#[ i forgot to send these out to folks but he made socks for everyone ]

[spitedriven]

lucanis knitted all of you socks for the holidays. you're welcome.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Timestuck AU: The Power of Mabel ch.2

While fighting over a time machine so one twin can win a pig or the other can win the heart of a girl, Mabel is left stranded in a snowy forest with no time machine and no brother. Oops.

The BEAUTIFUL art pieces were done by @clownwry and @elishevart ! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! 😭❤️💋

ch.1 - ch.3

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford was way more nervous than he was letting on.

She had long, pretty brown hair, braces over her teeth, sneakers, a skirt, and a sweater that allowed the cold air to pass through it. Her cheeks were slightly chubby with youth and nosy, as well as her nose, due to the freezing weather. Her eyes matched her hair perfectly, and though they were clouded with fear and confusion, Ford swore he could see sparkling behind the clouds, sparkling that made itself well-known when she asked if she could make him a sweater or when she saw his hands.

She had long, pretty brown hair, braces over her teeth, sneakers, a skirt, and a sweater that allowed the cold air to pass through it. Her cheeks were slightly chubby with youth and nosy, as well as her nose, due to the freezing weather. Her eyes matched her hair perfectly, and though they were clouded with fear and confusion, Ford swore he could see sparkling behind the clouds, sparkling that made itself well-known when she asked if she could make him a sweater or when she saw his hands.

Ford would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy Mabel’s company, but she was practically a stranger, and keeping a random girl in his house that was located in the middle of the woods was fishy and Ford couldn’t help but feel like it was illegal. But he couldn’t leave her out in the snow and send her on her way to find her home and family, so he decided to keep her warm or healthy, simply because it was the right thing to do.

But then she said she had no parents to call. Only a brother, who was lost, too. Ford can remember the old rule: If you’re lost, stay where you are until you are found. So he then decided that she could stay here until her brother found her, which should be by morning at the latest.

Still, he felt uneasy, so once Mabel was settled in front of the TV, Ford excused himself and went into the kitchen to make a phone call. There was only one man who would have better judgement in this situation than him.

The phone rang a few times. Ford checked his watch to make sure it was a reasonable time to call. It wasn’t Sunday, was it? But then the ringing stopped. “Howdy! This here Fiddleford McGucket.”

“Hey there, buddy.” Ford smiled to himself at hearing that cheerful voice. “How have you been?”

“Stanford Pines! Good t’hear from ya!” Fiddleford cheered. “M’just fine, just fine! How are ya?! Ya haven’t gotten eaten by monsters yet, have ya?” He laughed, making his old friend chuckle along.

“No no, I’m alright.” Ford almost brought up the reason he called, but then he remembered something very important to Fiddleford. “How are Emma-May and Tater?”

“OH! They’re doin’ great! We’re all very happy n’ doin’ well! Ya won’t believe how big Tate’s gotten since ya last saw him! He’s already crawlin’!”

“Wow, that's great to hear.” Ford sat in a chair at the kitchen table. “Has he said his first words yet?”

“No, not quite. Actually, he’s extremely quiet. Not a lot of baby-babble.” Fiddleford chuckled. “The doctor says that’s perfectly normal. Tate’s so smart, he’s reachin’ for specific colors n’ such, n’ ya can tell he’s thinkin’ a lot n’ knows what’s goin’ on, he just got nothin’ t’say.”

“I was very shy when I was young.” Ford commented casually. He didn't feel like mentioning why. “If Tate is anything like either of his parents he’s very intelligent.”

“Oh, he’s so much like both of us it’s scary. Ya know Emma-May, so clever n’ quiet n’ such. Tate’s got all that. But he already looks so much like me! But he’s got his mama’s hair! N’ Santy Claus brought ‘im this fun little fishin’ game where ya fish for plastic fish with a pole with a magnet on it, n’ he loves it! I can’t wait to take ‘im fishin’ when he’s big enough! Ya really outta give yourself a break n’ come down for a visit, he’d move to see his Uncle Ford again.”

Ford’s face felt hot. “Perhaps. Spring is when a lot of anomalies are active and breeding, so i would prefer not to miss that, but maybe I could visit for a weekend before that…”

“Well, no pressure, I won’t assume anythang until ya tell me to, just know there’s always a bed for ya here.”

“Thank you, Fiddleford. The same for you and your family. The clean air will do everyone some good.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Fiddleford sighed happily and perked up. “So! Whatcha callin’ for? Not that I’m not happy just t’chat, but ya never call.”

Ford laughed and shrugged to himself. “I suppose I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“No need t’be sorry, Stanford, just wanna know what’s up.”

“Well, I was hoping to get your advice on something.”

“Shoot.”

“Um… well…” Ford rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to tell him this. “I heard some unusual sounds outside today…”

“What kind of unusual sounds?”

“Cracks, like lightning. And some faint yelling.” Ford answered. “I thought it might be a tree branch or a new anomaly to catalogue, but when I opened the door a young girl was standing there in the snow with no coat.”

“Heavens! Is she alright?!”

“She’s okay, no frostbite. She was cold, but after sitting by the fire, drinking some hot chocolate, and changing into some dry clothes, she’s okay now.”

“Well, good.”

“So of course I brought her in. I tried to call her parents, she probably got lost playing…”

“Sure.”

“... but she says she doesn’t have any parents.”

“Oh.” Fiddleford sighed. “Oh. Now, wait, are ya sure she didn’t just say that so ya wouldn’t call?”

Ford chuckled and said, “I first thought that too, but she looked too sad to be lying.”

“Okay, I see. Does she got somebody ya can call?”

“She says she has a brother, but he was out there, too. So he is probably out there looking for her and therefore nowhere near a phone.”

“Fair enough, okay. So, I reckon y���all are waitin’ for him t’come ‘round.”

“Yup.”

“Well sounds to me like you’ve handled this all pretty well.” Fiddleford said confidently.

“You think so?” Ford asked. “I can’t help but feel like I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m missing something. Am I doing something wrong?”

“Nonsense, buddy, you’re doin’ great.” Fiddleford assured. “Look here, ya can’t just leave a young gurl out in the snow t’try t’find her way home...”

“I agree.”

“... so ya really got one option n’ that’s t’keep an eye on her n’ let her in as a guest. N’ ya tried t’call, but nothin’. The best thang ya can do right now is be there for this lil’lady n’ just be kind t’her. N’ if nobody comes for her by mornin’, why don’t ya go into town n’ see if anybody knows her, then they can help y’all out.”

Ford nodded, then remembered that his best friend couldn’t see it, so he said, “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. Thank you, Fiddleford.”

“You’re welcome. N’ hey, are ya okay?” He asked seriously.

“Yes, yes I’m okay. I just want to make sure I do this right.”

“O’course. I understand. Ya want me t’come down there n’ give a hand?”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’m sure Mabel will find her brother in the morning.”

“Mabel, huh? Well, if y’all don’t, please call me. N’ even if ya do find her brother, call me. Keep me updated.”

