#very glad we have gravity drawn water

[amaris-ofthemoon]

I heard the wind whisper to me you wished for someone to think about you without having to beg of it, without having to expect it. And I wish you knew you've been on my mind lately.

In the quiet hours of the night, when the world falls into a hushed reverie, I find my thoughts drawn irresistibly to you. Like the moon, you cast a luminous glow upon this darkened world—an ethereal beauty that captivates every fragment of my being. It is as if the stars themselves conspired to bring forth your light, and I cannot help but feel the pull of your gravity, drawing me ever closer.

I often contemplate the distances between us, and how I long to bridge that gap. The thought of someone else catching your gaze sends shivers down my spine. even tho I know very well others look to you and get to exist close to you like the bright starts illuminating the night sky.

You see, I thrive in your light, I do not do well on my own, I go with the flow. I would be much more quiet in the places where we exist together if it weren't for you interacting with me.

I wish to be your guardian, a restless wave ever-watchful, ready to envelop you and hide you away from the prying eyes of the unwary. Nothing would bring me greater joy than to be the one you turn to in your moments of need, the one who calms the waters when the storm threatens to rise.

Know this, dear muse: I am the depths of the sea—deep, mysterious, and endlessly devoted. You are my guiding moon, illuminating my path and awakening my longing. If you wish to be, of course.

Forever yours, in the waves and whispers,

A Heart Made of Water.

UM HELLO HAI HEHE WOW SORRY GIMME A SECONT DUHSHS

Ahem I am calm gah- totally calm oh my gods you have quite the way with words dhshs. I’m so very glad you have me in your thoughts dear!! Ahhh theres so much I wanna say but you’ve rendered me beyond speechless um I would love to be your guiding moon and you’ll be my sea present and ever strong.

Grrgr I wanna say more but you’ve broken me </3 until next time my dear!!!

[platonic-prompts]

The power just came back on!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We haven't had power for four days, so don't worry I'm not dead

[southslates]

we fell in stages / ao3 / 1474 words / one-shot / canon-compliant / kanej, one sided kaz/jesper, inej & jesper / rated T

Inej didn’t need to ask Jesper if he liked Kaz. It was obvious. He knew he was obvious. He couldn’t see the boy’s stupid face without having a heart attack, and that fact pained him.

Jesper knew Inej was good at uncovering secrets, so perhaps his ill-wanted crush wasn’t as clear as he thought it was, still. He hoped it wasn’t. He didn’t know how he would face the belief that Kaz knew how he felt about him and didn’t care—or used him for it.

All the Saints.

He loved Inej, but he hated it was Inej. He loved her and all that she was but he resented her for having Kaz. Because she had him—neither of them knew it, but Jesper knew both of them well enough. It was always Inej at Kaz’s windows, in his rooms, walking through the streets with him at night. It was always Inej who Kaz’s eyes traced over the rooftops, it was always her who he chose to be alone with.

Kaz Brekker was a terrible guy. Jesper knew it, and that had drawn him in towards him in the first place, had him say yes to the deal Kaz had attempted to strike with him. But he was attractive and his ruthlessness had its own kind of charm. But then Jesper grew to learn that confidence was not callousness. For a long time he’d had his doubts that Kaz was even human.

But of course he was—of course—Inej—

And Inej was perfect for Kaz. That pained even more. Inej and Kaz fit together in ways nobody else in the Dregs did—they could speak with their eyes and just their lips. They could speak facing away from each other. Wherever Kaz went, Inej followed—and though the bastard of the Barrel would be loath to admit it, the opposite was true too.

“Why?” Inej asked Jesper, leaning on his bunk. She was fluid as water, and they were talking about the raid they’d led the previous night on a house in the Geldin District. Kaz had wanted documents from a mercher’s house, some kind of correspondence, and he and Inej had gone to find them while Jesper stayed outside as backup, twirling his guns in the nightlight. The roles made sense—he would have been terrible at committing the crime—but seeing them both disappear up a window together made his heart pound.

He'd comforted himself with the fact that Kaz was a monster and that Kaz could feel nothing. He needed to stop pining for someone who wasn’t capable of returning his feelings. It had been fine. He had been coping.

And then on the way back they’d been quietly bantering, the three of them, in a way they were almost prone to do. Kaz had said something about Ghezen and kruge—his true loves—and Inej had shook her head at him, said something disparaging about religion, and fell while she was staring at him.

Kaz didn’t move to pick her up. Kaz Brekker wouldn’t do that. But his eyes tracked all her limbs as she lifted herself off the ground, as though checking if she was safe, and then flew to her face when she laughed the blunder off. Inej turned away after that, but Jesper saw the look in Kaz’s eyes as he followed the light sound of her voice.

They almost softened. He hadn’t seemed like a monster in that moment. He seemed like a teenager, as though he could follow that sound for the rest of his days.

Jesper had felt a bullet in his chest, because Kaz was his best friend, but he had never looked at Jesper that way. Kaz hadn’t seemed to notice—or care—about his attitude for the rest of the night, but Inej noted his sullen behavior. And now she was here.   

“What?” he reclined on his bed and twirled his pistol around once. Inej sat in the corner, legs crossed, facing the door. She was always ready for someone to come for her—that was the life she had with Kaz. He thought about the coil of her hair and the fondness he felt for her, as a sister. He thought about everything but what she meant.

“What happened last night, Jesper?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m aware Kaz is severely lacking when it comes to emotional intelligence—”

“And you’re that for him.”

Inej’s dark brow twisted. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing—I just—nothing happened, alright. Do you want to go—”

She took out a knife and tapped it against the ground. It wasn’t a threat, just a quirk—like him pulling out his revolvers—but it made Jesper take in a deep breath. “Jesper.”

“Yes?”

“Speak to me.”

“I am.”

She seemed disappointed. “You were angry at Kaz last night.”

“Aren’t you? Aren’t we all? Perpetually?” he tried.

She stepped forward and onto the bed with him, pressing a calming, warm hand to his thigh. She reminded him of his mother, in a way. Their presences felt familiar. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He gave up. “You know, already,” he groaned. “Do I have to say it?”

Inej loved words, far more than Kaz did. She never showed him anything—she said what she felt out loud. She was nothing like Kaz in that regard, and Jesper knew she could do so, so much better than a scheming, dark, monstrous man with dirty hands. He wanted to tell her that, but he couldn’t. Not when he wanted the same.

“No,” Inej said. “You don’t have to say it.” She reached out for his hand and held it, and Jesper wanted to cry. It did look like his mother’s, against his skin. It felt like peace. And for a moment Jesper took in the gravity of his ridiculous, stupid life. He liked the worst criminal in the Barrel. His best friend was a spy. He was a murderer.

He used his other hand to twist his guns. He’d left his father behind and now he just wanted to feel wanted. He didn’t know why he felt this way for someone who—even if he returned Jesper’s feelings—would be terrible at doing so. Kaz and Inej fit together. He knew it. He’d find someone to fit him, eventually. “I don’t get why it has to be him,” he said miserably. “There’s so many people in Ketterdam and I don’t know why I think about him.”

Inej fit her head against his shoulder. The way she pressed her body calmly to the side of his pistol, trusting him, felt odd and made him want to act hysterical. “I don’t, either.”

“He loves you,” Jesper said. Inej scoffed, but he pressed further. “He doesn’t know it, but he does. He cares about you.”

“He doesn’t know how,” Inej said, but Jesper knew that he’d gotten in her head. He wondered if he could give her all that he felt.

“You deserve better. Than this life, than him, than me.”

“I don’t have him,” Inej told Jesper. “I doubt anyone ever will. He drives me mad,” she admitted. “I don’t know what we’re doing. Either of us. I feel like I’m reading him wrong. I hate it. I feel like he knows everything about me and I have to wring everything from him. I—I don’t have him,” she repeated. Then she bent against him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jesper said. “It happens.”

“The Suli like to say,” Inej turned her face to him, “that to love can—”

“I don’t love him,” Jesper said quickly, blushing, glad the blood going to his cheeks wasn’t quite visible. He didn’t love Kaz. He’d thought about it, but he didn’t.

“To feel, then,” Inej almost winced, “can sometimes be worse than the pain of a thousand bullets. It hurts in a different place than a wound. It cannot always be healed. But I know you will be, Jesper. You’re very strong.”

“You’re the best,” Jesper said. He meant it. They sat there for another few hours, and Jesper thought about Kaz’s terrible, beautiful face, the way he limped, how powerful he seemed—he was younger than Jesper—how he was always seeing the world in different dimensions, four steps ahead of everyone else, and yet didn’t understand people so well. “He needs to realize that.”

Inej got up to leave, but before she did she turned to him. “I hope he will. I know who I am.”

Her voice almost cracked and Jesper set his pistols down and laid down in his bed. Kaz and Inej hurt to think about, but he loved them enough to place his own feelings aside for a bit. Resentment had no place here. He could grow past this. He could trust them enough to figure each other out, too.

[shiftynightshade]

TW// Suicide Ideation/thoughts, suicide baiting, mentions of self-harm, intrusive thoughts/ bullying/ feeling numb.

Soulmates, everyone has one.

 For Izuku Midoriya, he watches his soulmate's percentages and wonders how his appears to them.

 (Would They Even Want A Quirkless Soulmate?)

 As he stands on the edge of the roof, Kacc- no Bakugou's words float around in his brain. 'Take a swan dive and hope for a quirk in your next life’, the jeers of his classmates (tormentors), All Might’s jaded stare as he crushed his dreams moments before, the heroes cruel glares as they berated him for playing hero.

(He feels a slow numbness enter his body as he stares at the pavement hundreds of feet below him. Maybe the blond was right.)

Just one more step and he'd be free-

Slow warmth erupted on his arm, phantom sensations of ink and a pen scrawling across his arm made his skin tingle.

 Clumsily jerking at his sleeve, he stared in wonder as five shades of ink spread across his skin and danced around his scars, (once stained a coppery red shining in the moonlight), green, pink, blue, and a mix of red and white appearing on his skin and lining silvery skin.

‘Please don’t, we want to meet you, please.’

(Izuku had been told stories of soulmates, how the power of been tied to another being through the galaxy, how it had saved so many other from tipped over the edge. Oh how much he had longed to reach out to his pairs-)

And it has happened, for the first time in months, Izuku felt hope.

He jerked from the edge, breath shaky. Izuku clutched his wrist, a wobbly smile spreading across his face as his skin was covered in a multitude of colours. Izuku scrabbled for his bag, grabbing the first pen he could and quickly pressed it to his skin, hastily writing whatever he coulf.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’

Pink, glowing in a way that looked like a supernova, crawled along his skin.

‘Are you okay? There’s no reason to apologise.’

Blue sped its way alongside the pink, shining silvery blue when the light hit it.

‘Would you like to meet up?’

His answer was instant. ‘Yes’

Five minutes later and five phone number drawn from his skin and into his phone, Izuku carefully left the roof, clutching his phone like a lifeline.

****

Things changed very quickly after that.

He learned his soulmates names, where they lived and their quirks.

He gently wrote their names and quirks down in a new notebook, a little pricier, sure, but as he filled the pages, he found that he didn’t mind.

Each page with a different coloured pen, easily matching the ink on his arms. (So what if he spent forever looking for a blue that shimmered an ethereal silver, or a pink pen that glittered like the stars?)

On Friday night he had stayed up late, gently tracing each name as he counted down the hours until they met the next day.

Ochako, Zero Gravity.

(What will happen when they learn that you’re Quirkless? They’re going to leave you like Bakugou did, like dad did.)

‘Shut up’

Tenya, Engine.

(Do you want to risk it?)

‘They won’t leave me.’

Tsuyu, Frog.

(Like Bakugou promised that you two would become heroes together, and look how that turned out.)

‘It won’t be like that, no empty promises.’

Shoto, Half-Hot Half-Cold.

‘How about you shut the fuck up for once in my damn life!’

It was quiet after that.

****

Izuku waved his mother good-bye as he walked outside the door, her face filled with excitement.

They had agreed to meet up at a café close to the train station, and Tsuyu had sent a picture of the table number into their quickly filling group chat.

And oddly enough, they had not asked Izuku once what his quirk was.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

The sun shone and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Many people roamed around, smiles on their faces as the day went on. Izuku found the café with little trouble, the fairy lights and vines dangling in lieu of a canopy adding a fairy-tale like feel to it.

Glancing around Izuku felt anticipation bubble up under his skin. ‘Am I the first one here?’

Soft laughter reached over from a corner table, easily drawing his attention to a group of three. His eyes met the number of the table. 5.

The brunette girl met his eyes and they stared at each other for a few seconds before a large smile crossed her face and she waved enthusiastically. “Izuku!”

Izuku squeaked as her shout drew the other two’s attention, their eyes each widening before smiling brightly and waving him over.

Drawing in a deep breath Izuku walked to the table, giving his own meek wave, sitting in the chair that was between the brunette and boy.

The girl with green hair smiled. “Good to see you for the first time Izuku.” He blushed, but smiled anyways. “Likewise, Tsuyu?”

Tsuyu grinned. “Call me Tsu.”

Izuku nodded, letting out a squeak when the other girl grabbed his hand and gave a positively blinding smile.

“I’m Ochako! It’s great to finally meet you!”

Izuku could feel his face burning. God the energy here was infectious.

The boy next to him smiled. “Please, call me Tenya!”

Izuku mumbled out a breathy “uh-huh” but mostly stared at his eyes. They kept shining different colours whenever the light hit them, first black, the blue, then red, then gold.

‘Like a really pretty version of an oil spill.’

Tenya sent him a questioning glance. “Is there something on my face?”

“Your eyes are really pretty.” Izuku blurted out, stammering out an apology when Tenya‘s face burned a bright red and he buried his face in his hands.

Ochako laughed. “We said the same thing!”

Tsu hummed. “Where is Shoto? He said he would be here.”

A quiet voice piped up from behind them. “Right here.”

Izuku looked up from where he had begun to look through his bag, eyes widening in surprise.

The two-toned hair and scar immediately gave away who he was, even under the hoodie he was wearing. ‘Shoto Todoroki, holy shit.’

Tenya smiled brightly. “Hello Shoto!”

Shoto gave a small nod and sat in the remaining chair, though a ghost of a smile played on his lips.

He let out a small breath. “I’m not going to lie, I’m glad that none of you have freaked out.”

He glared at the table. “I’m not exactly on the best terms with my old man.”

Surprisingly Tenya was the first to speak up. “Fair enough, personally I never really liked Endeavour either.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Even when I was younger he wasn’t a courteous person, even at Hero Gala’s.”

 “Hero Gala’s?”

Tenya froze before letting out a frustrated huff.

“Dammit, not that I’m ashamed of my family or anything, but I don’t exactly like to broadcast it.”

Ochako shook her hands excitedly. “C’mon Tenya! Spill!”

Tenya sighed. “My family has been filled with pro-heroes for generations, it runs in our blood.”

A more proud expression fill his face. “You know the Turbo Hero Ingenium?”

At their nods he grinned proudly. “He’s my elder brother!”

Izuku gasped. “Really?!”  

Ochako laughed. “That’s awesome!”

Shoto stared then cleared his throat. “Where you the five year old that slapped him and told him that he was being mean, and heroes shouldn’t be mean?”

Tsu’s ribbit was startled. “Really?

Tenya chuckled. “Yes, that was me.”

Ochako cackled. “That’s awesome!” Her face turned thoughtful. “Hey Izuku, you said that Endeavour wasn’t the greatest hero, is it because of hoe aggressive he is?”

Izuku nodded rapidly. “Practicality wise he’s a good hero, though theoretically at the same time he’s not the best when it comes to personality and he does have the most damage done when it comes to property, civilians and villains.”  

Looking up from where he had crossed his arms into his ‘thinking pose’, as his mother had described it, one hand cradling his elbow and the other clutching his chin. He quickly realised that his soulmates were staring at him.

“S-sorry, I was rambling again, wasn’t I?”

Ochako smiled. “Yeah, you were. But that’s okay! Kinda cool honestly.”

Izuku let out a small breath, blushing when he noticed Shoto staring at him with wide eyes.

“Izuku, do you happen to be on any hero forums?”

Izuku laughed. “Yup! I like to think that I’m pretty well known on a few forums.”

Shoto leaned forward. “What’s your user?”

Izuku rubbed the back of his head. “The Analyst.”

Shoto let out a wheezy squeak. “You’re joking.”

Ochako looked between them like there was a tennis match. “Wait I’m confused.”

Shoto shook his head incredulously. “The Analyst is an extremely popular user on many hero forums, very well known for his essays and both popular and controversial opinions when it comes to both heroes and how society discriminates based on quirks and gender.”

Shoto inhaled. “And, is considered to be a veteran amongst most users, very respected in the community.”

Tenya chuckled. “You seem to be very well versed in the community yourself Shoto.”

Tsu nodded. “How do you know all this?

Shot/o blushed. “I- Well I have a theory account, on YoTube.”

Ochako leaned over. “Oh really?”

Shoto smirked. “Cryptid Theory.”

Izuku nearly slammed into the table with how quickly he leaned over. “Holy shit, really!?”

Shoto nodded.

“I’ve been subscribed to you forever!”

Shoto opened his mouth only for a waiter to walk up to their table. “Are you lot ready to order?”

Five milkshakes later and Ochako brought up the dreaded question.

“Oh by the way Izuku, you never told us your quirk. Is it analysing or something?”

The rest of the table looked to him, and Izuku sank into his seat to hide behind his glass.

“Uh- I well.”

He cleared his throat, wringing his hands together.

“That’s the thing. I- I don’t have a quirk.”

The four of them stared. Stomach starting to churn, Izuku dug his fingers into his wrist. ‘Shitshitshitshitshit-‘

“Oh, ok.”

Snapping his head up Izuku stared at their expressions, all supportive.

Tenya grabbed his hands gently. “We don’t care that you’re Quirkless Izuku, quirk or no quirk, that’s not your defining trait of who you are.”

The rest of them nodded.

Izuku could easily feel the tell-tale burn of tears gathering along his water line.

He smiled at his soulmates as they quietly panicked at his tears.

“T-thanks.” He sniffled.

Ochako smiled. “Of course.”

Tenya handed him a napkin which he accepted with a small thank-you.

Izuku blew his nose, smiling brightly. “Thanks, I’m okay though, just… overwhelmed I guess.”

Tsu gave a sad ribbit. “I’m going to guess that being Quirkless is really hard, isn’t it?”

Izuku nodded hesitantly. “Other than my mum, you guys are the only ones that haven’t been physically or emotionally abusive.”

Ochako honest to god growled. “Want me to suplex them?”

Tenya nodded. “Plus I’m quite sure that Quirkless discrimination is illegal so you could technically sue the school.”

Izuku frowned. “They always delete the footage though.”

