her head.

“No, it’s fine, I had to do a quick repair on one of the regulators. You want tea?” she saw Poppy’s nod from the corner of her eye, and so poured a second cup without a spare word.

Poppy and Jasper had been married for about two years now, with their anniversary having just passed. She was a Silvermead local – self-trained in a multitude of topics. Before Jasper had known her, she was a kind if somewhat awkward girl who spent more time at the local library than at her own rather run-down house. Her impish, darling face, short mousy hair, and overall rustic charm – along with her endless enthusiasm for as wide a range of topics as Jasper was interested in – had captured the homesteader’s heart from the start.

“Is the storm likely to hit the farm?” Poppy asked, taking her mug of tea as the two sat on the couch together, looking out the window at the sun falling towards the western horizon from the comfort of the antique loveseat. The shorter girl was dressed in baggy, comfortable clothes as she was want to do around the house.

“Maybe, but it shouldn’t be a problem,” Jasper allayed, “Don’t worry, hon.”

“What about the micros?” she asked, concern still tinging her voice, “Will they be alright?”

Jasper laughed, “What, like individually? Have you been playing with them again?”

“I meant like if their dispensers would get damaged.” The brown-haired girl pouted, “Don’t tease me! You got all upset last time you had to make repairs.”

“I know, I know,” dark lips planted a quick kiss on a rosy cheek, “They’ll be fine, along with the animals, the fields, the fuel lines – I’ve made sure of it”

The little mounds in the fields, the dispensers – those were the homes of the microtrons, or “micros”. One of the main reasons why Jasper was so unenthusiastic about any government types coming out their way. She remembered when she’d found them; or been gifted them, more like.

Not far from the Reed stead there was another settlement not marked on official maps, and which but a few people in Silvermead were privy to. Tensions had been high between humans and machines ever since the War, even with all moves towards amends. AI units had never been the same since the virus, showing degrees of sapience once reserved for humans alone. In that settlement, there was a colony of AI units – veterans of the War, who preferred isolation to risking reprisal for their past actions, even if they couldn’t be considered responsible. They led lives centered around their own pursuits, not unlike those of Jasper and her other homesteader friends; but where the humans took to farming, fishing, and otherwise trying to keep some balance of nature on this crippled world, the machines devoted themselves to unlocking those technological secrets still leftover, hidden, buried all over the countryside of Menelaus from the time of the War.

The micros had been a gift from these machines in exchange for Jasper’s amicability and discretion – automated harvester units of single-minded intelligence, but far greater sophistication than anything made by human hands alone. Government regulations weren’t fond of unaccounted AI, or any technology that might have some taint from the War on it, so they’d been the guarded secret of the Reed Farmstead.

Poppy liked to talk to them and play with them, when she wasn’t busy. Jasper had tried explaining that the spherical little robots, for how expressive they could be, were little more than advanced drones, but her wife had not had any of it.

“Maybe if we make sure they like us – like us for more than just keeping them repaired – we wouldn’t have to be so fearful about any kind of virus turning them against us one day,” Poppy had explained, in her frank and sincere way, “Maybe they’re not like humans or full AIs, but why would you treat them with any less love than the cat or the chickens?”

Jasper wasn’t the most sentimental type when it came to technology, but she had to admit Poppy’s romantic view of the little drones had rubbed off on her. She did owe the majority of her farm’s efficiency – and the fact she didn’t have to deal with managing any human workers – to the ministrations of the foot-high bots.

“Town fair is next week,” Jasper commented as the two sat close together, sipping their tea. It was delicious – so many people in the colonies had to depend on processed spacer food, but when you were an artisan farmer there were payoffs to all that hard work, “You still wanna make that cake?”

“Of course. I’ve been making sure the chickens stay nice and happy so their eggs will be top notch.” Poppy cracked a sleepy grin.

“Should maybe bring a gift to the machines as well. You reminded me, talking about the micros.” Jasper mulled. The settlement of the rogue bots was just a few miles to the west, in the ruins of what seemed to be some old facility that had weathered the worst of Menelaus’ apocalypse. They didn’t want for much, the AIs who sheltered there, but with the harsh realities of their day to day survival she knew they could get grungy, worn down, etcetera. They might appreciate some fine cleaning oils, crystals, and fresh cloth from the farm.

“Do you think this is gonna work?” Poppy asked then, to the faint rumblings of thunder.

“Is what gonna work?” her wife asked, leaning over to read her face, gold eyes meeting those colored like a deep ocean.

“All the terraforming stuff? I mean, I know from a mathematical standpoint it all makes sense, but – from a regular one? All the time and energy involved? You think people are still going to be rebuilding this world centuries from now?”

Jasper’s brow raised, a stark yellow on her dark face, “Getting a little existential there, hon.”

“Well?” Poppy didn’t appreciate Jasper’s blunt affect sometimes, when she knew they both were capable of serious discussion.

“I don’t see why not. Yeah, it’ll be hard, and a long haul, and random disasters may happen all the same, but—” the farmer shrugged, “Why shouldn’t we try? I think, y’know, so long as everyone works towards a common goal, there’s no reason for it to be impossible. But I understand – I’m honestly more concerned about people and AIs and how they’ll act, rather than things like time, or luck, or fate, I don’t know.”

“Mm.” Poppy muttered. Even when she frowned, her face had a beautiful softness to it.

“Hey,” Jasper leaned in, kissing her temple, “At the end of the day, it’s just us. We can’t change the universe all at once. We can only control our own lives, and how we approach them. And, well, how we treat each other.” She smiled.

“I think I want to try applying for university.” Poppy said then, “I don’t really know what for – maybe I could teach, or just be a clerk, or maybe go to a trade school or something, but – I feel like I’m at my limit for what I can do in Silvermead. It only really has so much to offer.” She looked to Jasper then with wide eyes, “Not here, of course. Not you. Just. I mean. It would be tough, being apart, but – I could achieve something.”

“It’s alright,” the farmer smiled, rubbing her wife’s shoulder. Poppy had dropped hints to this effect in the past. “I’ll support you no matter what you do. I’m proud of you! But you will come back to me, though, won’t you?”

“Of course!” she cried, almost indignant, “I never really wanted to do anything amazing. I just wanted to be content, and maybe help some people. Be important to some people. When I found you, and you offered to let me move in, marry, help on the farm – it was like a dream. But I think I maybe just want to see a little bit more of what’s out there, learn more than I can here, before I settle down for good.”

“We could go together.” Jasper spoke then, as their faces were but an inch apart.

“But the farmstead—”

“It’ll still be here. The micros will maintain things. We could have someone just keep the house. Maybe Preston, or your brother, or even one of the AIs. Maybe Rho?” her face furrowed in thought for a moment, “I never really intended to go anywhere else once I settled down in Evernest. I’d already had enough of travel and cities and whatnot to last a lifetime, but I didn’t consider that those were things you’d never even gotten to experience in the first place.”

“It’d only be to Erde.” Poppy’s head listed to the side, “I mean – I don’t think I’d have any reason to go off-world. Maybe if we took a vacation one day or something.” She laughed.

“Whatever you decide,” Jasper and Poppy’s poses were mirrored as they sat next to each other, looking into each other’s eyes, with the taller woman’s dark skin and almost alien hair and eyes playing off the simple charm of Poppy’s earthy bob and oceanic eyes, “I’m with you one-hundred percent. We can always figure out the details at a better time.”

“Yeah.” Poppy smiled then, before surprise graced her face as Jasper leaned in to catch her lips in a passionate kiss. They drew the moment out for a good several seconds before their lips parted, and a bright flush filled the pale girl’s cheeks. “I’m happy to just have tea with you tonight.”

“Not much of a choice,” Jasper grinned, “Storm’s not gonna pass until morning.”

“Then keep me warm.” Her wife brought her legs up onto the sofa, curling up beside the larger woman, eyes half-closed and steaming mug right below her nostrils.

Jasper reached over the back of the couch for a blanket, and once that was draped over the both of them, she grabbed a manual on chicken raising from the side table. The two women would stay in that pose long after they’d finished their tea, sharing a blanket, each with one arm around the other, reading their respective books.

