#Boulder would definitely see the storm as a good thing

[amiablyinept]

How each rescue bot would try to comfort you during a storm.

Blades: Oh wow it's really pouring out there huh? You know this reminds me of the big acid storms back on Cybertron, the streaks of lightning were so large that the whole sky would light up.

Boulder: Hey, it's gonna be ok. Remember that after a big storm, always comes a rainbow, and then I'll take you out to the park where we can see the dewdrops on the flower petals.

Chase: The rain here is quite different than the acid storms back on Cybertron. It doesn't sting and it has a fresh scent, it's also feels refreshingly vibrant and this lightning is also very ephemeral.

Heatwave: This is what is making you afraid and cowering by me? It's only a little bit of rain, there's nothing to be scared of, the lightning isn't even that loud either.

[heartsoji]

Hello. If Requests Are Open I Have One. Tsukishima, Suna And Kenma With A Reader Who Is Kinda On The Thicker Side (Thick, Not Chubby) So She Gets Sexualized And Catcalled A Lot

HQ BOYS WITH A CURVY S/O

a/n: yes! thank u sm for submitting a request ☺︎

warnings: swearing, guys (not the hq guys) way overstepping and making reader feel uncomfortable, fem reader

tsukishima, suna, and kenma x reader

TSUKISHIMA KEI

when something happens to you, he shows his protection subtly, but he really really cares about you

would attack the weirdos and people jealous of your body

he wouldn't be the "don't worry babe, i can fight" kind of attacking guy, but the "beat them up mentally until their spirit is broken" kind of attacking guy

you were doing your work diligently at your desk when suddenly, one of your male classmates stopped at your desk.

"goddamn, girl. being serious is great and all, but would it kill you to show a pained expression every now and then?" he rested his hand on your desk, covering part of your paper.

"pardon?" you asked, not quite comprehending.

"i mean," he smirked, "can't imagine what you'd be like under me if you're so serious all the time. have you ever even felt pain?" he paused. "i can show you great pain and pleasure, babe. just gotta say the word."

you froze, speechless. how were you supposed to respond to that? whilst you were trying to come up with a response, you saw kei getting up out of the corner of your eye.

"well, cutie?" your classmate grinned widely before sliding a finger down your back, making you cringe in disgust silently. "how about it?"

"i-"

"don't you have anything better to do?"

"huh?" the guy turned around to see kei towering over him, a nasty glare in his eyes.

"i said, 'don't you have anything better to do?' are you deaf, or just stupid?" kei asked, an annoyed expression present on his features.

"what the hell are you talking about? you're just a cocky brat, aren't ya?" the guy snarled. "man, i hate people like you. so much confidence with nothing to show for it."

kei paused. "i apologize. i was unaware that you hated yourself that much. things will get better, i promise." he mocked, patting the guys back, causing an angry vein to bulge out of the guy's forehead.

"haha, very funny." the guy muttered. "bitchy beanpole brat."

"alliteration! very good!" kei applauded with a smile before sending him a death glare that could freeze lava. "but seriously, are you such a loser that your ego won't allow a hit?" he then leaned into his ear. "she. isn't. interested. scram. you're just making a fool of yourself at this point."

the guy looked around and noticed everyone staring and whispering, clearly judging him for his creepy ways. he angrily stormed out of the classroom, with kei calling out a, "nice talk! let's do it again sometime," on his way out.

once the guy was fully out of the classroom, kei grabbed a chair and put it next to yours at your desk, plopping down his work as well.

"thanks, kei." you whispered a bit shakily.

he simply gave your hand a reassuring squeeze in response. "let me know if that loser gives you anymore trouble, ok?" he whispered back. "i'll beat him to a pulp." he followed up, a terrifyingly murderous intent in his eyes.

he then gave a smile, though it was still terrifyingly murderous-looking. "verbally, i mean."

SUNA RINTARO

another guy with a tongue that could slice boulders

hes not quite as mean tho, instead choosing to go with the more "protect my girl" stance rather than tsukkis "belittle them and make them feel like tiny little idiots who have no worth" stance

he'd try to embarrass the hell out of them

he's good at manipulating people, after all. he finds their weaknesses in an instant and uses it to his ultimate advantage

and also

he loves your curves

so

much

he'd definitely come over and like place his hand on your hip or ass or smth to mark his territory

bro hes the only one who gets to say how much he likes your ass?? um who tf is this other dude

he'd probs also try and cause a scene or incorporate humor to make you feel better

you were scared

a guy from the inarizaki cheering section had been staring at you ever since you entered

though you weren't absolutely positive, you felt like you could feel his eyes scanning your curves, and it made you feel like curling away in disgust

you'd lessened your cheering ever since you realized that the screaming made your tits bounce, and his eyes were practically burning a hole through them

once the game was over, you quickly dashed off from the stands to meet rin at the bottom, but the same guy met you down there

"so, hey, i was just thinking that you're like, really hot and have a great body, you know? and not to brag but i kinda have girls drooling on my abs left and right. if we got together, we'd be the ultimate power couple! whaddaya say, doll, hm?"

you scanned the room, looking for rin, but unfortunately, the coach was giving a talk, so rin wouldn't be able to come right away

"um, thank you for your offer, but i have a boyfriend." you politely declined.

he put his hand on your shoulder, and you could feel his thumb searching for your bra strap. you leaned away uncomfortably, but he gripped your shoulder and pulled you back.

"hey, now, its ok. don't think that i didn't see the way you were showing off these pretty assets of yours to me on the stands. you were practically shaking the things in my face! i can take a hint, you know. don't worry. i understand women. you were hinting at wanting to get with me, right? i get it! promise i won't be mad if we start dating the minute you break up with whatever loser you're with right now, doll. i don't need to wait."

"i-"

"hey, bun."

you whipped around to see suna rintaro not-so-gently shoving the guy off your shoulder and wrapping his arm around you, placing his hand right at the curve of your hip, giving you butterflies.

he directed his attention to the guy hitting on you. "'sup."

the guy stuttered for a few moments before regaining his cockiness. "this your girl? sorry, man, but she was actually just hitting on me. she aint loyal enough, i guess."

"the hell?! no i wasn-"

"she definitely wasn't." rin interrupted. "she'd never be into a piece of garbage like you."

a vein popped out of the guy's forehead. he grabbed the collar of rin's shirt.

"say that again."

rin opened his mouth, and for a moment, you thought that rin was going to retaliate, but instead, a piercing shriek ran through the air.

a baby's wail? a crying girl? a dropped mic? no, it was 6"1 inarizaki high middle blocker suna rintaro.

every head in the area turned, and suddenly, at the negative attention, the guy ran off in humiliation, calling out some insult towards you like "you weren't even that hot, by the way" on his way out.

once he was gone, suna picked you up and ran to somewhere with a bit more privacy

once he had found a spot he had deemed private enough, he engulfed you in the biggest, tightest hug, burying his head in your neck

"'m sorry that happened, bun." he murmured into your neck. "and 'm sorry that i interrupted you earlier, and i'm sorry that i wasn't there sooner, and im sorry that i didn't punch that guy in his pathetic, ugly-ass face."

you hugged him back. "it's ok, rin." you squeezed tighter. "i'm just glad you came."

"anyways, at any rate, he had no right to look in your direction, nonetheless insult you!" you felt his fists tighten. "pisses me off."

"and also," he added before moving his hand downwards to squeeze your ass, "i'm the only one allowed to call your body hot. everyone else can just fuck off"

you giggled and sighed into his locks. "ok, rin."

KOZUME KENMA

he wouldn't be one for words

he'd just glare daggers into the other guys body and then drag you away

he liked to call it a tactical retreat

"hey, what grade are you in?"

you looked up from your phone to see a group of what seemed to be some middle school boys circling around you, with what seemed to be their leader approaching you.

"pardon?" you were a bit taken aback. what was even going on?

"shy. cute, i'm into that." the boy smirked. "class 3-2, izumitate junior high soccer team captain, sato emiko."

you froze. junior high? you were being hit on by junior high boys?

you really tried not to, but suddenly, you burst out laughing. "sorry, sorry, but, well, junior high? i'm a 2nd year in highschool!"

you expected him to back down after that, but to your surprise, he kept going. "an older girl, huh.. well, it doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you. and if im being honest, i don't see why it would." he grinned cockily. "i am a catch, after all."

"sorry, i'm not interested." you declined, trying not to break his junior high heart.

to your surprise, he smirked and started approaching you. how cocky was this kid, anyways?

suddenly, he grabbed a handful of your thigh, though he was quickly met with a slap from you.

"come on," he said, walking towards you. "i know you want me."

but before he could reach for a handful of tit, he was interrupted by kenma shoving his way through the crowd.

he gently took your hand and smiled softly at you before glaring daggers at the boy and walking away.

"h-hey!" the boy stuttered, clearly a bit flustered. "you can't just walk away! who do you think you are?"

kenma turned his head to give another death glare that definitely sent chills down that kid's spine. yeah, the boy would definitely see that in his next nightmare.

once you two were out of earshot, kenma turned to you. "hey, you ok?"

you smiled warmly. "yeah. thanks for getting me, ken."

he turned away. "they were just a bunch of cocky middle schoolers. honestly, where do they get the nerve?"

the rest of the way home, kenma added in abrupt complaints about what had happened throughout the conversation. though he didn't say it, you knew that he was actually kind of scared to grab you out of there, despite the fact that the boys were "puny" and "weak," as kenma had described. you knew that though he wouldn't say, he was worried about you and was caring for you, in his own, unique, kenma way.

[onigirio]

remember me; pcj

percy jackson x amnesiac!reader

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble but it got way longer than planned ^^; i hope you enjoy!

warnings: amnesia, brief mentions of pain and headaches, mentions of death, everyone is a little ooc (my bad)

when consciousness returned to your body, all you could see was the void. your vision was filled with an expanse of black, broken only by a faint glow in the distance. ‘did i die?’ you thought to yourself. you were beginning to understand the phrase ‘seeing the light’ a little bit more. as feeling returned to your body, you realized you were on something soft, like a cloud.

maybe you did actually die, and this is heaven’s waiting room. it was feasible, and that’s what you would’ve concluded if your head didn’t start pounding like all hell. if you weren’t dead already, the pain would definitely finish the job.

“…not okay! they could’ve…” a feminine voice said

“…one’s fault…” a masculine voice responded

the words faded in and out of your ears, a loud ringing overshadowing all other noise. you groaned, your eyes opening slowly. sitting up, you were met with the sight of three teenagers bickering at the foot of your bed. what scared you the most was the fact that one of them held a bronze sword in his hand, and the other had small horns. the only normal one was the blonde, at least until she turned to look at you. she had sharp gray eyes, like the sky before a storm. those same eyes widened and exclaimed your name in relief. the blonde wanted to approach you, but stopped at the way you flinched when she called your name.

“how are you feeling? you weren’t looking so good” the boy with horns asked you. sword boy (you really had to ask them for names), chuckled before replying, “they took a literal boulder to the head”. blondie then proceeded to punch him in the shoulder, swiftly shutting him up, “percy please-“

“it’s true!”

all you could do was look between the two of them as they started bickering back and forth. you raised an inquisitive brow and goat boy could only smile nervously, “you know how they can get”. that began the snowball of your confusion. you felt like you should know these people, but you don’t. how could something feel so familiar yet so foreign.

“i-i don’t think i do”

the arguing pair froze to look at you in confusion. the blonde in particular, stared at you with a steely gaze, “don’t what”. you averted your gaze, opting to count the small scratches which littered your hands, “i don’t know how they can get-“ you paused, “because i don’t know them, i don’t know you! i don’t know where i am, why i’m in bed, why my head hurts so bad-“ all the questions that had been stirring in the back of your mind rushed out like an avalanche. you had more to say, but you were cut off by someone slamming the door open. another blond kid. great. already two blonds and neither one had told you their name

“how about the next time someone wakes up after being knocked out, we call the medic” blond boy (this is getting ridiculous) scolded, proceeding to give you a quick once over with his eyes. “will, we would have-“ sword boy (blondie called him percy you think) started, “no you wouldn’t have” he replied, taking your pulse and noting it down, “you’re not even supposed to be here”. ‘percy’ pursed his lips, knowing that will was right. the blonde girl rolled her eyes in annoyance, “right or wrong- it doesn’t matter. they don’t remember anything”. will stopped, gaze switching between you and blondie, “like from the fight?”. blondie shook her head

“like from their life, at least after camp half blood”

will turned you, “well” he started, “what’s the last thing you remember”. you took a deep breath, recalling your thoughts, “running, i think. for a while- and being chased by something or someone?” you did your best to recall from the top of your head, but the pounding was still prevalent. even if it was the last thing you remembered, it still felt like it was so long ago.

the one with horns spoke up again, “that’s the day they got to camp half blood. they were attacked near the border, and i had to help them to the infirmary”. percy’s brows furrowed, concern prevalent on his features, “so they don’t remember anything after coming to camp.”

the four teens looked at you. it wasn’t apparent, but you could see the pity hidden behind their eyes. how do you reply? it wasn’t your fault, but you felt terrible. from what it seemed, these people were close to you, yet all the moments you shared together had vanished into thin air blondie cleared her throat, “i suppose weshould start with names then. i’m annabeth” she said, “the satyr is grover” he gave you a comforting smile, “the guy helping you is will, and on the wall is-” annabeth paused, her words getting caught in her throat. “percy, right? i think i heard annabeth say it” you questioned, looking at him for confirmation. the green eyed boy nodded, a small smile finding its way to his lips. it was hard to place, but you felt familiar with percy. everyone else was a stranger, but somehow you knew him. you couldn’t place it, but every time you two made eye contact in the infirmary, your heart stopped for just a minute.

will cut them all off, beginning to usher them out of the room. he spoke about doing some tests and giving you more ambrosia (you were both concerned and intrigued). the trio left, but you didn’t miss the way percy glanced at you over his shoulder

—

after a quick brief with will about your injury (rock to the head, seriously?), he sent you off all bandaged up and equipped with a lifetime supply of pain medication for your headaches. amnesia was not the worst part of your situation, surprisingly. your past self was either extremely brave or extremely stupid, and somehow managed to mess up your shoulder too. now your good arm was out of commission for the foreseeable future.

great

at least you wouldn’t have to worry about any demigod related activities for a while, meaning no capture the flag (some girl named clarisse was not happy about you being benched). being free from the game meant a lot of things. most notably was the apparent lack of kids on the grounds. you sat bored in your bed, in what was supposed to be your cabin. your hoodie was long gone, lost among the vast expanse of laundry you had. the bandages wrapping your shoulder were out on display, barely covered by the black tank you wore. piles of magazines were strewn around the duvet, haphazardly closed from your frustration.

you don’t remember reading them (slipped your mind along with everything else), but the content was so familiar you found yourself getting bored within the first few pages. with a groan, you flopped over onto your pillow. the annoyance quickly turned to confusion when you felt something hard under your head. pillow discarded, you found the source of your discomfort. it was a book. a mid-sized book with your name on the cover. the leather cover was worn, and you could see just how much was in it from the thickness alone. curiousity beat you to the punch, and you decided to open it up.

on the first page was a picture. you, percy and annabeth standing in front of the lake. captioned with your signatures and a date. on the page parallel, doodles bordered paragraphs of what looked like descriptions of the day. after reading more, it got more apparent that this was your bullet journal. the next page listed important dates like birthdays and events, and the next was personal goals, followed by more polaroid photos of you and your friends.

the further you read, the more your heart ached. you looked so happy, and so did your friends. the last one was written just last week, and it was paired with a candid photo of you laughing on your bunk next to percy. tears pricked the corners of your eyes. it was you in that picture, you knew that for sure, but it felt like you were looking at someone else’s life. these were your memories, with your friends. it felt so weird that you had no recollection of it

this camp seemed to shape you into the person you are — well, were — and you couldn’t remember any of it. would you get your memories back? how long would it take? are your friends still well, your friends? closing the journal, you tucked it back under the pillow and opted to stare at the ceiling. thinking about the life you lost with your memories. what was it like? bickering with annabeth, or play fighting with grover, kissing percy-

wait

that was a new one. it wasn’t something that you had thought about before. you weren’t sure where it was coming from, but you had a vivid memory of spending time with percy. it wasn’t a feeling, but you saw it. it was a memory. you didn’t remember who you were, but you did remember being so close to percy that you could feel his breath on your lips.

maybe you needed fresh air. the smell of dust and sweat was starting to get to you

the sun hung low in the late afternoon sky. capture the flag had ended a while ago apparently. you were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice the ambient noise of the other demigods outside. people greeted you and you feigned recognition, but it was hard to pretend when everything you knew slipped through your fingers so easily

everything except a night with percy. how cliché

you found yourself on the docks for a reason you can’t quite place. you swung your legs aimlessly, staring into the horizon. a sigh left your mouth. as the world went on around you, thoughts of the journal clouded your mind. you let yourself zone out as a small break from reality. you wished all of this was just a sick daydream

“oh, hey”

you almost jumped out of your skin, your stupor broken by a familiar voice.