Tenya grinned. “Not if you know the right people!”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a slim laptop with a mischievous smirk. “What’s your school name?”

“Aldera Middle School, why?”

Tenya motioned for them to gather around his laptop, which had already booted up and was giving off a dark blue glow.

Tenya smirked. “Well when your family agency is based around communication and technology, you pick up on a few things.”

As Tenya’s fingers flew over the keyboard Izuku watched in awe as the code for the schools security main frame appeared on screen. “My older brother allows me to help out at the agency most days, so I help run the comms and all Iida’s know how to hack. Sometimes when pursuing a villain we need all out access to doors and security feed, and we also help out with investigations.”

“This is like something straight out of a spy movie!”

Tenya chuckled. “Something like that.”

Seconds later and the security feed was all over Tenya’s screen. “Now all I need to do is a little reversing and…”

Tenya reached into his bag and pulled out a USB, plugging it in and downloading all the footage, both visual and audio files. Once the download was complete Tenya handed the USB to Izuku. “Just in case.”

Izuku nearly burst into tears again. “Thanks Tenya.”

He shook his head. “No problem.”

As Ochako fawned over the whole incident Izuku drew back and smiled, gently thumbing the USB drive.

‘Things might just turn out for the better’

[chibi-honey-cake]

How about a drabble with Link having to adventure through cold water, and Sidon gives him a warm place to stay while travelling, said place being his belly?

Spare You The Cold- Prince Si.don x Li.nk

Okay, I put this off too long. Here's your request! TBH, I still haven't played BotW yet (because I knew it would eat literal days of my life lol) so I've been really trying hard to portray things right. I don't really know Prince Sidon well because he himself is a spoiler, but I could not avoid the internet's collective BiG fIsH bOyFrIeNd... ❤️ I really hope I got his character right, I had to look up cutscenes and dialogue. This draws a LOT of inspiration from @nom-central 's wondrous Vore Day story from this year, so if you wanna see the Sidon x Reader fic that inspired this one, click here~ Alright so I guess, here we go!

Contains: Soft Vore, Safe Vore, Half-Size Vore, Male Pred, Male Prey, Willing Prey (I'm also counting this as Protection Vore 'cuz Link needs protecting from his own silly self sometimes. XD) Word Count: 1.5K

=-=-=-=-=

Link knew he should have prepared for this outcome a bit more. Of course the waters would be treacherous when he was venturing this far north. Without protective clothing or equipment, this water would be freezing... But he needed to get beyond this river!

Stubbornness won out as the Hylian hero waded into the water, pausing to brace himself. It was already cold on his ankles and shins, let alone what it would be like in a moment. He had to do this, though. Link couldn't stop now. He took a deep breath, hoped for the best, then threw himself into the water.

Cold! So cold! The temperature was so shocking that it nearly stole his breath away. As soon as he surfaced, Link gasped and spluttered for air. This was one of his bad ideas, he realized immediately. This was not going to work! Gritting his teeth, he immediately gave up this attempt. He quickly paddled himself back to the shore, shivering and panting from the heat-sapping cold.

Well, that was a mess of a failure. Link wrapped his arms around himself, frowning and shivering as he tried to restore more warmth to his chilled skin. He needed to build a fire to warm himself before he caught cold or something.

But it wasn't more than a few seconds later that his plans changed. Apparently his splashing had drawn someone's attention. "Hello there, Link!" a familiar voice called from the river. The blond hero looked up to see the Zora prince waving to him from the water. Link's frown softened into a small smile at the sight, lifting a hand to wave back weakly. Prince Sidon grinned wide, displaying his sharp teeth as he easily swam to the shore. Water cascaded from the large Zora's body as he lifted himself from the water. Link leaned up to meet Sidon's gaze, idly noting that the cold water didn't seem to affect Sidon as much as it did him. In fact, it didn't seem to bother him at all.

"I'm glad I caught up with you," Sidon started as he approached, "You mentioned heading this way, but you traveled faster than I imagined! Especially without swimming." He chuckled, apparently impressed. But he didn't linger on the point for long, diverting when he looked over the shorter hero. "Link, you are not looking so well," Sidon noted, tapping his chin. Link's stance was huddled, his clothing was soaked, and he appeared to be holding back from shivering in an attempt to mask his problem. It clicked in the prince's head immediately. "You didn't actually attempt to swim this river, did you?"

Link winced, knowing his mistake was obvious. His frown twisted, lifting his arms with a stiff shrug.

Sidon's golden eyes widened in shock. "That was reckless!" he scolded gently, "Hylians aren't able to stand colder waters like Zoras! What were you thinking?"

Link couldn't really defend his decision, after all it was just an impulse. Just one of his 'I-bet-I-can-do-this' spur-of-the-moment choices that he always ended up regretting. He shrugged again, glancing guiltily at the ground.

Sidon sighed, running his hand over the shark-like crest on his head. "I think I understand," he murmured, thinking briefly, "You were hoping to go fast... So you figured you could make it, right?" Link agreed with another nod, thoroughly embarrassed by his misplaced confidence. Prince Sidon looked over the shivering hero once more, a mix of concern and respect in his heart. To be so determined to reach your task, even at risk of yourself... It was what being a hero was all about, they both knew that. But he couldn't just leave Link like this.

"I would offer to let you ride upriver with me but you already seem chilled, my friend," Sidon pointed out as Link rubbed his arms for warmth, "And I cannot stand by when I can help!" Sidon knelt down to Link's height, grinning sharply once more, "I can take you beyond the river and give you a chance to warm up, if you like?"

Link's gaze lifted to the Zora's as they shared a silent look between them. Link knew what he was asking- They'd already done this a time or two before. Sure, it was a little- strange, but... Prince Sidon was someone to be trusted. After all, he'd already shown that much. Link nodded in agreement, a shuddering breath leaving his chest.

Sidon's grin widened further, showing off his sharp teeth. "Perfect!" he laughed, reaching out as Link approached, "Always glad to help." The Zora Prince took no hesitation, his larger hands grasping Link's shoulders. His mouth parted wide, a mildly-intimidating sight with how imposing his figure was. But the Hylian trusted him, closing his eyes as he felt a warm breath against his face.

His broad, smooth tongue curled beneath Link's chin, guiding his head over Sidon's sharp teeth safely. His head easily fit into the prince's mouth, warmer saliva slicking his skin. Just the softer warmth of his mouth made the chill in the rest of the hero's body all that more obvious, making him wish that Sidon might go faster this time...

But Sidon paused for just a moment to taste him, his tongue sliding past his cheek. Sidon hummed appreciatively, his tongue turning to the young man's neck. He nudged Link's head towards the back of his throat and a strong swallow pulled him into the entrance of the throat.

Sidon rumbled another hum, swallowing again to push his shoulders down next. It was a good thing Zoras had adapted to being able to take live meals, though usually this method was used on fish. Thankfully their stomachs weren't very powerful, making this technique quite handy for other purposes.

The Zora prince kept his tongue between Link and his teeth, not wanting to harm his friend- and he could taste as he went, win-win. Taking more of the Hylian's torso in, Sidon noted that he was keeping still save for a subtle tremor. Considering how cold Link felt as he swallowed further towards his waist, he should probably hurry up to get the soaked hero out of the cool air.

Link held himself back from fidgeting even though the sensation was still a little strange to him. The muscles inside the Zora prince were smooth, slick, and strong- which, come to think of it, also described the outside of Sidon. His swallowing felt effortless, more of Link's chilled frame slipping deeper inside. He passing by the source of the Zora's powerful heartbeat in a hurry, massaged closer to his destination. Link let out a low sigh of contentment, the warmth of Sidon's larger, powerful body seeping into his and banishing the cold bit by bit. He felt gravity shift to aid his trip inside, limply allowing his frame to slide downward towards the warm belly of his friend.

Sidon lifted Link's shorter frame, both of them working towards their mutual end goal. Prince Sidon pushed the Hylian's legs up as he tilted his head back, the slick muscles inside making the act of swallowing merely a formality. It was over in a few quick gulps, the last of Link quickly slithering down Sidon's throat. He swallowed one last time, making sure to tuck all of the Hylian safely in his stomach before anything else.

He felt the smaller frame of the Hylian slip easily into his belly, a soft gurgle welcoming his arrival. Sidon placed his fingers to his smooth, rounded belly, pressing in slightly to guide Link's body into a more comfortable position. Link accepted his help gratefully, wriggling carefully to nestle into the crook of the Zora prince's tum. "There..." Sidon let out a pleased sigh, "Isn't that better? You'll be warmer in no time, my friend!"

Link's shivering inside had lessened; even though Sidon could still feel the chill from the Hylian's frame inside, he was quickly thawing. Even the lukewarm insides of the Zora were warmer than he had been. It would at least help warm him more slowly to keep Link safe from injury. Link didn't answer with words, but gave a friendly pat to the inner walls of his stomach.

Prince Sidon couldn't help but laugh, answering with his own soft pat. "Good then," Sidon crooned, turning to wade back into the river. He could insulate and help his friend to reach his destination without stress now. "I'll ferry you down the river, you just sit tight."

As Sidon dipped into the cooler waters, his hand caressed his warm tum gently. Another long gurgle rumbled loose as Link shifted to curl up inside. However, Link was still fairly cold... and no one said that he couldn't take his time getting there, did they? Prince Sidon hummed playfully to himself, pushing through the cooler currents with ease. Link needed rest and warmth; letting him stay inside was the least Sidon could do after all Link had done for him and his people.

[intruality-overlord]

Why Are We (Best) Friends?

Warnings: excessive swearing, alcoholism, mentions of drugs, drug use, suggestive humor, implied sexual content (no smut), some gore descriptions. Generally, Remus stuff.

Taglist: @blogging-time @veraisnotfine @littlestr @jessibbb @broken-pens @hi-its-tutty @idkanameatall @moxiety--sanders101 @theyluna-womoon

Last chapter! I’ll put a warning for when it starts getting a little heated just in case anyone will be uncomfortable but I assure you there’s no actual smut. Idk I just had fun with this last chapter. I also apologise if it’s a little awkward I don’t really have... experience.

Chapter Eight: No, Fuck Me

May 2nd, 2017.

“Oh, fuck.”

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck of fuck—

“Reeemuuss!”

How could Patton still sound exactly like himself while covered in cocaine and his breath ripe with cider?

Patton was drooling garbled words onto his chest. Everything he slurred barely registered to Remus, who might have blushed if he wasn’t so busy trying to process what he was witnessing. “Are you okay?” Was all he could think to say for himself. “Hehe... I’ve no idea wha’ words are righ’ now,” Patton giggled, summing everything up.

And Patton was staring at him.

Tugging on his sash scrunched in shaky fists, tugging on his heart strings, Patton stared. Centre of gravity balanced on top of him, his trust thrust onto him, Patton stared. He never stopped staring. Never cringed and shied away.

And Patton was smiling at him.

The picture of innocence, tipsy and twisted like an image reflected in a bubble, smiled at him. The epitome of adorableness, smiled at him as if he was the one who beheld someone truly precious. He never stopped smiling. Never cringed and shied away.

Please tell him Patton hadn’t sniffed any cocaine.

“Your sash matches your eyes,” he said. Remus went cross eyed watching Patton lift a finger to his face. Booping his nose, he triggered a rush of blood to dot Remus with red like scattered fairy lights. His heart started panicking— Patton played with his mustache, the curled ends latching onto him. The little tweaks felt so… nice, weirdly. Remus liked weird.

His heartbeat escalated.

Why did it feel so nice?

It broke into a sprint.

“An’ your mustache loo’ li’e mouse whis’ers— no! A lil’ ca’erpilla’,” Patton giggled. And he sounded like fucking jingle bells chiming.

Remus’s heart tripped, grasping at his lungs like hanging onto a cliff’s edge. His breath struggled with his heart’s still, strangling grip.

Nose scrunching, Patton ducked his head into Remus’s chest to hide from the kitchen light. Then, Patton became a completely dead weight.

Startling back to life, his heart pounding between the bars of his ribs, it beat so hard it made Patton appear to shiver. He gasped at his circulatory system coming back online. On reflex, Remus looped his arms around Patton’s waist so he’d continue to slump against him rather than slide to the floor. Butterflies would have flown if their wings hadn’t been sewn shut. As it was, they flopped uselessly at the pit of Remus’s gut.

Alcohol poisoning, Remus had previously pondered, was either the best or worst way to go. As figments of the imagination, it was impossible to die.

Accidentally. Accidentally die.

Now, Remus wanted to believe Patton got this drunk by accident. Yet how could someone drink so excessively, so determinedly, without the intent of… and if a figment of the imagination really wanted to…

Remus cradled the jumble of sloshed bones. He sighed. A deep, protective need to cherish him settled in his chest cavity. Nestled snugly under his manubrium, it ached. The ache was a mollusk that anchored to his sternum and sucked on, securing itself. It ached, like a fresh scald. Tender, tingling, hot, and glowing with blood. He wanted to protect Patton from the world, from all the spiders.

Protect him from whatever drove him to do this.

Remus summoned the warmest, fluffiest blanket he could imagine, bundled him up, and googled how to treat alcohol poisoning (decidedly the worst way to go, in his mind now).

He remembered what to do next time, engraved in his muscle memory.

The Present.

“You know what I think? The others have a bias against you just because you’re the only one who can pull off facial hair,” Patton said, and Remus barked a hearty laugh.

It had been a week and a few days since Patton’s revaluation about his feelings. Since then, Remus had had a chance to compute everything, sort out his own feelings, and he was ready to talk about it now. Patton had been patient with him, but over the past week or so he could tell it was eating away at him slowly. Only today did he seem to relax.

Heaping a greedy, chocolatey helping on his spoon, Remus passed back the ice cream tub to Patton who sat crisscross on the floor alongside him. Patton immediately helped himself to more.

What better time than now to talk?

“Apple?”

“Yeah, Ferret Boy?” Patton said around his spoon.

“How much have you had to drink today?” Remus asked. Patton knew he didn’t mean water, but was still puzzled. “I had one shot this morning, but I’m sober by now. Why does it matter?” Patton said sceptically.

Then he gasped, already reaching for the mini fridge, “Wait! We should count how many drinks it takes to get me wasted! I must be able to handle more than last time by now—”

“No!” Remus shouted hurriedly, snatching Patton’s hands away. “That’s not what I was suggesting. I just want you dry for this conversation,” he reiterated clearly. Fighting to not instinctively curl up, Patton quietly assessed the situation. As soon as everything clicked, his eyes started aimlessly roaming around the room. Only for his attention to snap back not more than two seconds later by a timid squeeze around his wrists.

Remus had a smile indistinguishable between shyly loving and guilty.

“How does it feel, by the way?” Remus stalled. Patton tilted his head in question. “Being… present more often,” he elaborated. Remus’s hold slipped down his wrists, cradling Patton’s hands. “Honestly,” Patton began, unable to draw his eyes from the swirling pattern Remus’s thumbs stroked onto his hands. The hypnotic motion helped channel his thoughts. “Time moves a lot slower when you remember everything clearly,” he mused, glancing up. “It’s quality time.” All time spent with Remus was quality time, so the longer the better.

(It was also tiring. The world may be slower, but now his thoughts are faster and they don’t flow as easily past his lips. It makes him feel… different. He wants to say he feels more like himself… but he doesn’t remember what “himself” feels like. And he’s reluctant to say that the person he spent so much time as wasn’t him. That was him for so long it couldn’t possibly not be him— how could that be any less himself than him before when his memory of both is blurry?)

Remus kept looking at him with that smile he didn’t want to keep silently guessing—

“Skip to the point, Remus, please?” He pleaded.

“I’m getting to it, Teacup.”

“Emu…” He insisted. Remus had no resolve. He gave in easily as an empty pepsi can. “Okay, okay,” and he couldn’t help but smile. Nervously, but still. Was it too late to double check he heard Patton right the other day?

“You’re my best friend. You’ll always be my best friend. But maybe we could be something else, as well?” Remus enfolded Patton’s hands into his cupped hands, gently warming them. “Can we be each other’s everything?”

“What kind of question— You already are my everything, you crackhead,” Patton snapped.

Then he realised what exactly happened.

“Shit, I mean— I meant what I said just— fuck, sorry, didn’t mean to say it like that—”

“I love you so fucking much,” and with those words, everything Patton was going to say dissolved on his tongue.

Tangling his fingers in the strands, Remus ran a hand through Patton's hair and cradled his head. Patton sunk into his touch, eyes slipping closed with a dopey smile. Warm, real, staying. “Can I kiss you, please?” Remus asked, voice cutely curling in question like a fern unfurling. Patton’s eyes creaked back open as if he was waking from a dream. The precious, little puppy, so fragile. Focusing on now, Remus blinked his speeding thoughts away.

“Teddy Bear,” Remus chuckled. Blushful, Patton’s attention jolted back. “Can I kiss you,” he asked again through giggles. It was infectious. Giggles like sparkling champagne bubbles poured from Patton. Toppling over into each other, their foreheads knocked together in their hysterics. Keep laughing, don’t cry. “Yes, yes you Rabbit Heart!” Patton spluttered in their spiral of nonsensical laughter. Their lips crashed together. Laughter melded into pleased hums.

Slowing down their clumsy clashing of lips and teeth, Patton suddenly found he had no fucking clue what he was doing. Unrelentingly reassuring, Remus’s grip tightened faintly in his hair and he showed him how. The hairs of Remus’s moustache tickled his upper lip (and the corners of Patton’s lips curled up like said moustache). They could both taste the lingering chocolate ice cream. The kiss felt... natural. Why hadn’t they done this before? Yet, they supposed, they were only ready for it now. When they broke apart, their lips were beginning to become plump. Before they fully separated, Remus planted a kiss on Patton’s forehead. “I always wanted to do that,” he giddily whispered to himself.

Slowly, it dawned on Patton; that was his first kiss. They had kissed each before, but not on the lips. Those didn’t count. They’d done everything except kiss each other on the lips because somehow that felt like where the line was drawn. It made no fucking sense. (Patton knew kissing was romantic, but he had never made that explicit connection to sex. In his mind, it meant whatever you wanted it to mean. Maybe because when Remus gave him The Talk, he cut out the “When two people love each other very much, they have a special hug” bull crap.)

But Patton was glad they saved his first kiss for something more meaningful. Romantic.

They always had done everything backwards.

*look away now if you don’t want to see it get heated*

A primal instinct unlocked in Patton. An unmistakable burning. Is this how Remus had always felt? Pure, rich, dark desire. (Remus wouldn’t call it that, but still.) Eyes dark with his dilated pupils, Patton was staring down at his lips. Staring, staring, so intensely. Confused slightly, Remus leaned back in an inch.