“I will. Thank you, Fiddleford.”

“Anytime, Stanford.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When Mr. Ford gave Mabel the remote for the old TV and went into the kitchen, she decided to use her awesome detective skills to figure out what year it was. If it was before Grunkle Stan lived here and opened the Mystery Shack, she must be pretty far back in time. But she had no way of knowing if it was 1999 or 2005 or the 50s.

The TV was old, but so was Grunkle Stan’s in her time. So Mr. Ford could have had this TV for a long time and didn’t want to replace it. 

Okay, so when was the TV made? Mabel didn’t know. Dipper would have known.

Okay, Grunkle Stan mentioned watching TV when he was a kid once or twice. So at least Mabel was when Stan was a kid, okay. 

Mabel turned the TV on and it was in color. Okay, so she wasn’t too far back in time. But the TV was playing a commercial for clear skin. The picture was gritty and all the people in it had puffy hair and long socks and oh my god was that woman wearing legwarmers?! Mabel grinned at seeing her favorite fashion on TV, but then her face dropped. When was she?

She tapped her chin and tried to think of how to know the date without being suspicious. She could ask Mr. Ford, but that might be suspicious. Mabel decided to start flicking through channels to try to guess what year she was in based on what was airing. A lot of shows were about cowboys, space, or game shows. Huh. Okay.

All the TV shows were definitely older. Nothing her dad would watch from when he was a kid, so if Mabel had to guess by everyone’s crazy air, the cheesy TV shows, and the music occasionally playing, she was in the 70s.

Huh. Okay. But she needed an exact year. So Mabel turned off the TV, saw an old radio on a desk, and turned it on to listen.

“... cuz it’s cold doesn’t mean you can't boogie, folks! So grab someone you wanna get warm with, turn up the music, and get your bodies warm in the coolest way possible! Here’s Night Fever, by the Bee Gees!”

Mabel grinned at the disco music. Her personal favorite song from these guys was More Than a Woman, but Night Fever would do. For a moment Mabel forgot her mission, jumped off the couch and left the blanket behind, and in the over-sized gray t-shirt Mr. Ford gave her while her clothes were drying, she danced along to the music, singing the chorus since those were the only words she knew.

“When you reach out for me. Yeah, and the feelin' is right,

Then I get night fever, night fever. We know how to do it! Gimme that night fever, night fever. We know how to show it!”

Mabel laughed at herself as she spun around in her socks and tried to do the point-and-hype dance she didn’t know the name to, but everyone did it when a disco song played.

Little did she know that Ford had returned to check on her, and was smiling at her as she shook her hips and waved her hair around and had fun. He leaned against the doorway and planned to let her dance in peace, but when she did a spin and saw him, she grinned and took his hand. “C’mon, Mr. Ford, come dance with me!”

Ford chuckled and shook his head. “No, no! I can’t dance!”

“You got two legs that aren’t broken?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can dance! C’mon!” Mabel encouraged, let him go when they were both in the middle of the room, and she started to dance again. “Don’t make me dance alone!” She even pulled an evil move and gave him puppy eyes. Rude.

Ford smiled slyly at her and hesitantly copied her boogie moves. It was true that Ford never liked to dance, but there was no one around but Mabel, and though he had only known her for an hour or more, he was sure she would never make fun of him.

And he was right.

“Wow! Look at you, Mr. I-Can’t-Dance! Yeah!” Mabel hopped on the couch, standing, and took Ford’s hand. “Here, I’ll spin you!”

Ford laughed and allowed it, doing a single spin, but then scooping her in his arms to dip her and then let her down, making her laugh as they continued to dance. 

“Alright alright, you crazy cats, that was Night Fever by the Bee Gees! It's a snowy day here in the heart of Oregon, with snow flurries coming in harder all night, but it should clear up by morning and be a fun day to go out and play! The date is January 26th, 1978 in case you gotta write a check or mail a thank you note to a friend or family member. I’m still writing letters for Christmas! We’ll be right back with some of your favorites after a word or two from our sponsors, so don’t go anywhere!”

Mabel stared at the radio. “Wow, 1978.” She breathed. Her parents were only kids right now, maybe only six or seven-years-old. Wow.

Ford chuckled. “I know, I’m still in the bad habit of writing ‘77.”

Mabel realized her mistake, but was grateful her host misunderstood her. “Me too.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for dinner. How about some ramen noodles?”

“Yes, please! Can we play a game after we eat?”

“Sure. I don’t have many board games, but I do have a deck of cards.”

“Do you know any card tricks?!”

“A few.” Ford admitted, wiggling his fingers. “There are some advantages to having more fingers than average.”

Mabel grinned up at him and followed him to the kitchen for dinner.

[itslieutenanthawkeye]

Heatstroke

Mikasa Ackerman asks Jean about his reasons to offer himself as the one to inherit Eren's titan in her stead.

AO3

Jean dragged his feet towards the showers at the far end of their camp, yawning every couple of minutes. His muscles were stiff, and there was a bit of a pounding in his head that was thanks to the hours and hours of working under the sun.

There were hints of red in the sky still, even after the sun had fallen behind the horizon, bloody stains that vaticinated what was to come in Marley. But Jean didn’t want to think the worst. Not now, when things had not been decided yet. The future wasn’t written in stone, and he didn’t want to think their best efforts could amount to nothing to change the war to come.

Enough people had died. Enough things had been lost. Enough things and people would be lost in the future, even in the cheeriest of situations. Eren and Armin were part of that group who would inevitably succumb to the titan curse, and then Historia’s offspring would be condemned to keep reproducing just to keep that line of defense alive.

Not thinking on the worst would be for the best, at least for now.

“Hey, Jean,” Sasha called, running up to him. She jumped and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, almost making him lose his balance. “What are you doing, walking in that direction? The hizurans brought their fancy waggon meat.”

“It’s wagyu,” Jean corrected.

“That,” Sasha agreed with a snort. “Come on. It’s going to run out if you stop by a shower first.”

“I’m not going to go like this, Sasha. We smell,” Jean replied. Despite the breeze from the train ride, Jean could still feel the sweat lingering on his skin. “Besides, there are a bunch of diplomats in there, and military officials. You should think about showering.”

Sasha gave herself a sniff. “You’re just trying to be fancy like those folk. But you’re not, Jean, you’re as much of a peasant as I am. The only two royals here are Historia and Mikasa, now, I guess, if you count the whole Hizuru thing,” she laughed, pulling his arm towards the dining hall. “Come on. You’ll sit with Connie and me, it’s not like you’re gonna sit with the hot hizuran ladies.”

“It’s not like I want to!” Jean exclaimed. The hizuran ladies Kiyomi had brought on this visit were rather lovely, with their long dark hair and fancy way of speaking. But Jean wasn’t interested in them, at least not in the way some of the other members of the military were. He enjoyed seeing them perform their music instruments, and hear them talk about art and paintings, but that was about it.