“at least you still remember our spot” percy said, taking a seat next to you on the dock. you laughed dryly, “remember is a strong word, i just wanted to get away from everyone”. sea green eyes flicked from the water over to you. he couldn’t say a lot of the things he wanted to, because gods know you would think he’s a creep. percy was just happy you’re okay, but he missed a lot more than he could say

“so, how are you doing” he slowly broke the silence. you shrugged, “i’ve been benched, mentally and physically”. percy laughed lightly at your words, “i’m guessing it’s hard finishing tasks you have no clue how to do”.

“someone asked me about how i fight and he started describing things i didn’t even know i could do” you both laughed, like you were old friends. which in retrospect, you really were. “do you think you’ll get them back, your memories i mean”. you pursed your lips in thought, “hopefully, i’ve been thinking about it a lot. i found my journal, and it seemed like we had so many good memories” you said, reminiscing. percy looked at you again, hearing the longing in your voice. “i’m just some person now. even if i do remember life before camp, i lost so much of myself along with those memories” your voice began to tremble. a single tear rolled down your cheek into your lap, beginning the downpour.

“people know me percy. i have relationships with a lot of people here. hell, some even look up to me”, in the absence of tissue, you opted to wipe your tears away with your hands, “i don’t remember who i was percy! i don’t remember people, or my beliefs. all i remember is kissing you!” you paused, taking a breath to stable yourself, “why do i remember kissing you”

in the heat of the moment, you let it slip. you hadn’t meant to open up so much, but you were tired of feeling like a stranger. the pent up emotions were too much to handle for you. it was silent between you two for a moment, the void filled with sounds of dusk

“that night” percy started, “when you told me how you felt, it’s like the world stopped”. you looked towards him with curiosity. hopefully, this was the night you remembered. it clearly had some form nuance in your life, since it was the only thing you remember.

“maybe it’s a good thing i didn’t ask you out that night” he started, “it hurts a lot when the person you care so much about doesn’t even recognize your face”. you opened your mouth to speak, apologies lingering on your tongue, but percy quickly cut you off, “don’t blame yourself, i know how you are” he stated, “besides, im happy you remember me” the boy flashed you his signature smile, and your heart melted. “it means i was important to you”

for the first time in what felt like ages, a genuine smile found its place on your face. percy was about to continue, but was cut off by the sound of someone calling his name. he looked disappointed, but began to get up nonetheless.

“i guess i’ll see you at dinner-“ “percy wait”, you grabbed his wrist, stopping him as he was about to leave, “thank you” you stated simply, heat rising to your cheeks. he laughed at your bashful expression. “maybe amnesia isn’t such a bad thing” he said, pulling you up out of your position on the dock. you raised a brow, looking at him with apparent curiosity. gesturing for him to go on, percy continued, “well, it means you get to fall in love with me all over again”. he feigned pain when you playfully punched his shoulder. the voice from before was louder now, annoyance evident in its tone. percy said goodbye, but before he could fully turn away, you used your good arm to pull him towards your form. the boy yelped in surprise, but confusion turned to joy when he felt your lips against his cheek. a smirk crept onto his lips, and the brunette began to tease you endlessly. rolling your eyes, you pushed him away, “someone needs you, dork”. he pouted, “can i at least get one for the road?” he called out. you shrugged in reply and laughed as he groaned and walked away from you.

you retook your seat at the dock, legs swinging over the edge. it was darker now, and the moon painted your face with a dim glow. you were alone again, but this time your heart was left feeling a little more full than before

likes/reblogs are appreciated <3

[augment-techs]

What If: Cameron was trained by Deker before Ninja Storm to be a dark samurai?

Vague thoughts, because this is all about vague thoughts:

This would either have to include Deker stealing a small child, the said small child gaining his attention, or Cam literally hunting Deker down to train him.

Given that Deker doesn't have a parental bone in his body, we can assume this would come about through the third option, given Sensei Watanabe's treatment of Cam and possibly rubbing him in the worst way possible.

Technically, this does not fly in the face of the CURRENT ninja academy rules, so unlike with Lothor, he wouldn't be disowned or forbidden from contact, but it sort of begs the question of who the hell is running things to keep literally everything from going down the tubes when Lothor does attack.

Maybe Cam would be willing to jump in to protect his dad from dying, and possibly dig up the Morphers for the students that were late that day, but he would probably make it his mission to try and take on Lothor himself.

Which would actually be useful in intercepting the Thunder Ninja duo before Lothor tricked them into believing it was Sensei that killed their parents. Make the lot of them a Trio with dark, biker vibes.

I could go with the idea that Tori would want to save Cam from the darkness he set himself within to escape what he believes is his father's control over his life--but she would fail.

Then Dustin and Shane would try--and they would fail.

Hunter and Blake would both be too caught up in their own darkness to address the chip on Cam's shoulder, and definitely would want in on the super secret training with a half-Nighlok that technically Cam wouldn't be disinclined to sharing lessons with. Which would make things a lot worse when Lothor's minions attacked both the rangers and their territory and their friends.

In a very fun turn of events, I think the ones that would have to make Cam realize he was fucking up would be his cousins.

Because, for real, the whole downplaying their abilities and mentality thing just to lower the Ranger's guard? That was some bullshit. And they might want Lothor's approval, but they're still young adults, and depending on how the timeline is played with--Cam's same age.

If Cam tried to attack either of them to get to Lothor, Kapri would be massively offended. She would probably pick up a boulder as heavy as a truck and just TOSS it at him to make him knock it the fuck off. And if he kept going, she'd beat the crap out of him and then just...drop him off at the Wind Ninja Academy.

She wouldn't want him on the ship with the Generals on board, and she wouldn't want Uncle to get it into his head that this was something MORE than a family issue that needed to be addressed. THEY were the evil ninjas on the planet, they didn't need an angsty grey-morality samurai making things harder.

Also Kapri is Pink and Cam would DEFINITELY maintain his Green. It's her JOB to knock sense into him.

But it's Marah's (Orange) job to teach him a lesson.

I can easily see her sneaking off the ship to secretly provide the Rangers with tech assistance when they aren't looking, dropping off "gifts" at the motorbike shop in disguise that could help them with new monster attacks, cornering Sensei Watanabe to have conversations about her aunt/his dead wife while tossing him around like a toy, and--for bonus points--crashing Cam and the brothers' sessions with Deker to snag their weapons and morphers.

Then the cousins lure Dayu to Blue Bay Harbor and tell Cam a little story about selling your soul with good intentions that can end horrifically.

I would also like to use this as an opportunity for Tori to be more than The Only Girl. SHE GETS TO LEAD THE NINJA STORM RANGERS even after Cam and the brothers are convinced to at LEAST team up with them against Lothor.

And use this as a chance for Sensei to get his head out of his ass and recognize things for what they are.

Relationships: Deker/Dayu; Hunter/Cam/Shane; Tori/Kapri; Blake & Dustin & Kelly & Marah. Additional Tags: Lothor & Kanoi Reconciliation; The Watanabe Adults actually TRY to be SOMETHING akin to Responsible; Cameron actually gets to have some REAL teen angst bullshit; Tori being super gay for Kapri; Cam attracting Red Rangers because of broodiness; Marah accidentally ended up with three simps and has no idea; Cam gets sunburned SO MUCH.

[atlsportsstan]

Is Colorado worth the hype?

The Colorado Buffaloes ended the 2022 college football season with 1 win. In December, they made a big splash and signed Deion Sanders to be their head coach. Along with the “Coach Prime” mentality, he also brought a lot of his players and had them battle it out with the returning Buffaloes players for who would stay and who would eventually transfer to a different school.

There was a lot of hype around Boulder, CO this year. Not many predicted they would be the greatest team in college football, but they thought they would finish the season in the top 25, and make a bowl game. Despite them not being expected to make too much noise this season, the national media has been all over Coach Prime and Colorado. In my opinion, this attention is not worthy of Colorado, at least not yet.

In their first game of the season, they had traveled on the road to play against TCU. The Buffaloes were 20.5 point underdogs going into Saturday, however, they ended up winning by 3 points thanks to a 46 yard touchdown connection from Shedur Sanders to Dylan Edwards with 4:25 left in the game. They threw for 510 yards, but only ran for 55 yards that Saturday afternoon. 

In their second game, they returned to a sold-out Folsom Field to play against the Nebraska Cornhuskers. Colorado raced out to a 13-0 lead at halftime and never looked back. Shedur Sanders carved up some corn and gave the Buffaloes their first double-digit win since October of 2021. Normally, you storm the field for a big win against a rival or a legendary upset. However, this is Boulder, CO goddammit. They stormed the field. The energy up north is on a different level right now.

Their next game is one of the biggest. Colorado vs. Colorado State. Colorado went down 21-14 at halftime, and they had lost 2-way star Travis Hunter midway through the first quarter. They had to come back from down 10 points to force overtime. In overtime, they traded touchdowns before Shedur Sanders connected with Michael Harrison for an 18-yard touchdown. On the ensuing possession, Trevor Woods got an interception, thus ending the game for Colorado. They storm the field again, and Boulder is 3-0 for the first time in a long time.

Now the big question. Is Colorado worth the hype? This game between Colorado and Colorado State had an average viewership of 9.3 million viewers, was the 5th most-watched regular season game of all time, and the most streamed game in ESPN history. Colorado has had a lot of coverage on their team this season. My point is this. When you have Shedur Sanders and Travis Hunter on the same team, all coached by one of the best corners this world has seen, you are expected to beat everyone on their schedule. Definitely, you are not expected to go to 2 overtimes with Colorado State and only beat TCU by 2. I don’t believe in the hype.

All in all, who really cares what I think? I’m just some high school kid from Georgia. You’re right. I haven't been able to catch very much college football this season, but one thing I do know is football. And I've been watching football to know what a “tell game” is. Every team has one that will basically tell you how good they are. I fully believe that, above all else, next week's game at 10th-ranked Oregon is Colorado’s tell. This is really the first weekend I’m going to have free since the season started, so I will be tuning in without a doubt. And I encourage you all to tune in as well. 3:30 p.m. on ESPN.  This might just break the record that last week’s game just broke. Let me know your thoughts on this topic and who you think will prevail. Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you guys soon.

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: Faery Rings

We left for the lake, even though it was nearly the time we normally leave the lake and the weather's been septemberish for the local definition of pre-extreme climate change since the Big Storm. it was clear out and fine for bathing suits, but the sun was low enough it wasn't really heating the surface water. It was fine. Like, I'm used to the Atlantic off the Jersey coast, and In early July it is colder than this in the lake and I swim in that.

Still, we collectively decided went hair would not be ideal given the givens, so we went out about armpit depth. We really could have swum, but the not warm enough to make sitting around for a couple hours appealing part deterred us. We went home and they did bits of things around the house while I started spaghetti and mixed up a good sauce. Once the food was ready we settled in and watched Olympic judo, bouldering, and more Rhythmic gymnastics.

Yes, I know Olympics are over, but we didn't have time to watch much the first week, and we're kind of snail paced, as there are certain things I saved for the Millennials specifically. All the stuff I can watch solo except for some artistic gymnastics they may or may not be into (apparatus induvial events), has been watched already. The things left are the bits that we really wanted to watch together and that's only once or twice a week. I forgot to ask if they want closing ceremonies. D'oh!

While we were at the lake, we were headed for our gear to hand out a bit until a bee got way too into me. I spotted a ring of mushrooms, I'd nearly stepped into and pointed it out to the others.

Goth Millennial: Don't step in that! It could whisk you away or transform you. Me: I wasn't going to. see? I'm going around. Goth Millennial (Deadpan): My employment prospects depend on your continued untransformed existence on this plane of existence. Me (teasing back): Bwahahaha! Yes, that is the most important consideration.

[ctrsara]

Techless Wonder

Read on AO3

@Comfortember 2022 #16 - Shelter

“Let’s review: whose idea was it to take a tech-free camping trip, Pepper? Who insisted on it, actually?” 

Oh. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say, based on his wife’s murderous expression. 

“Well, I didn’t know there was going to be a freak thunderstorm rolling in the third night, now did I?” she growled at him, a frightening mix of angry and really stressed out. “The temperature has dropped at least 20º in the last hour, and that storm system is definitely full of at least rain, and maybe snow. I admit I was wrong; I admit defeat. Now would be a good time to use your tech, Tony. Call a suit or something. Get us out of here.”

“Pep, honey. I did my very best to do exactly what you asked. I honestly don’t have access to anything until Happy gets us at the pick up point tomorrow afternoon. No FRIDAY, no suit, no phone even. All we have is what’s right here,” he said, gesturing to their campsite. 

Pepper’s eyes widened as she realized how serious he was. She took a deep breath and visibly tried to relax. Because this trip was supposed to be all about relaxing. No tech, no communication, no being called back because there was an emergency with SI or with the Avengers. Her vice presidents could handle SI. Wilson and Barnes could handle the Avengers, with Rhodey as back-up. Peter and May had Morgan. This was just Pepper and Tony, being together, without any interruptions. 

What a crap idea. 

“Ugh.” She dropped down in a camp chair, her head in her hands. “What are the chances our tent can handle a storm like that? Or the temperatures tonight?” Then more rhetorically, “ Why did I think it was a good idea to hike a few hours away from civilization to set up camp?”

Tony wisely didn’t answer that last question. But he’d better address the others. “Hon, our tent is for summer camping. It’s really not made for it. Our sleeping bags are decent, especially zipped into one big bag, but they won’t work if they’re wet.” He looked disgruntled. “Why didn’t FRI see this storm as a possibility?” 

“Did you specifically ask?”

“I thought I did. I’m sure I would have… Maybe I didn’t.”

“Tony, what should we do? Is it worth trying to make a run for it?” She knew that last one wasn’t feasible. It would be dark in two hours, and they were unlikely to be able to outrun the storm. “ Can we do anything to make this better?”

Apparently that was the right thing to say. Tony started thinking, then quickly started doing. Pepper did her best to follow his instructions and fill his requests as he relocated and remade their campsite in a flurry of activity. He asked her to disassemble the tent while he walked in a big radius around their current campsite, found a giant set of boulders that made a bit of a windfall, and re-pitched the tent with them as two of its walls. He had packed an extra tarp and some rope, so he rigged a third wall-slash-extra-overhead-rain-protection to supplement the light fly on their tent. He had Pepper gathering a bunch of dead pine boughs that he made most of a 4th “wall” with using dental floss to tie it all together. (“Who brings dental floss camping, Tony?”) and he rigged a larger shovel-like hand tool (which was surprisingly effective) to dig a big trench around their tent to divert any running water.

As they stood back and looked at his creation as the first raindrops started to fall, Pepper was amazed. “Just… wow.”

“You can tell me all about how amazing I am, but let’s get in the tent while we’re still dry, first,” he said wryly.

As they squeezed past the boulder to enter their tiny haven, Pepper asked, “Tony, you don’t even like camping. When did you ever learn any of that stuff?”

“Wilderness Survival Class my freshman year at MIT,” he said. It sounded like an easy ‘A.’ It was not. But just because I don’t enjoy something doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about it. 

“What about things you do enjoy?” she said with a grin, snuggling closer and pulling him in for a kiss. 

“Oh, I know much more about those. You might even call me an expert.”

-------------------

The surprising storm was one residents talked about for years. It dropped twice as many inches as they usually got that whole month, mixed with a little hail, even, and set a record low for July. But Tony and Pepper stayed warm and dry all night, courtesy of one random college course and a guy who was really good at problem-solving.

[deepcoraldragon]

New fic! In your Wake

Summary:

Helping a young, wild mer get free from a net was pretty standard work for marine biologists and mer experts Wilbur and Phil. But Wil couldn’t get it out of his head. Maybe it was the other mer’s worryingly bony frame. Or the fact that their distress call had summoned none of their podmates. (Wilbur always got attached too fast).

Or: mer!Clingyduo aren’t bad at living alone, per se. It’s more like everything dangerous in this goddamned ocean is bad at leaving them alone. (Much like sbi, once they realize what’s going on).

Chapters: 1/8 | Words: 2027 | Read on AO3

Chapter one: Sundried

Wilbur was out at sea with his family.

Well, minus Techno. He had chosen to stay at the rehabilitation center, overseeing a few departures. Phil would normally have done the same, but a major storm had hit the coast the night before, and the current priority was to make sure no animals had been washed ashore, injured or stranded.

“Nothing so far," said Wilbur, lowering his binoculars.

Phil was looking at the coastline with the naked eye from his place at the boat's helm, but Wilbur knew that his ridiculously good eyesight allowed him to spot some things long before he did.

It was also certainly a matter of experience. Phil, a certified marine biologist specializing in the biology of merpeople, these half-human, half-fish water beings, had been working at the rehab center longer than Wilbur had been alive.

Still, it was Wilbur who saw them first.

At the limit of the shoal they were skirting, a shape perched on a rock. Too big for a seal.

“Phil," Wilbur called.