Suddenly Patton was pouncing on him. Patton desperately scrunched his sash in his fist, tugging him closer, closer, closer. Remus rebalanced himself, hands on Patton’s thighs. Confidently, Patton kissed him with a bruising firmness that stamped his taste of honey onto him. “Can I?” He begged, panting against his lips. “Please,” his voice cracked. Remus nodded in a daze, “Yes.” His chest was bare before he could blink. Hastily, Patton hauled him to the bed, and as soon as Remus was flopped on his back, cushioned by pillows and plushies (migrants from Patton’s room to Remus’s), Patton promptly tore off his own shirt. Glasses caught in the crossfire clattered on the floor.

What the fuck— Remus didn’t have time to react. Is this how Patton had always felt? Jesus, he wasn’t complaining though. All he could do was fixate on Patton eclipsing his sight, him.

“Do you really…? You’ve never initiated it.”

“Would be silly of me to rip your shirt off if I wasn’t interested,” Patton joked. “Do you really want this? You’re not just… trying to please me?” Remus had to ask. Shaking his head fondly, Patton stroked his cheek, burnishing it into a pink glow.

“I— I want so many things, right now. I want to make love to you. I want, I want—“ Voice cracking, Patton dived back down into a desperate kiss. Before breaking apart, panting, he dipped his tongue to taste Remus. Patton savoured the scrape of his teeth against his taste buds. “I want you to moan and keen and whimper like you never have before. I want you to be boneless by the time I’m done with you,” he purred.

Fuck. Remus whined, “Yes, god, Moonshine.”

Patton descended on him. He pressed a searing kiss to his cheek then cupped his face before the heat could dim. Pinkie tucked behind his ear, Patton used it as leverage to lead Remus’s chin up. A clear, delectable canvass for him. Nipping, kissing down his jaw, neck, collar bone, lapping up his whines like white wine. Remus clutched the sheets like the memory of his sanity. Remus’s pulse thrummed beneath his lips. Patton’s tongue was a blisteringly hot branding iron against his neck. He’d never had a proper chance to paint Remus before, so he was on a treasure hunt for his sweet spot. One spot that made him squirm, right beneath his chin, got some extra attention. (Now he’d show everyone.)

Most would expect Remus to be loud, yet he was surprisingly quiet. Every sound was for Patton, and Patton’s only to hear. Remus kept everything confined in their bubble of space and time. As much as Patton loved his ears being serenaded, he fully intended on swallowing down every sweet sigh and moan he could this time.

Observing his work, Patton sat back where he straddled Remus’s hips. Remus splayed his fingers across the expanse Patton’s chest and shoulders at arm’s length, caught between wanting to soak him all in through touch or sight— press their bodies flush together like a flower to keep, or admire him right now. So broad and steady they were (perfect for piggybacks). Rock carved and polished by lapping, consuming waves with saltwater grit until smooth and round. Not nearly as steady as a figment of imagination with standard, over-the-counter-prescription sanity, but undoubtedly more certain in reality than Remus himself. His shoulders were one of Remus’s favourite parts of Patton, directly next to his strong hands and equally gentle words (both of which were big and frighteningly effective at taking his breath away). In the whole stretch of the most likely round wide world, there’s nowhere he’d rather be than here. (The world being Patton, and here being in his arms.)

Bloody— For the love of acid, how didn’t he see it sooner?

“Are— are you… oh my god you’re actually drooling. You’re like a Saint Bernard,” Patton chuckled. Smirking, he knew just how to drive the adorable, kinky bastard crazy. Patton took Remus’s hand, and cracked each knuckle individually. Every pop caused a spark, like striking a match, lighting up his veins.

Crack! Pop! Pop! Snap!

Picking up Remus’s other hand, Patton smirked down at him lovingly. Then he cracked every knuckle at once like scrunching bubble wrap.

Remus whimpered— borderline keened.

Only Patton could do this to him. Only Patton knew him this well.

Lacing their fingers together, Patton pressed the back of Remus’s hands to his lapel— And his pulse— It was much slower and steadier than his own. All things considered, probably a properly functioning circulatory system. Weird. Remus wondered how that would feel.

His heart fluttered, tangling the surrounding muscles. It left his chest feeling tight.

Remus didn’t blush easily, but when he did, he blushed like an anime girl. The entire top half of his body flushed beet red, his love bites hiding for a second. As if raspberries had burst like paintballs all over him.

It was all too much.

But, oh, for Remus... too much was never enough.

Great, his heart was palpitating. For a brief moment, Remus wondered if it was the flustered kind. Then his chest imploded under an invisible weight. His left heart flailed, knocking the air out of him. No, never fun.

Patton could hear his heart beating like a paddle ball. Oh, shit.

Patton quickly summoned a glass of water the moment he saw his eyes lose focus, wide and vacant. Pressing the cool glass to his lips, it felt like ice and Remus swore he heard it sizzled against his tongue.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. I know I can trigger it when I’m a bit... intense,” Patton apologised in the most calming voice he can possibly manage.

“Don’t you dare say sorry, I love it. I just wasn’t— prepared.”

Remus scrunched his nose at the bitter honey taste.

“This was pay back wasn’t it,” he commented.

“You said it helped before.“

“Yes but— I meant the taste.”

“It’s not that bad—“

Remus scoffed, “Oh, I beg to differ.”

Patton smirked. “Begging now, are we?” He teased.

“You…”

Patton giggled, but it wasn’t his normal giggle. It was low, and on the edge of evolving into an alluring growl.

They sat for a while in stillness while Remus recalibrated. Remus tried to strike the balance between breathing in enough and inhaling too much.

“Do you still want to...”

Remus nodded. Patton sighed in relief, “Jesus Christ, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“I’ve never seen you so… so— enthusiastic, is all…”

Patton cupped his jaw, catching Remus’s bottom lip under his thumb.

“Is it too much?”

Remus kissed his thumb, then gushed, “No, oh god, I love it. I love you.”

“Do you want this?”

“God, fuck yes—” Remus didn’t think he had ever wanted anything more, “but do you? You don’t have to, you can always say no,” Remus reminded—

Patton seized both his wrists, pinning them above his head. “I know. I want to,” he said. Pressing their foreheads together, Patton’s thudding heart drew out his next words directly from his lungs like it was the most important breath he’d ever take. He whispered to him, “I want to show you.”

And that saccharine ache. That loving ache swelled and split Remus’s ribs.

There was a silent breath between them in acknowledgement that this wouldn’t be like all the other times. No, it would be special. It will be loving on a new level.

Patton captured Remus’s lips in another kiss, sealing the moment with a wordless promise.

“Cookie mix or two taps?”

“Cookie mix or two taps.”

[onwardintolight]

Han x Leia, ESB, Trip to Bespin, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Summary: ESB from Leia's POV. A journey from despair to hope, a blossoming, an opening to vulnerability and love.

Warnings: Deals with some heavy themes, incl. working through trauma, depression, self-harm, attempted sexual assault. Each chapter will be individually warned.

Note: I’m currently in the process of reposting the first nine chapters here in full, since when I first wrote this fic, I only shared links to the chapters on AO3 and FFN. I will try to post at least weekly. In the meantime, if you’d prefer to binge-read it, the entire fic is posted in full on AO3 and FFN.

Part: Masterlist | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | Epilogue 

Soundtrack

~~~

Warnings for Chapter 11: none

~~~

Leia sat on the floor of the main hold, going through Han’s music selection. He was in the far circuitry bay tinkering, but he’d answered a query of hers before he left by pointing her towards the wall compartment where the music datacards were stored, all in a jumbled heap. She’d raised an eyebrow at the mess, then gathered them up and set them on the floor, sorting them alphabetically as she perused with interest.

She examined one of them closer. Kloo Horn Blues by Figrin D’an and the Modal Nodes: she’d vaguely heard that the jizz band was popular in the Outer Rim. She’d have to give it a listen sometime. Nebula Songs by Aurodia Ventafoli—a classic; it seemed like everyone in the galaxy knew and loved the “Chanteuse of the Stars.” Her music practically dripped with romance, and Leia made a mental note of it for later (just in case). More jizz bands she wasn’t very familiar with. Khyyynett, the late Wookiee clarion trumpeter—probably one of Chewie’s favorites. Kor Vella Fever by The Bloodstripes, the upbeat album they’d listened to towards the beginning of the trip, and Those Old Spacer Blues by Grondorn Muse, another Corellian who had performed once or twice for the Alliance.

There were some classical albums: Kithra and Berltagh’s sonatas, Mondegrene’s Fugue in K. She gasped to see Tofli Argala’s Spring Symphony; the Nabooian composer’s masterpiece was often played in the Organa household while she was growing up. There were a few dance albums, too: the critically acclaimed B’ssa Nuuvu by Telindel and Saerlock, and even the Alderaanian band Heartbeat of Istabith, which increased her nostalgia even more.

Suddenly, Leia froze, eyes widening at the name spelled out on the datacard she’d just picked up. Melodic Order. That was the Alderaanian cloister choir she’d rescued after the Battle of Yavin! How had Han known about them? Their music was so unlike anything else in his collection; contemplative and ethereal and so very classically Alderaanian that she had a hard time imagining him listening to it.

But perhaps the more curious question was how Han had managed to get hold of it. She stared at the album title and frowned. Forever Lost, Forever Onward. An album she didn’t know, with a name that hinted of… she caught her breath. He must have picked this up recently, within the past few years. She wondered why he’d never told her about it. Trembling, she inserted it into the dataplayer.

She leaned back against the bulkhead, closing her eyes as the beautifully haunting, melodious strains washed over her. She’d grown up listening to Melodic Order and countless other Alderaanian choirs. Hearing them again felt so familiar, so like home and family and love and security, so like the innocence of a forever-lost childhood that she couldn’t stop the tears from welling.

The first song ended, and Leia opened her eyes, blinking. Han stood at the entrance to the hold, a sheepish smile on his face. “Er… I forgot that was in there. I, uh, remembered you talking about that choir. Found the datacard on the black market during one of my supply runs. Was saving it to give you as a gift, but…” he shrugged. “Guess you beat me to it.” He frowned. “Look, I’m sorry if it’s the wrong thing right now, I didn’t mean—”

In a moment she was off the floor and across it, flinging her arms around him. “It’s perfect,” she whispered into his chest. “Thank you.” He held her close, and she felt him relax. Leaning down, he gave her a kiss on the forehead.

The next song had already started; this one was a little bit more buoyant and upbeat. “It’s pretty,” Han remarked.

“Come and listen.”

Han grimaced. “To a whole hour of this? That could get boring pretty qui—” he caught sight of Leia’s face and stopped short. “Then again, it is really pretty. I’ll bring some stuff in to work on while we listen.”

She grinned, triumphant.

A few minutes later, they were both settled on the floor—Han against the bulkhead with a magna-driver and a gravity compensator module, and Leia lying on her back near him, eyes closed once more as she tried to savor every lovely, heart-wrenching note.

The music rose and fell, soaring like thrantas over the River Wuitho. It was at times as merry as a field of starflowers and as solemn and mournful as the wind on the peaks. But woven through it all like the threads of a tapestry was a sense of longing so immense that Leia felt like her heart might burst from it. The lyrics intensified it; the voices sung of grief and remembrance, of yearning for what was no more, but also for what might someday be. Along with that yearning, hope was named, a hope Leia clung to like a rock in swift water.

The album was over halfway through when all at once her eyes snapped open and she sat up. “What did they just say?”

“Hmm?” Han mumbled from against the bulkhead as he strained the magna-driver against a particularly stubborn fastener.

Leia frowned as the song reached its chorus.

Symbol of hope, wreathed in white. Our death she saw but stalwart she fights. The remnant she gathers, our hearts she stirs, our doom she defies. The princess will bring us into light.

“No,” she whispered. Suddenly feeling very ill, she got up and stumbled to the corridor.

“Leia?” She vaguely heard Han’s concerned voice calling after her. Jamming her hand against the controls to the crew quarters, she lurched towards the ‘fresher and sank down on the floor beside it. Han caught up with her. “You all right, Princess?” He frowned. “You look really pale.” He sat down next to her.

Concentrating, she tried to slow her heartbeat. She had already begun to swallow down the initial wave of nausea, but she was still reeling. “Did you hear what they were singing?”

“Uh, something about hope and light?”

Leia stared at the wall across from her. “It was about me,” she whispered.

A cloud passed over Han’s eyes. “The hell do they think they are? You saved them! If they’ve been talking trash—”

“No, Han. It’s not that. It’s….” She felt lost for words; it was hard to speak at all right now, much less clearly. How could she explain this? He laid his hand, palm up, on the floor between them. She clasped it and took a deep breath. “They sung about me like I was one of the old Alderaanian gods.” She shook her head. “A ‘symbol of hope.’ Like I was going to make everything right.” She clenched her teeth as another wave of nausea swept over her.

Han gave her a funny look. “But you are a symbol of hope, Leia. To the whole galaxy. You agreed with the ol’ stooges in high command when they decided to make you one. It’s important, right?”

“Yes, Han, but this is different.”

He opened his mouth like he was about to argue some more, but then he seemed to think better of it and sat there, waiting. Wise move, whispered the wry part of her mind that was somehow still hovering nearby, outside of the body that trembled and felt sick. He squeezed her hand and looked into her eyes, concerned.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she sighed. “I can’t be their idol, Han. I can’t be their goddess of light now that Alderaan is gone. If they knew… if they knew what part I played in their loss, they wouldn’t say such things. They’d be praying that the god of justice destroys my soul.” She gritted her teeth; the last words had come out sharp and hard, like a gavel.

“Leia—”

“Han, I don’t care what you say. I don’t deserve this. I will never deserve this. I may not be directly to blame, but you know just as well as I do that if it weren’t for my actions, Alderaan would still be here. I chose to rebel.” She paused, voice breaking. “And what’s maybe even worse is that I’m still glad I rebelled. Maybe that makes me a monster, or maybe I just believe in something greater than all of us. But I’m implicated. I can take steps to bring justice and peace to the galaxy and what’s left of my people, but I will never be able to assuage my guilt or bring Alderaan back.” She laid her head on Han’s shoulder. “I can’t be their perfect symbol of hope, Han. And I’m not. A whole lot of people do blame me.”

Han was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned over and kissed her head. “You did the right thing, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You, and your parents, and, hell, all the Alderaanians who wanted somethin’ better than the Empire.”

Leia paused at his words. She exhaled slowly as the implications hit her.

It wasn’t just you.

He wrapped his arms around her. She let herself be drawn in closer, and they both rested there, quiet for awhile.

Her mind was still a mess, but eventually she felt the nausea dissipate and her heartbeat grow calmer. She was struck by a sudden desire to move on with things, to leave this awkward little episode behind. Gently she untangled herself and got to her feet; he followed suit.

“Well,” she said awkwardly, stretching her arms on her hips.

“I shoulda known that wouldn’t’ve gone too well,” Han said apologetically.

“No, Han, thank you. That music…” she shook her head. “I needed it. Maybe not the one song, but the rest… it means so much to me. It’s home.” She looked at him standing there, leaning against the wall, worry lines fading from his face, and she smiled. Suddenly she had a thought—a small opening, a chance to dig a little deeper—and she took it. “You ever have any music like that?”

“Music that reminds me of home?” He chuckled bitterly. “I haven’t had a home worth remembering, ‘cept the Falcon.”

Leia winced inwardly at her mistake. “Oh, I don’t mean like that. I mean the kind that goes down really deep. That means something important to you.”

Han looked thoughtful. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I guess I do.”

“Can I hear it?”

Moments later they were back in the main hold, and Han was digging haphazardly through the piles of datacards she’d nearly finished organizing. She considered that her efforts to bring a little order might well be hopeless, and she shook her head, amused.

Han found the datacard he was looking for. A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he examined it, and then he tossed it to Leia. “The M-68s,” Leia read aloud as she inserted it into the player. “That’s the name of a speeder, right?”

“The best in the galaxy. Or it was, awhile back.”

The music started; more raucous Corellian ballads, similar to what they’d listened to before. The first song seemed to be an ode to the band’s namesake.

Han leaned back on his arms, his eyes distant, as if he were picturing the speeder right in front of him in all its glory. “Powerful, variable thrusters… modifiable 289-hirep repulsorlift generator… sleek, beautiful lines….” he whistled. “Every street racer worth their stuff on Corellia wanted one. But by the time I finally got my hands on one—”

“Wait, you were a street racer?” She leaned forward, intrigued.

Han shrugged. “Yeah, when I had the time. I built a speeder of my own. Raced it a couple of times. Did pretty damn well, considering that I had to steal every minute with it right from under Lady Proxima’s oily nose.”

“Lady Proxima?”

“Head of the White Worms. Horrible being. I, uh, worked for her for awhile.”

Leia raised her eyebrows.

“All right, smuggled. Stole things. All sorts of illegal hijinks. Happy now? Not that I had much of a choice. I was just a kid trying to survive.”

Leia’s expression grew softer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Han made a dismissive sound in his throat. “Eh, don’t worry about it. I suppose being an Alderaanian princess didn’t give you much experience with underground cartels.” Leia opened her mouth in defense, but Han beat her to it. “And that’s good. I’m glad you didn’t have to deal with ‘em.”

“We had some underground illegal activity, but nothing like the cartels on other worlds,” Leia conceded. “And you’re right, I never had much experience dealing with them directly.” She paused, searching his face. His eyes were focused elsewhere. Was he ashamed? “Tell me about it,” she said gently. “Help me understand.”

Han considered for a moment, then sat up, fiddling with his holster. “The White Worms were the biggest gang in Coronet. Controlled the black market there. Any kid on the streets desperate enough eventually ended up with them.” He paused, his distaste palpable. “Easy to get in, not so easy to get out.”

Leia shuddered.

“It was better than being alone on the streets, though. We at least had a steady source of food.” He shrugged, then stopped speaking. Leia guessed he was hoping that would be the end of it. Despite her curiosity, she felt it was unwise to press him too hard just yet, so she went back to the subject beloved by the gritty, spirited anthem still belting from the datacard player.

“You said you were able to get your hands on an M-68?”

Han let out a wry chuckle. “Didn’t have it for long. It’s, uh… it’s actually what helped me escape. Nabbed it on the streets; crashed it the same day trying to shake off the White Worms. It got us almost all the way to the spaceport before that though.”

Leia listened intently. This was exactly what she had been hoping for; a more concrete glimpse into his past. Still, even this story seemed to hint at so much more that he was leaving unsaid. She wondered what kind of horrors he had gone through that had led up to that desperate decision to escape. She wondered what the White Worms would have done if they had caught him. She wondered what “us” meant.

“So is that why this band means so much to you?”

“Yeah, I guess. That, and street racing. And flying.”

Leia nodded. “Things you’ve always had a passion for.”

“Yeah. I dunno, I guess it feels like I was born to do those things. Being in the driver’s seat of a speeder or the pilot’s seat of a ship….” He shrugged again. “It’s me. ’S who I am.”