[lost-tanuki-tales]

Trekking down the tunnels

Prompts: Exhaustion, Collapse  Cast: The Disaster Five Word count: 6.4k

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Grenelant looked up from his papers and blinked muzzily, then realized he felt a bit dry. The opiel looked over to the side of his room and the clock- digital, they called it- showed him that it was already morning. Another fleeting night spent pouring over knowledge instead of resting without proper hydration... It was no wonder he felt so tired. The chair raked across the floor as he stood up, his webbed fingers a mere few inches away from touching the low ceiling when he stretched, and then he brushed down the many layers of fabric of his outfit to tidy his undesirably unruly appearance. He quickly and efficiently swept up the documents strewn about on the surface of his desk to form a neat pile on the side and left the room.

The ship was quiet in these parts, as it often was when the two humans went about their respective business. Grenelant was grateful for it. The less he had to listen to them squabble during one day, the better. He headed down the hallway for the sanitaries and felt around for nearby humidity, once again unpleasantly reminded of how inorganic this place was. His membranous wings flickered in troubled annoyance at the thought of spending such a long time aboard, so far from the marshes and rivers of his home planet. Nostalgia, in turn, dawned in his heart when his thoughts brought him back to his home and family. Grenelant missed swimming in the underwater tunnels which seamlessly connected with those on the surface, missed the comforting thrum of water beneath his wings, missed the soft flutter of fish drifting close to his skin, missed the fresh humidity of algous upholstery that was so much more comfortable than the dry chairs on this ship.

He promptly berated himself for allowing his mind to meander down such a wistful lane. Here in space, he was less of an opiel than he was Ophena's ambassador, and it really would not do for him to behave like a child. The Court had known this would be Grenelant's first interstellar mission yet they'd still trusted him to see it through, and so he would. He had to. He hadn't worked so hard all his life only to fail on his first real chance to prove his worth to the most powerful people on Ophena. Homesickness wouldn't get the best of him after a mere three weeks of travelling in a spaceship when they still had at least five months to go- and Grenelant tried not to grow to disheartened at the reminder that this was only in the best case scenario.

The opiel let out a discreet sigh as he checked on the water reserves again, a nervous habit he'd aquired five days after they'd lost the ship's external humidity collectors. Lack of sleep wasn't the only reason his skin was abnormally dry; he'd soon noticed the reserves and sanitaries hadn't been meant to take into account the needs of his species on their own, and so he'd had to make do with less frequent immersions, in more shallow depths than he would've liked. It had been enough, for a while, but now Grenelant was starting to feel the effects of neglecting an important part of his biology. He didn't want to give the earthlings reason to think he'd ever rely on them after the last fiasco he'd been forced to take part of, but he couldn't push it back any longer. Pride be damned. He needed their help.

"Captain Trust."

She spun around in her seat and her head tilted back to face him. "Leonida. We're just the three of us here! There's no need to remain so formal, Grenelant, I keep telling you."

Arkady was sitting in front of a panel on the far left of the control room, where he'd stopped rummaging for a few seconds to watch the tall amphibian step up to their captain. Now he was rolling his eyes as he checked the wires, and Grenelant heard him mutter to himself: "Here we go again."

Leonida shot him a look. "What?"

The man didn't look up from what he was doing and mumbled: "Nothing."

"Spit it out, Arkady."

He finally glanced at her. "Sir, no offense, but getting annoyed because Grenelant can't call you anything other than Captain yet won't change anything. It took me two weeks to stop calling you that and I still slip up."

"He's never called me Leonida and he's been here for three!"

And I was injured on the second by your fault, wryly thought Grenelant, but he kept quiet.

Arkady shrugged. "In my division our superior was on a total power trip, and we both know how the army goes in general. You can't expect me to drop the habit of calling superiors by their title. Not everyone's like you."

She crossed her arms. "You two are just the most stuck-up people in the universe."

Grenelant took advantage of the lull in their conversation to say: "You'll have to forgive me, Captain. Hierarchy is very deeply ingrained in the ways of my people."

"I think I'm beginning to get that," Leonida said with a little smile that was bordering on wry and teasing. "All right, Grenelant, what did you want with me?"

"There's an issue concerning our water backup supply."

"I don't know what you're going on about, I check the levels every day and there's enough for three weeks just like there's meant to be," said Arkady with a frown. "Why would you even check those? That's my job."

The subtext was clear: why was Grenelant lowering himself to the menial task of checking parameters within the ship when he was the ambassador, only here to sit around and symbolize the cooperation between two planets? Not to mention that this was an insult to Arkady's abilities as the ship's technician.

Grenelant faced him. "You've had enough water for your consumption, but not for mine."

"What do you mean?" asked Leonida. Her tone of voice was concerned.

"We lost the water processors on the outside of the ship and the regenerative system isn't nearly enough on its own to replace all our daily water consumption. My species requires frequent submersion in water and I can't reasonably deplete the reserves without putting us all in potential danger, which means I've had to restrain myself from following through with that habit. Unfortunately, I don't think I can hold this less than ideal rythm for much longer."

"Grenelant, why didn't you say anything before?" exclaimed Leonida, suddenly straightening in her seat. "How often do you usually need to do that?"

"Two times per day."

"And how many times have you been doing it?"

"Once every two days, and even then, it seems to be quite unreasonable of me to use so much water. I've been keeping the levels relatively steady but this won't do in the long run. I'm aware they aren't supposed to dip beneath 90% outside of an emergency situation and continuing like this will lead to violation of protocol if we don't find a solution to my problem."

"Are you all right?" Leonida was frowning now, her gaze calculating as it looked him over. "I thought your hair looked a little dry. Is it dehydration?"

She didn't sound worried, but rather like she was watching out for a flaw she'd need to fix. Grenelant preferred the captain's analytical concern over useless fretting, it made him feel less like he was doomed to be in their debt once they'd figure out a way to provide him with the water he needed.

"I'll be fine as long as this doesn't last. What do you suggest?"

Leonida glanced over at her second. "Arkady? Any ideas?"

Arkady had disappeared behind the panel again and he grumbled: "I'm not the smart one here."

"Well," she said thoughtfully, like she hadn't actually expected him to say anything worthwhile, "I guess we'll have to see if there's another planet we could land on to get water earlier. I would've made sure the reserves were bigger if I'd known." She turned around to step up to one of the screens and asked: "Why'd you keep quiet about this?"

"I didn't realize it could get this dire. Obviously your people didn't take into account what would happen if the collectors stopped working."

"Probably not," bluntly agreed Leonida as her finger swiped across the luminescent surface. It figured. Grenelant didn't know why he was still surprised by her brutal honesty. "Okay, let me just reprogram our route and we'll be on our way to get more water."

They eventually docked on a small deserted dwarf planet amidst the nearest icy belt they could deviate towards and disembarked in heated suits, except for Leonida. Her standard outfit seemed to serve many, many purposes and Grenelant was quietly admirative of its versatility, watching in fascination as the brightly colored plates of Leonida's body shifted from red to a reflection of her surroundings. The air wasn't toxic, which he was grateful for as it didn't warrant wearing a suffocating helmet.

The pure water was concentrated deep below the first outer layer of the planet which meant they couldn't just land and take it; they'd need to get close to it and bring back full containers. Leonida showed Grenelant how to use the crafts meant for exploration and collection in a hostile environment: flying vehicles that glided close to the ground, small enough to fit through natural tunnels and big enough to bring back consequent amounts of food or water or whatever samples they'd see fit to pick up. Grenelant trailed at the back on the first half of the first day of their descent because it took him some time to get the hang of the commands that weren't made for his long, webbed hands, but eventually he managed to catch up with them and remained at their level. Their progress was stopped very soon when it became clear that even the considerably downsized vehicles wouldn't allow them to go very far; the tunnels hadn't remained wide enough. There was a short moment of deliberation and eventually Leonida told them they'd go on foot.

"What?!" Arkady's exclamation crackled through the radio. "How're we supposed to bring back the water on foot?"

"The containers have wheels, we'll drag them along."

"Cap- Leonida, sir, they'll be way too heavy once we fill them!"

"Right." There was hesitation on Leonida's end. "Sorry, Arkady. I forgot you don't have our strength."

"Wow, thanks," quietly mumbled the man. He probably hadn't intended to be audible but Grenelant heard it well enough, and he had no doubt it was the same for Leonida. She didn't react.

"Grenelant, just to be sure, I assume you're strong enough to carry yours alone. Right?"

"Yes."

"Would two containers be enough water for you until we reach the next checkpoint on our trajectory?

"Yes, but I have another proposition since we're going on foot."

"Shoot," said Leonida.

Grenelant addressed their technician. "Dragunin, would you be able to modify the water purification machine so it could recycle greater volumes of water in the same time as it currently is?"