Wordlessly, his father followed the edge of the rocky area in its direction.

Grey seals, taking sunbaths on the surrounding rocks like large, squishy bananas, watched them pass curiously. Their calls were hoarse, dissonant and loud, but as the two approached, they could not quite cover the high-pitched trills of a distress call.

“Definitely not seals,” Phil muttered.

 When the water level became too low, Phil raised the zodiac's engine and Wilbur pulled out the ship’s paddle.

A splash announced that they had been spotted. Wilbur slowed their approach to assess the situation.

A webbed hand, with eroded claws and missing a few scales, was holding on the boulder what looked like a cross between a pile of old, bright orange plastic nets and a young mer. If the dryness of the yellow and black scales, matted and cracked by the wind and the heat of the morning sun, hadn't been enough to worry Wilbur, the way the net’s rope bit cruelly into the mer's skin, twisting and contorting their limbs, would have been more than enough.

“Do you see the other one?" Phil asked in a low voice, before pointing, when he found the answer to his own question.

A smaller hand was gripping the edge of the rock, on the side opposite to theirs. Another, a fragment of shell clutched between its claws, was frantically sawing at the ropes.

“They're not going to make it alone, are they?" Wil surmised, already eager to help.

“No," Phil said gravely. “And I’m worried about the one who's caught. His breathing is too slow. We'll approach gently, and you can calm the second one down. As soon as another member of their pod arrives, we drop everything and back off. Most pods in the area recognize our boat...”

“... But a protective, worried mer doesn't always bother to look before attacking," Wilbur finished. “If only Techno were here... Don’t tell his I said that.”

“We're more than capable of handling it,” Phil reassured.

The cries of distress had died down as they approached, but as Wilbur dipped the paddle back into the water, propelling them toward the two kids, a final, strangled call was heard.

“We're here to help you," Phil announced, his voice slow and calm. “My name is Phil, and this is my son Wilbur. We're from Servür’s Marine Rehabilitation Center. We're going to come closer now, okay?”

They were answered by an aggressive screech. Phil motioned for Wil to keep going.

Up close, the bound mer looked even worse for wear. He didn't even turn his head as they approached, though his too-long, tangled hair obscured whether his eyes were open or not, and each of his slow, labored breaths escaped with a slight wheeze. Wilbur steered the boat as carefully as he could, almost holding his breath. Phil pulled a short blade from his belt.

The hull of their boat hit the edge of the rock with a dull thud.

Wilbur barely had time to brace himself before a golden shape shot out of the water, shooting a spray of salt water into his face.

Fortunately, Wilbur was not a marine biologist for nothing.

Keep reading on AO3!

[jjtheresidentbaby]

Stranger things characters as Encanto powers

(Ik this gif doesn’t have everyone but I love it)

~

Lucas- healing with food (julieta)

- he’s the helper friend and always tries to be there for everyone, helping anyway he can. I think he’d totally spend hours in the kitchen and go around town healing so many people, much like julieta. He’s such a healer it’s freaking insane

El- hearing everything (dolores)

- y’know how she can already get into peoples thoughts, I can see her hearing what everyone’s saying too. She’d use it for good but at times it feels like a curse when people speak behind her back or it all becomes overwhelming

Dustin- the weather (pepa)

- that’s why he tries to stay happy so much, he knows nobody wants it to rain or storm so he does everything in his power to be jumping with joy at any time. It’s why he stays away from the drama the party has and instead escapes to Steve

Mike- the future (Bruno)

- it’s a blessing and a curse. He can protect people from danger incoming but also knows every little bad thing that’ll happen to his friends and family. It’s why he seems so annoyed at all times, if he didn’t clench his jaw at all times he’d probably burst into tears just at the thought of someone he knows getting hurt

Will- talking to animals (Antonio)

- remember that random dog he had for an episode? Yeah that’s where this comes from. As much as Will loves his power, it can result in some awkward situations like when he bursts out laughing when a dog across the street said something funny but Joyce is in the middle of giving him a serious lecture

Max- flowers (Isabella)

- she’d have a ball throwing different flowers at peoples heads or running around through a field of daisies. Also her swinging on vines is just to be expected at this point

Nancy- super strength ( Luisa)

- that song ‘surface pressure’ was written for the badass that is Nancy wheeler and nobody can tell me differently, she is Luisa through and through. She’s the sister that can throw boulders to protect her family but also is a big softie

Steve- shape-shifting (Camilo)

- as much as I wanted to give this to Dustin, I couldn’t. Steve would use this to his advantage but also it’d cause some inner turmoil about who he really is (a HC of mine that he already struggles with his self of sense) he’d definitely lean on Nancy when things got rough and she’s always there to assure him that he’s still him

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 41

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter

The air was crisp and buzzing with tension as you walked through the forest that was a part of the endless gardens surrounding the palace. No matter how far you ventured, the palace still rose behind your back, melted into the very core of the mountain piercing the clouds. 

The river shimmered somewhere to your right as you followed Loki through the thicket.

"You okay?" he asked again, casting you a glance over his shoulder. 

You just nodded, a little breathless after circling around the fallen trees and muddy holes. 

The reason behind Loki's concern was getting nearer with each step. Magic was sizzling in the air, filled with energy not unlike one of a storm front's lightning about to strike. You'd passed a few bird-like creatures on your way there, but they didn't dare come close to the Rift. Double sets of wigs took them away and into safer spots. A three-eyed doe disappeared among gnarled trees, shedding starlight as it skittled off. Even the plants, usually a feral mass of color, seemed all to have withered the closer you got to the Rift. The only things left were dried, greyish branches and rotten greens of mud slipping upwards over them. 

Loki stopped at the edge of a clearing and took your hand. Your breath came out in clouds against the icy cold that shouldn't have been possible on the Edge.

In the center of the clearing hovered a rip. It was a long, sharp wound that filled you with a sense of wrongness. The mud in the direct closeness to it rose as if sucked by phantom winds and entered the dark, narrow space where it sizzled and disappeared. There was nothing natural in the way it made your skin crawl, even despite the safe distance between you. 

You couldn't blame anyone in the palace for wanting to stop it from spreading. Even if it meant complicating your life. 

Loki must've sensed your tension. He ran a hand over your back in a soothing manner, as he often did to calm you down. 

"We're far enough from it to be safe from its influence," he said. 

"Are you sure it'll be enough to hide your magic?" 

"I think so. Opening a portal requires a lot of energy from Bifrost, but the Rift should help us hide the evidence." 

"If it opens at all," you reminded him.

"Indeed," Loki sighed, getting ready for the inevitable. 

Having been almost murdered by a huge spider put both of you in an uneasy situation. No matter how you looked at it, it became obvious that your little investigation was definitely going against someone's plans. 

It would be dangerous to try and point a finger at anyone without evidence. Everyone you'd met so far had a motive. Your only wonder was the ambassador's role in this tangled mess - was he working with someone, or trying to correct the balance on his own? The notes found in his study were quite clear about his interest in the value of life on the Edge. The bloodiest conflicts in its history led to centuries of peace and freedom from Rifts forming, but was such bloodshed even possible anymore, let alone worth it? Was the ambassador's death just a door to achieving it through a new war against Asgard? Or was it simply a suicide? 

Loki and you spent a large part of the morning looking over the few facts in your possession, feeling like you were piecing a puzzle together without ever seeing the original picture. They had to connect somehow, and make sense through the details, but no matter how you looked at them, you still missed something vital. 

Those were frustrating hours that only resulted in making your heads hurt from coming up with increasingly bizarre theories. It was a good thing then, that you never left the bed and could relax for a while. There were marks on your bodies left from the night, and it took you both a while to retrace them. It took you longer to add some new ones, in ways that still made your toes curl thinking about it. Unfortunately, as pleasant as it was, it couldn't last forever. 

Which was what led you to decide to change the course of action a little bit, and play by a different set of rules. Neither Loki nor you were allowed to leave the Edge, but who would be there to blame you for it if no one ever found out? There were interesting places in the universe to pay a little visit to. 

One of those places was Asgard, where Loki claimed to have hidden a handy little device he had frequently used to trace even the thinnest whispers of magic back to its original caster. It was a long shot, considering how long ago he set foot in his chambers, but unless they'd been completely trashed, his secret stash should still hold. 

There were a few ways of sneaking into Asgard without notice, but Loki had to admit none of them led from the Edge. 

That left you with only one choice. A choice that made Loki's skin crawl. 

"Stay here," he braced through his discomfort and offered you a tight-lipped smile. "I'll see what I can do."

You watched him walk a few steps away. Loki held his chin high and shoulders square as he faced the dome of the neverending night overhead. 

"Listen, Heimdall, I know it's been a while, but don't you dare pretend you haven't been lurking-..." 

You leaned on a nearby boulder, carved with some intricate, needle-thin patterns. There was no reason you could come up with carving some huge boulder and then leaving it in the middle of a forest, but it was a good place to let your legs rest for a moment anyway. 

Loki left his bottomless bag with you as he continued his one-sided conversation, working himself up the more words poured out of him. He wasn't the most detailed about his relation with the being operating Biforst and guarding Asgard's borders, but from the way Loki talked about him, it was clear they weren't friends. What Loki had to ask of him now was a risky favor he had little hope would succeed. 

He tried it anyway, humiliating as it might make him feel. 

You watched him. His conversation turned into a rather heated argument, as one sided as it was. 

You looked up at the clusters of stars and galaxies passing the immeasurable expanse of the universe. Rarely had you felt so small and irrelevant. 

"You know," you said quietly, "Loki's really trying. He's doing his best, despite how shitty it is here. It's unfair how everybody expects so much out of him, but don’t consider how overwhelmed he is with all that's expected of him. No wonder he tries to hide it. It's hard to live knowing you'll never be what people want you to become, and how they are willing to force and shape you into what they'd rather have. But he's trying. He really is, and even now, he just needs this thing from Asgard to let us have some evidence and finish this investigation before we get killed for trying. Loki's amazing and capable, but even he needs some help sometimes, and I think now is one of those times. I try to help him as much as I can, but it's not me he needs right now. Just… be kinder on him, okay? If you're truly listening, I mean."

You sighed, biting your lip. The wind picked up some rogue leaves and dust, and took them away from the unnatural blemish looming to your right. The Rift was suspended mid-air, as if air itself had been torn and whatever lurked underneath the surface of reality, waited for the moment when it got wide enough to pass through. 

The weather on the Edge was mild usually, but you couldn't help a shudder from running down your back. 

Loki cursed in a language you didn't know. 

"At least we tried," he shrugged. 

There was a tight smile on his face, but it couldn't hide his disappointment completely. He would think of another way out, though, he just needed some time. 

Just as you were taking his bag and began to walk toward him, light enveloped both of you, and a familiar, gut-wrenching feeling threatened to bring the contents of your stomach to daylight. 

There was surprise in Loki's eyes, and a thread of hope as he reached out to you and gathered you in his arms. Clinging to him would be much more pleasant if the atoms weren't ripped out of your bodies, but before you blinked, the Bifrost plucked you out. Where you'd been standing, only faintest scorch marks remained. The Rift buzzed, but there was nothing for it to feed on. 

Pressing your face into Loki's chest didn't look dignified, but it helped you get through the blinding rush of universe passing you by. Your heart hammered against your chest, but Loki's arms held steady around you until all finally stopped. 

Peeling yourself from him took a considerable amount of effort, but once you did, both your fear and nausea dissipated. As it had happened with the Edge, the first thing that hit you was the smell you could only describe as otherworldly. It wasn't strong, but it filled you with the certainty that you were the stranger in this place of blinding gold. 

Loki and you arrived in a circular room at the end of a bridge casting rainbow reflexes under the setting sun. It was a beautiful thing, but you could only spare it a single look before a figure stepped down from the dais in the center. 

The man clad in armor of gold didn't budge at your gawking. Loki might be tall, but even in his own armor, he didn't look so menacing. 

"Hello, Heimdall," Loki nodded calmly, even though his arm was still on your back. "Long time no see, or at least on my side." 

"Coming here was an unwise choice," the warrior's voice boomed in the small space. He sheathed the impossibly long sword with ease. 

Loki put an unnerving smirk on his face. "And yet you got me through." 

You could've sworn Heimdall's eyes rested on you for the briefest moment. 

"So I did," was all he said, though. 

That was not an answer Loki had expected. He was tense, as if readying himself to argue or fight, but there was nothing about Heimdall that would suggest the need for that. The great Gatekeeper just stood, and waited. 

"We won't stay long," you promised carefully, breaking the silence. 

Loki loved you for it. 

"I have to retrieve something for the mission so thoughtfully commissioned to me. " He kept his chin high, not yielding a step. 

Staying composed and calm was an uneasy task in front of Asgard's most vigilant guardian. Loki had changed since he was a mere child, but something from those days stayed with him in the way he had to crane his neck to look into Heimdall's face. The Asgardian didn't change at all, or so it seemed. He was still an unbreakable mountain, with golden eyes capable of seeing all and knowing all. 

"I won't linger any longer than necessary," Loki added into the silence. "I know I'm not welcome." 

Heimdall took in the young Prince, who had grown strong, despite how cruel life had been to him. Then he turned his all-seeing eyes to you, noting the defiance in your pose, and the tension on your face, as if you were ready to throw fists with him, had the bargaining not worked. And based on the firm grip Loki now had over your shoulder, the Prince was aware of that. 

There was a hint of a smile on Heimdall's face, but it was obscured by the golden helmet and the shadows lurking beneath it. 

"Then go, and be quick about it." 

You cheered and quickly moved to the bridge, but Loki lingered, just a while longer. 

"Why?" he asked, the frown not fully gone from his brows. 

The Gatekeeper moved back to the dais, rising in the center. 

"I serve Asgard, and Asgard I protect," he said. "If war is imminent, I shall spill my share of blood, but if there's a chance to stop it from ever happening, I shall take that chance." 

The Guardian stood tall on the dais, as he did for as long as Loki's memory went, overlooking the portal and all the worlds it opened to. Loki bowed curtly, even though Heimdall's back was to him. The golden armor flared in the rays of the setting sun, but never before had it looked so heavy. 

You waited for him at the bridge, and despite the towers of gold and glass piercing the clouds ahead, they were secondary in your eyes, following Loki's steps instead. 

There was something unwinding in him, as if only then it truly occurred to him where he came back to. He knew that bridge, and the palace shining brightly in the sun heading to rest beyond the shore, and the salty waves that would swallow it in a few hours. Until the very moment his feet hit the bridge, Loki wasn't even aware of the ache deep in his bones that had finally eased. 

He kissed your brow and cast a glamor over both of you. Heimdall might've been forgiving, but the guards stationed at the gates far up ahead likely weren't. 

"Let's go, love," he said, leading you by the hand. 

"Are you sure we won't be noticed? There's nowhere for us to hide on the bridge." 

The waves crashed underneath it, and seagulls screamed overhead as you walked. The glamour made both of you look almost translucent, or at least it did in your eyes. You had no idea if it would work against others, in a world where magic was a common thing. 

Loki pointed ahead, where the guards were stationed at the far end of the bridge. "They have sensors sensitive enough to mark any ounce of magic on travelers."

"Makes sense. What do we do?"

"We shed the glamour." 

You blinked. The seagulls overhead shared your confusion. "Wouldn't that make us visible, though?" 

Mischievous light filled his eyes. "Not if we slip on a secret little passage beneath the bridge beforehand, and only there recall all the magic around us. We wouldn't want to alert anyone, would we?" 

"Oh dear, sounds like someone was a naughty little kid," you laughed. 

"And look at what's become of me. It's a wonder I hadn’t been banished centuries ago." 

"They are idiots for doing that now." 

The sheer conviction in your voice made Loki imagine Odin hearing that from you. You wouldn't balk or juggle around, that he was sure of. And would pay to see that, even if it earned him a few more centuries of banishment. 

The guards were closer now. Loki looked around for the tiny mark on the carved railing he made long ago. 

"Do you trust me?" he whispered in your ear, approaching the railing. The shore was close enough to see the waves crashing down on the blackened rocks, but still not close enough to jump to it. 

You looked down at the foaming chaos of the sea crashing against the pillars and stone. "I mean, I wouldn't trust you with a car, but I literally traveled worlds with you, so I guess I do?" 

"That's fair," he said and jumped over the railing. 

Despite yourself, you rushed to it, half expecting to see his bloodied corpse sprawled over the jagged rocks. The wicked grin on his face told you enough. 

"You're an ass," you growled, quietly enough not to alert the guards posted nearby. 

"You love my ass, don't lie to yourself," Loki reached out to you, urging you down. 

Crawling over the railing wet from the sea mist was not the way you imagined this day to go, but the steady form of Loki waiting below made you a little less nervous as you let go of the cold metal and fell into his arms. 

"Welcome back," the smug bastard dared to smirk at you as he navigated the barely noticeable path over the rocks. 

You noticed the glamour disperse as you neared what would be the gates overhead. The width of the bridge hid you from the guards' eyes though. Loki skittered over the rocks, somehow finding just the right place to step on. 