“Oh, I forgot,” Sasha teased, stepping closer to him to whisper complicity, winking as she did so. “It’s just one hizuran lady that you want, isn’t it?”

Jean stepped back, heat rushing to his cheeks. “What the hell are you saying, potato girl?” He snapped, looking behind his shoulder, hoping nobody else had overheard Sasha. “I-I can smell you from here!”

Sasha smiled, unbothered by his taunt, and folded her arms over his chest. “I can see through your mask, Kirstein,” she said, proudly. “You’re just blushing because you’re in love with—”

“You know, he’s right,” Mikasa said, walking up to the two from their dormitories, a bucket and towel in hand. Jean and Sasha turned to look at her, suddenly silent: Sasha because she knew she’d almost slipped a detail a little too loud, a little too near Mikasa, a detail a little too intimate for Jean’s liking.

Jean, on the other hand, simply fell silent because she looked beautiful in the fading sunlight. “Sasha, you need to shower before we go to the dining hall,” she said to their friend.

“Mikasa, the food…you saw what the hizurans make with fish. It’s so fantastic and delicious,” Sasha said, like a child pleading to their mother for a couple more hours to play outside. “And the meat they bring? Everyone loved it. It’s so fancy. It’s too fancy, and we only get a few portions each. If we don’t hurry—”

“I asked Niccolo to save you some,” Mikasa said, giving Sasha a pointed look. She outstretched her hand to her, offering Sasha her towel and the bucket with the soap and shampoo. “But you need to wash first.”

Sasha gave her an awkward smile as she took the towel and the bucket. “B-but these are your washing things—”

“I have a spare,” Mikasa replied.

“But, this is your favorite soap,” Sasha replied, rummaging the contents of the bucket. “Y-you know, the ones Jean’s mom sent us all last month? The one that smells like honey?”

Mikasa exchanged a quick look with Jean. “Jean’s mom can send us more. Right, Jean?”

“Right.” Jean stammered in agreement. His mother had kept sending little presents for him and his friends for a few months now. Snacks, soothing lotions for the muscles, towels, soap, handknitted socks…it was stupid, but he guessed a little pride came with the fact that his mom had made her favorite.

“Besides, I got a hold of the one Eren got,” Mikasa added, arching an eyebrow. “So, I’ve got a spare soap, too.”

“No surprise that bastard doesn’t like soap,” Jean muttered under his breath.

Sasha slouched her shoulders and gave her an awkward, defeated smile. “Do you promise he’ll save us some? Did you make it swear?” Sasha asked. “If you make it swear on his honor as a marleyan, he does anything you ask him to.”

Mikasa gave Sasha a tiny little smile. “He’ll do it. I told him it was for you.” She said, narrowing her eyes slightly immediately afterwards. “You still need to hurry, though. He can only do so much.”

Sasha’s smile wavered a bit. “Can’t I—”

“Shower, Sasha,” Mikasa said with that motherly tone of voice she so often used to boss everyone in their squad around. “I won’t let you stink up our room.”

It seemed like Sasha would’ve protested further, but it only took for Mikasa to raise her eyebrows and look in the direction of the showers for Sasha to drop her stance, groan, and begin her march away from the dining hall. Jean watched her walk, feeling a little pity in his chest; she really did love that wagyu steak from Hizuru, and if it ran out…

Mikasa took a couple of steps to stand next to him. His heart began to beat faster at that, but that rational side of his mind told Jean was also sure she was just doing it to get a better view and make sure Sasha entered the showers. He gave her a quick sideways glance; there were hairs clinging to her forehead due to the sweat, but there was something about the way she carried herself despite the tiredness that didn’t make her seem disheveled. It was fantastic, the way she moved through life with such quiet elegance.

Or maybe he was just head over heels for her.

No, that couldn’t be it. He could see her flaws alright; most annoyed him, yes, and he could see them clear as day…and said flaws took nothing away from the quiet, strong beauty that was her.

“I already saved her some meat,” Mikasa said casually, her voice low and tired.

“You saved steak for her?” Jean asked, surprised.

Mikasa made an affirmative noise. “I snuck some out while no one was noticing,” she said, pausing for a second before looking at him. “Don’t tell her, please.”

Jean felt the corners of his mouth going upwards in a complicit smile. “You want it to be a surprise?”

“Yes, I think so,” Mikasa said, looking away from him.

A silence followed her words, but it wasn’t an awkward one. Silences were common with Mikasa Ackerman, they were to be expected. And while he’d overheard some saying she could be boring to be around, Jean enjoyed her silences. Too many people were too loud lately, including himself at times. With her, the world seemed to slow down a little bit. Her presence was soothing like that.

“Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“Earlier today…” she lowered her face, almost as if she were looking to hide it inside her scarf as she so often did. But she’d taken off the scarf in the morning, like each time they were sent to work on the railroads. When she didn’t find the familiar fabric around her neck, her eyebrows shot up and her mouth fell open, as if she’d just recalled her scarf wasn’t there.

Despite her serious face, the gesture was utterly adorable.

“Why are you smiling?” Mikasa asked suddenly. Not angry, but curious.

“Nothing,” Jean said, looking away from her. He cleared his throat; he didn’t like staring at her, or doing anything that would make her remotely uncomfortable. Most of his glances were stolen glances. But sometimes, she looked too pretty to not be admired, and those times he did look intently, he hated himself a little bit.

She doesn’t like you at all, you dumbass, he told himself¸ don’t make her feel weird.

“What was it that you were saying?” Jean asked.

“What were the reasons?”

“Huh?”

“You said I can’t take Eren’s titan,” Mikasa began, taking a breath before continuing. Jean turned to look at her again, but Mikasa had her eyes firmly set on the ground. “You said there were a ton of reasons why it couldn’t be me, apart from me being an Ackerman and half hizuran.”

Jean smiled, scratching the back of his head. “I guess I did say that, didn’t I?”

He’d spoken in sudden panic, panic he’d carefully masked as indifferent, logical thinking. In truth, the idea of Mikasa shortening her lifespan filled him with dread. The idea of her closing her eyes, disappearing from this world…it frightened him. And he didn’t know why.

No. He did know why. He just would never say it out loud.

“I’m asking you now,” Mikasa said, pulling him out of his reverie. “What are those reasons?”

The world became very quiet in his ears. The distant chatter from the dining room, the violins playing to welcome the hizurans, even the birds in the sky became muted. How was he supposed to tell her that the very idea of her dying broke his heart? How was he supposed to say that all those other reasons were stupid and selfish and all based on the fact that he loved her too much to allow her to sacrifice her life for a stupid war.

“Why are you asking?” Jean was able to say, despite the sudden dryness in his throat.

Mikasa gave him a quick sideways glance. Thankfully, the sun had hidden behind the horizon, and the lights outside were barely being turned on. Maybe this way she wouldn’t see his cheeks.