Leia snuggled against his side as the next song came on, this one a joyous exposition on the thrills of speeding. “I like who you are,” she said, kissing his cheek. Han looked down at her, affected; the guarded vulnerability in his eyes melting away into a softening joy. He leaned down and kissed her.

[caroline18mars]

A Man On Fire - Chapter 44

“Don't ever do this to me again, because I don't know if I would survive” was the last thing she heard him whisper before sleep finally overpowered her, he just heard her sigh the cutest sigh in reply and then seconds later her deep, soft breathing, hopefully that hangover wasn't gonna be too painful in the morning. His eyes became heavy too, finally he could give in to this motherfucker of a jetlag that had been stalking him all evening, his adrenalin constantly pumping through his veins for hours had worn him out completely, she was safe, so was he, he had more than he could've asked for with her head resting on his chest and her body firmly glued to his, his eyes obeyed his mind and fell shut, let go, give in..the moon threw its' mysterious veil over their exhausted bodies at the closing of this weird, dramatic day. Come on, woman, pick up, where the hell are you? Surely that prick must have left hours ago, knowing you, he's probably being carried onto a plane, crippled or kicked black and blue because you're the wildest cat I know. “..'llo?”, what? it was fuckin' 7AM and that nitwit answered her phone with a sleepy voice? Fuckfuckfuck! “Jared?..hey! uhm, I was just checking up on Harper, is she ok? I was so worried about  her when you carried her out of the club..” his voice like honeygold syrup while he kicked the wall in frustration. “Sean..just a second” Jared reluctantly pulled his arm from under her but stopped when she started to stir, nonono don't move, only when she was completely still again, he whispered in the phone “Sean, I can't talk right now..she's ok..really..she's sleeping now and I don't want to wake her, I 'll call you later, ok?”. Sean heard the dry click in his ears, what the actual fuck? Oh she's sleeping, blablabla, she's probably exhausted from the hard fucking you gave her, bweeghh, his stomach squeezed uncomfortably together, she was his and he would get her..eventually..one lost battle wouldn't make him lose the war. “Who..phone..what time is it?..owww” Coco put her hands on top of her head and closed her eyes in pain “owww, my head..”, Jared groaned a little, she was awake, that stupid fucker had woken her, “it was Sean..checking up on you..here..” he turned to the nightstand and picked up the glass of water and a tablet. “I thought you might feel like you do this morning, so here, take that and go back to sleep” he handed her some paracetamol and the glass. She pushed the medicine between her lips and quickly swallowed it before she put her head back down on the pillow, “better already” she smiled carefully up at Jared, “good, I'm glad” he slowly twirled a strand of hair between his fingers and let his lips caress her aching forehead. “Will you just..?” her hand reached for his head and pushed it back down on the pillow as well, stop that Leto “thanks, I was getting a bit dizzy”, he shuffled his pillow a little closer until it bumped against hers, “you're..breathtaking” there was such an honesty in his eyes that she almost believed him. “Calm down, Leto, flattery is not gonna get you anywhere..that's not what it's gonna take, that is not what I need” she whispered “I don't need to hear all that beauty bullshit..that would be selling me short, like all I am is a pretty face to you, nothing more..I mean, think about it, just because you're very easy on the eye, doesn't make you any less of a bastard”.

Ok, time to face the music “true..” he squinted his eyes a little, indicating to her that her words made impact “I just can't take back what I said, can I? It was stupid and totally uncalled for, I wish you would believe me..when you put that knife into that painting yesterday, I felt it physically..I know that sounds ridiculous but I think you're the most talented person I've ever met”. Yeah sure, whatever, she rolled her eyes “the most talented person with absolutely no career.. pathetic? Was that the word you used to describe me?” she huffed but he stopped her from rolling over on her back again. “Don't, Harper..come on, you seem to forget that your paintings was what drew me to you, I didn't even know what you looked like and I couldn't care less, I was just so blown away by your work that I just needed to get in touch with you and buy something, which I never received by the way..” he smiled. She shot up and jumped from the bed, rummaging through some paintings and then returned to the bed “here, all yours” she pushed the painting in his hands “nobody else wants them”. He took the painting and shook his head “they just haven't seen it yet, hang on” he put the painting on the nightstand and took a picture, fidgeting around on his phone immediately after, “what are you doing?” she frowned, “I'm showing it to the world” he grinned as he pushed down on the screen “there! On instagram, facebook, and Twitter” he showed the picture to her, “what? But..I don't want..” she stammered, “too late, I'm not deleting it, it's high time the world sees what a talented painter you are..oh look, the first likes are flooding in..soon you'll be the most famous one of us two”. Harper snatched the phone out of his hands, oh god, he was right, that heart thingy popped up every 2 seconds “what the..?” she breathed as he pulled her between his legs, her back resting against his chest “your career is about to skyrocket, that's what” he kissed the side of her head. “How do I know they're doing it for my work and not because you put something on social media?” she didn't understand much of how social media worked, so far she had managed to stay far away from it after all the horror stories about stalking and screenzombies she had heard, artificial friendships, artificial lifestyles, filters, and all that crap. “Well, you can never be a 100% sure I guess, but it's all about the tags right? #artist #painter #art #HarperCocoRobianoDarby “loveofmylife #talentedasfuck #artsavestheworld #girlfriend #love #lover #mywoman” he rattled with a huge smile “look at all those comments! 'wow Jared, she's so talented', 'it's breathtaking, can we see some more work?', 'is it for sale?', 'I have a galery and want to exhibit her work, where can I contact her?”. Dumbfounded she stared at all the messages on the screen as he slowly scrolled through them “I guess you have your answer right there, it's all about you, not about me, you kept your work hidden for far too long” he pushed a kiss in her hair, “huh? You posted it only a couple of minutes ago..so this is social media..it's scary” she stammered while her eyes whizzed over the screen. “No, it's not, it can be fantastic, like right now..in just a few clicks you're famous, people keep asking to see more of your work, look..you keep saying that I'm only trying to flatter you, but this is proof that it's not flattery but the truth, if others are seeing and saying it too”. He felt her go to jelly in his arms while she just stared and stared, “you were right..and your parents are wrong, they always were..wrong not to see and support all that amazing talent their daughter has, wrong because they are too blind and jealous of their own child”.

Harper finally took her eyes off the screen and turned to look at him over her shoulder “and you? What about you?” she whispered, “Me? I was wrong to say all I said about your career, I still don't know why I said it, it must be to do with jealousy as well..jealous because you're gonna have a bigger and better career than I have or could ever have and you did it all with your own talent, which is something I can't always say about myself” his hand caressed her cheek, pushing a kiss on the tip of her nose. What he said about her parents made her pulse race “I want to believe you..I really do, but jealous? My parents? Of me? Why would they be? They're rich diplomats, and their kids need to follow in their footsteps and be all perfect and conservative, not throw some paint around and..”, he immediately stopped her “exactly..but they have no power or control over you, they've probably never had..and that's something they can't stand..I know, because I talked to them after you had left..I called your Dad and..well, I gave them my honest opinion on whose fault it was that there's such bad blood between the two of you”. Harper's eyes grew wide as saucers, had he really done that or was he just saying that to get back into her good books? It wasn't exactly like she could call or contact them and check! “oh..and what did he say?” she raised her eyebrows, “well..ok so I should probably say that I lost my patience and basically called him a cold, heartless idiot if he denies his amazing, talented, wonderful, creative, perfect child just because she follows her dreams and her heart” he scrunched up his nose “I may or may not have said bastard instead of idiot though..hmm, guess that won't score me any points and I can kiss my invitation to the next family barbecue most definitely goodbye, but fuck that! Someone needed to tell him what was up”. He watched her nostrils flare a little while she stared at him with those big, amazing chocolate eyes of hers, oh god no..she wasn't gonna cry, was she? Coco just couldn't hold back any longer and she let her muffled snigger burst out into a hiccuping laughter. She rolled over the mattress clutching her chest “you didn't, you so didn't” she snickered and flapped her eyelashes at him, oh god woman, drive me completely crazy, why don't you? “I did..I'm sorry” there was a sudden shift in energy when her eyes drilled into his looking up at him. “No apologies needed, none whatsoever..” she whispered, he leaned in, he had to, he just was drawn to her like gravity, before she could do or say anything, his lips crashed down on hers.

Demanding, hot, apologetic, reassuring, this kiss was all of the above but most of all it was..needed, it was time to bury the hatchet, she needed to be with this weirdo, this was THE ONE, she didn't even know what that actually was supposed to feel like, but she just felt it in every fibre of her being. Jared felt her deepen the kiss, thank god, please let this war between her and me be over, I don't want to fight anymore, what she did next, had his skin on fire in a split second. Her hand reached for his face, her warm hand caressing his cheek, only to venture southbound over his chest, their lips still glued together when he felt her hands sneaking into his underwear, cupping the perfect round globes of his butt. Reluctantly he disconnected the kiss and closed his eyes, his face still hovering over hers, “what? What is it?” she tapped the tip of his nose to get his attention, what? He didn't want this? “nothing..it's just..” he didn't even open his eyes, he leaned his head back, “it's just what? Jared” she asked anxiously, goddammit..men! Always so unpredictable. When he felt her shift uncomfortably underneath him, he finally looked at her “I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for yet..I just know that if we keep going like this, I'm not gonna be able to stop..” he breathed. Sweet, stupid, considerate, at times unbearably romantic Jared..”who said anything about stopping? I just want this pent-up frustration and anger fucked out of me, and since I can't do that on my own, you'll need to get to work, Leto, and fast before I change my mind” Harper's hands urgently traced down his shoulders, his chest, his abs, her fingers hooking behind the front of his underwear whilst she bit her lip, and looked up at him with those not so innocent bambi eyes. “God, you're not exactly a hopeless romantic, are you? But that's ok, because I prefer my sex-crazed kitten” he grinned, his mouth got to work and bit her shoulder, pulling the strap of her bra down with his teeth, seconds later his warm, hot tongue circled around her hard nipple, touchdown! God yes! She sighed in bliss while her hands ran through his long hair.

[3431jessica]

A Road to Tomorrow

In homage to the recently released “Paw of Destiny.” I reshare my old fic that seemed to be suiting to the occasion. 

Complete set could be found here. (dedicated to my fellow KFP lovers @pixarchan @m4dg4rl @7oy7iger @ani-dragmire  @gsmith1030)

Po's very favourite thing about his daughter was.. - well, to be fair, there's really not just one thing. It's more of a list. A long list.

Of everything about her, basically.

After over a decade married to the love of his life and raising a number of orphaned panda and turned their life around, it was finally their turn to taste another facet of parenthood.

Ping Ying Yue - as the name meant: the reflection of the moon - she was a revelation to him almost every day. He saw his father's kind eyes, his mother's selflessness, his own regrettable clumsiness, and, most endearingly, the sparkling intellect of his wife, Tigress, all packed into the small form of his daughter.

She's also so amazingly herself, somehow - a four-year-old dynamo that exhausted him more than most of the things he'd faced during his time serving the valley. Ying Yue wasn't the natural Kung Fu Master that Tigress was at her age, but she loved the art anyway. She'd got his curious nature, an irrepressible energy level, and her mother's fierce ability to focus when she's doing something she loved.

Like right now.

She was on the floor, adorably folded in half so that she could colour the picture of grandpa Shifu she'd drawn for Tigress. His fur was - unfortunately - discoloured into blue and green - the colours of crayons she could find, and his ears appeared massively disproportional to his body (well, it never was!). Ying Yue was so intent on her work that she didn't hear the door open, or the familiar pad of Tigress paws as she approached, offloading her sack, training vest, and house keys as she went.

Po looked up from his spot on the couch, grinning as his wife reached the living room doorway and stepped out of her shoes, continuing towards them on bare feet. She's wearing a flirty blue qipao that showed off her curves (slightly snug in the right places), and Po let his appreciative gaze linger. She still seemed troubled, some days, by the changes to her tight figure after childbearing, but Po saw her strength and the creation of their child in her body and was at least as attracted to her as he'd always been. She's still sexy as hell, but he's even more worshipful now that he'd seen her carry his child - the child that he had never thought would ever arrive after ten years of their marriage.

Tigress approached, dropping down beside him with a groan. "Hi," she told him softly, leaning in for a lingering kiss. It's not until she settled in beside him and raised her voice that Ying Yue noticed her presence. "Hey, kiddo, come give your mom a kiss."

Ying Yue's little stripey head whipped around, traces of dumpling still bore evident around her maw. "Mommy!" She pushed herself up, literally leapt to the small empty gap on the couch only to rush flying back to grab her drawing. She ran full tilt around the edge of the coffee table, ignoring her parents' admonitions to slow down, and hurled herself for the second time onto the couch. With a giggle, she settled in against Tigress, her arms around her mother's neck. "Hi, Mommy. Miss you."

"Hi, baby girl," Tigress answered, and Po grinned at the pet name. It was both funny and endearing to see the fearsome Master Tigress used that kind appellative on anyone. He thought he would never live to see that day.

"How was your day?"

"Good, Mommy," Ying Yue chirped, climbing over Tigress's lap to resettle between her parents. "Daddy and I went to the park and played on the swings, and there was a really loud fight between the croc bandits..-" She dropped her drawing in favour of broad hand gestures meant to, Po assumed, sketch just how big the croc bandit was- "and daddy was about to stop them when grandpa Shifu suddenly appeared and froze them with just one finger," she beamed with pride. "One. Finger. I bet the stick he used for walking was just a decoy," she concluded to both Po and Tigress' amusement. "And then I draw you this!" She picked the picture up and presents it to Tigress proudly. "Perhaps you can give this to him tomorrow?"

"Of course," Tigress' eyes light up, and her smile was delighted as she accepted the slightly crumpled paper with a rough sketch of big-eared creature - that was Shifu alright. "Good job, Yue. Is this…-?"

"It's nerve attack!" Ying Yue interrupted, "pointing at the yellow blob she coloured on the tip of Shifu's finger. "Daddy said he used chi, the power to one's soul. So even when grampa is small, his chi can be as big as an elephant! That's how he beats Daddy and throws him all around the Training Hall like a rag doll. So, if I meditate more to make my chi stronger, I can beat Daddy too!"

Po rolled his eyes. Ying Yue had always had a crazy way in deriving and analysing phenomena around her; it fascinated Po, even when she's asking twenty minutes' worth of absurd questions that made connect to each other only in that amazing brain of hers.

"Oh," Ying Yue breathed, her eyes wide, "I need to show my picture to grampa Ping! Who knows he would want me to draw him too."

She wriggled out from between them and scampered off to her room to grab her drawing supplies.

Tigress huffed a laugh, leaning more heavily into Po as she traced the lines of Ying Yue's drawing. "This is pretty good," she observed.

She's not wrong - Ying Yue had trouble colouring in the lines, but the basic shape was recognisably a red panda, featuring large ears, small body, bushy tail, and four semi-proportional limbs. It's the fact that Shifu was gliding in the air with a gigantic ball of chi on his skinny hands had really made it clear that this version of Shifu had sprung from the bright imagination of a four-year-old. Tigress smoothed the paper a bit. "Shifu would be glad if he could fly."

"He almost could fly," Po remarked at his Master's gravity-defying ability. "I can't imagine what will happen if he were born with wings. And so were you."

Her forehead crinkled. The "Am I?" was silent, but he saw it plastered on her face.

"You flew from the Jade Palace rooftop to the ground and zipped right across Valley of Peace to the Thread of Hope. That was..-"

"Bodaciously Awesome?" she finished with a chuckle.

"Yep," he nodded. A large grin split his face when he caught a glimpse of Ying Yue dashed in impossible speed crossing the living room to the bathroom and back into her bedroom. "And you know where our feisty princess got her energy from, see?"

Tigress tilted her head and crossed her arms in faux annoyance.

"She's your daughter," he said as an explanation.

Tigress scoffed but snuggled closer. "She inhaled for a bowl of dumpling yesterday - literally. She's your kid, Po."

Po laughed, but before he can argue, Ying Yue came tearing back into the living room, a sack full of painting equipment clutched in one hand and Tigress action figure that she inherited from her big sister, Lei Lei. "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, can we fix Daddy's marks now?"

Po leaned forward, and Ying Yue redirected, launching herself at him. She grinned up at him. "Hi, Daddy."

"Hi, Little Dumpling." Po dipped his head to kiss his daughter's tiny nose, which made her laugh and wriggle in a fake attempt to avoid him. She loved the scratch of his rough panda stubble but liked to pretend she didn't.

Her hand landed on his cheek, and she patted his jaw. "Daddy, can we fix your marks now?" She's grinning up at him, and her enthusiasm made his chest ache.

He glanced at Tigress with a wordless question. He could tell she's had a long day - the Valley had suffered from a few bandit attacks and she's been putting in long, tough hours to try to make sure the situation and normalcy rebounded quickly. It won't surprise him if she's not up for taking care of him tonight.

But Tigress was already scooting forward on the couch, reaching for Ying Yue. "Let's go get everything ready for Daddy," she told her, and Ying Yue went eagerly into her mother's arms.

Po watched them head upstairs, then pushed himself up with a little groan and made a detour for the kitchen. He grabbed some Camomile tea for Ying Yue, brew a large pot of Oolong for Tigress, and refilled his water jug before heading upstairs. He could hear their voices, Ying Yue narrating everything she's doing for her mother ("I did a split kick, Mommy!"), and Tigress praising her and occasionally correcting her as needed.

Pausing in the doorway to the master bedroom, Po watched his daughter crawling around on the bed, carefully straightening the clean bath sheet they've laid down to protect the red and grey duvet. Tigress had the hot herbal patches and the jar of solvent for his scars on a small hand towel to the side. Ying Yue tended to need more cleaning up than Po after each "mark fixing" session. It was a ritual these days, now that 40 was fast approaching and his years of injury have started to make themselves known in the form of aches and pains, for his girls to spend an hour every couple days easing his pain and healing his scars.

He couldn't believe, some days, that this was his life. Becoming Dragon Warrior was merely a small part of the adventure - a beginning of many things. He couldn't believe he had Kung Fu. He couldn't believe he made friends with his idols - the Furious Five. He couldn't believe he became the Master of Jade Palace. But mostly he couldn't believe he deserved the kind of love his daughter and his wife give him so effortlessly.

Before he could get too maudlin, Tigress spotted him and reached out her paw. "C'mon over here, mister." She noticed the Oolong tea in his paws and grinned. "I knew I married you for a reason."

"Bet ya," he said with a smile that he forced because the thought of his life without her nearly squeezed the tears out of his eyes.

Tigress handed her the cup and Ying Yue's Camomile tea - they learned early that Ying Yue - just like Tigress - was not a particularly good multitasker when she spilt scalding hot tea down Po's spine. He deposited his water jug on the bedside table, tugged off his shirt (which he wore because Tigress insisted he needed to stop being shirtless in front of other people - she was his only exception), then climbed onto the mattress, settling on his stomach. He pulled his pillow closer, then craned his neck to see Ying Yue kneeling by his ribs. "Okay, Little Dumpling."