"I'm pretty sure I can pull that off, yeah," answered the man.

"Then I'd advise you to only take one tank, Captain Trust. The water purification machine should be able to recycle enough water for me to use it once a day and I'll get by like this until we get more water through safer means. There's no need to burden ourselves with superfluous weight if we can do this the easy way."

"Oh, good!" enthusiastically said Leonida. "Should be a breeze then! It'll go fast if we're three to carry a single container. Happy, Arkady?"

"Never been happier," grumbled Arkady.

"It's settled then! All right, everyone, let's go."

Leonida moved fast. Grenelant had already noticed when they'd been walking through crowds that her strides were always long and quick and determined; however, he'd yet to see her moving on this kind of bumpy, treacherous terrain, and he was reluctantly admirative of how easy she made it seem. Where Arkady kept slipping and stumbling, where Grenelant's webbed feet had to be carefully positioned, Leonida never once hesitated. She was the one doing most of the pulling for the container. It was like she could see the path laid out before her while both Grenelant and Arkady were left to struggle in her wake, rocks crumbling beneath their steps. The opiel kept one hand warily pressed up against the wall in case he lost his footing, and the human seemed to want to prove he didn't need such support by keeping his own in his pockets. His arms ended up shooting more often than not to catch himself and in the end Arkady kept his hands out as well.

They made good progress on the first day. They rarely paused because Leonida was so intent on getting the water as soon as possible so they could get back on their regularly scheduled route. Grenelant appreciated that this woman who was to guide them to Ophena's lost colony was someone who knew exactly what she wanted and would follow through with it no matter what unexpected events occurred; determination was a primordial quality in a leader. She was overly confident and got them in more trouble than Grenelant would've desired, but one thing was for certain, and it was that Leonida Trust knew very well how to lead. He wondered if she guided large troups with that same efficient will and certainty. It was likely. Captain wasn't just a title for her, she had the aura of a commander.

As for Arkady... Grenelant glanced over at the human. He may have been from the same planet as the captain, but he had neither the stamina nor the steady demeanor of his superior. Grenelant knew Arkady was more of a human than Leonida, he'd studied them for some time after all; the records did say that humans were more fragile and less resiliant than opiels but Grenelant hadn't thought it meant they tired out so fast. Arkady was slower now. They hadn't had much opportunity to sleep the night before, as this planet was unknown territory and Leonida didn't want them to linger too long in the same spot in case there was a danger roaming around that they weren't yet aware of. These tunnels didn't seem to be an entirely natural geological structure. Leonida had listened when Grenelant had pointed this out, and so they'd kept moving.

So far there had been few pauses to eat and sleep during which Leonida had always been the one to keep watch. The night had lasted two hours at best. Grenelant didn't require any longer time asleep but he could tell that Arkady did. This was the second day they were trekking through the dark tunnels- the third since they'd left the ship- and in the harsh light of their suits which made their surroundings pale and nearly blinding, Grenelant saw the dark bags that had appeared under the man's eyes. Another thing he'd noticed was the way Arkady didn't ask for pauses. The human was obviously relieved when Leonida told them they could stop, but he never asked. Grenelant himself wasn't feeling well. The tunnels humidity, while cold, did help a bit; however he'd gone too long without taking a dip in a body of water while already dehydrated from the start. His wings were clumped together in a very uncomfortable way and his skin felt clammy. He hadn't yet reached the point of dizziness but he knew it wouldn't be far now.

Arkady tripped. The human had been tripping more often, and he hastily caught himself on the tank. "Fuck!"

"Watch your step, Arkady," rang out Leonida's tranquil voice the way it had every time.

"I know!" annoyedly spat the man, and he ragingly pushed himself up to straighten but tripped again immediately after. Grenelant was fast enough to catch him before he hit the ground.

"Are you alright?" he inquired.

Arkady pulled his arm away with a snarl. "Let go!"

The opiel let go and Arkady scrambled back to his feet with a powerful glare. Puzzled by this display of hostility, Grenelant steadily said: "I was just trying to help."

"I don't need your help," seethed the human.

Leonida had turned around to see what the fuss was about and she said: "No need to be so grumpy, Arkady, we're almost there."

"I'm grumpy because I'm goddamn tired. Fuck, aren't you?"

She shrugged and turned around. "Nope. Battery's still good."

"And I bet frogman's just fine, too," resentfully muttered Arkady.

Grenelant immediately took offense to the term. He'd seen what frogs looked like and although he couldn't deny there was a resemblance, he really didn't like being compared to those little heaps of slimy skin and protruding eyes. He coldly retorted: "Yes, and I'd certainly feel even better if you stopped your ceaseless whining."

Leonida muffled her laugh behind her hand and Arkady shot the opiel a murderous look.

"I'm not whining, I'm tired! What, I can't even say that without getting judged?"

Grenelant ignored him. Arkady opened his mouth to keep complaining but then seemed to think better of it. His shoulders slumped, he shook his head, and he resumed pushing the container.

Arkady's stumbles increased in frequency over the next hours and when he outright tripped over and fell on his rear, Grenelant decided to speak up. "Captain Trust, I think we should take a break."

She turned around, watching Arkady awkwardly pick himself up, and said: "Do you need one? We're almost there. Half a day at most."

That glare again. Grenelant didn't like how resentful Arkady's blue eyes were and he especially didn't like the disdainful way the human turned his head away from him, as if Grenelant had done him a personal offense by asking for a short rest.

"I'm good to go, sir," Arkady answered.

"Okay," she answered with a nod. "Grenelant?"

"We should stop."

"I don't need a pause," growled Arkady.

Grenelant looked down at the human and steadily said: "I do."

Arkady's features slackened a little when he realized he'd been acting quite like everything revolved around him, and then he frowned and looked away. It looked like embarrassment. Grenelant supposed it was some sort of consolation that while egocentric and prone to complaints, the human wasn't completely devoid of a sense of self-awareness.

Leonida let go of the tank. "Then you two sit down for a bit, I'll go check the perimeter. Don't fight again, your arguing gets loud and that's really the last thing we need here."

"Understood," said Grenelant, and he bent his knees to sit. Arkady waited for Leonida to disappear before going to lean against the wall and sliding down to the ground. There was a short while of silence, then Arkady let out a weary sigh and let his head tip back against the wall.

Grenelant looked around the place and he noticed something dark sticking against the wall a few feet away from the human, so he slowly pushed himself back to his feet and came closer. He was tired, but that wouldn't stop him from investigating this place. He felt Arkady's gaze on him but didn't pay attention to the human, instead kneeling down in front of the dark spot which turned out to be long strands of black hair. Curious. Grenelant reached for his bag and took out a vial, always eager to take samples back to the ship to study, and Arkady shifted to take a closer look at what he was doing.

"What's that?"

"Fur," said Grenelant. He wasn't one to hold a grudge against another person, even if said person was incredibly rude at best. "Either from the creature that made these tunnels, either from one that took residency in this place."

Arkady didn't say anything. Grenelant glanced at him and saw that he really didn't seem reassured by the news.

Grenelant put away the vial in his pack and added: "I did tell you both that these tunnels weren't the result of natural causes."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time," tensely said Arkady.

He looked wary as he crossed his arms on his knees and hunched over. Grenelant didn't exactly blame the human for being scared, he wasn't confident himself either. It had been jarring enough to meet other civilizations than those of Ophena; now they were stuck on a planet they'd thought deserted until Grenelant had observed it likely wasn't, and they had no clue what the life forms inhabiting it looked like. It could be dangerous if the creature living here turned out to be a predator. Grenelant stood up, and that was when the first wave of dizziness washed over him. He wavered and steadied himself against the wall.

"Woah," came Arkady's voice from a distance. "What's with you?"

"I'm just- Lack of water. I've told you about this too."

"You did, yeah... You should probably sit down."

"Yes." Grenelant didn't even step away from the wall, just let himself drop to the ground right there. He couldn't tell if he'd voluntarily sat down or if his legs had given up on him. The latter option was unlikely, he was an opiel after all. Legs were the strongest part of them.

"Do you not have any water left?" ventured Arkady after a beat.

"I do, but it's drinking water, and not nearly enough for what I need at the moment."