Despite his grip on you, you couldn't help but wince every time the cold waves crashed beneath you, the mist spraying high. The path was winding and barely noticeable. Every leap between the rocks made you tighten your arms around Loki's shoulders. 

"I know you like to joke around," you managed to say with the heart in your throat, "but please don't fake-fall or something." 

"As you wish." 

The shore neared soon. Sand never felt so much like a blessing than when Loki finally put you down on the steady ground. The cliffs to your left hid you from the guards' outpost, but Loki didn't want to linger there any longer than necessary. The patrols rarely visited the narrow stretch of a beach, but it was not impossible. 

Loki knew every stone and thorny bush on this side of Asgard. He led you up the cliffs hanging high, through a path concealed so much it looked as only the wild prey might've ever used it. You stopped only for a moment, to look over to the sea and the evening reflexes in deep shades of orange and red playing over its surface. 

Loki waited for you a few feet ahead, with an expression you’d rarely seen on him. 

"We'll get in through the stables," he said when you almost reached the top. 

The glamour was back on you as you sprinted through the lush, green fields surrounding the plain in front of long barracks. People were rushing in and out, and no one noticed two additional sets of steps in the loose hay and sand as you snuck inside. 

Most of the boxes were closed already, horses and hunting dogs readied for the night. In one or two you passed by, you could've sworn you'd seen winged creatures, but there was no way of getting close enough to them with so many people around. 

Loki led you out of the stables through a courtyard, to a narrow pathway and up the steps carved in stone to a more pronounced building. The doors were open, but no guards stood the watch there. Coming closer, the smells betrayed the reason. Kitchens, even in another world, always seemed to be a place steaming with sweat, spilled food, and not enough hands to control every pot around. 

Bent low, you followed Loki below the long tables, yielding under the weight of all the dishes prepared. Feet stumped around in a rush, plates landed heavily on the counters, and the absolutely divine smells made your stomach grumble. Loki must've felt the same because his hand reached out for a few freshly baked pastries at the same time as yours, pocketing them with a knowing wink. 

You slipped out into a dim corridor, for the interior use of the kitchens and took the doors to a pantry full of meats and sacks of something stored by the walls. 

In the far corner, Loki moved old, rotting boards to the side and revealed a small, dusty corridor hidden behind them. 

"After you.” He bowed. 

You looked at the webs and thought of their owners. "I'd prefer to stay in the back, if you don't mind." 

He only laughed and broke the thick webs before crawling inside. 

It wasn't long, and soon opened to a winding staircase full of dust and only a few slits instead of windows somewhere ahead allowing the faintest shreds of light inside. 

"A long time ago, part of the kitchens was located upstairs," Loki explained when he sat down on one of the steps. "This was a shortcut used mostly by the kitchen boys who had to run around all day, but it hasn't been used for centuries. I used to hide here with whatever I managed to sneak out of the kitchens." 

"And it looks like you haven't changed much since then," you observed, as you both pulled the pastries from your pockets. Even in the narrow space with little to no fresh air, they still smelled absolutely delicious. 

There were crunching noises as you both devoured them in record time. You hadn’t even noticed how hungry you were until you took that first damned bite. Minutes later, only a few crumbs were left, scattered on the narrow steps below. 

You caught Loki looking at a few stains of old ink that surely none of the kitchen boys had left. 

"So many hours I had spent here, feeling like an outcast among my own family," he said, tracing them with fingers. "And here I am again, as mere outlaw, no closer to them than I ever was. Do you think I'm even capable of changing?" 

There was no sorrow in his voice, not really. Loki had enough time to dwell over the same question over and over again that it no longer bore its initial weight. He was no closer to finding the answer, but at least it no longer hurt. 

Loki didn't budge as you slipped into his lap. He only turned to look at you when your hands cupped his face. 

"You are here, because you made a conscious decision to do everything in your might to prevent that pointless bloodshed and war from happening. You could have ran - look how easy it would be to just sneak out and hide in some remote location far from responsibility. Still, you chose to stay and do your best, and even if that doesn't answer your question directly, I think it's something worth keeping in mind."

Loki didn't answer. The dust in the air turned into gold as it hit the narrow rays of the setting sun. His eyes were closed as he pulled you into a slow, contemplative kiss. 

He had countless memories of the hours spent on that staircase. There were books he had all but devoured, and pages he had reread until he'd had them memorized. There were tiny spells he practiced where nothing would burn or get destroyed by untrained fingers. There were cookies and cakes and sometimes even some wine hidden from all eyes. 

And there was you, in this place of cold stone and times long since gone. Tasting you, Loki was reminded that no matter what the past had brought, the future was still a mystery worthy of waiting for. 

"Thank you," he muttered breathlessly into your lips. 

[sabraeal]

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Written for @vfordii​‘s birthday which was....five months ago. BUT LISTEN, it’s still better than last year’s six months so like...improvement. IMPROVEMENT.

“You know why I called you here.” The Marshal’s voice is soft, barely louder than the hum of the fluorescents. “I presume.”

Shirayuki catches herself at the edge of her seat, chest pitched forward, neck craning to decipher every word and--

She settles back with a frown. Even a PhD isn’t a defense to the cheapest tactic on the pop-psych bookstore self-help shelf, it seems. Worse, Izana knows it, his mouth tipped so subtly toward a smile. And now he knows she knows it, and--

Her mug has gone cool, but it’s at least a credible distraction, a convenient way to buy some time and save face. Not something she ever expected she’d care about. Doesn’t mean she won’t take the opportunity.

“Zen.” The ceramic clacks like a shot as she sets it down. “You want to talk about the drift.”

“Yes.” He breathes, long and labored. “And no. I want him back in the cockpit.”

Come see me at your earliest convenience, his email had said, practically polite by PPDC standards. Manners atrophied when a body spent so much time in the higher altitudes of the chain of command.  I’d like to discuss a few things with you.

She’d known what this would be about. What it was always going to be about. And still--

Shirayuki is still disappointed. “You have to be joking. It took him three years to get him into a jaeger at all, and you want to just...push him right back in.”

“No,” he hums, fingers still and steepled over his desk. “I want you to do it.”

There are rules of engagement for tangling with the Marshal. Voices are to be kept low, steady. Think before speaking. Don’t react. Showing an emotion in front of Izana Wisteria would be as good as handing him a rope to hang her with. “I’m not his commander.”

His fingers knit, knuckles popping in the silence-- “I know that, Doctor.”

Her own are curled into fists; at least then he can’t see them shaking. “Then I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to do your job,” he tells her, with only a pause for breath before he does. “I am merely suggesting that it is far past time to remove the kid gloves you have been handling him with.”

Her fists clench, hard enough to leave vivid crescents in the meat of her palms. “I believe I’m the judge of that.”

“Of course.” Every word drips with insincerity. “But I’m sure a little encouragement from you would--”

“I’ll do what’s necessary for the health of my patient,” she informs him, words clipped. “You’re not my commander.”

Izana stills, gaze riveted to her. “I am well aware of that, doctor. But I need him in a jaeger yesterday.”

“You’ve needed him in a jaeger for the past three years.” Shirayuki bolts to her feet, and oh, if only she could locate at least another foot of height, she might be able to finally have the high ground in one of these arguments. “I don’t see what the rush is now.”

His voice doesn’t raise above a pleasant chat, but bitterness weighs down every word. “You should.”

Shirayuki doesn’t believe in violence. Or rather, violence is a choice, and she doesn’t believe in choosing it unless no other option remains that causes less harm, but, well--

She’s got a very short list of people who deserved a black eye, and Izana Wisteria sorely tempts her to put his name on it. “What do you mean by that?”

The Marshall is all tense lines behind the battlement of his desk, a buttress against the fall. “Aren’t you a part of K-Science?”

The only distinction that mattered in the dome was between combatants and non; that a licensed therapist fell more into the ‘administration’ box rather than ‘research scientist’ was the least of their concerns. At least as far as the placement of her office. “Tangentially.”

“Well then.” His tension washes away like debris after the storm. “It’s all in the numbers.”

Shirayuki has been trained extensively in conflict resolution, in effective communication, in managerial manipulation, and still, still-- annoyance dogs her every step, nipping at her heels as she loses herself in the dome’s labyrinth of corridors. For once it would be nice to leave the Marshal’s office with something more like a sense of purpose and less like a reprieve in shoving boulders up a muddy hill in Tartarus, but this far into her tenure with the PPDC, she knows better than to hope for impossible asks. It’s not a new feeling by any means-- there’s certainly a hole worn in her heart for just this sort of fruitless anger and a monkey on her back with Izana Wisteria’s face, but he’s certainly devised an entirely new way to get her hackles up today.

Long limbs insinuate themself next to hers, a white-clad arm weaving its way around her elbow. She looks up-- not far-- into a pearl white, movie star grin.

“Well, well,” Yuzuri lilts, halfway between a drawl and singsong. “Someone’s looking stormy.”

Shirayuki doesn’t know how tall a person has to be to be considered thunderous, but if the crinkle to Yuzuri’s eyes are any indication, she’s well below the mark. “I was meeting with the Marshal.”

Yuzuri swings a single, impressed note. “Yeah, that’d do it. Or, I’d imagine it would. Not like he asks to see many of us in K-Science.”

Funny, she doesn’t say, since he’s so comfortable quoting your data. “You should probably count yourself lucky on that one.”

“Oh, yeah.” Yuzuri waves a hand, bangles jangling down her wrist. “Garrack handles him. Honestly, I think she enjoys the aggravation.”

Knowing Garrack like she does, Shirayuki certainly wouldn’t discount it.

Slender fingers flick out a sharp snap. “Hey, maybe you can send her the next time you need to deal with His Majesty. I’m sure she’d kill for a distraction just about now.”

“Oh, no! I’m-- I don’t need any help, it’s just...” She frowns, rifling through the satchel slung over her shoulder. She hardly has anything in it-- lip balm, her notes, a pack of tissues, her civilian identification, her wallet-- but still, her keys are shifted underneath the whole of her life, jingling just out of her reach.

It’s a metaphor, probably, but her love affair with literature is at too much of a standstill these days for her to bother unpacking it. Not when it’s probably going to end in her storming back into the Marshal’s office and demanding he show her some form of respect if he expects her to do her job.

Yuzuri’s mouth curls into a sly smile. “He’s top brass that’s used to having full grown adults ask how high rather than why?”

“That’s part of it,” she admits begrudgingly. “But it would also be nice if he could say what he means, instead of--youch!”

Metal teeth digging painfully into her palm, but she holds on anyway, dragging the ring right out, hair ties and all.

“Instead of...?” Yuzuri prompts, far too amused.

She heaves a sigh, plucking rubber bands off her hand. “Making it all some sort of...logic block word puzzle.”

Blonde brows slant skeptically. “I thought you loved those things.”

“For fun. Not for...” She waves a hand, keys jingling and brightly as Yuzuri’s bangles. “...Professional conversations. I’m not here for his entertainment. I don’t have time for-- for games!” 

“Not when you could be doing your actual job.”

“Right.” Her actual job, which has almost exclusively been managing Zen’s feelings regarding Izana for months now. “And now he wants me to...“

She hesitates, teeth sinking into her lip. Outside the dome, patient confidentiality is the backbone of her profession, but here, when everyone eats and breathes and lives on top of one another--

“Lemme guess,” Yuzuri drawls, “get that boy in a pilot seat?”

-- it’s impossible. “I just wish he would show some faith.”

“In you?”

“No.” That’s asking far too much from a man who has only ever trusted as far as the drift could take him. She heaves a sigh, flyaways fluttering in her peripherals. “In Zen.”

A laugh huffs out of Yuzuri. “That’s asking a bit much from an older brother, don’t you think?”

Shirayuki has never, strictly, had a sibling. Ryuu certainly straddles the line between friend, colleague, and family, but she’s never doubted his drive, or the rigorous course of his research. He wouldn’t be her first choice to stand in front of the PPDC committee and defend her findings, but in a pinch, she would trust him wholeheartedly, with no reservations, to do the job.

That does not seem to be the unifying sibling experience. “Is it?”

Yuzuri grins. “You are definitely an only child.”

She restrains her scowl to a disapproving frown. “Maybe, in this case, that’s a good thing.”

They turn down a corridor, and relief floods into her-- this is it, the hall that holds her office at the end. She takes a step forward, but Yuzuri holds her back, gaze fixed leagues away.

“Do you really think he’ll do it?” She blinks, eyes finally focusing down on Shirayuki. “You really think he’ll get back in that jeager?”

“Yes.”

Yuzuri recoils, blinking. “Wow, no hesitation on that one, huh?”

“None,” she agrees, a smile lingering at the edge of her lips. “I know Zen might be hurting right now after--” the most disastrous drift she’s witnessed in her entire career-- “everything, but he...”

She takes in a breath, putting her back to her door. “No matter what happens, Zen always does the right thing.” It’d been that unwavering moral compass that had drawn her to him, a shining bright light among the downtrodden heart of the dome. “He may need a little time to pick himself back up, dust himself back off, but he knows that one day, he’ll have to sit down and talk this out, not run--”

“But not today, it looks like.” Yuzuri’s hand darts right over her shoulder, plucking something off her door.

Shirayuki blinks, letting the yellowed square of paper come into focus.

Something came up. Rain check ~Z

She stares, fingers numb as she swipes the scrap out of Yuzuri’s hands.

“That sunovabitch,” she grits out, paper dinting beneath her grip. “He’s avoiding me.”

“So.” Yuzuri cocks her head, mouth stretching wide. “Wanna grab some grub?”

“I’m just saying.” Suzu’s hand scribbles across a napkin, dropping symbols more arcane than any rift. “If I could just get any of the brass to take a good look at this, things would be different.”

“Different how?” Kazaha drawls, accusation dripping from every word. At least, that’s how it sounds-- it hadn’t taken Shirayuki long to realize that’s just how the man speaks, every phoneme meant to cut glass. The asshole accent, Yuzuri calls it. “Does this somehow improve the quality of life in the dome? The world? The--?”

“It’ll certainly improve my quality of life if I don’t have to hear about it,” Yuzuri deadpans. “C’mon, we’re eating dinner. Let’s put the toys away.”

“It’s not a toy, it’s a tool,” Suzu grumbles, finishing it with a flourish. “And if we used it, we’d know when the kaiju would show up, instead of just waiting for them to wade into the Sea of China or whatever.”

That, at least, gets the team to bow their heads over it, passing around frowns and furrows alike.

“If that was the case,” Kazaha sniffs, pushing it away. “Garrack Gazelt would have already put this in front of the Marshal.”

Suzu scowls, yanking it back. “You know that none of those jarheads appreciate good science! Until I get this paired up with some pretty little graphs, I might as well be speaking Japanese.”

Izuru perks up at that. “Doesn’t the Marshal speak Japanese?”

“That’s besides the point.”

“Hm.” Ryuu squirms next to her, craning his head over the napkin. “I think you’re missing a variable.”

“Impossible.” Suzu stares down at it. “Just look here--”

Shirayuki glances down, letters and numbers do-si-doing between roots and over fractions. Izana might shove her office all the way down in K-Science, but that certainly didn’t give her the training to decipher this little bit of mathematical prognostication.

Suzu pitches forward, felt-tip pen rolling across his knuckles in a bit of sleight-of-hand she would have never thought him capable of. “--you’ll see that by putting ‘a’ over ‘n’ squared--” 

“All right.” Yuzuri’s fingers knit in the cotton of his button-down, dragging him back down onto the bench with a thump. “I think we’ve had quite enough of that.”

With a lift of his brows, Suzu’s face shifts from fox to puppy in eight muscles flat. “But, Yuzuri--”

“No buts.” Her fingers pluck the pen out of his, dropping it back into a pocket with a firm, warning pat. “Now, as I was trying to say: His Highness is avoiding you.”

Shirayuki blinks, gaze dragging up to where Yuzuri waits with an impatient smirk. “N-no! That’s not it at all. Something probably came up--”

“Izana’s avoiding you?” Suzu swings a wide, gaping stare at her. “Didn’t you just have a meeting today? What did you do to him?”

Her hands fly up, waving off the accusation. “Ah, no, I didn’t--”

“No, not His Majesty, His Highness,” Yuzuri corrects, blowing on a spoonful of the mess’s finest chicken noodle. “And he is avoiding you, which is bullshit.”

She has to bite her cheeks to keep her lips from peeling back into a grimace. “Zen has lots of work to keep him busy--”

“What work?” Kazaha scoffs, meticulously cutting his chicken into bite-sized pieces. “He’s a ranger without a co-pilot. It’s not like he can just jump into a jaeger and fight kaiju with half a working mecha.”

Yuzuri swivels toward him, hands held out with a level of emphasis Shirayuki can’t help but feel is more than the situation truly deserves. Especially since some of the rangers are starting to peer over their way. “See, even Kazaha knows it’s bullshit.”