She patted his back twice and put Tigress action figure right beside his face, making Po laugh. "Relax, Daddy," she directed. "You can snuggle with my Tigress if you need to," she added, then turned her attention to her mother. "Mommy, can I have the Wonder?" Po grinned into the pillow at Ying Yue's butchering of the complicated, pharmaceutical name of the scar cream's component.

"Of course, darling," Tigress answered.

And they got to work.

Tigress knew his tight spots, the deep tissue aches and pains that responded to the patches, so she methodically applied them. She took a few moments to work on his muscles, too, massaging when she felt a knot.

Ying Yue, meanwhile, fingerpainted the white lines and raised skin of his scars with the healing cream. She was so careful and so gentle as she worked. The first time they'd done this, by the time he'd flipped over to let them work on the scars on his chest, the sight of little Ying Yue leaning over him, her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated on soothing his old injuries had brought Po to tears. His baby girl - who barely graduated from wearing diapers - hadn't noticed the tears slipping down the sides of his face, but Tigress caught the way his breath hitched, cupping his face with her paws and pressing a soft kiss to his lips to ground him.

He didn't cry every time these days, but he felt it just as acutely. Ying Yue was as openly protective as Tigress, and as deeply affectionate as he was - and they both told him at least once a day that they love him. But something about these moments, something about the way he could feel the love in their careful touches, in the time and attention they put into making him feel just a little better, it hit him hard every time.

"Thank you," he murmured into the pillow, and he's honestly not sure whether he's thanking his girls, or whatever deity or fate brought him the two great loves of his life: Tigress and Ying Yue.

His wife pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder, and his daughter patted him again. "You're welcome, Daddy."

Po smiles. "Thank you."

[shimmersing]

Something Better

[Tumblr Masterpost] [AO3 Link] [Soundtrack] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

Chapter 3: Unexpected Peace

Travel through Taris was hazardous at the best of times, deadly at the worst, and annoying at all other times. The planet was overrun with not only rakghouls, but other dangerous species that had flourished in the polluted environment. Aitahea and Erithon’s progress was slower than either of them would have liked, finding it necessary to dispatch a number of aggressive creatures in their path.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Aitahea found herself smiling as they traversed the recklessly beautiful landscape. Erithon’s interest and concern about her history had been genuine, and his chagrin at unsettling her just as real. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have shared the details of her traumatic childhood, brushing any concerns aside and refocusing on their goal. But his sympathy felt like a warm embrace, unfamiliar yet irresistible. Her thoughts had lingered on that feeling for far too long, and she pulled her concentration back to their shared task.

As darkness drew close, they determined that making camp would be a necessity. The rest would be necessary to restore their strength, and nighttime travel was even more hazardous than daytime.

Though it was hazy and humid the temperature was comfortable enough, and the pair settled adjacent to each other to share some of the bland Republic rations as night fell. Aitahea felt an unexpected peace as they rested, only the echoes of wildlife interrupting the stillness. She could sense a quiet curiosity behind Erithon’s contented mood, his silence laced with an expectant hush that waited for her to fill it. She found herself suddenly grateful for the gathering darkness.

"Why are you here?" she asked softly, pushing back her hood.

Erithon considered before answering, gaze still fixed on the landscape. “On Taris? Hunting traitors."

Aitahea’s brows rose. “High enough in rank to require the intervention of Republic special forces? That seems unusual.”

“Well,” he drew out, expression grim, “since the traitors were also Havoc, it kind of leaves the burden on me, I guess.”

The Jedi frowned. Erithon’s tangled emotions seemed as baffling to him as they did to her. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Not sure I do, either, Master Jedi.” Erithon shifted and leaned back, his pack pillowed behind his head. “I’d only just arrived on Ord Mantell when it all fell apart. Doesn’t leave a man feeling very confident when an assignment goes sideways like that.”

Aitahea was quiet for a generous moment before swiveling around to face him. “What happened?”

“Typical mission, nothing out of the ordinary, especially not for Havoc.” He glanced sideways and gave her a crooked smile. “I guess you know about the mess with the Separatists on Ord Mantell.” Aitahea nodded. “They’d shot down a ship with a ZR-57 orbital strike bomb, capable of vaporizing a city, you know how it is. Havoc was supposed to retrieve it. At least it looked that way to the new guy.” His smirk turned to an unhappy frown. “Turns out they were taking the bomb along with them, to the Empire.”

Aitahea’s intake of breath was harsh in the silence. “They didn’t include you in their plans?”

“Not exactly. When we first lost contact we thought they’d been killed, which was bad enough. SpecOps are always high risk, but Havoc is – was – the best. When I discovered their true intentions, Tavus – the commander – asked if I’d join them. I’m sure you can guess my answer given where we are now.” He coughed a harsh laugh. “I don’t know what offended me more: asking me to turn traitor or trying to kill me.”

The weight of his frustration felt as heavy as beskar. Aitahea brushed away the desire to reach over and lay a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. It must have shaken you to the core.”

He frowned for a long moment, then rolled to the side so he could face her, propped up on an elbow. “For a minute, maybe. But then I realized, what they chose didn’t change me.” Erithon met Aitahea’s gaze, his blue eyes earnest. “The people of the Republic have my loyalty. I chose to protect them. Like those settler kids you sorted out at the base.”

“You know about that?” Aitahea blinked, freshly thankful for the concealing darkness.

“It was practically all Private Sakal could talk about.” Erithon gave her a cheeky grin before continuing. “The way you convinced the property owners and the settlers to work together, that’s what we work for. Tavus walked away from that, and I don’t even know why.” He grimaced again and raked a hand through his hair, the motion revealing his confusion. “I guess… things aren’t as black and white as they look.”

Aitahea smiled ruefully. “They do seem less and less so, don’t they?”

Erithon arched a brow at her. “That’s funny coming from you. I thought light and dark were what Jedi specialized in.” Despite the unease his words sent through her, she sensed his intention was candid, not caustic.

Her gaze lingered on her hands, clasped on her lap, before she answered. “So did I.”

The stream was a reasonable distance from the Republic camp, but Master Satele had said it was still close enough to be safe. Aitahea liked to steal away as often as she could manage. She could almost feel Master Faron and her friends here. Almost. It reminded her of the gardens in the Jedi Temple, though everyone said her former home was little more than a pile of rubble now. She was glad she hadn’t seen it. She wanted to remember Coruscant the way it had been.

The camp was getting bigger. There was supposed to be a treaty in place now, but no one was any more relaxed. There was a hush of uneasiness among the soldiers. Their restlessness made Aitahea herself feel unsteady and irritable. More and more Jedi initiates, even some younger Padawans, had been slowly trickling in, and now there were almost a dozen of them. Safe on Brentaal, waiting while the masters found safe places for them. The girl tried hard to make sense of this. If the Jedi Temple on Coruscant hadn’t been safe, where in the galaxy would be?

The sound of bubbling water diverted her unhappy thoughts. Meditation was easy here, unlike in the camp – though Master Satele would tell her that focus under pressure was the sign of a good Jedi – and Aitahea had no trouble quieting her mind and settling into the embrace of the Force. The little brook had become a place of comfort, isolation, and peace.

Aitahea frowned and slowed to a stop, a stone’s throw from the running water. Someone was sitting in her spot. A boy, maybe a year or two older than her, right on the branch that arched over the water. He hunched over with his elbows on his knees, legs swinging listlessly.

It was like looking in a mirror.

Even with her defenses up, sheltering her from the influence of others’ emotions, his loss radiated like a flame. Her chest contracted with anguish, the unexpected mingling of emotion, setting her knees wobbling. She felt tears well up, the walls around her heart crumbling. Absently, she took another step forward, an unnoticed twig cracking under her foot.

She looked down in alarm and by the time she’d lifted her gaze again, the boy was already scrambling back across the branch, nearly slipping into the water at one point. He stopped at the opposite bank and looked over his shoulder. His eyes were red-rimmed and cheeks flushed. He’d been crying.

“Aitahea!” Master Satele’s voice came sailing over the rise, and the girl twisted around to look back towards camp. She took a deep breath to call back, thought better of it, and turned back to the brook. The boy was already disappearing swiftly in the opposite direction.

Reluctantly, Aitahea moved toward the summons, leaving behind her refuge and her questions.

Erithon had offered to take the first watch, and Aitahea had accepted readily. She was only a few steps away from him, curled up with her cheek on one hand, hood pulled back up over her hair. He watched her settle into dreaming, eyes flickering beneath her lids, and every so often her lips pursed. He indulged his wandering imagination, wondering what she dreamed, vaguely hoping he might be included in the unconscious cast.

It was the first time he’d spent any substantial time in close quarters with a Jedi. He guessed she was pretty typical, all her responses focused and composed. Being near her was comforting, soothing. But there was something else under all that formality, something earnest and endearing. He felt the usual anxiety of the mission fall away like a worn cloak.

And stars, she was beautiful.

He’d been genuinely surprised when she asked if they’d met, and despite his somewhat clumsy response, it was the truth. They’d apparently been on Coruscant at the same time; had they crossed paths and it didn’t register? It would have been hard to forget the curve of her cheek, bright eyes framed by dark lashes-

By the Core, he thought, exasperated. Are you a teenager? Stop that.

He rolled his eyes and pulled out his datapad, checking messages and progress. Jorgan had messaged with positive results on an ancillary task, and the ship’s droid had sent several nonsense communications about really nothing at all. No distractions there. As the hours passed, he alternated between walking the perimeter of their small camp and returning to sit near the Jedi, each time admonishing himself for staring at her, though his remorse was only ever halfhearted.

She’d drawn him out with practiced ease, asking about his mission, soft words that slipped beneath his armor as effortlessly as rain. He hadn’t discussed the defection with anyone other than Garza and Jorgan, and then only out of necessity. He still stung about it, beyond the more generalized fury that accompanied the whole scenario. There were too many unknowns, too many questions, and too few answers. He felt like he was playing an elaborate game of hide-and-seek with Garza handing out intelligence whenever it seemed to suit her. He felt less and less guilty each time he fudged orders, finding a smug gratification in noncompliance. There were regulations, and then there was integrity, and so far Garza had been leaning a little too hard to the former for his taste.

The alarm on his datapad beeped quietly; the night’s tedious hours had passed, and it was Aitahea’s turn to take watch. Erithon almost didn’t want to wake her. He couldn’t deny enjoying the freedom to observe her, but he’d need rest himself to be at all helpful as they continued.

Erithon smiled regretfully and knelt next to her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. A deep breath preceded her eyes fluttering open to meet his. Erithon felt his heartbeat speed up and hurriedly offered a hand to help her rise. Once on her feet, her brows drew together, watching him with solemn wonder.

“Jedi? Something wrong?”

Her intense gaze lingered even as she shook her head. “I’m well, thank you,” she replied, looking like she might say something else. He held his breath, but the moment passed and Aitahea shook her head again with a polite smile. “I’m ready to take watch. You should rest.”

He glanced down to see their hands still joined and pulled away self-consciously. “Yeah,” Erithon said, retreating to where his pack lay, punching it a few times before determining that it was comfortable enough. He flopped down, turned away from the Jedi, and waited impatiently for sleep.

[Tumblr Masterpost] [AO3 Link] [Soundtrack] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

[leiaryes]

Aurora Day 1 - Return

Takes place a few days into the team’s trip back to Earth. The group has made camp for the night on a small, uninhabited planet, and Keith and Lance have a quiet bonding moment. 

Read it on AO3 here

Prompts

Next

The night air was cool and cutting, sending a jolt of shivers down Keith’s body, even in his paladin armour. The planet they had landed on seemed—from Coran’s research—more or less uninhabited. There weren’t many plants about, only a few dozen Keith could count within his vicinity. There wasn’t any water, either—or at least, not where their lions had touched down a few hours ago. The ground beneath him was red, shifting in waves as the wind brushed over it.

It reminded Keith a lot of the desert he had grown up in.

He found his eyes wondering. Their group had made camp for the night in a messy sort of circle, the lions parked behind and surrounding them. From his position leaning against Black, he could see Hunk, Pidge, and Coran tapping away on a tablet, most likely charting a course for the fastest way back to Earth. A little ways away from him, Allura was helping Shiro lie down in the makeshift cot the group had created. His mother and Romelle were speaking in hushed voices next to them, Yorak lying by their side.

It was quiet—a little too quiet, and it was perhaps this thought that had Keith sitting up, frowning as a strange restlessness washed over him.

The group was missing laughter.

It was missing warmth and cheerfulness. Missing blue eyes and tousled, windswept hair.

Keith found himself rising. He muttered a quick farewell to the rest of the group as he stood and turned, feet carrying him towards the hulking shadow of the red lion. His former ship sent out a greeting as he approached, low and familiar, and Keith smiled at the gesture. Red wasn’t as loud as he’d once been, but Keith could still feel the remnants of their connection in the back of his mind, strong despite the time they had spent away from one another.

Where’s Lance, Red? he sent the lion’s way, stopping to lay a palm atop the cool metal.

The ship responded with a soft purr and placed what might have been the word, back, in Keith’s mind. The boy smiled, thanking Red silently. The lion gave another soft rumble as he rounded the corner.

And stopped.

He was seated atop the red sand, back to his lion and head tilted up to the stars overhead. He had one leg drawn in towards him, an arm resting gently on it, while the other stretched out before him in a lazy sprawl. His chest plate was strewn on the ground beside him, and with a pang, Keith realized that he was clad in nothing but his dark undersuit from the waist above.

He felt his cheeks redden, all but heard the pounding of his heart grow in intensity. The night’s breeze swept in then, lifting a few wayward strands of hair from atop the boy’s head. The planet’s single moon shone from above, and it bathed him in a soft, silver glow that lit his tan cheeks and defined his angular brow.

Lance turned his gaze to meet his then, and something in Keith’s chest fluttered.

“Hey,” the boy greeted warmly.

“H-hi,” Keith managed.

“Shouldn’t you be with the others?” Lance quirked an eyebrow at him, smiling, but shifted a little to the side to free up room. Seeing that as an invitation, Keith wandered closer.

“I, uh, noticed you were gone,” he began as he sat, settling his back against Red. Beside him, Lance let out a soft laugh.

“Yeah, I wanted some quiet.”

“Oh.” Keith felt his eyes widening. “Did-did you want me to leave?”

Lance let out another chuckle, this time returning his gaze to the sky. “No. No, you’re good, dude,” he whispered, and Keith watched as his eyes roamed the stars. It grew quiet between them then, the only sounds coming from the wind blowing past, and Keith used the opportunity to glance over at Lance.

There were bags beneath his eyes, ones Keith hadn’t noticed when he’d first gotten back. His skin, too, had become more ashen, dried out and pale in comparison to the glowing complexion he’d had before. The corners of the boy’s mouth were downturned in the slightest of frowns, and there was a sad tilt to his brow that had Keith reaching for him, unconsciously placing a hand atop his shoulder.

“Hey,” he found himself whispering, “are you okay?”

At his words, Lance smiled. “I’m fine.” The boy swatted his hand away playfully. “The last few days have just been a little overwhelming. I wanted to come here and take a small breather.” His eyes took on a teasing glint, but Keith noted with a dejected feeling how empty the expression looked.

“Are you done mothering me?” Lance bumped their shoulders together.

Keith frowned, even as he felt his cheeks reddening from the contact. “I’m not mothering you,” he muttered.

“And the sky’s not blue,” Lance teased.

The raven-haired boy glanced up at the dark expanse above them, taking in the deep black of the night around. He felt a smirk growing atop his lips. “It’s not,” he stated, and gestured up.

“You know what I meant,” Lance scoffed once he’d followed the movement.

They dissolved into light laughter, worries fading as the breeze swept them away into the night. Lance, Keith noticed with a sudden giddiness, looked a little more like his usual self: carefree and enjoying. The image of the boy’s pale skin and sunken eyes didn’t leave him, but Keith remained quiet, not daring to break the fragility of the moment they had found themselves in. He filed the thought away for a later date and resigned himself to watching Lance.

Lance, whose eyes crinkled as soft snorts erupted from his person.

Lance, whose dimples appeared the moment his smile grew wider.

Lance, whose very being looked as though he had been starving for laughter.

“I’m sorry,” Keith blurted.

The boy beside him quieted, turning to face him with a pinched expression, confusion evident in his features. “For what?”

“For….” Keith trailed off, unsure of how to continue. His hands played with the soft sand beneath him, running the fine grain through his fingers as he thought about Lance’s question.

For what?

His eyes met a pair of blue. He didn’t know what he was doing there—searching for answers perhaps? Lance’s pupils were darker in the shadows, more akin to the deep indigo of the sky above them. They were depthless, endless in a way that reminded Keith of the ocean, pulling him in with the tide and refusing to let him go. He took in a laboured breath.

“For everything, I guess,” he began, and found himself being unable to stop. “For leaving in the first place, for not keeping in contact—and then when I came back. Lance, I just-I brushed you off and—”

The boy stopped him with a hand to his arm, the contact burning even through the armour. Keith felt his cheeks heat. His eyes widened as he took in his rambling. “I-I, uh…,” he stuttered.

Lance chuckled, and the hand on his arm tightened ever so slightly. “Keith,” the boy laughed, “it’s fine.” His words were genuine, but the raven-haired boy found himself frowning.

“I still want to say sorry.” He pouted.

“Well then, apology accepted, mullet.”

Keith huffed. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Yes, I am,” Lance insisted, and though his lips were still smiling, Keith could see the earnestness and sincerity held bare in his eyes. “You’re back, now. That’s all that matters.”

Keith held his gaze for a moment, trapped by the sheer gravity of what the boy before him was saying. It sent something in his chest pounding, awakened a fluttering in his stomach that he didn’t think was all that healthy. And yet, he couldn’t look away. Violet pupils latched onto dark blue desperately. A hunger ignited within him in a way he had never known before.

“Okay,” Keith whispered.

Lance smiled then, and distantly, Keith found himself thinking that he could have stared at him forever.

The tan boy perked suddenly, letting go of the arm he had in his hold. “I just remembered something,” he beamed, rising. “Wait here.”

“Lance?” Keith called, but the other boy was already running, disappearing in through the back door of his lion as the latter remained seated on the ground, dumbfounded.

The red paladin returned a few minutes later, arms holding something behind his back. The was a gleam in his eye as he approached, settling himself down beside Keith before thrusting his hands forward. A familiar red and white bundle appeared in front of him, and Keith’s eyes widened as he took it in.

“My jacket?” He heard himself wonder.

“Surprise!”

Keith glanced a look up at Lance, finding a smile lighting up the boy’s face. He blinked.