“I thought, they must be important,” Mikasa began, speaking slowly, as if choosing her words with care. “These reasons you didn’t say out loud. They are important, aren’t they? If they’re important, I want to know them.”

Jean wiped the sweat off his brow. She was a person of few words, but the little words she used had become more and more poignant as the years went by.

“Why do you think they are?” Jean asked with a chuckle, trying to hide how nervous he felt (and perhaps failing miserably).

“Because you offered to take the titan in my stead and shorten your lifetime first, before anyone,” Mikasa replied quickly, turning to look at him just as he turned to look at her. “I want to know what those reasons were.”

They were facing each other now, Jean realized. Since killing all the titans and opening the island to the world, it had been a while since the last time he’d had a proper conversation with her, without Eren, Armin, Sasha, Connie or Levi hovering around. In fact, if he thought about it, it was the first time in several months that he’d been alone with her and without the threat of imminent death hovering above them.

“Jean?” She asked, her voice inviting in his ears. She probably had no idea that, had she asked him to bring down the moon or a star down to her, he would’ve found a way to do it gladly. “Are you going to tell me?”

How could he tell her he loved her, though? He knew where her heart lied, Jean already knew who Mikasa loved. And it was not him. And now that Eren’s lifespan was quickly reaching its end, Jean knew it would only seem like he was taking an advantage of the situation, he would be nothing but a bird of prey in her eyes.

He’d seen her after they’d broken the news to them about Armin and Eren’s shortened lifespan; he knew how much that certainty of a young death for her dearest friends (and the one boy she loved) had damaged her.

“Jean, tell me,” she repeated, almost in a whisper now.

He couldn’t tell her about his feelings. He could never, ever do that. And that was okay. He’d come to terms with it. But how could he deny her the truth when she asked so sweetly? How could he deny her when she looked so lovely?

“Jean?” Mikasa asked, her hand hovering over his arm, her voice growing concerned with each word she pronounced. “Jean, are you okay?”

No, he was not at all okay. His brain felt like it was boiling, and the sole presence of her had caused his breathing to become shallow. She had no idea what she’d done to him with her question, how all the bottled up feelings had come rushing into his brain all at once: the fear of losing her, the grief of never telling her how he felt, the love he’d never get to share with her, the hurt for her losing the two most important people for her. It was all there.

Mikasa put both hands on his arm, keeping him from falling. “Jean, I’m sorry, are you—”

“Oi!” Eren’s voice called from afar. “What are you two doing there, Mikasa?! The food is gonna run out if you don’t hurry!”

Jean held a hand to the neck of his shirt and unbuttoned it, his breathing quick and shallow, as if he’d just swam for a great deal of time. “Do you need to sit?” Mikasa asked him, moving to stand before. “Do you need water?”

“Didn’t you guys hear me?” Eren shouted again, this time sounding irritated. “What is horse face doing that’s so interesting?”

“I need water,” Jean told her, fixating his eyes on her. “Heatstroke.”

“Oi!” Eren shouted, jogging to stand next to the two. “Aren’t you guys even listening?”

“I’ll get you water,” Mikasa said, helping him sit on the ground, then turned to speak to Eren, who was most likely heading their way. “Jean has a heatstroke. We need to give him water. Call Levi and Armin so they can take him to the showers.”

“I thought horses could go on for a while without water,” Eren said, giving Jean a little smirk that inevitably brought a smile to his face.

“And I thought idiots could take orders from better soldiers,” he snapped back, not looking at him. If he looked at him right in the face, he would just feel his chest twisting further in pain. Jean cursed himself; he was such a baby.

“Stop,” Mikasa commanded. “You two, stop fighting just now. Jean, stay quiet. Eren, get me Armin and Levi.”

“Can’t you and I take him to the showers?” Eren asked.

“If we take him into the showers…” Mikasa stopped a moment. Jean looked up for a moment and even in the dark, Jean could see the blush in her cheeks. “I’d have to see him naked. I won’t make him uncomfortable.”

Ah, that idea did nothing to calm his panic attack. In fact, it made Jean even breathe quicker. Jean buried his head between his arms, the panic attack washing over him in full force. “Eren, we need to hurry,”

___________________________________________

Mikasa watched Jean nibble on a piece of meat while sitting next to the window; his hair was wet after the shower, and his arms were a bit bruised from Levi and Eren helping him reach the showers. He’d been rather quiet after they’d calmed him down, and Mikasa didn’t dare to speak much and make him strain himself.

Levi had told them to watch over him while he went to get a physician for Jean, but Eren was outside, talking to Armin about the things the hizurans had brought over in this visit to the island. He’d left her alone again, but that didn’t matter, because the constant chatter from outside between him and Armin reassured her he was still there, he was still alive.

She was sorry about Jean, though. It had been a while since the last time she’d spent time alone with Jean, a long while. She couldn’t have been good company. Not to him; she saw how he was with Sasha and Connie. Those three, much like Armin and Eren, were a constant stream of conversation, stream of conversation usually lead by Jean himself. Mikasa was too shy, too quiet to keep him comfortable while keeping him company.

“Thank you,” Jean said, sliding the plate over to her. “Sasha will be angry I ate her stuff.”

“I saved plenty for her.” Mikasa replied, taking the plate in her hands.

Jean arched an eyebrow. “Thief.”

Mikasa lowered her head, realizing he’d almost elicited a chuckle out of her. “I’m—”

“I was just playing,” Jean replied, smiling slightly despite her awkward reaction to his joke.

“I’m sorry,”

“For what?”

“I’m too quiet.” Mikasa said, looking outside the window to avoid his gaze.

“I like quiet. Quiet is good nowadays,” Jean replied. From the corner of her eye, she noticed he’d shrugged. It was weird, how his words sounded so sincere. She could tell people got bored with her presence quickly; even Eren, she’d seen his urge to find Armin whenever they found themselves alone. But Jean didn’t look bored. He wasn’t like Sasha, who spoke constantly and nonstop and helped fill the gaps in their conversations caused by herself. He looked…strangely at peace, almost at home in her silence.

Which only urged her to want to fill that strange gap with words.

“I-I kept asking you while you were having that heatstroke,” Mikasa continued. “I’m sorry for that.”

“Those reasons—”

“Rest,” Mikasa said, interrupting him. For some reason, all her curiosity had disappeared the moment she’d seen him on the verge of passing out back there. “I’m the strongest of all. I’m more useful without a titan, and I know it would be troublesome to lose your best soldier after only thirteen years.”

“No,” Jean said firmly, his voice so firm, so adult sounding that Mikasa had to turn to look at him. “Those reasons…you’re not a soldier. And those reasons go beyond just keeping you alive for fighting.”

“What?”

“Maybe I just want to see you live a long life too and that’s that,” Jean replied, looking away from her, staring at the window. “As for the rest of it, maybe I don’t want to tell you just yet.”