His mouth purses into a tight frown. “I don’t know why it’s even Kazaha--”

Yuzuri’s brows make a dubious stretch toward her hairline. “I’m pretty sure you do.”

“--I’m very socially astute, even Shidan--”

“--just because he lets you out of the lab doesn’t mean you don’t offend people by breathing--”

“I dunno.” Suzu’s forehead furrows, tapping a spoon on each of his oyster crackers, drowning them in broth. “Zen seems like a real upright guy, you know? Forthright. If he had a problem, he’d say something, not just ghost you.”

Yuzuri stares at him. “He buys you one bubble tea, and now he can do no wrong.”

“Do you know how hard those are to get out here? He had to go all the way out to--”

Whatever else Suzu means to say, it’s lost in the siren.

This isn’t Shirayuki’s first time in the dome-- far from it-- but it’s never easy.

The siren’s moan shivers through the air, something she feels rather than hears. Her teeth rattle in her mouth, and there’s nothing she wants to do more than curl up beneath the table and ride it out, eyes squeezed shut and hands over her ears. She wouldn’t be the only one; already half of K-Science is on the ground, tears streaming down more than one ashen face.

Man’s worst enemy is fear. Grandpa had told her that, letting her dip her toes into the bay. She’d been small, young enough that she still wondered if kaiju might lurk under the surface, waiting to pull tasty little girls beneath the depths. Kaiju can only kill you once, but fear kills a hundred times. His hand sits heavy on her shoulder, a comfort, a cage; and she--

She gets up.

Pilots and personnel scramble; one tech stands up too fast, boot hooking on the bench’s edge and sprawling face-first into the floor. It’s only ranger reflexes that keep her from getting trampled, dodging around the splay of her fingers with a dexterity that would make Shirayuki’s jaw drop if she wasn’t trying to keep all her molars from jittering out of their sockets.

There’s a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t just imagined it, a goad to get her standing. She traces the hand back, up ranger fatigues to dark hair, brows raised, and beneath them--

It’s violet eyes, not gold. Not Obi, but a ranger she’s never seen before, his mouth quirked with cold consideration.

“It would be safer,” he says, voice somehow Altantic-crisp over the cacophony, “if you stayed in your seat.”

Her mouth opens, working around the sounds to thank him, but he’s already gone, disappeared into the crowd of PPDC personnel around her. Shirayuki’s eyes shift over the mob, trying to-- to find him, maybe, or at least a face she knew, someone that she could talk to, someone to memorize one last time--

She finds one, silver-blond hair shimmering at the door, too pale to be anyone else. Zen. It’s Zen looking right at her, those deep blue eyes inscrutable, mouth carved into a line more grim than he’s ever shown her.

He turns away.

“It’s too soon, though,” Suzu murmurs, staring down at his napkin. The screens are on now, muted by the siren’s wails, and there’s a Kaiju on it, frill rigid around its reptilian face as it tears a city to twisted metal ribbons. It’s just buildings, streets, impossible to tell which one, but all that matters right now is not here.

“As I said,” Ryuu says, only just audible over the drone. “You dropped a variable.”

What hurts most, once her teeth stop rattling and her heart ceases to pound in her chest, is that Yuzuri is right-- Zen is avoiding her.

“The sessions are his choice.” Labeling tubes isn’t quite how Shirayuki had envisioned her evening going, especially with her mind half-away, pondering over the Pacific, but it’s something to do. “No one can force him to come.”

“Sounds like that’s half the problem,” Garrack mutters, forehead pressed to the hood, leaving a faint, oily smear across the glass. “Free will. Foils gods and men alike, doesn’t it?”

Her mouth pulls down at the corners, a bow stretched too tight, just like her patience. “I don’t want him to be forced. Therapy only works if the patient wants to change.”

Which, by Zen’s conspicuous absence, tells her he doesn’t. He’s happy as he is, wearing the fatigues but never getting in the cockpit, waiting for a copilot that’s already shown how little he cares about anything but lining his own pocket.

“Of course. You can lead a horse to water, but you’ll never make it drink.” It’s impressive to watch Garrack work; even in rubber sleeves, her grip never trembles, never slips. In the same position, Shirayuki can barely close a fist, but Garrack’s got the same dexterity in the hood as she does out of it. “Good thing you get paid regardless.”

Shirayuki flushes, heat pricking at her pride. “I’m not worried about that.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you are,” Garrack murmurs. “I’m just saying it’s nice. Salaried, with room and board to boot.”

Her frown falls further, flirting with a glower. “I’m aware that I’m in the unique position of not having to care in an official capacity if he bothers to come back. But personally--” her breath catches, stomach doing one, solid somersault-- “I do. I want him to want this.”

Garrack hums, not an agreement or judgement, but an acknowledgement. Tactic permission to proceed.

“Izana wants me to tells him to climb into a jeager, to use my-- our personal connection to manipulate him into the cockpit, regardless of what his personal feelings are.” Her breath rushes from her lungs, suddenly ragged, frayed at either end. “No, encourage. That’s what he told me. That it’s my job to do it for humanity.”

One thick eyebrow arches under Garrack’s cap, her eyes bright with interest. “And how do you feel about that?”

It’s strange being on the other side of this question, to be the analyzed instead of the analyzer. She squirms, teeth worrying at her lip, mind racing with possibilities.

“C’mon now,” Garrack chides, mouth hooking into a smirk. She picks up her rack, rattling the small tubes in their holes. “I gave you those for a reason. Idle hands are the devil’s playground, you know-- at least, that’s what people say when they’re afraid of what you’ll get up to if you start thinking.”

She tosses her a wink, ejecting the tip of her pipette into the trash before fitting on another. “Too bad they don’t know that drudgery clears your mind. Have all my best ideas when I’ve got a sharpie and a hundred two-mils to get through. So come on--” she grins, all conspiracy-- “tell me. What do you think of our illustrious leader’s idea?”

Her teeth click shut around her first opinion-- saying Izana Wisteria should go suck eggs would not only please Garrack far too much, but would be around the rest of the base by morning. The last thing she needs is the Marshal inviting her into his office and reading that off one of his hundreds of emails. “...Think that’s beyond my professional scope to comment on.”

“Oh please.” Garrack waves her off, one rubber arm flailing behind the glass. “I’m not asking you to issue a formal complaint about the marshal’s policies. I want to know if you think that kid should get in that steel coffin and kick the closest kaiju in whatever passes for their balls. If throwing another body at the breach is what’s best for humanity.”

“I...”

It shouldn’t be. There’s more rangers on this base than jaegers to fit them; one career pilot pulling back to fill the ranks shouldn’t be more than a drop in the bucket, a chair to fill. But this is no ordinary jaeger-- this is Rex Tyrannous, the most advanced piece of machinery to roll out of a PPDC facility before or since. Rebuilt from the same blueprint as the Mark I, reconfigured with the best technology the Mark III could offer, the Mark IV’s older, more deadly brother, and--

And the money for it hadn’t come out of Defense Corps coffers. No matter how many hopefuls washed up at the dome, the King of Kaijus wouldn’t come out of its box for anyone less than a Wisteria, not as long as at least one was still standing.

“Yes.” She spits the word out like poison, but still she feels unclean. “There’s no one else that can do what he needs to.”

Garrack’s mouth twists in a wry curve. “Then there you go.”

“It’s a conflict of interest!” Shirayuki insists, the sharpie in her hand shaking as she tries to form a 4. “If there was anyone on this base that had the credentials, I’d-- I’d put in the referral myself. He deserves someone that’s impartial--”

“Shirayuki.” With exaggerated care, Garrack pulls her arms from the hood, letting her hands fall down to her lap. “Do you think there is a single soul in this dome who could do the math you did and not be partial?”

Her mouth works, opening once, twice, before settling shut with a snick.

“I didn’t hire you because you lacked bias.” Garrack’s voice pitches low, softer than she’s ever heard her, knuckles white where they clasp her knees . “You wrote a paper about PTSD in rangers that lost a partner in the drift. A paper, might I add, that showed a great deal of knowledge in jaeger production and use. The sort of thing no one learns unless they’ve been locked up under a dome for years before being released in the wild.”

It’s not an accusation, not yet, but Shirayuki’s hands still anyway, clammy beneath latex.

“Because of that useless wall, we’re years behind in jaeger production.  We need new mechs, and Rex Tyrannous is the best model we got left, whether it’s been sitting in its box for half a decade or not. ” She settles back, brow arched. “But I don’t need to tell you that, now do I?”

No. Her fingers clench hard around the sharpie. She doesn’t.

“Shirayuki, I know you’re a good kid, but you do get to be selfish sometimes.” Garrack grins, too pleased at the prospect. “You’re human, just like the rest of us. There’s no one who doesn’t have skin in this game.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “But it’s my job to do what’s best for him as my patient, not just--”

Garrack snorts. “Oh, is the discontinuation of the human race not going to affect him?”

Shirayuki frowns, opening her mouth to-- well, to say something quelling, no doubt. But-- “Oh.”

Garrack hunches over her lap, forearms braced on her thighs. “I know the Wisterias put on a good show of being gods, but they’re flesh and blood like the rest of us. It doesn’t do anyone good for them to sit out the apocalypse. Not even themselves.”

“But, I...” She sets the tubes down, gloves crinkling into fists. “I don’t know what happened in the drift, just what the readouts said. It could have been a failure on Obi’s side just as much as his, and if they’re not compatible--”

“Then just ask him,” Garrack sighs, swiveling back toward the hood. “You don’t need to try to read minds.”

“But he’s not talking--”

“Not that Wisteria prick.” She chucks her chin toward the door, toward the vague direction of the dome beyond. “The other one. Seems like the real problem there might be getting him to stop talking.”

“Obi?” She blinks. He’s friendly, sure, but she wouldn’t say he’s been one to volunteer information.

“If that’s the one that’s down here every other day, talking my ears off with Suzu, then yes.” One rubber arm flails at her through the glass. “Now get out of here, and get those two little shits inside their tuna can before a Cat 5 can make it down the coast and make us regret it.”

When she steps into the hall, Shirayuki has every intention of following Garrack’s advice. It’s solid, after all; in a two-sided problem where one solution makes itself unavailable, the obvious answer is the best approach-- especially when in this labyrinth of a dome, there’s only so many places where he can hide.

She stops by the mess for a peace offering. Obi might be disposed to be friendly toward her at the moment, but she knows all too well how far good will will get her if she’s going to start rummaging around in things he’d rather keep cooped up behind that smile. Quality coffee and some contraband cookies might not mend the bridges she burns, but it’ll at least keep them standing while she’s walking over it.

It’s a good plan, a solid plan; she just doesn’t anticipate the company.

“Shirayuki.” Dark circles ring dark eyes, but Mitsuhide smiles just as warm as he always does, sprawled stiffly on the bench. “It’s good to see you.”

“I should be saying the same thing!” she gasps, her and her tea sliding in across from him at the formica table. “I thought you’d be out...” in your tuna can.

She bites her cheek, just hard enough to keep the words from spilling out. Sometimes she really, truly wishes she didn’t listen to Garrack quite as much; her mouth and Garrack’s words made a volatile mix. The sort that would get her a dishonorable discharge, if she weren’t a civilian-- or careful.

“We were. I mean, I was. Both Kiki and myself.” His body twists with a good, solid shake, eyes clearing. “Sorry, just had to exorcise the ghost. You know how it is.”

She doesn’t, but she does. There’s papers on the subject; reams of them-- Longevity of neural imprints in active rangers had been a favorite when she’d been in undergrad, as well as the far more entertaining, Ghost Drifting: How does one leave a ghost while still alive? It’s still novel to witness it, to see that spectral presence cling to the neural stem so long after--

“We just got back a little while ago.” He shifts, his right leg stretching long across the floor, knee bucking stiffly. “Kiki hit the rack, but I needed to, ah, take a walk.”

That’s his-- his good leg, as Kiki likes to call it, the half of him that becomes Redwood Dancer to pair with her left. That’s what makes them first line defense, even in an older Mark III; Kiki’s a real lefty, not one made by the drift. When Dancer throws a punch, both sides come full powered.

That’s what you get being the best of the best, Zen would say, envy and wistfulness thickening his voice, everyone knows they can count on you to serve.

That seems less like a good thing as Shirayuki sits across from it, watching the shadows shift in Mitsuhide’s eyes.

“Did you see it?” she asks, voice a whisper in the cavernous lair of the mess. “The kaiju?”

Mitsuhide grunts, shaking his head. “No, we were kept on standby. Got there after some of the boys in Hong Kong did, and they handled it.”

He doesn’t offer how well; she doesn’t ask.

“Ah,” she hums instead, hunching over her mug. “So it was out that way?”

“When they get that far down, yeah.” One of his large fingers wraps around the handle of his mug, bringing it to his mouth for a long, steady drag. “Not many wander out this way.”

“Alaska--”

“Yeah, there’s a few up north, and I think Seattle always has a good sweat when that happens, but...” His brows furrow, just a small wrinkle in the center of his forehead. “Not so much down here. Not anymore.”

Her palms press against warm ceramic, lips curling into a thin smile. “I guess we don’t have what they want. Whatever that is.”

His mouth gives a wryly twitch. “Thank God for small blessings.”

It would be nice to let the silence between them mellow, to allow herself a companionable respite after swallowing around her heart for half a day, but--

But there are things that won’t keep, no matter how much she’d like to set them aside, set them down even for just a moment. “Mitsuhide...”

He stiffens, the way a dog does when it hears its name shouted in the key of trouble. There’s two ways to respond to conflict, they used to say, fight or flight; years later they added freeze with as begrudging a reception as any change to common wisdom was given. But Mitsuhide does none of those; he just hunkers, eyes warm and dark and wary when they meet hers, hedged by hunched shoulders. The sort of man who grew up in a place where natural disasters are weathered in bathtubs and basements, or else watched from afar on front porches.

“I meant to talk to you.” Her fingers knit into the natural ridges of her mug; the only way to keep them from trembling. “After...after. I mean, not this, but before. The, um...”

It’s ridiculous how many calamities can cluster in a few hours. She’ll need to start numbering them to keep them all straight.

“The drift,” he rasps wearily. “Zen's talked about it with you, hasn’t he?”

Her mouth works; her duty to her profession says to keep it shut, to keep her patient’s business confidential, but her duty as a member of the human race, of a species that is growing more endangered by the year-- “He skipped his session.”

Shirayuki couldn’t have moved him if she hit him, but this rocks him back in his seat. “I’d been hoping...” He shakes his head, mouth curling into a rueful smile. “I thought I’d be the one trying to work something out of you.”

“Ah.” She bows her head, watching the leaves swirl in her tea. “So you haven’t had any luck either?”

Her shakes his head, disappointment stark in every sway. “He won’t talk about it. After he got out of the hanger he went and locked himself in his rack. He only agreed to come to the mess if we promised to drop the whole thing.”

Shirayuki winces. “I’d normally never ask, but when he didn’t show up to our usual appointment...”

Mitsuhide lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I don’t know why he’d do that. I’d give some of my teeth to let someone else listen to my head sometimes.”

She blinks. “You’re always welcome, if you wanted to.”

“No.” His mouth rucks up in a rueful curve. “I really couldn’t.”

“But--”

“The thing they don’t tell you before you get into that cockpit is--” he takes a deep breath, the air emptying out the tension in his shoulders-- “is that the second you hit the drift, all your secrets aren’t your own anymore.”

“Oh.” The drift is two minds laid bare to one another, the deepest form of trust, but in all her studies, she’d never thought what that meant. How tangled and deep a mind could become in things that weren’t theirs to know, weren’t their secrets to carry. “Can I ask you something?”

His eyebrows ruffle up an inch, curious. “Of course. Anything I can answer.”

“When you first came to the dome, you were...” Shirayuki bites her lips, considering. “You were Zen’s copilot. But then Kiki came...”

The PPDC might be the one that’s stamped on the letterhead, but the Wisterias are the spine of the jeager project as well as its face. Their neural net stretches far and wide through the Corp’s hierarchies, fingers in every pie, and although Zen might not be in the upper echelons of leadership, the sort of state secrets someone might glean from the casual details rattling around in his head...

Well, it’s a good thing the Seirans were just as entrenched.

“Why did you do it?” she asks finally, though it’s miles away from what she means. “Why change when you already...?”

“Ah, well...” Mitsuhide’s shoulders heave awkwardly. “It was an emergency, at first, and then...I don’t know how to explain it. We just fit. Not that I didn’t with Zen, but this was...”

He hesitates, smile edging towards a kind of self-deprecation that doesn’t quite fit him. “It was different. If that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,” she admits. Not to her, at least, someone who has never been in a cockpit, who has never drifted over a set of pons and tried to make a connection. But to someone who has, who has spent the last half decade rotating through a list of hopefuls and throwing them all in the trash-- “But I think...maybe it could.”

Shirayuki would love to say that she’s experienced a perception shift, that a few words with Mitsuhide gave her a clarity that she needs to pore over before acting on, but the fact of it is-- she’s too anxious to approach Obi, pure and simple.