“How—where—”

“I grabbed it before we left,” Lance explained. “With everything that was going on with Shiro, I figured you wouldn’t have had the time to get anything, and I just saw it lying there, so I….” He was rambling now, and all Keith could do was stare.

Stare at the boy before him.

The boy who had kept his jacket.

The boy who was now returning it.

The boy whose entire being was driven by selfness and an honest desire to help everyone around him.

The boy who would gladly give himself up to save the life of another.

Something gave way in Keith’s heart.

He was above denying it any longer. He’d come to the conclusion long ago, realized the magnitude of his feelings for this boy as he’d laid awake picturing his face and laugh in the dim light of his blade quarters.

He wanted to hold him. He wanted to tangle his fingers in soft, brown hair and kiss the spot on his forehead that scrunched up whenever he got confused. He wanted to hold his hand, wanted to interlock their fingers and run his thumb over the smooth skin of his knuckles.

He wanted Lance, so, so badly, and he wanted everything that he encompassed.

Hesitantly, Keith reached out towards the cloth. Lance gave it willingly, gently placing it on the raven-haired boy’s lap with a smile.

“Thank you,” Keith whispered.

Lance’s grin widened. He looked down at the ground briefly before meeting his gaze once again.

“I’m glad you’re here, Keith.”

The wind danced around them; the moon and stars twinkled above. Keith found himself smiling.

“Me too.”

[emmaekay]

K18 One Shot

K18 One Shot for @dbz-ff-exchange “Rare Pairs” Challenge

 AN: Hello! This is my first K18 fic, so I’m flexing some underused muscle here. Thanks to @scarletraven1001 for the suggestion. If you enjoy this work, please check out my Vegebul stuff on my blog or on Ao3 under Emmaekaywrites.

Summary: Something’s wrong with Eighteen’s ki lately, so Krillin takes her to see Bulma at the lab. When he finds out what it is, how will he react? We’ll say this is an AU where Goku didn’t die fighting Cell because honestly, that was dumb and I hate it. Also, I wanted Goku in this story. C’mon, don’t @ me.

Rated a soft, fluffy T for probably language? Fluff, not smut.

 Working Together

Krillin was sweating bullets, pacing Bulma’s laboratory. Eighteen was, as she almost always was, completely stoic and still, sitting up on Bulma’s table.

“So, what’s up?” Bulma asked from underneath the latest gravity engine she was currently working on. “It’s kinda rare for you guys to just show up nowadays.”

“Well,” Krillin scratched at the back of his head, “you see, something’s been up with Eighteen lately. Her ki is out of whack and, I mean, sometimes she’s stronger and sometimes she’s weaker, and I just keep thinking what if some of her bio-technical-whatever is broken or or or-“

“Krillin.” Eighteen stopped his frantic ranting.

“Well that’s what I’m afraid of!”

Bulma slid out from under the engine, still laying on the mechanic’s creeper she used to slide around the lab floor. “Eighteen?”

“Something is strange, but it doesn’t feel like a breakdown of any kind. It feels like… something additional?”

Bulma chewed on a pen. “Something additional? Have you been training? Is it a power increase?”

“I… don’t think so.” Eighteen looked over at Krillin. “Could you leave?”

“What?!” Krillin felt like he’d been hit by a truck. Why would Eighteen send him away?

Just then, mercifully, Goku blinked into the lab. “Yo!”

“Goku!” Krillin shouted.

“Hey man. What are you doing here?”

“Something’s wrong with Eigh-“

“He’s not here. He’s leaving. You are too,” Bulma said, grabbing both men by the ears and wheeling them out of the lab. “Goku, whatever you’re here for will have to wait.”

“Oh I just wanted to see if Vegeta wanted to train together.”

“He’s not here. He went pouting somewhere because the Gravity Room is broken. Because he broke it. Train with Krillin.”

Goku shrugged. “Works for me! Want to spar?”

Krillin gave up. Between Bulma’s insistence and Goku’s distraction, there was little to no hope that he would be allowed to remain in the laboratory.

“Bulma.” Eighteen called the other woman’s name from in the lab.

“Yeah?” Bulma reentered the room, closing the door behind her. Eighteen looked concerned, elegant brows knitted. “You know what’s wrong, don’t you?”

“There’s nothing wrong, I just don’t know how to tell him what it is.”

Bulma’s jaw dropped. She knew what it was, now, too. “You’re pregnant.”

Eighteen nodded. “How do I tell him?”

“I guess you just have to rip the bandaid off. I take it this wasn’t… planned?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was?”

Bulma screwed up her face, confused. “How can you not know if you were planning to have a baby, Eighteen? That’s usually a lot of conversation.”

“Well, I wanted to have a baby. I never asked if Krillin did, and then… I mean, the thing just happened! It was…” Eighteen sighed. “It was very romantic, you know?”

Bulma did not know. Krillin? Romantic? Come on. Eighteen laughed at the look of disbelief on Bulma’s face. “He really is. I know you probably still see him, and Goku both, as the little boys you met. But Krillin, he’s honest. About everything. He doesn’t just wear his heart on his sleeve, he hands it to you.”

Bulma smiled. Krillin was a straightforward kind of guy, that was true. “So, how did it happen?”

“He bought us a house.”

“What! I thought you were living at Kame House.”

“We were. But he bought us a little house with all the savings he had, and he took me there.” Eighteen relayed the full tale to Bulma.

--

Krillin had been gone all night. At dawn, he showed up to Kame House in a suit instead of his usual gi, landing softly on the sand and sneaking into the house where everyone still slept. He touched Eighteen’s shoulder gently, and she snapped awake.

“Where have you been!” Eighteen was furious with him – Krillin had never stayed out all night before, had never just disappeared on her. She had been left alone with Master Roshi, all night! Eighteen glared at him.

“I know, I know, you’re mad. Will you come with me? I want to show you something.”

Eighteen frowned, still glaring at him. “Why?”

“Well, I... it’s a surprise. Will you come?”

Eighteen rose, quickly dressed and followed him out of the house. Krillin was acting so strange, so nervous, almost as odd as he’d acted the day he had asked her to marry him.

“It’s just over this next ridge, in the city. You’ll see.”

Eighteen followed his flight over the water, then over the rise of the hilly land. Then, a little city began to show itself in the landscape. Krillin landed just at its outskirts.

“We’ll have to walk from here,” he told her.

“Mm.” Eighteen acquiesced, still confused and suspicious and not just a little irate. What are we doing?

They walked in silence – awkward, uncomfortable silence like they hadn’t shared for a long time. Eighteen and Krillin had been comfortable with each other after their marriage. Krillin accepted her coolness, her taciturn nature. Eighteen accepted Krillin’s occasional foot-in-mouth syndrome and his tendencies to work himself to exhaustion. This silence was like their premarital state, where she was still self-conscious of her own strangeness and Krillin was still convinced that he wasn’t good enough for her, where both felt out of place in their own love for the other.

“Here we are,” Krillin said, clearing his throat. He gestured to a small white house with an orange door, attached to two other houses on either side, with a tiny garden yard in the front.

“Where are we?” Eighteen arched an eyebrow.

“We’re home,” he said, walking up the short path to the front door and fumbling in his suit pocket for a key before unlocking and opening the door. Eighteen followed him inside. The space was tiny, dark due to curtains drawn across all the windows, and about a hundred candles were scattered all over the little living room. The only furniture was a low kotatsu table, a bench and some shelves made from cinder blocks and scrap wood, and two overturned milk crates for seats.

Eighteen’s eyes were wide. It was tiny. It was unfurnished. It was cheap. It was beautiful.

“Now,” Krillin said, “I know it isn’t much.” He scrubbed at the back of his head in his nervous way and toed the ground. “But listen! I’m going to try to get a job on the police force and then I’ll be able to really get the place in good shape. There’s a big bedroom with plenty of space for a baby someday, and the kotatsu will keep us warm for now, and I’ll make more furniture, I can make a table or real chairs, or whatever you want, Eighteen.” He looked up at her face. “Eighteen. Say something!”

Eighteen kicked the door closed gently behind her; still, the impact shook the adjacent window frame. It was the smallest house she’d ever seen. Only as big as their bedroom in Kame House. “How did you afford this?”

“Oh I… I’ve been working odd jobs since we got married. And I had some savings. And I worked security some nights. And I fixed things for people, mowed lawns, made deliveries. Whatever I could, you know?”

“Since we got married? For two years?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Well, you deserve a house, y’know? You actually deserve a castle and a diamond bathtub and a luxury car and a closet full of clothes and –“

Eighteen grabbed his collar and kissed him. Her heart was bursting with things she couldn’t say. Thank you. I love you. I love this house. Thank you for loving me. You didn’t have to work so hard all alone. I’m glad I was born. I’m glad I met you. I’m glad I’m your wife.

Krillin returned her kiss, and he understood everything she wanted to say.

 --

“And one thing lead to another. We didn’t even have slippers in the house, let alone … pregnancy prophylactics.”

Bulma burst into laughter. Imagine Krillin setting all that up himself. Imagine how hard he must have worked. Very honest and diligent indeed. “But Eighteen, I still don’t get how the pregnancy was “sort of” planned!”

“Well… that morning, he mentioned that the bedroom was big enough for us and for a baby, didn’t he? So that means he was thinking of a baby… someday. I just don’t know if he was thinking of having that baby now.”

“I see,” Bulma rested her chin in her splayed fingers. “So you wonder how he’ll react.”

“Yes. He’s already worked so hard to get us this house, and I’m afraid that if he knows a baby is coming, he’ll work himself even harder.”

“Hmm…” Bulma scrubbed at some grease on her cheek. “How would you like a job, Eighteen?”

“What?”

“A job! Here, at Capsule Corp! I need a heavy mechanics assistant. And we have a great hiring bonus, and the best maternity leave policy in the world – literally. I’ve checked.”

Eighteen smiled.

--

Out in the Capsule Corp courtyard, Goku and Krillin sparred.

“Hey, Goku?” Krillin rolled his head to avoid Goku’s punch.

“Yeah?” Goku tucked his feet to avoid Krillin’s leg sweep.

“How did you tell Chi Chi you wanted to have a kid?”

“Huh?”

“Did you guys plan on having Gohan?” Krillin asked, punching away.

“Chichi probably did. She didn’t seem that surprised.”

“Dude, when did you find out she was pregnant?”

“Day before Gohan was born.” Goku landed a hard punch to Krillin’s ribs, the latter having dropped his guard in total disbelief.

“THE DAY BEFORE?!” Krillin wheezed.

Goku chuckled a little, pausing to let Krillin catch the breath he’d knocked out of him. “Why you asking me all this stuff about Gohan? You gonna have a baby? I don’t think guys do that part.”

“Kakarot, you are exactly as dumb as you look.” Vegeta landed on the grass next to Krillin. “Why are you on my lawn?”

“We were sparrin’.”

“And my lawn was the only place to do that.”

“Well no, but I –“

“And why are you here?” Vegeta looked down at Krillin.

“Eighteen’s sick or something, I needed Bulma to take a look at her. I can’t take her to a doctor doctor.”

“Of course.” Vegeta started to walk away, heading for the house, hoping his gravity room was fixed.

“Wait, Vegeta!” Both Krillin and Goku yelled.

“What?!” The Prince snapped, spinning on his heels to glower at them both.

“Uh, you first, Krillin.” Goku poked at the shorter man with an elbow.

“Well, uh. Well. Vegeta. When Bulma had Trunks, you know? Did you guys… uh… mean to do that?”

“Tch. Idiot.” Vegeta turned away and went inside, not bothering to find out what Kakarot wanted.

“Okay, yeah,” Krillin said, “That was a long shot.”

--

Bulma and Eighteen were in the gravity room, the blonde woman holding the heavy gravity pulsar engine up off the floor while Bulma connected wires and plugs.

“Woman, aren’t you done yet?”

“Keep your pants on, Grumpy.”

“Tch.”

Bulma slid out from under the engine and Eighteen gingerly placed it back in its place. “I’m done now. Knock yourself out.” She walked past him, kissing his cheek on the way by.

“Woman!” He turned flame red.

Bulma laughed herself out of the room, Eighteen following close behind. The women went out on the second story deck and sat down to lemonade and sandwiches, clearly laid out by her mother – the crusts were cut off and the sandwiches themselves cut into tiny triangles.

“So,” Bulma chewed, “What do you think about coming to work for me for a while? I can bonus you enough to furnish your house.”

Krillin landed behind Eighteen. “Wait – what?”

Eighteen started a bit, dropping her lemonade, surprised by Krillin’s sudden appearance. Goku took his hand off Krillin’s shoulder, snatching the falling glass out of the air before it could land and smash.

“I saw sandwiches,” he grinned.

Bulma snorted, rolling her eyes and passing Goku a plate.

“Eighteen, you don’t have to work. I’m going to get into the police academy any day now,” Krillin insisted.

“Krillin,” Bulma wagged her finger at him, “There’s nothing wrong with a working woman.”

“I didn’t say there was!” he said.

“But Chichi doesn’t work,” Goku said through a mouthful of food. “I think she’s happier staying at home with Gohan, making sure he studies and everything.”

“Eighteen isn’t Chichi!” Bulma rolled her eyes.

“Eighteen doesn’t have to work!” Krillin said, getting a little red in the face.

“YES I DO!” Eighteen yelled.

All three faces turned away from each other to stare at Eighteen.

“Yes, I do. You can’t be the only one working so hard, Krillin.” Eighteen lowered her voice. “Now that there are three of us.”

“What?”

“We’ll both have to do our best to take care of this one.” Eighteen gently rested her hand over her stomach.

“Is that – are you – is that why your power levels have been – are you kidd – issat – a bab – a baby?” Krillin was mostly muttering nonsense.

Goku leaned over to Bulma and whispered. “What’s going on?”

“Eighteen is pregnant, dummy.”

Goku popped up out of his seat and clapped Krillin hard on the back. “Congratulations! You’re a daddy now!”

Krillin snapped out of his stupor and scooped Eighteen up in his arms, spinning her around and laughing. “A daddy! I’m a daddy! Yahoo!”

Eighteen laughed, “Krillin, put me down!”

“No way! Never ever again ever!” He snuggled her closer to her chest. He would have snapped a lesser woman in two with the force of his bear hug, but of course, Eighteen was no lesser woman. She was equal to that and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“It’s going to be hard for me to do my job if you won’t put me down, you know.”

“It’s not going to be too much for you?”

“No. And Bulma has promised to furnish out house as my starting bonus, plus she’ll give me a great maternity leave.”

“How great?” Krillin looked over at Bulma.

“Well, how about as long and as much as she wants, as long as I can keep her on call for the really important things?”

Eighteen nodded and Krillin burst into happy tears. They would be working together now, working to grow their little family of two into three. Eighteen as his wife and his own little baby to love – how lucky can one guy get?

[mikeyfer]

Journey I

I needed a change. Coming out of a relationship a few weeks ago had rocked me. I was wandering around in a haze, meandering from home to work, work to home, not really taking in anything about my daily life. I felt numb, almost as though it wasn’t me controlling my body, like it was on autopilot. The malaise held me for a while. It wasn’t obtrusive or harsh, it just.. held me. Of course, my friends tried to help. They offered sanctuary and distraction, which my autonomous body and mind graciously accepted. I felt like I floated above it all, as though I was a balloon on a string, tied to my own wrist. In some ways, this detachment I felt to my own life helped me deal with the pain of loss. In others, I feel that it went on for too long, that it hindered my overall recovery, and paused my progress as a person. So, in this balloon-state, I made a decision. I had to take back my body and mind, and take control of my life.

Gradually, I felt the string shortening. I was getting nearer and nearer to myself, and I could feel myself getting better. It took a while. There were setbacks, but I was sure I had enough in me to recover. And recover I did. Once body and mind, and this ethereal balloon-state I was in had come back together, it was like jumping into an old car you’d driven for years. Like I knew all the controls and their intricate inaccuracies. It was time to fix things. I kept visiting my friends, but I was much more lucid and able to contribute more to our gatherings. They began to recognise me again. I could feel happiness again, and it provided me with the power I needed to make my next step. It was time to go away. Not permanently, not even very far, particularly, but I needed an adventure. Something to help me calibrate myself further, whilst embracing the dormant solitude of unfamiliar surroundings.

Days later, I was on a plane. My past was trailing in my wake, things that formerly demanded my reverence and overstated their importance, cast away like sandbags from an overladen ship. I felt lighter up there, like those burdens couldn’t reach me at thirty thousand feet up. My destination didn’t matter. This was solely to prove to myself that I still had a knack for spontaneity, and could still surprise myself. But it was also about the unfamiliarity. I yearned for somewhere I’d never seen before, longed for a warmer sunset, hoped that my mind could still be satisfied by the unknown. Away is where I wanted to be, and away is where this plane was descending to. The informative overtures of the cabin crew purred the destination, almost lovingly. Destiny was arriving, or rather, I was arriving at destiny.

The next day was a blur. A colourful, vibrant blur that filled my tired heart with a new-found excitement. It took this day for me to register the gravity of what I’d done, and to truly appreciate the lengths I’d gone to get away from my old life. This first day was one of attuning and calibrating, of letting my mind slowly realise that I was in a brand new place, unexplored and raw. An early night called for me that night, it was all too much to take in. The hotel I stayed in was modest, but it had a few small flourishes that belied this modesty. It was a tonic from the mundanity of my life. I would contact my friends, the only ones who knew of my yearning and my escape, and I would inform them of my arrival. They were worried, but understood that I’d re-lit the fire inside me, and they knew that it meant that I’d be on my way, at least for a while.

Day two, and a calmness washed over me. I was to wander again, in this new place. It would be less aimless, but it would be organic, I would follow my sight, gravitating towards things that looked like they interested me. I walked at a stroll, ensuring I wasn’t causing an obstruction with an aimless meander. That day went by in a flash. I’d seen a lot of things that had caught my interest, eaten and drank at pretty-fronted establishments, battered a phrase book looking for oddly-specific phrases to utter to locals, and generally opened my heart and let a new city in. It’s when I did this, that I bumped into her.

She saw me, and she instantly knew what I was about. She could see my journey etched onto my face, and I could see her pain etched upon hers. Hers was remarkably similar to mine. The burn around the wrist I had from the balloon string, she had too. She was on the same journey as me. Her head was cocked to the side a little, when she spoke, her accent was not one I was overly familiar with, but she spoke English. Southern? Maybe. It didn’t matter, just as my accent didn’t matter to her. We conversed for a long time, sat down in a large square with an overly-grandiose building at one end of it. Darkness approached, and this is when her eyes lit up. She lived for the night. Daytime to her was nothing but preparing for the night. She was so similar to me and yet so different. I was indifferent to the night. But her story told me why. It was time for me to leave. We both agreed to remain in touch, but silently understood that our journeys were our own.