Mikasa looked at him for a long while, trying to figure out what he’d meant. Of course, they all wanted to see each other live long lives. But, much like his comfort in her silence, his words felt different. If she’d heard them from Sasha, or Connie or even Armin, they would’ve sounded much different, for some reason she didn’t understand.

She frowned, not quite comprehending the situation, not quite comprehending why he didn’t want to look at her. She wasn’t good at things related to social interactions, and this situation wasn’t the exception. What was he trying to tell her? Why did she want to figure it out so intently?

“Or maybe it was just the heatstroke speaking,” Jean added, with a shrug.

Mikasa looked back at him. He hadn’t meant that last part, and she knew that by just looking at him. But it seemed like a good little excuse to diffuse the sudden tension between them. “Maybe it was.”

Jean offered her a smile she returned in what she felt was a stiff gesture. “I’m too awkward.”

“No, you’re not,” Jean replied, snorting. “You’re great as you are.”

Mikasa turned to look at him again, but Jean was no longer looking at him. Thosewords he had meant. And she found herself smiling a little more naturally this time. “Thank you, Jean.”

[headfulloffantasies]

Home is Where the Devil Lives

Peter loves his new apartment. Matt does not.

Peter’s new apartment was a dream, a castle, compared to the rat hole he’d been living in. He had a second bedroom! And a kitchen without vermin. And a bathroom that actually fit a sink next to the shower and toilet. The only problem was that Matt hated it.

Peter dragged a half conscious Daredevil in through the fire escape after a brutal smack down with Kingpin.

“You’re lucky this place is so close,” Peter griped. “You wouldn't have made it to Hell’s Kitchen.”

Daredevil didn’t respond, too busy bleeding profusely from a knife wound to the ribs. Peter thumped through the window onto his orange rug.

“Alexa, turn on the lights and raise the heat to 20 degrees.”

“Turning on the lights,” the robot voice answered.

Matt stirred, tipping his head to the side. “Who’s that?”

“Alexa, say hi to Matthew.”

“Hi, Matthew.” Alexa echoed.

“You have an AI?” Matt slurred slightly.

“Nah,” Peter said as he got Matt settled on the couch. “It’s an Amazon smart home. It turns on the lights and connects to the internet and stuff.”

Peter dug his first aid kit out from under the kitchen sink and padded back to Matt. 

“Take this,” Peter held out a couple of painkillers. 

“I don’t want ‘em,” Matt groaned, twisting on the couch.

“Trust me, you will. I am awful with a needle.”

“You sew your own costumes.”

“That is fabric. Why does everyone think sewing skin is the same thing?”

Peter coaxed Matt into taking the pills. He peeled back Matt’s suit and swore. 

“Don’t bleed on my couch, it’s new.”

“It smells like cat.”

“It’s new to me.”

Peter finally finished the stitches and sat back to admire a bad job done with good intentions. He passed Matt his phone.“You’re staying here tonight. Call Foggy and tell him you’re not going into work tomorrow.”

Matt shook his head, trying to push himself up on his elbows. He got about halfway there. “I’m fine. I’ll make it.”

“You will not. It’s freezing out.”

“No it’s not.”

Peter crossed his arms. “Alexa, what’s the current temperature?”

“It is currently 2 degrees Celsius.”

Peter splayed his palms to silently say “I told you so”. It wasn’t wasted on blind eyes.

“I don’t care.”

“I do. I will not be responsible for my lawyer dying of pneumonia.”

Peter moved into the kitchen to give Matt some privacy.

He shouldn’t have bothered. Matt on drugs didn’t know how to control his volume level. Peter heard Matt’s entire side of the conversation.

“Come and get me,” Matt hissed. “I hate it here.”

Ouch. And yeah, there was a layer of sarcasm in Matt’s voice, but no more than he usually buttered onto conversations. 

Peter was hurt. How long had he and Matt been friends? Did Matt hate his other apartment too? Duh, Parker, even you hated that apartment. But then what gives? The new place was dope. There was running water that wasn’t brown. Maybe it wasn’t about the apartment, maybe it was Peter. Nope, not going there, that hurt too much.

When he was done being hurt Peter was angry. Not everyone could afford penthouses and silk sheets, Double D. Some of us are just happy to have a place to hang our mask.

Matt stayed the night on the couch, but Peter wasn’t sure he’d actually slept. There were deep purple bags under the bruises on Matt’s face in the morning.

“D’you mind if I put on the radio while I make breakfast?” Peter asked as he pulled his skillet out of the cupboard. Matt made a wavy hand gesture of deference.

“Alexa, play my radio station.”

“Turning on the radio.”

Matt flinched as the announcers came on. 

“-whereabouts unknown. And in other news, the vigilante Daredevil was spotted with Spider-man last night at the docks. This reporter wonders if the two have formed a superhero swim team. That’s all for me, folks. Tune back in to Hero Watch after the break for our hot take on the Hulk’s dating life.”

“What is this?” Matt asked.

“Hm?” Peter hummed as he cracked an egg into the frying pan. “Oh, it’s Hero Watch. They report on street level heroes like us.” Peter ducked his head. “I know it’s silly to listen to what people say about Spider-man, but it’s kind of a parody show? They make up ridiculous stories.”

They listened to the rest of the show, laughing until Matt’s stitches pulled. 

Peter left for work, assuring Matt that he could stay on Peter’s couch as long as he needed. When Peter came home he was disappointed to find his blankets folded neatly at the end of the couch and no trace of Matt anywhere.

A week later, Matt swore up and down he was well mended and ready to go bust some heads.

“Alexa, call Matt.”

“Calling Matt.”

“Hello?” 

“Are we going out tonight?” Peter asked, hopping on one foot as he tried to pull his sock on.

“Are you putting on socks?” Matt asked.

Peter froze. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I listen to 3000 people a day putting their socks on. I know a sock hop when I hear it. I also know what it sounds like when you trip and smash your coffee table. Sit down and put your socks on like an adult. I can be ready to go in ten.”

“Meet me at my apartment?” 

“I’ll be on the roof.” Matt agreed.

“It’s cold. Meet me inside.”

“Roof. Ten minutes.”

“Call ended.” Alexa announced.

Peter glumly stared about his apartment. He liked it. It was soft, all done up with lots of blankets in the living room and lacy blue curtains in the kitchen that Aunt May had helped him pick out. It was comfortable. So what was Matt’s problem?

“Alexa, does my apartment smell?”

“I do not have a nose,” Alexa said. “I have seventy one internet results for getting rid of smells if you are interested?”

“No thanks,” Peter said, heading to his room to change into the Spidey suit.

Peter moaned to MJ about it in the Starbucks by her loft.

“Matt hates my apartment.”

“That’s because he’s bougie trash.” MJ said without looking up from her vanilla latte.

Peter was scandalized. “He is not!”

“He makes his own granola and won’t use brand name fabric softener. He’s bougie.”

That wasn’t fair, Peter knew. Matt was sensitive. He made his own food because tasting other people’s hands was gross. He used natural based fabric softeners because the artificial smells in brand names gave Matt headaches. 