Not that he’s given her much cause; he’s scarce after that failure of a drift, but his absence lacks the marked purpose of Zen’s. It’s hard to find anyone after an attack; everyone’s on high alert, hypervigilant, waiting for another call to come like an aftershock. It’s never happened before, but to assume that means a double event is out of the question--

Well, humanity stopped making assumptions about what lurked beneath the Pacific the day Trespasser ripped the Golden Gate off its moorings.

She catches a glimpse of him every once and a while, always going the wrong way but with a smile to share before he disappears. He’s not avoiding her, he’s avoiding everyone else, and she’s just too much of a cog in the dome’s machinery to not be a casualty of it. It’s nothing personal, she’s sure, but with all the people giving her a wide berth lately, it’s hard not to feel that his absence is pointed.

Still, there are things that just won’t keep. She can’t just keep avoiding this because she’s afraid of one more rejection.

And that’s how she finds herself in the middle of the dome’s combat room, on the business end of Obi’s smirk.

“Doc,” he hums, kicking the end of his staff up to yoke his neck. He makes it look easy, like the jo is an extension of him rather than a separate piece. She can’t help but think of what he might do with a hundred tons of jeager strapped to him, how easy he might make it move. “Funny seeing you here.”

She nods, rocking on her toes. “It’s been a while.”

He swaggers toward her, stopping barely an arm’s length away, hip cocked. Sweat dews along every inch of him, his tank damp and clinging to the hard planes of his stomach, tighter than the lycra in her own gear. His pants swing low, leaving a sliver of skin between it and his shirt, and she--

She should really be looking elsewhere. He’s not a giant, not like Mitsuhide, but when she looks up, it’s a long way to meet his eyes. They’re laughing at her when she does.

“You’re not gonna get anything out of me, you know,” he says as if he’d like to see her try; a challenge rather than a defense. “What happens in the drift stays in the drift.”

Her mouth works; this time stuck less on the sweat crawling over his skin and more on how quickly she’s been made. “I didn’t say I was going to.”

“You had the look.” He shifts, hips drawing her gaze with them. When she glances back up, he seems to find that funny too. “Besides, why else would you come in here? Most shrinks I meet aren’t, hm, combat ready.”

“I-I work out!”

His eyebrows raise, mouth following suit. “That so?”

She flexes arm, baring what, in her humble opinion, is no small bicep. Kiki might have her beat, but in K-science terms she’s practically buff. “See?”

Obi slinks close, hunching over, jo and all, to give her offering a good squint. With a hum she’d like to think is at least mildly impressed, he straightens, suddenly so close she can smell the sweat on him and the faint whiff of his deodorant.

“Well then, I stand corrected.” His smile stretches Cheshire-wide as he steps aside, sweeping out a hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Shirayuki peers past him, fighting to keep the grimace from her face. She works out, sure, but more along the lines of slow and low. Yoga. Tai chi. Pilates. Things that promote mind and body balance. But even in the gym, all the equipment is meant for bulking muscle, for building the sort of bodies that can bear up a skyscraper. And the combat room...

Well the only equipment here is the jo in their rack and the tatami on the floor. This isn’t for people looking to do a pull up, it’s for rangers looking to spar.

“Tell you what, Doc,” Obi says, no small amount of amusement or pity in his voice. “I could use a cool down.”

His jo whips down from his shoulders, lightning fast, hands thrusting out in the air, and she--

Her hand rises to match, catching the jo mid-air. She sags under it, a little heavier than she expected from a stick that size, but keeps her feet under her. She glances back at Obi, wide-eyed, but he just lifts his brows, impressed. “How about we go a round, you and me?”

It’s a normal request-- maybe not to her, but the rangers certainly aren’t shy about taking conversations to the tatami. But Obi’s voice does something with it, pushes it down into a register that feels more mattress than mat, and she shivers as she lets the jo drop more naturally into her grip. “Me?”

“Well, I really thought you wouldn’t catch it.” His chin juts toward her staff. “But it looks like you at least know how to hold it.”

Her finger flex around the wood, settling against its smooth surface. “I’ve done it once or twice.”

A half dozen years ago, but he doesn’t need to know that.

His mouth twitches. “Great.”

Obi’s not a mountain of a man, not like Mitsuhide, but when he falls into stance, he could make himself one. It would take an earthquake to move him, and she has the world’s smallest lever. “Come at me.”

Shirayuki shuffles awkwardly on the mat, twisting the jo to rest on both her hands. It feels like she’s got two left ones holding it-- neither one of them are as good as Kiki’s-- but muscle serves her better than memory. Center yourself, Grampa told her, yanking her chest above her hips, feel the earth come to meet you. You’ll be part of it one day, and it’s ready.

Morbid, but it works. Her spine jolts into a straight line, weight teetering between her feet, and she takes her swing.

Obi doesn’t try to dodge. He could-- even in that split second, his muscles twitch, goading him to flee-- but he just raises his staff, a jolt she feels right down to her shoulders. The puny clack echoes in her ears. It’s nothing even close to how him and Zen were sparring.

“Go ahead.” He shifts his weight as she recovers, bracing himself. “Again.”

Right. Her feet flatten against the mat-- or at least they try to, pressing instead against the foam of her sneakers. Her sneakers that she’s still wearing, since she came in here thinking there would be an elliptical, or weights, or not this.

That won’t do at all. She toes them off, setting them at the edge of the tatami, the only spectators to her impending humiliation.

She hesitates, fingers peeling socks over her heels. Obi’s already said she won’t get any information out of him; she doesn’t need to do this. She could walk away right now, and the only consequence would be his teasing. And yet--

And yet, Shirayuki walks back, feet grounding against the weave beneath them. The jo settles between her hands. Obi grins.

When she moves again, it’s with more confidence, memory fueling her strike. He catches it again, but this time it doesn’t rattle her. At least, not until he moves too, viper fast, and then she’s scrambling again. She’s no noodle-armed K-science geek, no matter what Obi might say, but when she thrusts her staff up overhead to meet his swing, her arms tremble, teeth jangling in her mouth.

Obi retreats, amusement clinging to his lips, and she huffs. Maybe she can’t take the same sort of beating Kiki can, but she isn’t about to be some pushover.

She comes at him again, lower this time, on the outside. He’s not prepared-- she can tell the way his eyes widen-- but reflexes smooth his response, drawing her back with a few of his own strikes, and then--

Then it’s just trading blows. Not like his spar with Zen; he’s too skilled and she’s too inexperienced for this to be anything but a planned draw, for him to do anything but go easy on her. But still, still-- there’s a strange electricity every time they meet, more than just their jo rising to meet each other, an anticipation--

Obi steps back, brow furrowed. “Hm.”

Shirayuki’s panting, drenched, and he’s barely broken a sweat. “Is something wrong?”

It certainly doesn’t feel wrong to her.

“N-no.” He plucks her jo from her grip, the swagger gone from his hips as he mounts it on the wall beside his. “Just. Interesting.”

“Interesting?” she prompts hopefully.

Obi shrugs, like there’s an itch between his shoulders. “Did you need anything else, Doc?”

“I...” She bites down on the impulse to ask, to demand to know if he felt it too. “No. I should, um. Get going.”

“Nowhere to go but people to see, huh?” he laughs, but it’s weaker than his usual, stilted.

“Yeah,” she breathes, turning away. “Something like that.”

We just fit, Mitsuhide said with that strange look on his face, a yearning she knows now. If that makes sense.

“Obi?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from another mouth, not her own. Maybe it’s just because she’s bent in half, working cotton over sweaty toes. Maybe it’s because it feels like she’s only working with half a body.

His head swivels, chin peeking over his shoulder. “Yeah, Doc?”

“It wasn’t you, was it?” He blinks, head tilting with confusion, and she clarifies, “It wasn’t your failure.”

His breath tumbles from his like wind over water; she swears she can feel the ripples of it even where she stands. “No,” he says, so soft it’s nearly lost over the rattle of the vents. “Not yet.”

The static fizzles on her skin, belly rocking as she bends to slip on her sneakers, and oh, Mitsuhide’s words might not have made sense before, but--

But she’s worried they’re starting to now.

[neon-junkie]

The Wolf

Summary: You can't help that you're unaware of the thick scent you're letting off. But Flaco is aware. Flaco is well aware and he's going to do something about it.

Pairing: Flaco Hernández x f!Reader

Word Count: 3817

Rating: NSFW

Tags: Slight A/B/O/ dynamics, Marking, Manhandling, Creampies, Scenting, Pred/Prey, Height differences, Size kink, Multiple orgasms, Knotting, Dirty talk, Praise kink, Mating.

Notes: Ugh, another Flaco fic?? YES.  I've always had a pred/prey vibe from big Flaco, but that vibe went off the rails during that cutscene where Flaco calls himself 'the wolf,' so I just HAD to write this ;:)

It came to you as a surprise when Flaco told you that he'd be joining you for today's mission. "I'm bored and staying in this cabin is driving me crazy," he explained whilst shoving his knife into its holster and shooing you out the cabin, following closely behind. You had no idea that he even owned a horse, who happened to be hitched in the forest behind his cabin this whole time; he's just as stocky as Flaco with thick fur keeping his hooves warm. Flaco seemed to be in a rush today, despite knowing that the mountain men you were going after wouldn't be leaving any time soon. "Have you found those tracks? Come on, let's go. I've found some here but we can't split up. C'mon, hurry up," he'd barked over and over, making your brows furrow. For once, Flaco was being annoying, he seemed on edge, like something was getting under his skin and he just couldn't shake it off.   The first victims had been found and you and Flaco took cover behind a boulder on the other side of the river. Of course, you were intrigued to see how legendary his skills were. He assumed that you'd be taking the first shot, but once he saw the way you were crouched patiently beside him, looking up at him with excitement in your eyes, he felt his ego filling up and just had to impress you.