Day three, and contemplation rolled over me. I begun to dwell on what I’d left behind. Fretful and nervous, I needed to recalibrate my mind, and that meant more exploration. Everywhere I went on the previous day, I went the opposite way. Newness was refreshing, it was eventually calming. This city I’d come to, it seemed to be a haven for lost souls. There were many more like me. Some still had balloons attached. Some, slight burns on their wrists. All kindred spirits, looking for a way. I spoke to none of them. Something about the woman yesterday had made me wary. Her story was full of pain. I could not countenance for others on top of my own, as the burden of that would trap me here. I sympathised of course, but it was important that I did not interrupt their journey. Every street I turned down had at least one. Thankfully these streets were busy, so it was easy to go with the flow of people and avoid contact. I no longer felt nervous or fretful. Seeing the others on their journeys made me realise that although I was doing this along, I wasn’t alone. That everyone had their burdens to bear. That they had to learn to cast theirs aside on their own, as I did.

I found her again. I wasn’t looking for her, but she was here. I had made my way to the square again, as I used it as a central point for navigation. She was there, right where we’d sat the night before. I smiled at her. She smiled back and beckoned me over. I did do, and sat next to her on the unnecessarily ornate bench. In the late afternoon light, she glowed. She had a distinctive hairstyle, which was shaved at one side, and swept around her face on the other. It was impressive. She had brown eyes, which were attentive and friendly, and her smile was broad and genuine. Her voice rung around my head as I continued to try to place her accent. Definitely southern England. I wasn’t sure where though. Where didn’t matter. What mattered is how she used it. She sounded determined when she spoke. She knew the direction her journey was going in, and she told me that I would know mine soon. She could see it in my eyes, I was nearly there. We parted again, this time, sharing names and pleasantries. I wondered if I’d see her again after this second time. She was going faster than me, or she was further ahead on her journey. It had to be pure luck to see her twice. It had to be.

Day four. I decided not to leave the hotel early, but to explore it and appreciate it. This was the first time I had been told that there was a swimming pool on the roof. My life being what it is, I hadn’t seen this before, so naturally I had to. I was glad that I’d packed for all eventualities, including swimming pools. I got in the lift, which was surprisingly decorative, and made my way to the roof. The city at this time of morning was a spectacle. As the sun rose, shadows cast long behind, making the streets below look dark and foreboding. There were already a few people swimming leisurely. I decided to join them. The water was initially cold. Then I felt a warmth wrap around me, as my body got accustomed to the temperature. I bobbed over to the edge of the pool, which went right up to the edge of the roof, and rested my arms on the side. I took in the whole city from here. The square was visible below, and I could see the bench. She wasn’t there. But it was still only morning.

A few hours later, I’d showered and headed out again. I felt as though I should avoid the square, for now. As though it was perhaps too early to go there. I found a nice place for lunch and decided to sit there for a while, contemplating. Had I let her into my mind? I can’t be harbouring feelings, can I? After last time, I wasn’t sure if I could feel like that again, and it unnerved me that those feelings were floating about. Would it be better if I didn’t see her again? I didn’t know. A waiter came over to me to check I was okay, as my facial expression gave away my worries. I informed him that I was okay, and requested another coffee. I think I’d had maybe four or five coffees by now? Perhaps that explained why I was a little overactive in the imagination department. Late afternoon approached. I wondered whether I should just go back to the hotel, but I felt drawn to the square. I reasoned with myself that I could resist any further feelings towards her, and headed to our bench. She wasn’t there. I don’t know if I was disappointed that she wasn’t there, or if I was disappointed with myself in letting her get into my mind. This was my own fault. She owed me nothing, she didn’t have to meet me.

A tap on the shoulder broke me from this train of thought. A familiar voice greeted me with an almost excited tone. I couldn’t help but smile as she skipped around to where I was facing, as I turned to the direction of the shoulder tap. We both laughed. I felt like I hadn’t laughed since I left home. It filled me with happiness. She took me by the hand and led me to the bench. This afternoon’s conversation was a lot more personal. She went into a lot of detail about her past and what led her to her journey. I couldn’t help but reciprocate. It was dark by the time we’d finished talking. She grabbed me by the hand again, and beckoned me to follow her. She knew this awesome lounge bar that was quiet and rarely got busy. Naturally I followed. I felt completely under a spell. We reached the bar, and as promised, it was quiet and only had a few other patrons within. We sat on a large leather couch, and ordered some drinks. Then she kissed me.

The rest of the night was a blur. I woke up, and she was there, asleep. I don’t remember much about what happened. But I do vaguely recollect inviting her back to my hotel room. I had never been that confident in my life. I had a hangover, but that didn’t matter. She stirred and awoke, and turned to me. Smiling, she sat up, and the cover fell from her. Had we..? She nodded, smiled again and kissed me on the cheek. She whispered in my ear that she had really enjoyed last night, and that she would like to do it again. I didn’t think she meant right now. I succumbed to her again. I couldn’t believe this was happening, but there was no way on earth I was going to stop her.

Later, we showered and dressed, and decided to get lunch together. She held my hand the whole time we walked. I wasn’t sure what this was, but I didn’t want to question it, as I felt happy and content. We’d settled on somewhere for lunch and conversed more. I thought about the idea of continuing our journeys together, but I wasn’t sure whether or not I should say it.

Until she did. She wanted to see how far we could go together, and was excited to see what our two minds could come up with, working in tandem. I agreed, and we got to talking about our ambitions. She wanted to travel the world, see everything, do more. I fell in love with the sentiment, and said to her that I wanted the same. Could we just go off like that? Live life on the edge of a page of an atlas? We could definitely try. After lunch, we said our goodbyes and exchanged contact details so we could meet up daily. I put her number into my phone. I saw that I had dozens of messages from friends, wondering how I was. I waited until I was alone before replying. I was just fine, and I was rediscovering myself. That I appreciated their concern but that they can rest easy. I was on my way.

[makenshiarts]

Top 10 favorite animated shows with your thoughts and facts

Hi @thetristevaguard! Thank you for sending me an ask. This was really interesting to answer and I’m gladly going to answer this. This is the kind of stuff I want to answer actually. Thing that make me judge cartoons and such and think. I tried to not include anime here. Only one sort of anime thing, which was Magical DoReiMi which was on 4kids so I sort of though it would be logical and it held a place in my heart so it was included. (This is super long I warn, though because you asked something I’m very very passionate about I ought to deal out this sort of in depth thing.)

I’m going to cut it from 10 to 9. This is because I’m running out of shows it gets really difficult to narrow things, there are a ton those these are the ones that come to find first. There are also plenty of other shows I like, these are just the ones I want to point out and showcase, things like Codename: Kids next door and other show I like won’t include because either I can’t say too much on it or I’m focusing on other shows here. 

Courage the Cowardly Dog : I watched this when it was still being aired often on the stations I watched it on, and it left a slight impact on my humour and art style and gave me plenty of inspiration as a child. The stories balanced humour and fright in a way that it could be unnerving but still watchable for those unfamiliar. The show itself is well rounded in nature, the style its drawn in is unattractive (attractive to me in the anti attractiveness way), well mooded in color and designs for characters in concept and execution are thoughtful and the mix of hand drawn animation and sometimes other mediums of animation such as early 3d and clay in their show shows a flair of creativity. 

Gravity Falls: I watched this also when it aired, and the reason I got so into it as because when I saw Bill Cipher I instantly feel in love with the wavering style and mood of this show. The bring that sort of mystical yet contemporary theme whist keeping childhood essence with an engaging plot even teenagers and adults can watch. The way they handle certain emotional topic is well done for a show of its generation and they make every angle of the Mystery shack worth looking at. Looking at still shots is something worth doing to see each hidden little thing. 

Popee the Performer: This one might sound off the wall and odd and I’m not too active in the fandom. It’s a sort of when it was released children’s 3d animated show (3dcg shorts) , with minimal if not any dialogue with colorful character and for some reason a ton of violence. It’s interesting to see a 3d show for children (in japan, watchable in any county due to a lack of dialogue) be so violent and nonsensical considering it aired from 2001 - 2003. the character design and lack of plot make me ask many questions and i find the random moments it provide quite pointless but hilarious.

Miraculous Ladybug: We are hopping around regions in these show lists, we have some from Japan and now France. I find that the 3dcg in Miraculous Labybug and its budget is incredible from an artistic standpoint and the fact you can take the ‘anime magical girl’ sort of deal and make it more ready to an audience without that sort of anime aesthetic. The sort of way the character are super heroes with a magical girl feel is interesting, empowering but still pretty which is valid, and of course having a male character that isn’t portrayed exactly macho in that sort of scenario is interesting to say the least. villains have neat design and for at first a small french cg cartoon has a great fanbase and following.  

Madeline: (it might be odd I include a younger children's show, though for Madeline’s cartoon I think I should add it honestly.) When I watched it when I was younger I loved the sort of cute and minimal style. The water colored backgrounds and the sharp characters, though the style of the show changed as it went on. I go back to the show on cold winter days for comfort and it will always hold a place in my heart for that sort of, I watched that as a kid and I enjoyed it. The themes if you ever showed it to a kid are valid and they use color well. It’s well drawn and is faithful to the books. 

Magical DoReiMi: (is the only anime I’ll include likely. The reason I’m including this is because it aired on 4kids. Thus I think I’ll include such.) I collected the figures and magical wands as a kid. It was a sort of magical girl show aimed towards girls, but me as a more tomboy liked it myself. This was because it was less, frilly  ‘Doki Doki! I’m a princess‘ rather a  ‘We are bard witches and we are kids that live seemingly normal lives’. Though still have cute sort of moments I don’t lie. I enjoyed playing with the figures and catching the show often. 

The Misadventures of Flapjack: You need to understand how much I love this show. It has an almost aged story book inked aesthetic. It’s almost unappealing in illustration at moments but that’s my thing so I love it. The humor is really... something that’s all I can say.  It’s as the title says is about Flapjacks and Captain K'nuckles misadventures and a lot of crazy weird shit happens. It’s something to watch and it’s not everyone’s thing but it was something I greatly enjoyed as a kid. It can be quite uncanny and unusual and plot can be very very odd and throw you off the loop. Character are all interesting and have something to themselves.

Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends: I watched this as a kid too. Though I don’t remember too much about plot. It was heartwarming. Character were worth caring for. It has a paper cut out looking style. You empathize with character and it overall was well done. It was as show that wasn’t canceled UNLIKE SOMETHING HERE THAT I’M VERY SALTY ABOUT. It ended well and when I ended I was if I remember genuinely sad about it. It leaves with me good memories. Good good memories. If a show leaves me with memories of being happy of remembering a happy part of my childhood it must have made some sort of impact on me. 

Invader Zim: I’m not getting to involved into explaining myself here because I’m going to end up ranting about the show being canceled and shit and I’m very very salty salty salty. Just think. To put it into perspective the guy who made JTHM (Jhonen Vasquez)  conceptualized Invader Zim and did a ton of other crazy shit mostly everything shhhh. I won’t get into this too much. But it was great when it lasted. Read the Invader Zim comic if your salty. It really pushes limits when it comes to children’s show’s honestly.

 Thank you for leaving an ask! I’m glad I could answer this and I hope my answers an in-depth enough and you get some suggestions or ideas or whatever!

[uro-boros]

looking for astronauts

The first few days after re-entry are lost in a buzz of pressers and parades, of viral videos showing Shiro wobbly-legged under newfound gravity and laughing, of interviews and photo shoots, smile nothing short of warm, wide, and winning. He was lucky to be photogenic and handsome, his handlers had told him more than once, and easy to root for; it did most of the work for him.

It takes nearly a week for the excitement to die down, and half of another week after that for Shiro to move back into his small, dusty apartment, which looks positively enormous post-International Space Station. It takes two weeks for his bones to settle into his frame again, their heaviness lost under the weight of everything else. It takes three weeks for him to get off of his couch, where he's spent hours catching up on bad reality tv and ice cream, and find a coffee shop.

It takes three weeks and three days (two hours, 17 minutes, and some seconds that he doesn't bother to know) since re-entry to meet Lance.

—

It's not arrogance that has him donning a baseball cap and sunglasses to leave his apartment. Shiro doesn't think people on the street are going to recognize him the way someone might recognize George Clooney or Brad Pitt. He puts them on because the day is bright and sunny, and his handlers have started chastising him about crow's feet and wrinkles in backhanded compliments about nearing his thirties.

And maybe a part of him does do it because he craves the anonymity of being able to get a coffee without having to be prepared to give a lecture on the vastness of space, the enormity of the galaxy, the scope and scale of human curiosity and his part in humanity’s forward trajectory. Shiro just wants coffee, non-instant, and maybe if he’s feeling fancy, cold-brewed.

“We just ran out of cold brew,” says the barista apologetically. “Hunk got our last cup.” The barista—Lance, reads the tag on his shirt, with a little golden star drawn next to it—nods over at the aforementioned Hunk, a big guy in a corner fiddling on his laptop and looking progressively more and more wrecked by whatever is on his screen. The last of the cold brew is, indeed, next to him.

Being disappointed over coffee is illogical, so Shiro isn’t. “Just regular coffee, then,” he orders instead, “there’s always tomorrow.”

His smile is met by Lance’s, which is brilliant and bright, flanked by dimples and the crinkle of under-eyebags. Their fingertips brush in the transfer of the cup and as Lance leans into his space to give a conspiratorial wink to murmur, “I’ll save it for you tomorrow.” In that second, it feels like it did the precise moment Shiro broke atmosphere, when all the weight went out of the ship, and the world was distant and silent, and before him stretched out the black-blue expanse of space.

What he means to say: Lance is cute.

And Shiro, who has been equipped with media training and Russian language training, military water survival courses, the best education and preparation the military can shovel into one person, is poorly equipped for what it feels like to have a crush. He can feel the heat of a blush creep up his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose, where it must look stark behind the length of his scar, and burn the tops of his ears.

He’s suddenly very glad for his sunglasses, which give him something to hide behind. And glad for the brim of his cap—which he can tug down over his ears. And with that, Shiro, who faced the unknown multitude of the universe with open arms, doesn’t precisely flee, but walks faster than normal away from the coffee shop and from Lance.

—

“Okay, wow,” says Keith, “are you serious?”

He reflects that Keith probably shouldn’t have been the first person that he told. That Matt or Allura would be better, gentler, more prepared to coax him through the steps of nursing a crush; in that same vein, that they would be more merciless in their exploitation of it, more tongue-in-cheeked about it.

Which is why he had called Keith, because Keith had the subtlety of cavemen bashing rocks against each other to make pointier rocks. Keith saw problems and threw himself bodily against them, heedless of the beating he took in the process. Eventually, in his mind, something would have to give—and history had proven that something always gave before Keith did, for better or for worse.

It helped, too, that Keith still looked at him with the rosy glow of a brother-figure; that in different circumstances, Keith would have been up in the stars with him.

“You spoke three words to him, and he spoke three words back, and now you have a crush? How does this work? Are you that bad at people? Is this what space does to people?”

“I saw the same five people for a year, Keith,” Shiro sighs, “forgive me if it’s nice to see someone new.” And before that, even, his friends had been the same class of people for eight years, interspersed with the overwhelming rush of new faces and new names that came with press tours.

“Okay, but most people still don’t go from hi, how are you, to I want to profess my undying love to you in the span of thirty seconds,” Keith points out, probably rightly.

“I just said he was cute.”

Keith’s arms are folded across his chest. The line of his mouth is long and thin, and when he speaks, it’s with a tone of resignation. “Shiro, when you met Allura, you said you admired how strong she was. You never said anything about her being cute. In fact, when someone did call her cute, you told them, and I quote, ‘Allura is a valuable asset to the team, and we’re lucky to have her.’”

Shiro frowns. “She is. We are.”

“Wow,” says Keith, openly gaping at him, “you honestly have no idea, do you? And people say I’m bad at this. They have no idea. Talk to the barista. You’re hopeless, and I don’t know what I ever saw in you.”

“His name is Lance,” he corrects Keith, letting the other comments slide. He’s always known, unlike Keith, how to pick his battles.

“Lance,” Keith repeats, as if a dawning realization is on him, “the barista’s name is Lance?”

“Yes.”

Keith says, with complete sincerity: “We’re doomed.”

—

He makes it back to the coffee shop one month out of re-entry. It takes him time to work up the nerve, to feel right in his skin.

“Cold brew!” calls Lance from the counter, stretching out across it to wave at Shiro. He has the lanky proportions of a college student, maybe just on the opposite side of twenty. Younger than Shiro’s twenty-seven going on twenty-eight (going on thirty, according to his media coaches, wear more sunscreen, drink more water).

The day outside had bloomed grey and cloudy, so there are no sunglasses this time, and Shiro’s traded the baseball cap for a knitted beanie. Recognizable enough, to a certain audience, but only as cold brew to Lance. He finds himself smiling.

“I didn’t catch your name last time,” says Lance when Shiro approaches the counter. He rearranges himself off of it, the awkward gangliness of his limbs dropping and turning into something lithe and liquid. “Did you want a cold brew again? I saved you a cup last time, but you never showed up.”

“In order of questions, it’s Shiro,” he says, “and no, a regular coffee again, and also, sorry that I didn’t. Things came up. I just moved back, so—you know how that is.”

“People to see, places to go?” muses Lance. His sharpie makes squeaking noises against the cardboard cup as he writes out Shiro’s name; against the tail-end of the looping O, he adds in stars, their crossed lines mimicking the one on his own name tag.

“Something like that,” Shiro agrees. His smile is rewarded with one of Lance’s—still bright, still dimpling, and his heart still stuttering staccato in his chest.

He is painfully out of his element—and though he knows the periodic table nearly by heart, Shiro isn’t sure that the element he’s out of is listed on there in the first place. He doesn’t know what to do. It’s the first time, in a long time of regimented courses and drill instructors, that he’s been totally at his own devices.

He’s forced to the realization that his own devices might have rusted from disuse.

“Would you like to get coffee?” he blurts out.

Lance blinks at him. His hand is curled around Shiro’s coffee cup, finger tips stained a slightly darker shade of brown than his skin tone, and behind him are stacked bags and bags of beans. Shiro’s rusty devices grind their gears in all the wrong ways. There’s a pursed moue to Lance’s mouth.

“That was stupid,” he says, leaning against the counter and sighing.

“It was pretty stupid,” Lance agrees, voice warm and teasing. He brushes his stained fingers over the top of Shiro’s hand. “I drink like, so much coffee. I’m probably 85% coffee right now,” he says. “Take me out for ice cream or something. Save coffee for the third date, at least.”

And well, that—that’s something Shiro can do.

—

Shiro meets Keith somewhere between Keith’s third foster home and his fifth new school. At the time they meet, Keith’s hair is buzzed short and regulation, and the tight line of his shoulders say fire and fury, a 150 pound teenage ordnance.