“Does my place smell?”

“No, but your couch reeks of cat.”

Dang it. 

Aunt May’s birthday was next Sunday. Peter had been planning a surprise party at his apartment, and the only thing that would prevent him from going through with it would be an alien invasion.

All that was left to do was send out invitations. Because Peter was an exemplary millennial, he sent a group text invite. He left Matt a voice mail invitation specifically so Matt wouldn’t have to deal with Peter’s copious emojis. 

Peter sat on his saggy cat couch and watched the RSVPs come in. 

Alexa suddenly said, “New voicemail.”

“Alexa, play voicemail.”

Matt’s tinny voice filtered from Alexa’s speaker. “Hi Peter. I’m not going to make it to May’s party. I’ve got an appointment out of town that day.”

Peter deflated. 

This had gone on long enough.

The next night,  Peter went up to the rooftop to meet Daredevil. 

Matt swung up over the ledge, his red suit dark as blood in the twilight.

“Hey kid.”

Peter tugged his mask off. “Can I talk to you as a real person?” He asked.

Matt copied him by removing his mask. “What’s up, kiddo?”

Peter forgot how weird it was to watch Matt’s milky eyes search him out. Matt always settled his gaze close to eye contact, but he tended to miss by a bit, staring at people’s left ear or their nose.

“You really can’t make it Sunday?”

“I have an urgent appointment I can’t reschedule.”

Uh huh. Likely story.

“I know you hate my apartment.” 

Matt stiffened.

Whoops. Secrets are supposed to stay on the inside of mouths, Peter. But now that it was out of the bag, why not air it out? 

“Does it smell? Is it too loud? Is it too cold? Do you not like my cow salt shakers? Are the blankets not soft enough? I can get better blankets.”

“Peter,” Matt stopped him. “It’s not about the apartment.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. “You don’t like me.” The tears that sprang to his eyes surprised him. “It’s fine, I get it-,”

“Kid, listen with your ears, not your mouth,” Matt snapped.

Peter swallowed hard, nodding.

Matt scrubbed the back of his neck. He was flushed all the way to his red hair. “Your A.I. freaks me out.”

Peter blinked. “Alexa?”

“Yeah. She’s listening to everything, but she’s not really there.”

“She’s not spying on us, Double D.”

“I know that!” Matt rubbed his hands together, looking very lost. Just this once, Peter did the smart thing and stayed quiet.

Matt started again. “Alexa talks and it’s not right. I can hear the dissonance in her voice. And it’s like there’s a whole person in the room, but I can’t find her heartbeat, she doesn’t breathe, or smell, or have body heat. She’s like a ghost.”

“Oh.” Peter said. He never considered that Matt’s abilities might cause him pain in the absence of stimuli. “What do you want to do about it?”

Matt shrugged. “There’s not really anything I can do. I’m just going to have to get used to it.”

That didn’t seem fair. Peter had a long think. “What if I turn Alexa off when you come over?”

Matt tipped his head to one side. “You don’t have to do that.”

Peter shrugged. “Sure I do. I want you to be comfortable in my home. You’re my friend.”

“I’m officially triggered,” Matt snarked. “This conversation has reached my emotional limits for the week.”

“So you’ll come on Sunday?”

Matt glared at Peter’s ear. “I told you I have a meeting, kid. I’m not avoiding you.”

“Oh good. I love you too. Come here and give me a hug.”

Matt jumped off the side of the building.

[bookenders]

Happy Storyteller Saturday! Let's say your whole cast goes on a camping trip. What activities would everyone be found doing? Who would be obsessing over trying to find a wifi signal on their phone? (I feel like the latter is Oz solely so he can work, am I right? XD) What happens when it inevitably starts to downpour?

Storyteller Saturday!

@quilloftheclouds​, these poor fools on a camping trip would be a true comedy of errors. I had way too much fun with this one.

I’ve never been camping before (I am not a big naturey person) but here’s my best guess at what would go on!

Allow me to get narrative for a mo’. This is a whole thing for these folks. 

Loooong answer incoming!

It’s a beautiful sunny day, and Car 1 has arrived at the campsite. Out step Oz, Gemma, Mel, and Harry. Car 2 arrives shortly after and Mary, Treena, Jill, and Fred get out and follow the others.

Car 1′s trip: Oz insisted on driving and Harry barely fought him about it. He and Gemma are in the front seats, Mel and Harry are in the back. If Harry sat up front, she’d annoy Oz so much that he’d kick her out halfway there. Gemma is at least a little more subdued, except when she tries to change the music from classic rock and Oz threatens to turn the car around if she doesn’t stop. Mel and Harry chat in the back seat, Harry doing most of the talking. Every so often someone asks Mel a question she doesn’t want to answer and then the whole car gets a little awkward after whatever she chooses to respond with, since no one knows what to say about that. Gemma usuallly rescues the car from awkward silences by pestering Oz.

Car 2′s trip: Jill is not allowed to drive, so Treena takes the wheel. Jill is in the passenger seat, Mary and Fred are in the back. Mary and Fred talk the whole way up since they’re besties. Treena and Jill sing along to the radio and try to get the back seat to join in.

Once they set up the campsite, Oz, Harry, and Treena doing most of the work, everyone does their own thing for a bit.

Gemma drags Mel on a quick hike around the area to look at plants, even though she already knows what grows there. Mel goes along willingly to make Gemma happy.

Harry sets up all cooking tools and takes stock of the coolers. Snacks are a free-for-all unless Harry is standing by the food, in which case she gives you what she wants to give you and you accept it.

Fred double checks his bags and confirms he forgot his pajamas and an extra pair of socks. He borrows one of Oz’s four extra pairs.

Mary finds a quiet place to sit and pulls out her sketchbook.

Treena thinks about catching up to Gemma and Mel but settles on finding a comfy place to sit and reading until she gets bored. She’s the one who is constantly secretly checking for wifi. 

Jill is also walking around with her phone in the air because she didn’t pay for Spotify. She’s also the one who is the most inappropriately dressed for camping and hiking and general outdoorsy-ness. Eventually she gives up and starts singing herself until someone joins in or tells her to shush.

Oz tries to teach Fred how to pitch a tent and start a fire. Mary watches nervously from where she’s drawing. The kicker: Oz learned how from Gemma. He’s a city boy who found out he likes camping, so Gemma volunteered to help him look like he knows what he’s doing. 

Jill keeps a bucket of water at the ready.

When Gemma and Mel come back, Oz offers to teach Mel and Fred at the same time, but Mel laughs and says she already knows whatever he has to teach her. Oz gets a little salty until Jill makes a dumb inappropriate joke and Harry ruffles his hair.

Other things that totally happen:

Fred accidentally kicks a tent pole and sends it crashing down on Gemma, who is inside changing into her warm pajamas. She shrieks and some birds fly out of nearby trees.

Mel hits a fish when skipping rocks in the little steam nearby. Woops.