"Oh, you want to see what old Flaco can do with this thing, huh?" Flaco said as he lined up his rifle. "Watch and learn, chiquita." He took his time to shoot, clearly irritated at something; his finger continued to brush over the trigger but struggled to pull it, his eyes often locking on to yours as embarrassment began to cross his face. He missed. And he continued to miss almost all of his shots, growing more irritated by the second. By the time you found the last victims, Flaco had stormed ahead up the mountain with his sawn-off shotgun, blowing open the chests of those men. That's what they deserve for stealing off him. The ride back was almost silent. You had opened your mouth to ask if he was okay, only managing to say "are" when Flaco had cut you off and quietly mumbled "I'm fine," dipping his head down so the brim of his sombrero covered most of his face. "I wasn't expecting you to be the one to save my ass," Flaco told you as you both entered his cabin, stomping off the snow on your boots then stretching your hands out over the fire. You noticed that Flaco didn't go over to his usual place, instead, he leaned back against the pole in the middle of the room. His arms were crossed, eyes darting around the room before flicking them over to meet yours. "What's wrong?" you asked him. You thought he'd go on a tangent about whatever was winding him up, he's just an old man who loves to moan about everything and you enjoy it, though you have to hold back your laughter as he gets upset over the littlest things. "You," Flaco had replied, making your eyes go wide as you straightened up your back. You opened your mouth to begin apologizing for whatever you must have done wrong, but Flaco waved his hand before returning it to his crossed arms. "It's not your fault, you can't help it. Hell, you're probably not even aware of it," Flaco grumbled. Flaco stood up from his leaning position, taking a step over to you as he relaxed his hands by his sides. You turned slightly, moving a step away from the fire, your toes almost stepping on Flacos as you stand in front of him. That's where you are now, awkwardly standing there, looking up at a man twice the size of you. He's not exactly scowling, his brows are always slightly furrowed and he always has that pissed off expression, but you notice that there's definitely concentration in his face as he studies you. "You don't know what's wrong, do you?" Flaco questions. You shake your head innocently, worried that this is it; Flaco's finally fed up with you and is planning how to finish you off. "Hmm. As I said, you're probably not even aware," Flaco grumbles, walking past you and over to the door. He pushes his foot against it, jamming it fully shut and locking it. Has there always been a lock? You've never noticed that before? Your stomach begins to turn as Flaco turns back to you. Why did he lock the door? And why are you taking a few small steps back the more he comes towards you? He looks menacing, this giant of a man who's taking his time to pace over to you. Your ass bumps against something and you turn to see that you're now leaning back against his table with nowhere else to go. As you turn back, your gaze meets Flaco's who's almost got his chest pressed against yours. "I'm not going to hurt you," he tells you in a surprisingly soft voice, well aware of your panicked expression. "Chiquita, calm down. Flaco just wants to help," he tells you, calming your nerves. "What is it?" you ask him, still running through every recent interaction to pick out anything that might have upset him, but you find nothing. Flaco goes to dip his head down to speak more directly to you but he quickly straightens his back up, nostrils flaring as he looks around the room. He's got that irritated expression again, something's clearly still crawling under his skin. Flaco turns back to you and grumbles "you stink." Was that it? Did you smell? Was he so worked up because you hadn't had a bath today? You were a clean person, bathing regularly for somebody who's almost always on the road, but it clearly wasn't good enough for Flaco. He notices the way your head is tilting to the side and corrects himself. "I mean, you don't stink... you're clean, but..." Flaco attempts to explain, his hands moving as he talks. "That smell you're letting off, it's... distracting. I haven't smelt anything like that in such a long time, mostly because I never get any visitors up here, especially not ones who are clearly in heat," Flaco tells you, resting one hand gently on your hip as he speaks down to you. In heat? Oh shit. Your supplements had worn off without you somehow noticing, but Flaco had noticed. Flaco had definitely noticed. And it had been distracting him this whole time. That explains why he seemed so eager to get out of this little cabin with you, you were probably stinking up the room when you innocently came asking for more work. And he couldn't focus on any of his shots as you were stood beside him the whole time, batting your lashes at him as if nothing was wrong. Flaco notices how you're piecing everything together, finally understanding that your smell has been the thing under his skin this whole time. "As I said, you were probably not aware. Those supplements can really mess up your own sense of smell, huh?" Flaco says with a gentle laugh. You have no idea how he's aware that you were taking supplements, but it's not hard to work out if you're so unaware of your own scent. "Yeah, I didn't know. Sorry," you tell him. You were well aware of his hand on your hip, but you'd only just realized how big it felt on you, almost as if he could wrap both of his hands around you. It's probably your heat warping your sense of reality, but you can't admit that it's not a nice feeling. A very nice feeling, that feeling growing even more as you look back up at Flaco and meet his warm amber eyes.   "You're not going to calm down, are you?" Flaco asks as he twitches his nose. He's clearly trying to hold himself together, suppressing the urge to scoop you up and fix that problem between your legs himself. You're surprised he has so much self-control as other men that you've met in the past would have pounced on you the second you walked in all those hours ago. "I-" you go to speak, but a feeling between your legs cuts you off. Flaco's pushed his thigh between your legs, settling it gently against your crotch, and you find your hips slowly rutting against it. Your arousal is refusing to go down, your scent stinking up the room and you're finally aware of how badly you smell. Flaco's at his limit, tightening his grip on your hip as his other hand comes up to remove his hat, chucking it over to the chair he always sits on. Surprisingly warm lips are pressed against your neck, his moustache brushing against your skin in such a way that your senses begin to heighten. Your body feels so sensitive, picking up on every little thing Flaco does as you continue to rut against his thigh. Flaco bites down on your neck, hard enough to leave a mark, and the whimper you let out makes his head spin and his cock throb in his pants. "I'm going to take you," Flaco grumbles against you as he continues to kiss along your neck. "I haven't felt like this in so long. You think you can just waltz in here, stinking up the place, and expect old Flaco not to fill you up, eh?"   Another hand on your hip cuts off whatever you were about to reply, and Flaco begins rolling your hips for you, grinding your crotch down hard on his thigh. The seam of your pants is rutting against your clit aggressively, building your orgasm the more he ruts you. Another mark is left on your neck, followed by a trail more; he's marking you, letting everybody know that you're his, that you belong to the Terror of the Grizzlies. And there isn't a single soul out there who would risk trying to snatch you away from such a man. Flacos head lifts up so he can finally kiss you, hungrily licking and nipping at your lips, turning them redder the more he kisses you. You break the kiss with a whimper, your head leaning forward to mewl in the curve of his neck as you grip onto his thick fur coat. "Good girl," Flaco praises you in such a perfectly husk voice that it pushes you over the edge, soaking your pants and dripping onto Flacos as you cum on his thigh. Flaco moves one of his hands off your hip so he can begin to palm at his own erection, and you catch the sight in the corner of your eye. He's just as thick as you thought, his cock pressed deliciously against the tight fabric of his pants. "You like what you see?" Flaco asks with a chuckle, noticing the way you're hungrily staring. at him. "Come on," Flaco says as he moves his thigh from you, pulling you over to the bed. "Get undressed," Flaco orders you, turning his attention to the fire. He chucks another log on it, trying to keep his cabin warm, despite it already being toasty in here. Flaco turns to see you pulling your undergarments off, letting them slip down your legs and fall to the floor. He licks his lips at the sight, yourself in the nude waiting patiently for his next command. Flaco kisses you again as he lays you down, your head settling on the pillow. His hands trail gently over your body, admiring every bump and curve, brushing over your nipples, and kneading at your thighs. He pulls off his gloves, chucking them to the floor, then runs his middle and trigger finger over your folds, chuckling as he admires how soaked you are. The sensation of your heat becomes painfully obvious the second Flaco touches you down there, your thighs instantly twitching as he continues to run his fingertips across your folds. You only have to sigh his name once for him to realize how desperate you are, sinking his fingers into you, two of them at the same time as he knows you can take it. They curl deliciously, almost instantly finding your g-spot. He massages the pads of his fingers over that spot, enjoying the way you squirm underneath him, your scent almost clouding his vision as his own cock throbs in his pants. "Mierda," Flaco sighs as you let out a whimper that makes his head spin. "I need to be inside of you," he announces as he slips his fingers from you, leaving you empty for a few short moments. You shuffle up onto your elbows, watching Flaco unbutton his pants and pull his throbbing length out. He's just as gorgeous as you imagined, his length agonizingly thick with a soft red tip, precum already trailing down your shaft. He's in too much of a rush to remove any more of his clothes, but the image of him fully clothed whilst you're in the nude is playing on that prey instinct inside of you. Flaco places one of his large paws on your hips, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he begins to push his thick member into you. He's almost painful, making you gasp and moan as he slowly slides in, his eyes fixated on watching his length disappear inside of you. Once he's fully sheathed inside of you, he holds himself there for a few moments, letting out heavy pants as praise begins to flow from his lips. "Good girl. Taking me all the way in on your first go. That's my girl, isn't it?" Flaco mutters, his chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to hold back from thrusting into you, knowing that you need a few seconds to get used to his size. Flaco knows you're ready when you begin to whimper beneath him. He pulls his cock almost all the way out and slams down into you, pushing the air from your lungs, making your eyes scrunch shut as you let out a sound that makes Flacos instincts spin. He doesn't bother with slow and tender thrusts; he needs you, and he needs you now. His length begins to pump into you, continuing to push those sounds from you. Flaco has needed you the second you stumbled into his cabin, only he's been able to suppress those feelings, up until your scent accidentally flared up earlier. Your hands trail over his body, gripping onto his biceps, clinging onto his bandoliers, settling around his neck. You're a whimpering mess beneath him and Flaco both loves and hates the sight. "Stop squirming," he mutters as he continues thrusting into you. "Be good for me and take it, alright?" he orders. Flaco lets out a chuckle as he feels your walls clench around him from the way he's speaking to you. The room is already too hot for you even though you're in the nude, but you've noticed the way Flaco's beginning to sweat. He doesn't stop his thrusting as he straightens up his back and begins to swing his bandoliers over his shoulders, chucking them to the floor, eventually followed by his coat. He almost ripped his coat off, quickly becoming frustrated by all the fastenings, but he managed to eventually undo it. Flaco is left in his white undershirt and green bandana, his body radiating more heat than you've ever felt. He dips back down, towering his body over you, his head leaning down to continue leaving marks along your neck. Flaco had always told himself that he'd never mark anybody again, especially not in his 'old' age, but it's hard not to make you his own when you're mewling underneath him. "Mierda," Flaco grumbles again, leaving his head in the curve of your neck. His cock feels heavy, his balls slapping against you with every thrust; you know he's close. "I need to cum inside of you, alright? But I won't be giving you any little ones, I'll make sure of it," Flaco tells you as he dips his head up to meet yours, planting a quick kiss to your lips as he speaks. You've heard that some men are able to do this though you always doubted it, but you trust Flaco with your life, so you trust his word. Once you've managed to nod in agreement, Flaco grins and picks up the pace, making you whimper again as you had no idea he could go that fast. He's complained about his age before, saying his bones ache and his joints feel creeky, but you had no idea that when fueled by lust, Flaco could ignore his age and fuck like this. It boosts your ego, knowing you're the one who's turned him into this beast of a man. Flaco lets out a choked moan as he cums, filling you to the brim, making your walls tighten around him just from the sensation. He rests his head on your chest, panting and moaning, letting out a string of phrases in his mother tongue, though you're unsure of what he's saying. He whimpers against you for a good few moments, collecting himself and eventually lifting his head off your chest so his eyes can meet yours. Flaco dips his head down to kiss you, his breaths are still heavy but not enough to distract the kiss. As he breaks away, he sits upright and peels his shirt off after unfastening his bandana, throwing them to the floor. He finally reveals his stocky build to you, well-toned muscles with a thick coat of chest hair that trails down to his stomach and settles around the base of his cock. He leans down to kiss you again, moving his hands from your hips to wrap your legs around your waist. You know this isn't over. "I'm not done with you yet," Flaco confirms, large paws wrapping around your waist as Flaco pulls you up with him, carrying you over to the cabin wall. You can feel his load dripping from you as his cock slams into you again, making you let out a whimper. "Don't worry, chiquita. There's plenty more where that came from," Flaco says with a laugh, moving his mouth down to leave another mark on your neck. As Flaco pulls off your neck he gazes at the sight, enjoying the thick spread of purple marks across both sides of your neck. Anybody who goes near you will know damn well who you belong to; the other strangers you work for, the general store clerks, the stableboys, even the strangers on the streets. And that's exactly how Flaco likes it. You're his and his only. Flaco begins to thrust into you again, working your sensitive pussy so he can begin building another climax. His thrusts are a little slower this time, more focused on admiring you as his eyes meet yours. "You're my chiquita buena, aren't you?" Flaco asks, his grip tight on your ass as he holds you firmly against the wooden walls. "I am," you nod in agreement, enjoying the way Flacos expression turns into a cocky smile. "Go on, tell me," Flaco orders you. "I'm yours. I'm Flaco's girl," you repeat, making Flaco grin even more. "If you're my girl then who does this pussy belong to, eh?" Flaco questions. "You," you tell him. "But who am I chiquita?" Flaco asks. You remember a term that Flaco's called himself before, something that you thought was a joke, but it seems he meant it. "You're the wolf," you reply. "Very good, I'm the wolf," Flaco repeats with a chuckle. "And what do all those marks on your neck mean?" "That I'm yours, that I belong to the wolf," you confirm. "So good. So good for Flaco, aren't you? So good for the wolf," Flaco hums as he begins picking up the pace, pushing the air from your lungs as he begins pounding you again. The noises that both of you are letting out are loud enough to scare away any nearby bears; hopefully, Flaco won't have to deal with them for a while. You're a sticky mess between your legs, Flaco's fucking his former load from you, oozing from your pussy and dripping down onto his balls. Neither of you seems to mind, especially since Flaco had promised that he'd replace that load with a fresh one. For a man that always seems so grumpy, he's pulling some gorgeous faces; cheeks a vibrant red, mouth constantly parted, hair trailing over his eyes and slowly falling forward from his slicked-back style. It feeds your ego knowing that you have the pleasure of seeing him like this - you and only you. Flaco dips his head down to give you another kiss, his moustache prickling your lip in a way that feels oh-so-sensitive. "Flaco," you sigh as you break the kiss, his eyes meeting yours. "I know, I know. My chiquita is close, isn't she?" Flaco asks. All you can do is nod in agreement as you dip your hand between your legs to begin rubbing your clit, making your thigh muscles twitch, wrapped around Flacos stocky waist. Flaco hums at the sight, praising you, encouraging you. "You'll cum for Flaco, won't you?" he asks, and pleasantly hums again when you confirm that you will. "Ladies first," Flaco tells you, placing a kiss underneath your jawline, right on that sensitive spot that makes your head spin. Within a few more thrusts you're clenching around Flacos length, exhaling heavily as you enjoy another orgasm, your walls tightening almost painfully around Flacos thick length. Flaco lets out a grunt as he pushes his length all the way in and fills you up again, scrunching his eyes shut and burying his head in the curve of your neck, his dark hair flopping over his eyes. You feel the way Flacos cock swells up, your walls tightening a little too tightly, and the both of you know you're going to be stuck like this for a while. Neither of you mind and Flaco lifts his head up to brush his hair from his eyes and give you a tender kiss. He carries you back over to the bed, laying you down and managing to kick off his pants and boots. Thick furs are wrapped around you as you're pulled onto Flacos chest, your cheek resting against his pecs as his arms cradle you tenderly. Not many words are exchanged apart from the occasional "are you comfortable?" from Flaco, and you quickly find yourself lulling off to sleep, Flaco following shortly after as his body heat and the roaring fire keeps you warm throughout the cold night.

[ithebookhoarder]

HIIIII! I love your writing. Can you do something for Rey, as I see you write for Star Wars and she doesn't get nearly enough loving? I totally get it if you don't wanna, but if you do could you do something like maybe comforting her about her force connection with Kylo? Please and thankyou!

Connections (Rey x GN!Reader)

A/N: Hell yes, anon! I love my girl Rey and I love getting prompts like this, so here you go ;) Thanks for giving me an excuse to write something for this precious angel. I hope you like it x

Warnings: Swearing and I think that’s it? Let me know if I missed something. 

Masterlist:

-----

“Rey… Rey? ... Rey? Can you hear me?”

It took about four attempts to get her attention for you to succeed, which wasn’t unusual. By this point in your relationship, you were more than used to her falling into force trances whenever she tried to meditate as part of her training. 

She could often be there in person but be miles away mentally - something that was usually obvious by the glassy look in her eyes and the tranquil expression on her face. 

If anything, it made you incredibly proud to see the amount of progress she’d made in such a short space of time. Since locating to the new jungle base after the battle on Crait, Rey’s connection to her abilities had only grown stronger. 

You’d seen her lift boulders ten times her size, detect tremors from storms half a planet away and even convince the mess-officers to smuggle extra portions on to your plates when you’d had a bad day (which was probably an abuse of her powers or whatever, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to call her out on it). 

However, it hadn’t been an entirely positive experience. There had been many difficulties and struggles with Rey’s growing abilities, the worst of which was the mental toll it had been taking on her. Nightmares, uncertain visions, and an unwanted force-bond with none other than Supreme Leader Ren were just some of the challenges you’d been facing together. 

It broke your heart. 

There was little you could do to really help, not being force sensitive yourself. Holding her after nightmares, being consistently affectionate around base to ground her, or listening to her venting was the best you could offer. 

“She’s always been on her own, Y/N. She’s never had someone to help before,” Finn had explained one night, noticing your disappointment after Rey had refused to discuss her bad mood. “It’ll take time for her to open up and ask for help. Just be there for her. That means everything. Trust me.” 

And you had. 

It was why you knew something was wrong as Rey startled out of her trance, looking at you with a panicked in her expression. “Y/N?”

“Rey? What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  

“I… he was here…” Rey stammered, looking around you both, hand resting on the light saber strapped to her side. “He was here again. He spoke to me.”

“Ren?”

Rey nodded. “I… I thought I had it under control but the connection just opened. I wasn’t even using the force. I was just going to get some parts for the Falcon and then… he was here… He could see my surroundings. I don’t know if he saw you or not before he went. I couldn’t turn it off. I tried but it keeps happening-“

“Rey,” you sighed softly, hurrying over to her and cupping her face. You waited until her hazel eyes stopped whirling about the place and landed firmly on you before speaking again. You didn’t need to be a Jedi to know she was scared. After all, you were the only other person she’d told about this. “Rey. It’s ok, alright? Listen to me. You’re here. He’s not. He can’t hurt you or me, I promise. It’s going to be ok.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, Rey. I do because I know you and I trust you,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re the strongest person I know and the universe wouldn’t have given you these gifts if it didn’t think you were strong enough to handle it. You can do things people like I can only dream of but you’re also you. It’s why Poe, Finn, Rose, Kaydel and I… it’s why everyone here looks up to you, Rey. We love you and we care about you.” 

Rey didn’t know what to say, choosing instead to curl into your chest and let you hold her, kissing her head as you murmured soft words of comfort over and over again until she believed them. 

Oh, how you loved her. 

She was a warrior but you knew that deep down, she was still the scared child who’d been left alone on Jakku. Even if she was the first to say otherwise, hiding it beneath a sunny disposition and determination unlike any you’d seen, she often needed someone to remind her it was ok not to be ok. To banish her fears that everything would be taken from her and that she’d once again end up alone. 

You’d die before you let that happen. 

“I’m sorry.”

“No, Rey. You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“But-“

“I love you and nothing will change that,” you stated firmly, lifting her chin so that she could once again look into your eyes, “especially not someone as stupid as Supreme Shithead Ren.” 

“Supreme Shithead?” Rey giggled, making possibly the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. You’d give anything to hear her laugh like that every day for the rest of your life. “Y/N.” 

“What?”

“You’ve spent too much time with Poe.”

“I’m telling him you said that,” you teased, relieved to have her back to her almost-normal self. Whilst you loved your fellow pilot, you loved winding Poe up even more and leapt at each and every opportunity that you got. He still owed you for scratching your x-wing the other week. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Wouldn’t I?” 

Rey paused. Her eye roll was enough to say she knew you definitely would. You didn’t need any encouragement where that was concerned. 

“I’m not scared of Dameron or Ren, and if Ren thinks he can mess with you then he’s sorely mistaken. Next time he shows up, he’ll have to deal with me as no one messes with the woman I love, ok?”

A soft blush appeared on Rey’s cheeks as she nodded, taking her turn to kiss you. She loved hearing you say that almost as much as you loved saying it. “I love you too.”

“Well, good,” you grinned, taking her hand tightly and steering her back towards the hanger entrance you’d come through. “Now, come on, Miss Powerful Jedi. I think some time for just the two of us is in order. Teasing Poe and fixing the Falcon will have to wait, because you and I are going for a walk down to the lake you like so much. I’m off shift and it’ll do us good to get some space.” 

Rey’s grin was instantaneous as she grinned. “Alright then… race you!” 

All you could do was chase after her in return, with a semi-scandalised laugh. “Oh, it’s on!” 

[mecomptane]

Blew up my old laptop so I’m trying to recover things from it. (Okay, a slight exaggeration. Maybe.) Apparently I decided to write Star Wars fic at some point? It’s here for posterity, definitely no beta, can’t guarantee the quality. So, the usual. (Pretty sure this was also a 3am sort of thing.)

-

Yoda has been Grand Master of the Jedi Order for going on five centuries, alive for nearly nine, and still, sometimes, feels like he's barely one.

It's few and far between, admittedly--history doesn't exactly repeat, no, but the motivations of sapient beings don't particularly change, and once you understand why people make the choices they do, then you can generally guess what any person or group might do in response. It's not flawless and has failed him before, but between lived experience, his strength in the Force, and the Republic having little changed, overall, he's usually right. Or at least, unsurprised.

The Councilors call him unflappable, the Masters and Knights steadfast, and the Padawans and Initiates whisper that he is Ancient and Omniscient.

Yoda, mostly, calls himself tired.

This is a song and dance he knows well, has all but memorized the steps to. Padawans become Knights become Masters and find an Initiate to teach and mentor and raise, the closest they will ever be to children of blood being children of their hearts. Years--in some cases, a decade or more--will weave the two into a knot of compassion and knowledge and reliance (but never attachment), and with the Trials the Master shears their Padawan's braid and the Padawan shears the rope that had once bound them so tightly, and the two walk away, together but inherently separate, to live their lives as sole individuals connected only by the gossamer web and weave of the Force, as all living things do.

Countless have come and gone, all with slightly different steps or rhythms. Not all have been successful. Jedi walk in the light and dream of the sun, but shadowy corners and secrets in darkness are tempting, too intriguing to pass up the chance to investigate. Rare are those who give in; rarer still are those who find their way back. But it does happen, as much as they might wish it otherwise.

Yoda has seen all of them in nearly a millennia, can trace the pattern and knows the steps of that dance, too. Not that of true Sith, no, but the path to becoming a Darksider is identical to that of a Jedi with only a few steps reversed, repeated, skipped over. Once the first misstep occurs, it takes barely any thought to see where and how the dance might change. Will they weave back and forth, between light and darkness? Will they flit into the shadows briefly and find it not to their taste, thereafter choosing only the path strung with the lanterns of faith? Will they stumble into the shadows once, twice, again and again, until the light itself hurts their eyes and they cannot see save anywhere but darkness?

One step, two, a few more--that's all it takes, now, for Yoda to know. He's been wrong, true, but those times were more that he'd given into hope. Hope that they'd find their way into the light, that their dance would one day realign with that of the rest of the Jedi.

So as Yoda sits among the Council, the dimming light of Coruscant's pale setting sun struggling in through the windows, he is thrown. Surprised. Confused.

"I will take him as my Padawan," Qui-Gon Jinn says, hands resting reassuringly on the shoulders of a supernova given form. So bright, so powerful, spilling everywhere with little control, care, or concern. Yoda can barely look.

Behind the duo stands a white dwarf of the Force, the light and warmth turned inward and controlled, peaceful but puissant and exactly like a Jedi should be, but.