Arkady fell silent again and laid his head back against the wall. There wasn't much else to say. Grenelant closed his eyes and waited for the spell to pass, and when he opened them again he saw that Arkady had done the same. Grenelant took advantage of the fact that Arkady wasn't looking to gauge the state the human was in. Grenelant was no expert on these creatures in particular but he knew enough to observe that the fact that Arkady had paled, coupled with the fine tremors in his hands as they rested against his knees, meant that he was just as exhausted as Grenelant felt. Arkady may have denied needing this halt but it was obvious this was beneficial for the both of them. Grenelant wondered if a human different from Arkady and Leonida would have been able to keep up in the same conditions. After all, Arkady was the unique soldier who'd been chosen to accompany an army captain on a mission through space; that had to mean his abilities were above average and that he was far from weak in human standards.

Leonida returned a few seconds later and the sound of her voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "All right, guys, I didn't see or hear anything weird. How are you holding up, Grenelant?"

He looked up at her and admitted: "This isn't the best I've ever felt in my life. I may be reaching a limit soon."

Leonida stopped in front of him. "And what does that entail?"

"It starts with dizziness. That phase lasts a while, and eventually issues with thermoregulation come into play, as well as loss of strength."

"Life-threatening?"

"It can be, yes. But it takes time to reach that point and I've only just started getting dizzy. There's no need to worry. At worst, I'll survive until the next stop the way I have up until now."

Leonida stared at him, her lips pressed together in a thin line. "Your health wouldn't be good."

"No," acknowledged Grenelant. "It would be much better if we could bring water back to the ship."

"Have you had this happen to you before?"

"Once or twice, yes. But never beyond the dizzy phase."

"So then we'd better hurry before you get worse."

Grenelant glanced in Arkady's direction. His head was now fully resting against his arms and his breathing had a calmer rythm. Leonida turned to follow his gaze and they both stared at the human.

"We might want to give him a chance to sleep," said Grenelant. "Doesn't your species require at least seven per day to function optimally? He hasn't even had half of that in two."

Leonida nodded with a musing air. "I tend to forget what it's like to be human. He complains a lot so I thought as long as he was vocal, he was probably fine, but I might've been pushing him a little too hard."

Grenelant looked up at her. "I've been meaning to ask, if it's not indelicate..."

"Shoot," she cordially said as she sat down next to him.

"You come from Earth and you look similar to Dragunin, but what are you exactly?"

"I was human once, if that's what you were wondering, just like this guy. Now I'm more of a machine than what I used to be." She flashed him a smile. "It comes in handy."

Grenelant nodded. Though he was tired and rest was preferable, fascination pushed him to continue the conversation. "Is this common where you come from?"

"No." Her smile turned pensive. "Definitely not. A lot of people told me I was crazy for wanting this."

"Why?"

"Modifying the body you've had for all your life is kind of... an extreme decision. And my transformation was a first. They hadn't had successful attempts before me so people thought it would fail and that I'd die or become irreversibly crippled, stuff like that."

"...I can't imagine what it must have felt like to go through such a thing."

Grenelant's species had a single morphological change during their lifetime and it was in their early stages of life, just like babies and adults in humans. Once the second form was aquired, it was for a lifetime, and to change one's own appearance was practically unheard of on Ophena. Grenelant had in fact been very surprised to learn that humans often chose to change their sex, and in doing so, shift the nature of the secondary sexual characteristics aquired during their puberty. Nothing so extreme had ever been done on his home planet.

"I chose this. I don't regret it," stated Leonida. Then she smiled at him again. "You might want to take this time to rest too, Grenelant. You do look pretty pooped."

"Pooped?" Grenelant frowned, hoping this wasn't an insult the captain had come up with out of the blue. No matter the planet, insults often came down to talk about excrements.

She laughed. "It means tired, don't get your panties in a twist." A second to realize, and she added: "That one means 'don't get worked up over it'."

"I see, thank you for explaining. I think I'll do as you said."

"Good." She got back up in one fluid motion, and as usual said: "I'll keep watch."

Vibrations were what startled Grenelant back to consciousness : vibrations travelling from the packed earth at his back to the core of his body, his lung and his eardrums. He saw movement on his right. It was Leonida rushing up to them, her features pulled tight, and when she saw that he was already awake she ran to Arkady to shake her second-in-command awake.

"Get up! Get up, we have to go!"

Arkady blinked awake with a groan and he squinted at her in confusion. "Wha-?"

She grabbed him by the collar and hefted him up as if he weighed nothing at all. "No time to explain, gotta run!"

He was about to answer when a horrid screech suddenly echoed through the tunnels. Arkady's eyes widened with fear and Grenelant picked himself off the ground as hastily as the human stumbled after their leader. A rumbling sound travelled through the air around them and dirt started pattering to the ground. They stilled when the earth over their heads started cracking and crumbling.

"Get back!" yelled Leonida.

She pulled Arkady back in the direction they'd just come from so brutally that the human was thrown to the ground in an undignified pile of limbs, and Grenelant reflexively leapt back just as part of the tunnel collapsed in the spot they'd occupied just a second ago.

"Shit!" swore Leonida as she picked her second off the floor. "Run!"

"What about that thing we heard-" started Arkady, but she cut him off with a roar.

"Run!"

They ran. They ran back towards the spot they'd been resting in but didn't have the time to reach it before the screech resounded again, this time unmistakably close.

"It's above us!" yelled Grenelant.

Leonida looked up sharply and then grabbed the both of them to shove them up against the wall.

Arkady yelled, "What-"

Thunder exploded when the ceiling caved in, silt and rubble tumbling everywhere around them, and horror truly dawned on Grenelant when he saw the shadow of something huge slithering down from the dark network of tunnels showing in the split layers of earth. Grenelant didn't see it for long because then Leonida was grabbing him by the collar and forcing him to duck down with Arkady. There were several impacts above him and it took Grenelant a moment to realize that it was the sound of rock hitting metal- of rock hitting Leonida. Just as he understood that she was shielding them with her body, a final slab toppled down on the group of three and their captain took the brunt of it. He had the time to see the tight expression on her face before her light shorted out. Then there was silence, save for the light sounds of dirt sifting and pebbles bouncing on the ground. Arkady and Grenelant were unharmed, still caught in the protective brace of Leonida's arms.

"Oh, fuck," Arkady was the first to say. "Shit, what was that?"

"Captain, are you all right?" Grenelant quickly asked when Leonida didn't move.

"Just- Give me a moment. Give me a minute." She sounded fine, but the fact that she was staying so still was worrying.

"What's wrong?"

"Just recalibrating some stuff, routine, don't worry about it. Took a nasty blow."

"You took a few of them," Grenelant said. He couldn't believe she was still standing, much less that she was able to talk, yet there she was. Just what kind of human was she?

Arkady shifted next to him and his light moved with him, brushing over Leonida's front, and then he asked: "Are you hurt or are you just stuck?"

She let out a little laugh. "I might be just stuck. I'd advise you two not to move until I can."

"How long will that be?"

"About ten minutes, I think."

Arkady audibly swallowed. "Can't we try to dig out?"

"And that, Arkady, would be the best way to get all the dirt to collapse on you," teasingly answered their captain.

Gren could make out the change in pace of the man's breathing and he carefully turned to look at him. "Are you all right, Dragunin?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm uh, I'm fine," hastily said Arkady. He swallowed again and ran a hand through his short hair. "Just not a fan of small spaces, you know."

Grenelant didn't know, but he chose not to say that. Arkady seemed to be very uneasy and the opiel didn't want to risk saying anything upsetting in this situation.

"Just a few minutes," said Leonida. "Keep it together."

Arkady clenched his fist and lowered his arm back in his lap, nodding. "Yessir."

"How are you both doing after all that running around?"

"The adrenaline sure woke me up," said Arkady.

"I hope we find the water soon," answered Grenelant. "It'll be safer for us once I've recovered."

"Do you have to stay in there for an hour or something for it to work?" inquired Leonida.

"I see you've taken great pains to learn about my species," annoyedly said Grenelant.

She smiled, embarrassed, and admitted: "I'm not really the studious kind."

"Between thirty minutes and forty-five," said Arkady. The other two looked at him in surprise and he defensively said: "What? I got briefed on this operation too. I have good memory."

"That's correct," said Grenelant, and he looked up the Leonida. "Will you be able to remember that, Captain?"

"My, my, are you giving me sass, Grenelant?" she said with a wide grin. "Here I thought you were doomed to eternal formality. Oh, and sass means you're being mouthy."

"I would never," gravely said Grenelant.

Next to him, Arkady shifted and grumbled: "Shit, that was one nasty earthquake."

"I'm almost done recalibrating, we should be able to check out the aftermath soon."