Jill gets bored and pulls an inflatable beach ball out of her backpack. After about 5 minutes, it gets impaled on a high tree branch. RIP. 

The Ladies, Gemma, and Mel play flashlight tag while Oz sits out and Fred watches, recording the whole thing on his phone. Gemma trips and gets a face full of dirt. Mel piggy-backs her back to the fire to check for injuries. (She’s totally fine and makes a lot of terrible doctor puns while Mel pokes at her face and elbows and knees.)

Mary’s marshmallow falls into the fire. Fred’s marshmallow falls into the fire. Jill’s marshmallow falls into the fire. Gemma laughs until her stick shakes too much and her marshmallow falls into the fire. 

With this group, campfire songs and stories are absolutely amazing. Jill has the funniest ones, Treena has the coolest ones, Oz has the shortest ones (Harry jumps in every so often to keep them interesting), Gemma has the most wholesome ones, and Mel has some weird ones that everyone loves. Mary and Harry tell ghost stories. Fred asks the most questions and keeps the stories going for as long as he can. The ones they’ve all heard before are excessively embellished for Mel’s sake. 

Song-wise, Mel and Treena teach everyone a few folk songs (Fred picks them up the fastest). Everyone teaches Mel some popular songs, too. Gemma spends way too long trying to get Oz to sing Miley Cyrus, Jill and Harry joining in.

Mel shares some of her animal knowledge when they find a raccoon and she holds it like a cat. Everyone freaks out about rabies, but Mel just laughs. After confirming it is not infested with disease, Gemma pets it. 

Mel also finds a porcupine and teaches Jill how to pick one up. This is when Oz throws up his hands and returns to camp, Harry cackling behind him.

Gemma takes the opportunity to teach everyone a little natural medicine on a group hike. Mel assists. It’s adorable, like a Science Museum tour for kids. Everyone has a great time.

In the event of the inevitable downpour:

(because, let’s be real, this would totally happen to these poor fools.)

Oz immediately stamps out the fire.

Fred, Mary, and Harry shriek and rush to their tents. Jill basks in the rain for a moment before flinging her hair out of her face and hustling to her own. Treena brings any water-sensitive things into her tent as soon as it starts.

The tent situation: Harry and Mary in one, Jill and Gemma in one, Oz shares with Fred (which is hilarious to me), and Treena and Mel share one. Guess who assigned tents to a group of adults like a 4th grade teacher? (It was Oz.)

Gemma and Mel don’t really care about the rain (and they each have a second pair of PJs because Gemma made sure they were prepared), so they stay out and make sure nothing’s gonna be damaged. They may have a moment before Oz shouts at them to get inside before they get sick. 

Treena and Jill agreed earlier in the car that Jill and Mel would switch tents, calling themselves the word’s chillest wingwomen. Sorry, not sorry, Oz. Let the ladies have some alone time on this “vacation.”

Mel totally sneaks out and sits in the rain for a few minutes to meditate.

Harry sets a bucket outside to catch rainwater. She doesn’t have any real reason for doing this. She just wants to see how much rain she can get in a bucket. Fred makes a bet with her on how full it’ll be when the rain stops, then suddenly everyone is betting on the bucket of water. Gemma and Mary win in a tie.

[ashaywalker-author]

Natural Instinct - Chapter 6 (Poe Dameron/Reader Fic)

SUMMARY: Reader and Poe have finally made it to home base in Cratertown, and though there are a few more hiccups to handle, it's nothing the best pilot in the Resistance can't handle.

WARNINGS: Some strong language

PAIRING: Poe/Reader (Not much romantic loving in this chapter. I will make it up post-haste.)

A/N: Is it Thursday yet? I am DYING to see The Last Jedi. The early reviews for it have been so positive, some calling it the best Star Wars movie to date, at least since Empire Strikes Back. I just need to see my poor children again!! Oh, and a little trivia for my true Star Wars nerds, Ergel, the Bartender, is a real character in the universe. He appears in the Aftermath novels.

CHAPTER LINKS: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

6 – Cratertown

Cratertown was, in and of itself, no more than a trading post, Ergel’s bar, and a stable for luggabeasts. Most of the inhabitants lived on the outskirts of town in their own outposts with their own various skills, some of them even attempting to work from their homes. But the majority were miners, scavengers and delivery workers, servicing different settlements with pricey supplies and a commission strictly adhered to by whatever greedy boss they worked for. Ergel was probably the only businessman I knew who wasn’t out to stomp upon the lesser for a spot in Jakku’s meager hierarchy. And so, he was the first person Poe and I ran to when we finally drug our exhausted, sunburnt bodies into town.

“Ergel!” I shouted over the din of the bar.

I had ordered Poe to stay outside, underneath the southern overhang that would be mostly shadowed and surely uninhabited during this time of day. Bars, no matter how shack-like and dingy they were, attracted any type of species and personality; even First Order sympathizers.

Luckily, almost everyone was hard at work, trying to keep themselves and their families as well fed and alive as possible. The bar was practically empty. I saw two faces I didn’t recognize sitting at the far-left corner, a Melitto and another human, but they didn’t appear to be interested in my sudden appearance.

Ergel waved me over, polishing a stack of cans and stacking them on top of each other as if to see how tall of a structure he could make before it fell. Poor guy was probably bored out of his mind.

“You’re back,” he said when I reached the counter, its surface being pieces of junk metal sautered together, the linked ridges still coarse even after so much use. “Find anything that might catch a nice meal? Maybe even a credit?”

He still thought I was returning from my mining endeavor near Tuanul. For force sakes, so much had happened in so little time, I almost forgot the reason why I left my tiny Jakku settlement in the first place.

“No,” I said, and he made a grunt of sympathy. “Listen, I need your help.”

“I’m a bartender, (Y/N); I don’t know the first thing about mining.”

“This isn’t about mining.”

I leaned over the counter conspiratorially, and watched as the small space between Ergel’s bushy white eyebrows crinkled.

“This is important, Ergel,” I said, lowering the tone of my voice. “There’s some deep shit behind me, and you’re the only person on this force-forsaken planet I have left to trust.”

“What in sandstorm’s name is going on, (Y/N)?”

“First,” I held up a finger close to his face, so close that his nearly white eyes started to go cross from looking at it. “I need you to promise me you won’t say a word, not to anyone.”

I must have let the seriousness of the situation show, because he nodded mutely.

“Back door,” I gestured to the direction with my head.

“Back in a moment, gentleman,” Ergel called out to the Melitto and his companion.

Around the long island with the metal frame, I followed him, through a short hallway where he kept his stores of liquor and Knockback—which was basically blended algae scraped off rocks from the south—and then outside an old wooden door. Poe was sitting on the other side, looking eternally grateful for the respite, his rugged jawline tilted up into the shadow of the overhang. He looked up at Ergel and me when we stepped through the door, the bartender closing it behind him.

“Ergel,” I said, “This is Poe Dameron; Resistance Pilot.”