It’s easy to become Keith’s friend, because Keith doesn’t have any, and he craves them with something fierce and dying inside of him.

So when Keith, sitting next to Shiro, a blanket of stars laid out in the sky above them says about Lance, “Be careful,” Shiro knows he means it. The wounded beast in Keith’s chest picked its friends and family carefully and guarded them jealously.

“I will,” he promises.

But Shiro keeps forgetting that the gravity on earth is different than on the moon, and he falls harder than he’d meant to, hits the ground faster than he’d expected. It’s only in hindsight that he realizes this is what Keith was warning him about.

—

Their first date is: hamburgers from McDonald’s in the park, Lance stealing Shiro’s fries (he said they tasted better, despite having his own), and one of the one-dollar ice cream cones, because Shiro’s always been good at retention of information and Lance had wanted ice cream, he said.

He learns this: Lance is the youngest of seven—seven, he repeats, with a wave of his arms for added emphasis—and he’s studying marine biology because once, when he was real little, one of his three older sisters (he doesn’t specify which one) took him to an aquarium, where he learned that sharks in utero would sometimes eat their siblings, which was sort of an appealing thought when you were the youngest of seven. So that was cool, and his sister bought him a stuffed shark when they left, and the rest was history.

And then quieter, Lance adds: the ocean made him feel small, but not in a way that was frightening. It was comforting, actually, to be dwarfed by something so much larger, to mean less than all his anxieties convinced him of; there was comfort in being a speck, of being inessential, of being one tiny, tiny mote of dust. He could mess up, and it wouldn’t ever tip the grander scale.

There is a heartbeat of silence before Lance grins and laughs, shaking off whatever had passed over him. “That was too serious,” he says, “wow, that was way too serious, I’m sorry.”

If Shiro were better with words, he might have said he felt the same in that lurching minute of the shuttle hurtling through the atmosphere. He isn’t better with words though, so he flounders and settles on an awkward clapping of Lance’s shoulders that serves no purpose and does nothing. Lance’s brief, confused smile in response is a little bit heartbreaking—and Shiro flounders more, in its wake.

Lance draws back after a second of silence, leaving a deliberate inch of space between them. His smile goes slightly wooden and he stands, brushing grass and dirt from the seat of his pants. “Hey,” he says, “this was fun, but I should probably get going. Things to do. You know. Shouldn’t hold you up all day.”

He doesn’t know. Shiro is good about knowing things, but this—this isn’t something he knows. But when he opens his mouth to say that, what comes out is: “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I should get going, too.”

Lance nods, like he isn’t really paying attention, smiles, and leaves. It’s all very brusque and strange; there’s still ice cream in the hamburger bag, melting away.

And Shiro, who has scored perfectly on every exam he’s ever taken, comes to the sudden realization that he’s failed at something, for the first time in his life—completely and utterly flunked.

And he doesn’t know how or why.

—

“Oh, Shiro,” breathes Allura, her accent making a soft blur of her words, “I’m so very sorry.”

She takes one of his hands with both of hers, and her palms are warm and soft. In a different world, he’s probably madly in love with her; in this one, he’s just grateful for the contact and the tea she’s provided, strong and herbal, and her steady presence by his side.

“It was just a first date,” he points out, achingly aware of how miserable he sounds. “Those don’t go anywhere all the time.”

Allura squeezes his hand and gives him a searching look. “But it’s alright to have wanted it to go somewhere,” she tells him, “and it’s alright to feel bad that it didn’t, or to feel as if you lack closure as to why it didn’t. You liked him.”

“I met him three times. I barely knew him.”

There are things Allura could say. Pointed things; not designed to hurt, but to cut away precisely, like a scalpel, to the very core of Shiro. Things like: He’s a private figure living a public life and living a public life that was carefully, systematically, managed. That he so very rarely got to be himself, so very rarely got to be Shiro rather than Takashi Shirogane, the first man in over four decades to step foot on the moon.

She doesn’t say any of those things. Instead, she says, “I’ll put the kettle back on,” and does just that, her form disappearing into the arched entryway of the kitchen.

—

Keith says, “You really don’t know, huh.” The leather of his jacket, today, is red, and his hair is uncombed and unkempt. He looks like he hasn’t slept for a week. Which, at least for Keith, is good in the grander scheme of things.

“Listen,” Keith sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You should just talk to him. I know Lance. He’s an idiot, but not an asshole.”  

“I had a bad date,” Shiro says. “It wasn’t even that bad, but he isn’t interested, and that’s okay. I don’t know why everyone is so worried.”

Keith gives him a look that is only partly dark and partly dangerous. He contemplates something, and whatever decision he comes to must not be one he likes, because his words are bitten out and chewed thoroughly when he spits them up. “Lance likes you. More important. Everyone likes you. And everyone wants you to be happy because everyone likes you. But especially fucking Lance, who you just had to go and have a crush on. Who’s an idiot who makes up stupid stories and says I have a mullet. But you like him so. I’ll deal.”

“He left our date,” Shiro points out quietly.

“Because he’s an idiot! How many times do I have to say it? But it wasn’t because he didn’t like you. It’s because he probably likes you so much that he thinks he’s fucking everything up, because he’s had your stupid newspaper articles tacked over his bed for the past year. Which I know, because I’ve seen them, unfortunately.” Shiro opens his mouth—and promptly closes it when Keith holds up a finger. “Shut up, you don’t get to talk except to say ‘Thank you, Keith, I’m going to go ask out Lance McClain because I have no taste.’”

“Thank you, Keith, I’m going to ask out Lance?” Shiro ventures.

“Because you have no taste,” finishes Keith. He rolls his shoulders, like he’s getting rid of heavy weight. “Lance likes you. Lance followed every single dumb thing about your mission with bated breath, and literally teared up during your first interview from the station. So. Yeah. There you go. Have fun.”

The day before Shiro was scheduled to go to space, he had dinner with Keith. They’d gone to a diner off a long, dusty strip of road, and for miles around them there was silence, save for the chirping of crickets. In their quiet booth, Keith had unscrewed the cap from a shaker of salt and spilled it out over the table. Despite the action being deliberate, he picked a pinch of it and tossed it over his left shoulder ritualistically. With what was left on the table, he etched small patterns and waves, and finally, a little sliver of a crescent moon.

Keith said, “I’m used to people leaving and not coming back.”

That was it. He didn’t ask for more, or try to extract a promise. It wasn’t his style, and Shiro wouldn’t have given him one even if he had. Keith had been let down by too many promises before.

They ate their dinner, and Shiro covered the bill. At the end of the night, Keith kissed him, and when Shiro drew him away, Keith laughed and pressed his forehead to Shiro’s chest, right above where his heart lay. “I figured,” he said, and he didn’t sound upset or particularly bothered. After, he ambled his way off into the dark, a slight silhouette that gave way like a mirage into the desert. He wasn’t there to see Shiro off; but Shiro had never asked him to be, either.

—

He finally musters the courage to go to the coffee shop on a blustery Tuesday. Winter roared in the week prior, and the soft powder it had initially brought has turned to hard ice.

Inside the shop, the decorations are decidedly Christmas-themed, red and green ball ornaments hanging down from the ceiling, garland twining around the outside of the counter. The shop is also decidedly-empty, except for Lance, on the wrong side of the counter and dressed down in worn jeans with a sweater, groaning at the guy who took the last of the cold brew the first time Shiro visited behind the counter.

“Hunk,” Lance is saying, “feed me.” The e elongates along a stretched syllable.

“Pay for it, and I will,” is Hunk’s response. “Or get out of the way if you’re not so someone else can order.”

Lance pouts, but folds his limbs back up obligingly. He gives way with an exaggerated bow, bending low at the waist, before straightening up with a grin.

A grin that disappears, quick as it came, when he comes face to face with Shiro.

“Hi,” says Shiro. From the corner of his eye, he catches Hunk’s form turning and making its way into the back room.

“Um. Hi.” Lance says. There’s a flash of—something, across his face. That half-second deliberation of fight or flight, before the more reasonable part of his brain quells the animal instinct. Plus, Shiro’s blocking the door. He may have done that on purpose.

“Did you know,” Shiro says—and he rehearsed this, which makes it better and worse, that he actually practiced this—“that time slows near a black hole.”

“Um,” blinks Lance. “I guess? I was sort of aware of that.”

“I’ve always thought that would be a perfect place to fall in love,” he says. And then, because he’s an astronaut, and not a poet, and practically reigns supreme. “If you could ignore the spaghettification, that is.”

Lance keeps blinking at him. And blinks again. “I—what?” he finally settles on. The hunted flash that crossed his face at first seeing Shiro is gone, replaced by a rising bemusement.

“Spaghettification,” Shiro repeats, “is the stretching that happens in a very strong, non-homogeneous gravitational field. It’s what would happen if we ever stood near a black hole. So it wouldn’t really be the best place to fall in love, because no object can withstand it, but I was told it’s the thought that counts. Time slows there, so falling in love would be more romantic there, I assume.”

“I know what spaghettification is,” Lance says. His brow creases, like he’s sorting through something. “It’s sort of romantic, I guess? Being a noodle isn’t that romantic though. It’s hard to be a sexy noodle.” His bemusement eases into something closer to amused than puzzled. He leans back against the counter, his limbs set at an easy angle. “Any reason you’re telling me this?”

“Because,” Shiro says, and finds the words coming to him easier than he thought they would, “I like you. And I don’t know how I messed up our first date, except that I did. But I like you, Lance. And I’d like to take you out again.”

“Oh,” Lance breathes. “No. I—no.” Shiro’s heart sinks, but before it plunges, Lance grabs his hand, “You didn’t mess anything up. I messed it up! I said all of that stupid stuff about feeling dumb and small and like, overshared by 78% too much on a first date. And I thought you deserved better than me, because you’re Shiro,” and the way Lance says his name isn’t like how most people say it, like Shiro’s a cut above them, but like the word is special to him, “and so I figured I should just. Like. Let it go. It’s like being in love with Prince Charming, but I’m not Cinderella, I’m one of the mice.” He waves his free hand to illustrate his last point.

“I like mice,” Shiro says. When Lance face scrunches, Shiro squeezes his hand and insists. “I do. Mice are really interesting, they’re thought to empathize with the experiences of other mice, and I—I am really bad at this, huh?”

“Yeah,” Lance laughs, “pretty bad.” But he isn’t drawing away, and his expression has crossed over into something soft and fond. He sways a little closer to Shiro, so that Shiro can feel the warmth coming off of him in waves.

“Lance,” says Shiro seriously. He’s good at serious and sincere. “I like you. I do.”

“I like you, too,” says Lance, his mouth curving into a smile.

He realizes how close they are, then, when the curve of Lance’s mouth seems endless, when he realizes that he’s holding Lance’s hand up against his heart, pressed into the warm boundaries of their bodies. Lance is shorter than him, though everything about his build gives the impression of stretch and length, and it’s easy to bend over him and press a kiss against his mouth.

Once, tumbling in suspended free fall in a metal can in space, Shiro had fallen head over heels and kept falling until he smacked up against a wall panel and clutched it for stability. He hadn’t realized it was possible to do the same on earth, figured gravity was enough to keep him grounded. Kissing Lance tosses the notion of gravity out of the window.

Precisely until Hunk clears his throat behind them and says, “I’m still here, guys.”

[peacekeeper-xiv]

A Beautiful Friendship

“Hey boss. Isn’t that the guy?”

“What guy?”

“Yea boss, that’s him! That’s the guy Ozapha or whatever he kept saying”

The Roe straightened some from his seat on the fountain as  tried to get a better look at the Miqo’te his men were pointing out to him. The clothing was similar, that was true, but it might be another fool from Thavnair or just a random bloke that wanted to dress up. He watched the Miqo’te for a bit as he crossed through the ward. He stopped, spoke to someone that did not seem to know him, carried on, stopped at a fountain and tossed a gil into the water, and carried on. The man did not seem to have any destination or purpose.

“Let’s go.” Cracking his knuckles, Silent Falcon stood and started off towards the Miqo’te, his two men right behind him. His gait picked up as he hurried to catch up with him.

“Oi! Ozapha wasn’t it?”

It was. The younger man turned at hearing the name and tilted his head curiously. “You are meaning Aasifa? How am I helping you?” He replied in his thick accent. The Roe walked up to him until there was barely a foot between them, towering over the Miqo’te. “You can start by giving me back my apartment and all the other shit you took from me.”

The closeness did not seem to bother Aasifa and rather than look intimidated he simple cast a smile up at the Roe. “Oh! Aasifa is remembering you now. We are playing cards in Golden Saucer, yes?” Silent Falcon sneered. “I don’t know how you did it… but I know you cheated. No one plays that well. I’d have kicked your ass then and there, but then I’d’ve been banned from the saucer.”

“So…. You are wanting rematch?” The Miqo’te offered curiously.

Falcon’s eye twitched. “No you bleeding curr! You’re going to give me everything back. All of it down to the last gil or my boys and I are gonna take it from your hide!”

Aasifa shook his head. “No. A thousand apologies friend. But this is way of game, yes? You are losing, you pay up. Aasifa is not cheater. Aasifa is thinking cheating chance is great sin, yes?” He gave a slight shrug and turned to walk away. Furious, Falcon grabbed the younger man’s shoulder and spun him back around. “Don’t you turn your back on me!”

One blink. Then another. “Then how is Aasifa to continue his journey?”

The man’s temple pulsed. “That’s it! I don’t give a fuck if you’re some idiot foreigner. You need to learn who the fuck you’re dealing with!”

The Roe’s fist shot forward without warning. Knees bent and Aasifa’s leaned back, almost ninety degrees as he watched the punch narrowly miss him. Falcon stared confused for a moment. He had been there, now he was gone. It only took a moment to realize what happened, but that was all the time the Miqo’te needed. He sprang back like line drawn too taut and released. His own fist slammed into the Roe’s gut, sending him staggering backwards and knocking the breath from him.

A moment or two pass as he tries to draw air. “What are you two waiting for! Get him!”

They rush towards Aasifa. The faster one pays for his speed with a kick to the face. The second slams a fist into the Miqo’te’s side, robbing him of air as well. That earns him a backhand. Still, Aasifa’s sword remains at his side.

“You are sore loser. Having not heard no many times in life. This is way, yes?”

“Shut the hell up. Get up! Both of you. There’s three of us!”

A sigh. “Being sore loser is not cause enough to die… Aasifa is glad you are not carrying weapons. I do not want to explain to Brass men why you are losing heads.” He dropped into a wider stance, centering his gravity better. “Please be letting Aasifa leave peacefully. I am not wanting to hurt you.”

An incomprehensible growl of frustration.

To their credit, the three men attacked as one. A broken nose, a busted lip, and several bruises later they finally had Aasifa on his knees with each arm held by one of Falcon’s men.

“Dipshit foreigner…”

He wiped the blood from his mouth. A moment to look at it on his hand before the anger boiled over again. A loud crack followed. Aasifa spat blood on the ground. “You are wasting time, yes? Someone will call authorities… be getting this over with…”

And other crack. Three dull thuds followed by a cough and a gasp. The Thavnairian winced as he drew in air with bruised ribs. Silent Falcon frowned. “I want my money!” A kick to the side followed and Aasifa grunted. “I… I will not be giving to you… You did not win. You are sore loser.”

The Roe’s face contorted with anger as he widely drew back his fist. “Fucking bastard! I’m gonna teach you some resp-”

A hand grabbed the thick wrist, holding it still.

“Now lad… is this tha’ way t’ settle an argument?”

A heavy shove had Falcon struggling for his footing. His two men stuttered at the same time, obviously caught completely off guard. “’T-the fuck are you!?”

A rapier came up from the Hyur’s side and pointed at the one with a broken nose. “I’m tha’ e’ened odds ye piss ant. Now, ye be lettin’ m’friend there go, or Ah’m goin’ t’ leave tha’ mug o’ yers uglier than it’already is.”

Falcon, now standing straight again frowned. “Stay the hells out of th-”

The Hyur dashed right in front of him, his rapier coming up and smacking the Roe in the temple with the flat of the blade. “Ye be a right arse, don’tcha?” He jumped into the air, flipping over the other two and Aasifa, the blade coming up again, this time tapping lightly between the third’s legs.

“Listen lad. Ah’ve tried t’ be kind about this…. But I’m nay too keen on seein’ three ’efty blokes like ye gangin’ up on one person.” He shifted the blade slightly, angling the sharpened side slightly higher. “So… unless ye would rather be a lass… tha three o’ ye are goin’ t’ apologize and then run along.”

The third man started to shake. “B-boss…?”

Falcon sneered. “You made an enemy today idiot…”

Chadrick rose a brow, tilting the blade and earning an “ahh, ahh, ahhh” for the movement.

“Fine! But this isn’t over… for either of you!”

Chad frowned. “Ah did say ye owed me friend ‘ere an apology.”

The man whose thigh trembled against Chadrick’s rapier was more than convinced to speak. “We’re sorry! Sorry! We was just doin’ what we know! Shouldn’na done it! I’m sorry!”

The Hyur sighed. “Fine. Tha’ll do lad… now, get lost.”

The men let go of Aasifa’s arms. One dashing to his leader’s side quickly. The other slowly squirming away before making a mad rush to the others.

Silent Falcon growled low in his throat but without saying anything else he pointed angrily at the exit from the Goblet before following his men.

Chad waited for them to be out of sight before he knelt down and offered Aasifa a hand up. “Ye alrigh’ then lad?”

The Miqo’te straightened himself after letting Chadrick help him to his feet. “Aasifa can take punch. A thousand thank you for the help though friend.” The Hyur smiled at him and helped dust him off. “Di’nay mention it. I cannay stand seein’ grown men gang up on someone like tha’.”

Aasifa shrugged. “If the winds wanted this, Aasifa is understanding. Instead, the winds are bringing new friend into Aasifa’s life.” A small laugh. “It takes someone a wee bit o’ crazy t’ see tha bright side o’ getting’ jumped. Ah like it.” He gave a slight bow. “Chadrick Tamasier by an’ by. Pleasure t’ meet ye Aasifa.” The Miqo’te rubbed lightly at his ribs. “It is very good to be meeting you friend Chadrick.”

The Hyur looked Aasifa up and down a moment in concern. “Ah can ‘eal those a bit if ye like, or we can find ye a real ‘ealer?” Aasifa shook his head. “No, no. It is fine thing. Aasifa will be stronger now.” He tapped himself lightly on the chest before offering Chadrick a large smile. “Come! You are helping Aasifa. Aasifa will buy friend Chadrick food.” Another laugh followed. “Well Aasifa, ye sure know ‘ow t’ win a lad like me o’er. It’s been a wee bit since ah ate, so… sure.” He held out a hand to let Aasifa take the lead. “If ye are keen on feedin’ me, this could be tha start o’ a beautiful friendship.”