"I think I saw what caused it," quietly said Grenelant. Leonida's brown gaze grew sharper and Arkady's head snapped in his direction.

"You saw something?!"

"Just a shadow. There's definitely something living down here."

"Great," muttered Arkady.

"We'll have to be careful," said Leonida. Something clicked, and then she let out a sigh. "All right, finally."

Her arms slowly moved and she pushed herself away from the wall a small fraction, and dirt fell on Grenelant's face. He wiped it away from his eyes and mouth and watched as she flexed her fingers, then shifted her left arm to hold it over their heads so that it would still hold up most of the packed dirt above them while her right arm reached behind her. She felt around each side of her shoulders and then said: "Okay."

The frame of her body tensed and she started pushing outwards. It took Grenelant a moment to realize that she was moving the huge slab of rock out of the way even thought it was easily twice her size and likely incredibly heavy. He didn't think he'd ever cease being surprised by her strength. More dirt sifted through and pattered on the ground beneath Arkady and Grenelant.

"What do we do?" asked Arkady.

"Don't move yet." Her voice didn't even sound that strained. "Actually, Arkady, I want you to take position beneath me, don't want you getting squashed if there's another rock behind it. Grenelant, get ready to help me if we have to catch something heavy."

"Yes, Captain." He straightened a bit and yet another clump of dirt hit the middle of his face, which he annoyedly brushed away.

"Okay," she grunted again, and she braced against the slab until it finally started sliding a bit faster. Soil was sloughing off and Leonida warned them both: "Hold your breath, just in case."

Once she was sure they'd complied, Leonida gave the slab a final shove to the side, burying it in one of the walls of dirt that encased them. Fortunately, the slab had been the last big thing to fall so nothing came tumbling down on top of their heads but the brittle dirt and pebbles that poured in their space. Leonida reacted fast and grabbed Arkady by the collar.

"Sorry about this, try not to bump your head or anything."

"What, wh-"

Leonida was already throwing Arkady outside like a sack of supplies. Grenelant felt the hefty thump of the man's body hitting the surface and a loud: "Ow, what the fuck Leonida?!"

"Quit whining!" she yelled back, and before Grenelant had the time to react she was hefting him up as well.

"Wait, I can jump!" he hastily told her before she could eject him like she had the human.

She opened her mouth to answer but Grenelant decided to show her before they lost more time in this space that was quickly filling up, and he wrapped his long arm around her waist before bunching up his muscles and jumping in one powerful thrust. The soil that had reached up to his knees grabbed at his legs, but the opiel had anticipated it and jumped with enough force that getting out of the hole was no problem at all. He landed smoothly on the surface and let go of the captain, who looked positively elated.

"That was awesome!" she exclaimed excitedly.

"You couldn't have told us you could do that before she threw my ass outside?" bitterly asked Arkady, who seemed to be nursing a sore butt.

"Maybe he couldn't carry two people at once, Arkady, have you though of that?"

"Actually, I can," Grenelant corrected Leonida. "You didn't leave me time to tell you. If I'd known your plan was to throw Arkady out than I would've suggested carrying you both out of here from the start."

"Whatever, the important thing is that we're all out of that death trap safe and sound," stated Leonida with sparkling brown eyes. "You think you could do that again, but like, for fun?"

"For fun?" echoed Grenelant.

"Right, you probably don't know what that means," she mischieviously answered. "That's fine, we'll talk about this again when we get out of here. Hey, Arkady, you figure you could check the damage on my back? I'm pretty sturdy but I want to make sure it's nothing too bad."

"Yessir." Leonida turned around to show him her back and Arkady quickly scrambled to his feet so he could come closer to examine her. After a few seconds of smoothing his hand over the plates of her suit and checking her neck and shoulders, he declared: "Looks like you're pretty okay, Captain. I mean Leonida. I don't know what the hell it takes to get through your exoskeleton but it's definitely not a whole goddamn tunnel collapsing on top of you."

Grenelant went to lean against the wall of the tunnel, feeling dizzy again.

"My head?"

Arkady moved up and eventually said: "Yeah, you definitely took a nasty blow there. Not too bad, though. It cracked but I can repair that no problem, I can do that right now if you want."

Leonida spun around on herself. "No, let's get the tank and find that water for Grenelant first. I want him to get back in good health ASAP."

"Cap- Leonida, it'll only take a few minutes," insisted Arkady.

"And whatever that thing was can find us in less. Look at him," said Leonida, gesturing to Grenelant who was trying his best to stay standing upright. "I'm pretty sure we'd be better off not going a round two while he's like that.You'll repair me while Grenelant takes a break, and after that we'll book it."

Arkady turned to Grenelant. "Can you even walk?"

"Just give me a moment, please. It'll pass."

Leonida didn't give him a moment, promptly grabbing him as she walked by and tugging on his arm so that she was supporting him despite her shorter stature. "Let's move, Arkady."

"Yessir," he answered, and they headed back towards the rest area from earlier to fetch the abandoned tank.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Celestial Axis”

Sorry I have not been writing recently. I have been struggling to find ideas, and I have also been very busy. So I apologize if my writing is not up to scratch as it is normally. If you would be willing to help me, I could definitely use your ideas. Otherwise, thank you and enjoy. 

Operation Celestial Axis Location: Triangulum Messier 33 NGC 598 HO or 3 centigram 4th quadrant area 6 GA                Planet: TM-440, pseudo (Lamb) At approximately 0400 HST or 5/10 rotation GA time scientists set an urgent message reporting the imminent destabilization of TM-440 (Lamb)’s core. Destabilization can and will result in a complete planetary breakdown resulting in the worldwide extinction of all major lifeforms including the class A sentient Homocimex Parvus henceforth known as the Tvek.

After serious deliberation, the galactic assembly has determined the loss of TM-440 would be a loss to the future galactic community. In accordance with this determination, human operations experts have been given access to a Class B model D40 planetary stabilizer and additional equipment to stabilize the planet. It has been determined that contact with the primitive species is necessary to preserve life. Human operators will be equipped with pseudo translations of current language as discovered by scientists as of this moment.

If contact comes to violence operators are expressly forbidden to use deadly force encouraged to use only defense tactics. We hope for their swift action. If the planet cannot be stabilized, operators will be ordered to leave and preserve all life that can be preserved.  

***

The ground rocked again trembling and rumbling beneath them as if it would never stop. Underneath their dim, cloudy sky, the Tvek huddled in their cities, and their houses, in their groups waiting for the eminent ending.

There was nothing they could do, only an act of deity could save them now, and at this point, deity seemed further away than it had ever been. Their entire species would die out, here and now under the cloudy sky blasted into a million pieces by their unstable core. Fathers held children, mothers sang songs, and the lonely figures sat outside their dwellings waiting, and watching for the moment when everything would be over. No one went to work, no transports moved on the street, all was silent. The animals had fled to their underground dwellings. Even the Umbertrees had shed their fluff filling the air in a delicate grey haze, as if they knew what was coming. Shedding their fluff like tears.

As was its nature, a lone Tvek sat watching the sky eyes closed against the rumbling of the ground below. A rumbling that seemed to grow heavier as the night continued. Here, at the lowest city on the planet, the core was as close as it was ever going to be, and soon it would be gone.

They sky above grew even darker, as their star drifted away around the curve of the planet, and then the ground began to tremble again. The Tvek closed their eyes as stones on the surface of the planet began to rattle and then roll leaping in time with the distant roaring nose, growing closer and closer.

This was it, this was the end, they could see it before their eyes, their planet shattering into a million pieces, heating up and then boiling down.

And then the sky above burst into light. A mass flash and a hundred pinpricks of light. The Tvek leaped to their feet staring up towards the sky. A bright flare, a mass of fiery burning light, the roar of a million screams. Umbertree fluff caught fire, burst into flame and then burnt out with one great woosh leaving the sky vast, blank and dark….

Accept for the massive, alien ship held suspended in the sky upon jets of fire. There it hung, for the longest moment, suspended black against the sky thousands of feet wide and absolutely plastered in ancient, alien symbols

U.S.S. Stabby

More lights flashed above, and it seemed as if a thousand of the ships appeared from nowhere bursting into light as they broke through the atmosphere.

Screaming erupted from the surrounding city center, from the houses, from the streets. They didn’t know what they were seeing, as the massive celestial ship descended from the sky ancient and alien markings painted across the side of the ship. Blotting out the sky, the ship descended from above fire roaring and catching upon remaining umbertree fluff. The Tvek stood staring up at the underside of the ship as it descended even further towards the ground. A whirring noise rose over the ships engines as the massive legs of lading gear whirred from the underside of the ship digging into the ground, casting dust up and into the air. The ship’s body screeched and rattled as it settled to the ground and the engines were cut.