Ergel looked back and forth between the two of us, his expression growing more and more concerned. “Resistance? Kriffing hell, (Y/N), I told you to avoid Tuanul! Why would you get mixed up in a war we have nothing to do with?”

“It wasn’t by choice,” I said, swallowing heavily when I felt Poe stand near, his chest just grazing my shoulder. “But that doesn’t matter now. We escaped from the First Order, and they probably followed our crash-sight, and anyway they’re probably looking for us and a droid that holds a very, very important map…”

“Have you seen a droid around here by chance?” Poe intervened. “He’s a BB-series astromech, orange and white, a bit of a know-it-all sometimes but sweet as can be.”

“Son,” Ergel held out a hand. “All of that just went straight over my head. We don’t do all that fancy stuff around here; here, a droid is a droid, although you can usually tell a good one from the next. And I’m sorry, but no,” I heard Poe sigh in defeat over my shoulder. “I’d have heard if there stumbled in something that special into town. I tend a bar; folks love to talk to bartenders.”

“I figure it’s likely he was picked up and taken to Niima,” I said. “But we absolutely need to get him before the First Order does.”

“You serious about this, (Y/N)?” Ergel asked, staring me point-blank in the eyes.

I nodded. I was sure; I was going to help Poe get back to the Resistance with his droid if it killed me. Ren had been right about a few things, one especially being that when I stepped forward for Poe in Tuanul, I was involved, whether I liked it or not. And in the last few days, I had grown to respect the pilot as much as I had ever respected anyone, including my late father.

“Alright then,” Ergel said, rolling his shoulders back, his old spine popping with the motion. “What can I do to help?”

“Keep Poe upstairs in the guestroom. I’m going to head to my outpost and hopefully get my speeder running.”

“Shoot,” Ergel ran a burly, tanned hand through his cropped hair, looking off as if to grab the rest of his words from thin air. “I forgot to tell you, with the way you ran into the bar…”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” I said amidst his slow, stumbling sentence.

“I visited your outpost while you were gone to make sure everything was still untouched. You don’t have much, I know, but someone found the speeder hiding beneath the pile of scraps and canvas. Didn’t steal the whole thing—probably couldn’t get it running—but they emptied the fuel tank and took the carburetor.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I groaned.

Poe was, surprisingly, less ill-set with the news. “Do you have a mechanic stationed here?”

“Sort of. Goes by the name of Bowdlen; he does alright. His labor isn’t cheap though. Has to make a living of some sort, and mostly gets his business from the occasional passerby needing a tune-up or sending parts through merchants coming from Niima.”

Poe flashed me a grin. “I think we’ll be alright.”

“Why? You a mechanic?”

“If something is made of bolts, gas, and metal, it’s practically putty in my hands.”

Turns out, Poe had enough credits stuffed in his sock to cover what was required. I was given the grand duty of returning to my outpost to push my shabby speeder to Bowlden’s, who was able to canvas his hoard of miscellaneous parts and find what we needed. Poe remained upstairs at Ergel’s and Ergel continued to run his bar, filing patrons in and out while a First Order fugitive hid above their heads. My poor speeder hovered—not quite straight—in the air as I pushed it forward across the open expanse of the settlement, a tank of oil and a couple of clinking, mechanical bits in the parachute bag I kept draped across my shoulder. Time was wasting, and although I didn’t know how long it would take to get the machine running, I figured Poe would get it done faster than anyone else.

Checking for onlookers—and finding none in sight—I wrapped my way around Ergel’s, my arms aching from pushing the blasted metal beast from one outskirt of town to the other. It still hovered, which was a relief, but it sure hadn’t offered any momentum. Poe was waiting on the other side of the backdoor, the shadow of the overhang continuing to stretch outward as the sun began another descent.

“Damn,” was the first thing he said, cocking his head at the speeder. “She’s… a mess.”

“I’m not adept at maintenance.”

“I can tell,” he joked.

I sat against the back wall for hours after, watching Poe tinker with what little he had to work with. Ergel had the most basic set of tools hiding in a box beneath his bar, but Poe had insisted they would work fine. He was proving himself right. He hadn’t tried to start the thing yet, and I couldn’t tell improvement from potential disaster, but the confident way in which he worked told me he was getting the job done. There was no swearing, no jarring, confused motions in his hands. Everything he did was precise and—dare I say—loving, as if this was just another day on the job and there was nothing he would rather be doing.

“I can teach you how to do all this, someday.” He said, out of the blue.

I had been dozing, my head lolling against the side of the building, and his voice sent surprised jolts through my whole body.

“Sorry,” I said, blinking reality back into focus. “What did you say?”

“I can teach you how to fix these types of things; speeders, ships, X-Wings especially. You might even be able to tune up BB-8 when he needs it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ll teach you. Y’know, when we get back.”

He stopped for a minute, wiping down his hands with an already dirty cloth. His shirt clung to him where sweat stains seeped through, and holy hell… I never thought sweat could be so sexy. I realized I was gawking for a second or two too long when I looked up and saw Poe regarding me, almost curious.

“We?” I said, feeling stupid enough as it was. “Are you… are you inviting me to go with you? To the Resistance?”

“Sounds like it,” he quirked a smile, obviously finding my hesitation amusing.

“Stop it,” I said.

“Stop what?”

“Stop making light of it. I want to know if you’re serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” he said, dropping the cloth and taking a few steps toward me. “You said you didn’t want to leave Jakku for fear that you would have nowhere to go, that others might find you and harm you in a galaxy you know little about. It may sound surprising, but you’ll be safe at base, safer than you’d be anywhere else in the galaxy.”

“I don’t just want to be safe, Poe,” I said, rubbing grains of sand between my fingers. “I want to have a purpose, to feel like I add something. What can I add to your Resistance?”

“Plenty.”

“Like what? Give me one example.”

“Survival,” he said, without hesitation. “A lot of our members don’t have the type of experience you do. They haven’t navigated climates, and they certainly wouldn’t be able to survive on the landscape and a couple, meager supplies like you can. You can teach them to be better equipped to handle whatever is thrown at them.”

When I didn’t respond at first, he knelt in front of me. “You act on instinct, even if you regret it in hindsight, but good instincts are what every fighter needs. You were thrown from the only world you’ve ever known into a jail cell within an hour, and you held your own, taking every moment a step at a time and even taking care of me. It takes months of conditioning for most of our members to learn how to cope with capture and torture. But you have that natural grit, that instinct that is so well-ingrained in you. You are a damned poster girl for the Resistance, (Y/N).”

Instinct. Instinct was what told me to scoot forward until I was hugging him, head tucked underneath his chin, nose pressed against his collarbone. Instinct brought tears to my eyes, when in other times I would have been too ashamed to let them fall. Instinct was what made me tell him yes, that I had nothing left on Jakku and that somehow, in some weird twist of fate, I felt like I had found something with him and his fight. And I wasn’t going to let myself lose that, not when instinct led me to find it in the first place.