The screaming grew louder then dominating the night. Thousands ran from the ship hundreds retreated from its shadow as a bright slit broke open in its underbelly. The clattering of strange metal over strange metal. The ship glittered silver and black, the light that broke through was pure, white cutting through the darkness and the dust. As the ramp hit the ground, it echoed off the city. White light silhouetted the figures standing at the top of the ramp. Silhouettes…… not unlike their own.

Celestial light broke around them as other ships began to land around in tight formation cutting their engines and casting even more celestial light up into the sky.

Some of the Tvek stood frozen in the beams of whitest light watching as the figures made their way down the ramp, dressed all in white, faces, if they had faces at all, covered by a curved layer of perfect reflection. Taking their reflections and turning it back towards them forcing them to look at themselves in their fear as they cowered against the trembling ground and fiery sky.

The massive creatures, two or three times taller than they, fanned out below their ship using their strange devices circling around and around.

One of the creatures barked a command, its voice was hypnotic, almost musical. Those who had not fled were almost….. Pulled. Towards the voice.

This must be the end.

The ground trembled rocking the Tvek to the ground even as the strange space gods rode through the currents as if the ground did nothing but tremble lightly.

A massive creature with six limbs stood with them directing the movement of a massive device dangling below the ship. The face of it was open in five segments, the mouth of a massive worm hungry for the earth below it.

The screaming did not stop.

The Celestial who had first spoken moved towards the line of frozen Tvek. Some managed to break away in fear as the extraterrestrial stalked towards them, the movement of its body perfectly fluid, not a muscles or a movement out of line, not a step out of place. It paused looking over one of the Tvek by at least three times her height.

Lights glittered and blinked on the front of its pearly white body. It stood there for a moment perfectly still before, reaching up, and curling its fingers under the chin. A sharp pressurized hiss broke through the rumbling. With its fluid movement, the celestial pulled the helmet to the side revealing its face….. a beautiful face.

It had pearly white skin, and an eye that glittered the color of polished emerald…. Alien….. or god.

It raised a hand with all the command one could poses, “Leave….. not safe here.” Its voice echoed strangely across the clearing, their own language synthesized over its own dialect just visible as a strange and rhythmic song weaving patterns through their own primitive language.

Some were quick to obey the command, others were not so hasty.

The ground below them rumbled again. The Tvek pitched towards the ground, but was caught before impact. She looked up to find the creature holding her, “Careful.” It commanded standing to its full height, carrying her past the edge of the ship, and setting her down just over a perimeter already being marked by the other strange beings….. Beings just as beautiful, some with skin like pearls, some glittering a perfect onyx, a perfect gradient from dark to light from light to dark.

More rumbling from the ground, more screaming. The Celestial turned using… some unknown power sensing danger before it could happen.

Their military was there rolling on war machines marching with soldiers. Soldiers clearly unwilling to be there.

The look on the celestial’s face was one of exasperation, or mild annoyance as the Tvek army leveled their weapons.

Fear, and with fear came the first shot, unintentional.

And with that strange sense, the Celestial cast its hand forward tossing a strange device forward and onto the ground just as the first shot was fired.

A flare of light, a burst of purple then a strange glittering nexus burst upwards built in layers of hexagonal patterns blocking the projectile and suspending it to let it drop to the ground.

The hand lifted, an emerald eye narrowed in accusation, “None of that.”

A massive shape appeared form the light behind, and the celestial took its mount on the six limbed beast back towards the center of the ship, as the device was being lowered into place with a clatter.

The ground rumbled and rolled.

The celestial’s voice echoed across the ground, and its comrades began to move faster marking the ground assembling equipment. Another door opened upwards at the base of the ship. A massive pulsing ball of energy slowly lowered into the space sending dark light out and around to fight against the bright celestial light.

It was lowered onto the back of the original machine quickly, and by celestials wearing suits, faces and bodies fully covered.

More shots were fired, he nexus flared but did not break.

The device crackled to life, dark and menacing.

The main celestial gave a signal, and the machine came roaring to life.

***

The PSD40 roared to life cutting into the rock and stone with a whirr and a rumble cutting through rock and sending dust high into the air. Vir and Sunny stepped back throwing their hands up against the sheer power of the machine. The ground rolled and rattle underneath them. The planet had already been unstable when they first stepped down, but with the thrumming of the Stabilizer, it was becoming hard to stand. Behind them, the Tvek military line was attempting to flank them. Force fields deflected projectiles dropping them to the ground and occupying the panicked populace.

“How long.” The captain called to a suited man standing near to the machine.

“At least twenty minutes ….. But the core may not have that long, sir.”

“We stay till the last second possible.” The captain ordered

***

They must be harvesting the planet’s energy, or the core itself, or the ions being thrown from the core, or the Beta particles…. Perhaps they harvested radiation.

All they knew is that the celestials were drilling towards their core with the strange machine, and the rumbling was only getting worse. They fell to their knees, the army could no longer stand to fire. Their attacks grew more sporadic…. And even less effectual than before.

The ground was beginning to role and wave. Streets were being broken up, houses were being destroyed

They were going to die.

The core was going to erupt.

The Tvek fell to their knees unable to stand against the rocking of the ground. Behind their nexus, the celestials worked quickly. The grumbling was growing, coming to a head. This was surely the end.

Behind the nexus a bright flash of light, a deafening thrum and a shock wave rolling through the ground.

And then everything was silent. The ground stopped shaking, screams died away, the bright lights of the celestial machine whirred and then shut down.

The nexus’s slowly faded out.

The celestials stood against their light back-lit and haloed.

The main celestial slowly stepped form his light and across the intervening space, heading straight towards the military line. Some of the Tvek scrambled back, others stood their ground in fear. The celestial glanced at them jeweled eyes scanning across their faces, “Your core is stable…. Your planet is safe….. Welcome to the Galactic Assembly.”

[starlight-matrix]

Nabari no Ou 15th Anniversary!

@nabaridays wrote up some prompts to celebrate the 15th anniversary of NnO and as it’s my favorite manga series of all time, I had to join the fun!

Unfortunately, I wasn’t aware of the prompts’ existence until we were about four or five days in, so instead of starting in the middle of the prompt list, I wrote all mine up in a Google Doc and decided to do a big masterpost in the day of the anniversary. And here it is! Beware for a lot of reading, this shit’s at 4.1k words.

- Catherine Lynne / catielynnelove.tumblr.com Fan of NnO since 2012 -

DAY 01 (Jun. 3rd) - Favorites

My favorite character has always been Miharu, though I do struggle to choose between him and Yoite. I have always been fascinated by his apathetic nature, the way he uses is as a shield while loving the people in his life so incredibly fiercely. He appears neutral and uncaring, but the moment you look beneath the surface, you recognize that he would give his life for those he loves in a heartbeat - and has shown this on multiple occasions.

I also love his development over the series. His apathetic facade slowly falls out of use after he meets Yoite, and he learns that feeling your emotions is important, that letting the people you love know when you’re happy or sad or pissed the fuck off is important.

In the first few chapters we as readers honestly can’t tell a whole heck of a lot from what we’re shown of Miharu. He’s plain, uninteresting, even to us (unless you’re the kind of person who automatically reads between the lines, but let’s face it, not a lot of people are). But by the end of the series, he’s such a vibrant and expressive character that I marvel at Kamatani’s ability to drastically a character’s personality in a way that feels so gradual and natural.

Another reason Miharu is my favorite character is because I tend to see parts of myself in him, as many people do with the characters they like most. I can understand and relate to his apathy in the beginning of the story. His memory of his parents deaths is so deeply traumatic and that the very fibre of his being (objectively, Shinra) locked the memory, and most of his childhood, away for years to come. Because at that time in his life, the pain of it all would’ve broken him.

(E/N: I now remember that Asahi actually erased Miharu’s memories of that event, but I think a good chunk of this will still make sense, and I’m lazy, so I’m not gonna edit it out. Enjoy.)

Emotions, especially ones he didn’t understand - or couldn’t understand, like his feelings toward his childhood that didn’t quite make sense because of his augmented memories - were simply so overwhelming that Miharu pretty much just went “lol don’t wanna deal with those so yEET now they’re gone” and locked them up in a box to be dealt with at a much, much later date. That speaks to me, as a person who has struggled with depression, and the fact that he finds a way to recover from this is very reassuring.

Overall, Miharu is a very complex and realistic character that undergoes more vivid character development than I’ve seen in almost any western media. I love him very much.

DAY 02 (Jun. 4th) - What got you into Nabari no Ou?

This is actually quite a funny story, so buckle up for a wild ride y’all!

When I was 12 years old (God, this sounds like the setup for an angsty villain backstory), my family had a housemate who liked anime. One day I came to beg for him to let me use his video game console to play Little Big Planet and he happened to be watching the second half of the anime - I distinctly remember the second Alya Academy episode being the first one I ever saw. It was my first anime experience outside of a Studio Ghibli film, and to this day remains close to my heart, even though the anime adaptation itself really… just… well, it sucked.

After I finished watching it with him, I went and found the first half of the series on Netflix (back when Netflix did the whole send-a-DVD-to-your-house thing) and watched the whole thing from episode one. And then very quickly became obsessed. I probably watched the anime four times in two months. I had every single one of the English VAs names memorized. I was dedicated.

Eventually I looked up the manga online, and HOO BOI, this is the point where my Nabari no Ou origin story becomes ridiculously hilarious (and stupid).

When I read the manga, I was disturbed by the idea of Kouichi being a villain-type character, as he had been one of my favorites when I watched the anime. And, at the time I was first reading the manga, the apparent “ending” from my perspective was the scene where Kouichi takes the newly-made hijutsu scroll from a bleeding, dying Thobari.

Looking back, I figure the website I was reading it on just didn’t have all the chapters, or perhaps I had happened to start reading while the manga was on hiatus, but at that age I didn’t know of or understand either of those concepts and accepted that sad scene as the end of the manga.

And as such, I wrote the manga off as terrible and ignored it for years.

Flash forward to about 2014, two or three years after writing the manga off as a Fat Mistake, I finally decided to give it another shot. And BY GOD did I cry reading it a second time. Whether it was the two years of maturity, my experiences during those two years, or simply the fact that I read the whole thing that time - I was sobbing in my desk chair over NnO.

It was the most beautiful story I’d ever read. Even now, after five more years of reading beautiful manga, Nabari no Ou remains my absolute favorite, and likely always will.

DAY 03 - What are your favorite scenes?

I’ve always had a soft spot for the Alya Academy arc, even back when all I’d shunned the manga and all I had to go off of was the inaccurate anime adaptation, simply because of how well the character relationships are shown during those sequences (this is one thing the anime did really well in my opinion, actually - Shijima’s verbal reflection on how humans connect to each other and how important those connections are is stunning). Not to mention the displays of how the characters care for one another regardless of what side of the war they’re technically on.

I’ve always loved Subaru as a character, too. I find her motivations to be very realistic and really quite understandable, and I love the little easter eggs in later chapters that imply the Kouga ninja are helping Miharu’s side of the fight even though they’re not visibly involved. The scores from the Alya Academy arc are especially chilling and memorable as well.

Another of my favorites are the chapters following Miharu and Yoite’s escape from the Kairoshuu and their travels afterward. They feel mundane and peaceful, yet blanketed with this layer of grief, like we’re all aware that at any moment their calm could be destroyed and lost forever.  

The scenes about Yoite’s gender were very special to me as a teen still learning about the LGBT spectrum and how different people could be, and the scene of Yoite bandaging Miharu’s aching feet? My heart literally swells every single time I think about it! It was so sweet and loving, my fragile fangirl heart does flips when I read over it.

DAY 04 (Jun. 6th) - Photos & Fashion

I like to think that Miharu keeps every photograph he’s taken and has them stored safely away in a box or chest or drawer. In my experience, people who have lost loved ones tend to treasure photographs, more than someone who hasn’t experienced loss might. A lot of times a photo is all someone has of someone they loved outside of a memory, and contrary to popular belief, if you don’t look at someone - physically or in a photo - for a long time, you do forget how they look.

Miharu has lost many people: his parents, Yoite, Kouichi and Shijima, even Shinra, in a way - so I imagine this observation would be doubly true of him. Especially if he has Yukimi as an example to go by - pretty sure that guy has kept every photograph he’s ever taken in his life!

(As far as fashion goes, I honestly think everyone’s fashion in NnO is horrendous, so...)

DAY 05 (Jun. 7th) - Favorite character design in the series?

Gosh, it’s hard to choose, I love so many of them! Gau is fascinating to me because I figure his hair must be difficult to draw, with all those little curls and cowlicks. Shijima’s too, with the way it frames her face and leaves just a tiny little opening for her eyes to peer out at you through.

But, as with most of these character-specific prompts, my answer will have to be Miharu. The idea that Asahi reshaped his face to look more like her own when she used Shinra to save him is very interesting, and the fact that Kamatani manages to draw Miharu in a way that both clearly shows their resemblance to one another and establishes Miharu as his own character with his own unique features and gestures and ways of carrying himself is incredible.

Miharu’s stance are also very telling to me as a reader: he often stands loosely, almost lazily, as if he really couldn’t care less about where he is and what they’re doing, which rings true for a good chunk of the story. It matches well with his (mostly) fake apathy and kind of makes him seem bland and boring as a character. But as the story progresses, he becomes more open, shows affection more easily. He’s quicker to stand up for his beliefs and the people he loves. All of this shows in the way he carries himself throughout later chapters.

DAY 06 (Jun. 8th) - Favorite location in the series?

The Shimizu estate, without a doubt.

The secluded area, the forest in every direction, the house itself - it’s all so beautiful to me. Ot gives me the feeling of rural Japan and more traditional Japanese living. Even after the house has burned away and all that’s left is a field full of Spider Lilies, there’s a kind of sober beauty lying over the place, made even more intense when Shirogamon stands watch over it.

DAY 07 (Jun. 9th) - Positive Influences

The thing that I preach about the most when I talk about NnO to others is the fact that the series has no absolutes. There is no true right or wrong, no clear villains nothing that actually puts our heroes above anyone else. Which, in a way, means that are really are no heroes in the story at all, which is a very rare and interesting way to tell a story.

The entire series deal with a greyscale in morality. There’s no bad vs. good or moral vs. immoral, just your own goals and people whose goals don’t match yours. Opinions and ambitions differ vastly even between people on the same side of the fight - Thobari and Raimei want to seal the Shinrabanshou, Kouichi wants to use it to defeat his immortality, Miharu even changes side on a few occasions - yet they all work together together to achieve their own very different ends.

Even those who can be coded as villain on the surface have something motivating them to do what they do, and more often than not, those motivations are understandable to the reader and actually have you sympathizing with the character. Hattori wanted to rid the world of the need for war. Subaru wanted to save the person she loved most in the world. Yamase wanted to win his family back (I think? It’s been a while).

Even Katarou and Kannuki, two characters who have practically nothing to redeem them, at least have motivations that are pretty damn realistic. Kannuki wanted to capitalize on Kouga’s Forbidden Art and use it to grow Alya Academy’s profit and power through the surface world. A Lot of people are like this in real life, and while you may not sympathize with him over it, it is a motivation that is true of our own world as well as the one in this story.

An Katarou, as far as I understand, is obsessed with Shinra herself, rather than the hijutsu and the power it holds. He manipulated hundreds of people and hundreds of situations to suit his own needs, then literally got himself killed - just to see her one last time. And… yeah, I don’t think anyone really sympathized with him, but hey, I can see what pushed him to do what he did.

To me, Katarou is symbolic of someone with an addiction - their mind is so clouded by a need for some specific thing that all other human aspects of that person just fall away, and they’ll do whatever it takes to get what they want.

I also appreciate how the characters handle their differences throughout the story. Their honesty with each other, the way they support each other even when they’re all heading in opposite direction. The Alya Academy arc (I really love this arc okay) especially shows this, in how the ninja from Banten and Kairoshuu - two very opposing factions - fight together against the Kouga without hesitation, despite the fact that in most other situations, they’d be fighting each other.

It’s a wonderful thing to promote: that even though people might have different opinions or goals, it doesn’t mean they have to hate each other.

DAY 08 (Jun. 10th) - Favorite Extra?

I am IN LOVE with the little between-chapter 4koma pieces, especially the ones from the Alya Academy arc (God, I’ve talked so much about this arc). Subaru fantasizing about Miharu being her little brother and making her birthday cake? Adorable. Miharu and Yoite getting stuck behind a bookshelf and terrifying an opponent by asking for help out? Hilarious.

I love that Kamatani put those in, both as a peek into happier aspects of the world he created, and as a way to add a bit of sun in between the much darker, much sadder chapters.

DAY 09 (Jun. 11th) - Headcanons

I’m not much of a headcanon person, to be honest, and especially not with this series. It feels off to me, to try and add to something that’s already so perfect. However, I do agree with a couple of headcanons I’ve seen - particularly the ones theorizing that Yukimi is aro-ace. It makes a lot of sense to me in how his character is portrayed when nearly every other character in the series has a romantic match, and as an ace person myself, more representation is always welcome.

DAY 10 (Jun. 12th) - Alternate Universe

I once started (and quickly abandoned out of shame) a very cringey, very out-of-character fanfic, in which the Nabari world didn’t exist and all the characters meet through natural means in the surface world. Other than that, however, I’ve not put much thought into Nabari no Ou AUs.

But something I would LOVE to see is a crossover between NnO and Shimanami Tasogare, as the two stores canonically take place in the same location - NnO being in Banten, a fictional town  based on the real town of Onomichi, and Shimanami Tasogare being confirmed to take place in plain old Onomichi itself. It’s been a while since I’ve read Shimanami Tasogare, but I remember the leader/owner of the little house the cast gathers in as giving me a distinctly Nabari-world vibe, and I think it would be interesting to see the NnO characters react to a community like the one presented in Shimanami Tasogare.

(And also perhaps have some romantic relationships and sexualities proven canon. Perhaps.)

DAY 11 (Jun. 13th) - Favorite song from the OST?

It’s a firm tie between the opening theme and the second ending theme. I have every song in the OST memorized after years of hearing them day in and day out, but those two themes always give me this tingling nostalgic feeling, like rereading a book from your childhood or finding a toy as an adult that you’d thought was lost forever. The animation and symbolism in those themes are also very telling of the series and the character’s connections to each other (a bit obviously, at times), and the lyrics are special to me in a way I can’t describe. They’re precious to me, and  to me experience of NnO as a whole, considering I started with the anime first (a bad idea).

DAY 12 (Jun. 14th) - Are there any songs that make you think of NnO?

“Neopolitan Dreams” by Lisa Mitchell ( X ) ( X )

I once watched a cute Raimei/Kouichi AMV set to this song listened to the lyrics, I understood how the author had put them together. I very much feel like the lyrics echo Raimei’s thoughts on how Kouichi starts to act in later chapters, becoming more and more distant until he almost appears to be an antagonist rather than one of the perceived heroes. The song also makes me think of Raimei’s stubbornness and pride, her unwillingness to accept option besides her own conclusions until she’s had the full story and nothing less.

I can never get their faces out of my head while listening to this song, which I guess means the song reminds me more of Raimei and Kouichi than NnO in general, but it still counts, right?

DAY 13 (Jun. 15th) - Food

I’ve never really thought too hard on it, but now that I am, it’s actually very interesting to note how different characters use food - the Rokujo Okonomiyaki shop, in particular - to their advantage.

Thobari uses his (implied, before the start of the overall plot) regular visits to try and get Miharu to believe him about the Shinrabanshou and the Nabari world. Thobari uses the close proximity to explain his motives to Miharu, who physically cannot leave the situation, lest the food burn to a damn crisp (and I figure Naoko wouldn’t be pleased if that happened every time Thobari came in). He also very clearly uses this to keep tabs on Miharu when outside of a school setting where Miharu has no choice to be in Thobari’s sight, and later, as a way to either catch up on what’s going on in the Nabari world or - as in several cases - simply demand answers from Miharu.

Raimei uses the shop as a way to get closer to Miharu. She charms her way into getting free food (and sometimes, free lodging as well) and I assume her thinking is probably something on the lines of “Free Food + Spend Time With Miharu = Information on Where Raikou Might Be.” Of course, this likely isn’t her motive in later chapters, because, well, character development.

Food is also an important bonding thing for Yoite and Yukimi. In a lot of the scenes where we see Yoite and Yukimi in their home, they’re eating together, and I always took it as a display of their familial relationship - cooking dinner for Yoite the way a dutiful older sibling would for their younger sibling - thoughI doubt either of them would admit they’re like brothers. The significance of lemonade should also be noted for this topic - I could go on for ages about it.

(But I won’t unless people ask me to, because this piece is long enough already!)

I don’t have much memory of this scene being as big a deal in the manga as it was in the anime - but I also haven’t seen either in a while, so I could be wrong - but the birthday cake scene from the latter half of the anime left an impact on me even back when I’d only seen the anime, and it was the first thing that came to mind when I saw the prompt was “food.” Gau’s pride in the cake he made and his determination to get any kind of praise out of Yoite is very touching, especially when you take into account that Yoite literally saved Gau’s life, and that Gau knows this, as well.

The Kairoshuu - particularly Yukimi, Raikou, Gau, and Kazuho - are all shown bonding on more than one occasion at Kazuho and her husband’s sushi shop, and there is significance to those occasions in the rather heavy conversations they have during those visits. And there’s also the time Miharu cooked okonomiyaki for all the main Kairoshuu member after he’d first joined their clan - similar to how a recently hired employee would bring cookies for their new boss.

Food has a lot of significance in Nabari no Ou, no matter where you look.

DAY 14 (Jun. 16th) - Favorite village, and thoughts on the Forbidden Arts?

As far as morals and motivations go, I would have to choose Banten, as their (or at least Thobari’s) main opinion is that the Shinrabanshou shouldn’t be used because it throws off the balance of the universe. I definitely understand this opinion, because a lot of things can go wrong if the wrong kind of person is making wishes to Shinra and having them granted.

Although, I think that if anyone were to use the ability in a way that leaves the balance of the world intact, it would be Miharu, and this is even shown in the series itself. He doesn’t have the kind of greed or anger that would taint a person’s motivations when making their wishes, he just wants to do what is best for others- especially Yoite. Yoite is important to him, and therefore Yoite’s wish is also important to Miharu. And, as we see in later chapters, Miharu puts granting Yoite’s wish above even his own happiness. I feel I would make a similar decision were I in his shoes.

(For aesthetic, though, I’d choose Fuuma. Their village is hidden and surrounded by forest and in that lovely traditional Japanese style, and their uniforms are great. If Saraba were Chief I’d join.)

DAY 15 (Jun. 17th) - Favorite minor/supporting character

Gau! Definitely Gau! Gosh I love him so much. He’s optimistic and tries his best to look for the best in situations and in people, and his smile is so freaking sunshiney, I bet he lights up rooms with it. He’s awkward and quirky and I can relate so hard. But he’s also strong? He stands up to other ninja even though he really doesn’t have the physical ability to defend himself or others. He puts his life in danger to tell Raimei the truth about her family immediately after swearing silence to Raikou, his boss, who could 100% kill him if he found out Gau had broken his promise. And I bet you Gau would’ve told Raikou about him telling Raimei as soon as he’d gone home, if the bullshit at the Shimizu property hadn’t gone down the way it did.

And speaking of that scene- he throws himself in front of Raikou’s katana to save the life of a girl he hadn’t known for more than a day, who had threatened to kill him, who was seeking to kill the person he treasured most in the world. Who does that?! Gau apparently. He literally gives his life for just the possibility that Raikou and Raimei can make up and be happy siblings again. He gives his life so that the person he loves can maybe reconcile with someone else they loved.

He makes a conscious effort to include Yoite in conversations in which he would otherwise be largely ignored, and while I doubt Yoite would care either way, it’s the thought that counts, right? And, at least in the anime (it’s been a while since I read the manga) he puts his life on the line to help Yoite and Miharu even though, as I said before, he can’t really defend himself all that well.

Basically, I’m in love with Gau and want him to be happy. Sweet baby!

DAY 16 (Jun. 18th) - Free Day

I don’t really have anything else to say but I’m posting all of these today (I was late for the original posting by like four days so I figured I’d write them all out and post them together) so I’ll count this as my day 16 entry! Thank you so much if you’ve read this far, I know it was probably daunting to look at this long as fucking post but I’m glad you took the time to read my personal reflection on NnO! This manga means a lot to me and it’s nice to discover other people who love it as much as I do (I’ve literally met two people in my entire life who’ve read it without me suggesting it).

Keep the love going y’all, I hope to see you again! And feel free to hit me up if you’d like to talk about NnO, I’d love to connect with other fans! Seeya owo