But.

"Obi-Wan? He is ready for his Trials."

"Decide that, the Council shall."

In a room of so much light, where the brightest and most powerful Jedi in the galaxy sit in state, there is an undercurrent of shadows. A slight dimming in the corners, a hint of something obscuring the warmth and nurturing rays.

Qui-Gon Jinn. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Anakin Skywalker.

Yoda looks between them and the Council, and wonders.

-

When he was younger, Yoda delighted in his Padawan learners. That he lived so much longer than any other species or race was a detriment to others, but it allowed him to have generations of Padawans and their Padawans, Grandpadawans and Greatgrandpadawans. Each of his students had siblings, younger or older; each had nieces and nephews; all had someone to fall back on, to speak with, to rely on. To be family with.

Attachment was not the Jedi way, but compassion and selfless love was. All of his students--and their students, so on and so forth--understood that, embraced that.

Eventually he became the Grand Master and became so busy with duties he could not devote the time to another Padawan, to his Lineage as he once did. They understood, relied more on each other, and while some came to him with questions or concerns it was a rarity. And then--somewhere along the lines--it stopped happening altogether. A Lineage was called after the oldest surviving member, but when there were gaps of three, four, ten generations... did one really still count as part of that Lineage? But that was fine, as it should be; the Force is Life and Life is forever changing, growing, renewing. Yoda had learnt at the side of a Master long gone but fondly remembered, now part of the Force; his students, too, memories and trinkets, memorabilia tucked carefully away in a chest in his room, never opened but a reminder nonetheless.

The desire to teach Dooku had been unexpected, unanticipated, almost unappreciated. It had been years since he last had a Padawan learner of his own... but why not? He'd long since turned over immediate day-to-day responsibilities to an aide, now the Master of the Order, and aside from popping in to teach classes or spend time in the creche, he had ample time for a personal student again.

Of course, the way that had turned out... but Dooku's own Padawan, Qui-Gon, had been bright and sensitive to the ways and wills of the Force, and always willing to help another Padawan, always willing to lend an ear or support. Maybe Dooku hadn't turned out as Yoda had hoped, but surely Qui-Gon would be better.

And he was, with Feemor. Maybe not the most in-touch Master, preferring books or research or his plants and animals and following the eddies of the Force invisible to most others, but he cared. He wanted Feemor to succeed, to thrive, as did Yoda. And Feemor did, passing his Trials with little difficulty and much grace; a Jedi Knight to be, surely, proud of.

Xanatos, however....

He'd deserved to be repudiated, true. Yoda had even cautioned Qui-Gon about his second Padawan, having seen the steps and the missteps and the constant swaying between light and dark. A Shadow, he'd suggested. Cautioned. Xanatos could not walk in the light, not like Feemor, but enough light he had in him to walk in both, to be a Shadow of their Order. Qui-Gon hadn't listened, still too proud, too arrogant, after Feemor.

In the end, Xanatos became a Darksider. Qui-Gon, as custom and duty and common sense demanded, repudiated him. But not just him, no, for if he'd gone so wrong with Xanatos, surely Feemor, too, was secretly not what he appeared to be? And so Feemor had suffered for his younger brother's choices, for Qui-Gon's pride and lack of attention to detail, for his desperation to not stain or blemish the Lineage of the Grand Master.

Two students, one Jedi Knight, one Darksider. Two repudiations, one earned, one not.

Qui-Gon had sworn off all further students, had nearly been convinced to take another, had rejected them in the end. The Force had brought them back together, and Qui-Gon could not ignore such a sign, but--

Obi-Wan is quiet in the Force. As a child he'd been as a river, calmly flowing one minute and the tempestuousness of white water the next, but always moving, always steady. As a babe... Yoda remembers the young human, presumed Stewjoni, being brought into the Hall of Healing for the first time, so young and already so part of the Force it had nearly wrapped around him. Not a vergence, not power, but a pin in an ever-changing tapestry, a marble dropped into the center of a taught sheet, a boulder in the middle of the river he'd become part of.

Chaos in the midst of calm, or the calm waters of the eye of a storm?

Obi-Wan learnt the steps of those around him, learnt to dance between light and darkness with Quinlan Vos and somewhere along the lines chose to remain in the light. But these were not his steps, Yoda could see. They were the steps of the Masters, the Knights, the Padawans, even other Initiates; they were what should be, what Kenobi himself clearly wanted to do, to be, but were copied from others, a reflection of truth and not what actually was.

The only times Yoda could remember Obi-Wan stepping out on his own, trying to make his own dance--Melida/Daan. Mandalore. Qui-Gon had either left him alone or with minimal guidance, and without the framework of the Order to guide him, Obi-Wan had fallen back on what he believed to be right, to be the will of the Force. Protect the Young. Protect the Duchess. Stop a war. (Even if it meant fighting.)

Obi-Wan wouldn't be happy strictly as a Peacekeeper, no. He had the knack for it, a skill with words and negotiations that most Masters could only wish for, but the boy's heart--his desire--was to defend and protect that which was Good.

And now, here. Naboo.

Qui-Gon's body lays in repose in the next room, waiting for the sunset and the pyre. Obi-Wan kneels before him, a Knight in a Padawan's garb, and while he never fails to make eye contact, there's a careful guard to it.

Peacekeepers do not kill, after all. Jedi are Peacekeepers; ergo, for all that he's tried to emulate them, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not a Peacekeeper. Not a Jedi.

He's a protector, and Yoda can see him realizing this even as he kneels and Yoda paces, otherwise in perfect silence.

Protectors need things to protect, things to cherish, attachments. How do you value something enough to protect it while maintaining a necessary distance? Even the Sentinels, guards as they are, keep their distance from their charges, no matter how many Younglings jump around and climb them and offer them sweets and pies.

"...even if I must leave the Order, I will train the boy."

And there is both the problem and the solution. Qui-Gon did a disservice to his student, leaving him to find his way alone. Even now, in death, Qui-Gon cannot complete the ritual to break their bond, to cut their ties so Obi-Wan may move forward alone. Yet it's clear that between the Council chamber and the reactor, the bond between them had already begun to unravel. Now what ritual there might be--it wouldn't have mattered, anyway. A sham, a farce, to be done with, if it would even happen at all.

Not that they didn't care about each other--no, he'd seen enough of them together to know that they did, but it was the care between two Knights or two Masters, not teacher-and-student, not father-and-son. Removed, careful, expecting and understanding that each could exist without the other ever in their lives again, but grateful for this brief opportunity to spend time beside each other.

So maybe Qui-Gon was right, in the end: maybe Obi-Wan had been ready for his Trials, having been acting the part of Knight already. No Trials now, Darth Maul's death is more than enough to count, and no ritual Knighting. Just the burning of a body... and the decision of a Knight to train a boy he barely knows.

A boy for the first time away from family and friends and familiarity, a boy... much like Obi-Wan once was, if only Yoda had paid more attention. A boy that, like Obi-Wan, will need to find his own path through life, his own steps through light and dark that might--will--be different from any Yoda has seen before.

A boy that, for right now, needs less guidance and more care. More compassion. More... protection.

It goes against the teachings of the Jedi, to encourage attachments. But Yoda looks at Obi-Wan, feels out for the boy on the other side of the door keeping vigil over his once would-be Master's body, and knows the will of the Force, too.

"Train the boy, you shall," he decrees, and blames the rest of the Council. "A Knight, you are."

Obi-Wan bows his head, like he'd expected nothing less, like he's grateful they're in accord and he won't have to fight for it.

And like he'd never expected a Knighting, a ritual, a ceremony.

Yoda watches him quietly enter the next room, kneel down beside Anakin Skywalker and join the silent vigil. Sees Anakin lean into him, just slightly. Sees Obi-Wan pause, then wrap one arm loosely around small shoulders.

No, he decides, turning his back on what's left of his Lineage. They'll make new dances, a new path, and he won't recognize a single step of it.

And he feels the slightest hint of relief.

[jancmalandra]

The Shipwreck

On the temptation to return to old ambitions

By mid-May Snufkin and Moomintroll had started mounting occasional expeditions into the wildernesses of Moominvalley for themselves and the children of the village again, as they had done every Spring and Summer since Moomintroll and Snork Maiden's children turned six. They would spread the word of their latest hike a few days before they set out, inviting any child who wished to join them. They would always find a fair number of children waiting for them in front of Moominhouse on the morning that they planned to leave. The children would have their backpacks packed in case the hike lasted more than a day.

Little My never missed these expeditions as they provided excellent opportunities for mischief and excitement. On the twenty-sixth of May Moominvalley was struck by a very powerful storm. The next day Little My immediately suggested to Moomintroll and Snufkin that they mount an expedition to the beach to search for treasures that might have washed up on the shore as soon as possible. The two of them readily agreed and sent Little My to spread the word that they would leave in three days, and then they began to pack for the trip.

The morning of the twenty-ninth came and Moomintroll, Snufkin, Tayberry, Moomin and Little My said goodbye to Snork Maiden, Moominpapa, and Moominmama and stepped out of the front door to see who had joined them. Boyle, Bristol, and Auguste were at the forefront of the small crowd of children as usual. Gerard, Peter, and Martin were right behind them in their finest hunting gear. Hiding behind Gerard was a welcome new addition, Snork and Sniff's adopted son, Snerf. He was clearly doing his best to be brave and ready for adventure and had a determined look on his face. Gerard had clearly made fast friends with the little monster and was acting as his strongest supporter.

Moomintroll and Snufkin looked at each other and silently decided together not to take undue note of Snerf joining them so that he wouldn't feel singled out and uncomfortable.

"Alright everyone!", said Snufkin, "Let's head out for the beach!"

The children and Little My lined up behind him and Moomintroll and they all began marching down the path to the beach, talking cheerily amongst themselves and occasionally striking up a song. When they reached the beach, they saw a very promising sight: there was driftwood and other assorted flotsam everywhere.

Little My was the first to begin inspecting and sorting through the debris and all the children quickly joined her. Gerard and Snerf made their way up the boardwalk to the bathhouse to get a better look at the full expanse of the beach. Snerf climbed to the top of the bathhouse in an instant and looked carefully in all directions. His large, green eyes suddenly widened in surprise and then delight. He forgot to be afraid in his excitement and rushed over to Moomintroll and Snufkin who were observing all the children with contented nostalgia from the top of the beach.

"Mr. Moomintroll, sir!", he said, jumping up and down, "There's been huge rock slide on the cliff just a few miles down the beach! It looks like a really big cave has been opened up! Can we check it out?!"

"Most definitely!", said Moomintroll. Then he called out to Little My and the other children, "Everyone! A new cave has opened up further down the beach! Everyone get into The Adventure and we'll sail there!"

Everyone quickly obeyed Moomintroll's instructions and piled into the boat. Moomintroll untied the mooring rope and he and Snufkin rowed The Adventure away from the bathouse. They raised the sail and the wind, which was a little strong, immediately filled it and they headed towards the cave. As they drew closer, the cave became more and more enticing. The large boulders that once sealed off the cave were strewn here and there in the bay, peaking out just above the level of the surf. Snufkin lowered the sail, and he and Moomintroll took up the oars and rowed around the boulders carefully and into the huge mouth of the cave.

The morning sunlight poured into the cave, making it very easy to see everything in it. The first sight that greeted the crew of The Adventure was a very old pirate ship which had been left at anchor in the middle of the large pool of water that took up most of the cave. Moomintroll and Snufkin rowed around the ship, confirming that the hull was still completely intact and to look for a way to board the ship. They saw a boarding ladder hanging from the deck rail, the bottom of which was hanging just out of their reach. Gerard and Snerf whispered back and forth urgently between themselves for maybe thirty seconds and then Gerard climbed onto Snerf's back and Snerf climbed the mast of The Adventure and leapt onto the boarding ladder. They reached the deck of the pirate ship and let the boarding ladder the rest of the way down. Everyone quickly joined them on the deck and gaped in wonder at the wreck for several minutes.

The ship was a three-masted schooner and it was in amazingly good condition for its age. The masts were broken and the sails were long gone, but that seemed to be the worst of the damage. The paint had almost entirely chipped away from every surface, but all the wood seemed intact and strong. The door to the quarterdeck in the ship's stern swung back and forth with the tide, almost like an invitation to come in. The door to the lower decks was in the middle of the deck and was wide open.

"Well, it would be rude to refuse such a polite invitation!", declared Snufkin as he detached his small camping lantern from his backpack and lit it, "Boyle, Bristol, Auguste, Peter and Martin, let's explore the lower decks! Moomintroll, you take everyone else and explore the quarterdeck!", and with that Snufkin led his group down the steps to the gun deck.

Moomin and Tayberry immediately ran through the door to the captain's quarters in the quarterdeck, and Moomintroll, Little My, Gerard, and Snerf stayed together on the main deck near the helm. Moomintroll fiddled distractedly with the wheel, which was clearly no longer connected to the rudder, staring dreamily at the whole ship. Little My pulled forcefully at his elbow, bringing him back to his senses.

"Oh! Little My!" exclaimed Moomintroll, "I thought that you were with Snufkin! Surely you want to explore the hold and see whether there's still any treasure to be found?"

"There's plenty of time for that later! Besides, the pirates almost certainly made off with their treasure after hiding their ship here. I want to have a word with you before Snufkin comes back and tries to stop me. You know very well that you've been dreaming of something like this falling into your lap since you were little! Everyone here is thinking the same thing as you; 'Let's fix up this ship and go on a really big adventure around the world!' If you fail to seize control of this project right now, I'm going to lose any slight respect for you that I might have ever had! Your whole life, you've always given in to what other people wanted from you! If Snufkin hadn't fallen in love with you, you'd never have gone after him, Snork Maiden would have eventually forced you to marry her and forced Snufkin out of your lives and you'd have willingly spent the rest of your life being miserable just to please her! You need to finally stand up for yourself and take this ship for yourself! You know that you've more than earned it!", said Little My angrily, forcing Moomintroll back one step with every sentence.

"First of all, Little My, I know that you know Snork Maiden better than that, and that you don't have such a low opinion of her! Secondly, I thought that you had been plotting for ages before the three of us came together to force us to realize how we really felt about our relationship! Thirdly, all of us here found this ship, not just me, and we all get a say in what we're going to do with it! Lastly, I ended up getting everything I ever dreamed of by NOT forcing my wishes upon those I love!", said Moomintroll just as forcefully as Little My, which took her very much by surprise.

Snufkin and the other children reemerged from below and Moomin and Tayberry exited the captain's quarters at that very moment, breaking up their argument.

"Snufkin!", said Moomintroll eagerly, "How are things down there?"

"It all looks very promising. We should only need to do some basic repairs and repaint the whole ship to get her seaworthy again. Of course, we'll need to find a way to pitch the canons overboard. They're beyond repair to begin with and we're not going to be needing them. Also, the hold is totally empty. Not so much as a doubloon to seen, thank The Booble!", said Snufkin.

"Gather 'round everyone!", said Moomintroll loudly, "I know that you're all thinking what Snufkin and I are: 'Can we repair this ship and take it out on adventures?' It's entirely up to all you children. You found this ship, so what it becomes is your choice. I'll help you only as much as you want me to and we'll only go as fast you like."

The children all cheered joyously and immediately climbed back into The Adventure and began excitedly discussing their plans. Little My was the last to board The Adventure and she sat fuming silently in the stern the entire trip back to the boardwalk leading to the bathhouse. Snufkin and Moomintroll brought up the rear of the group as they all headed back to Moominhouse.

Snufkin put his paw lovingly in Moomintroll's and said, "I'm very proud of how well you handled that. I can guess how hard it was for you to hand over that ship to the children. I can also guess why you and Little My aren't on speaking terms right now. If you want to talk about it, Snork Maiden and I will always be there for you anytime you need us. You know that very well, don't you?"

"Thank you, Snufkin!", said Moomintroll a little tearfully, and he kissed him tenderly, "I really do need to talk about it once we get back to Moominhouse and we have some time to ourselves!"

To Be Continued

[sockablock]

(prev) + (start) + (next)

Chapter 12: The Petals on Her Brow

“No.”

“But—”

“No. Close your eyes.”

“This is boring! Do I really have to—”

“Yes.”

“But—"

“Yes. You do. I will not tell you twice.”

— — —

Back in the cabin, Team Regular People had set up camp in the living room.

Only about an hour had passed since breakfast, but in that time, they’d already managed to turn the couches into literary chaos. On the coffee table, stacks of atlases and maps had been supplemented—then supplanted—by the hundreds of pages of chemistry notes that Nott was supposed to be preparing for the summer semester. Jester similarly had strewn all her summer homework onto the carpet. Fjord was half-slouched in an armchair buried nose-deep in a tome titled The United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea, looking for all the world like would rather throw himself into the ocean than keep reading.

And as those three languished in the rigors of academia, Caleb, Beau, and Caduceus were sitting at the kitchen table, hunting for Yasha’s mystery flower. So far, they had already eliminated almost everything growing in Eastern Europe, though Caleb had been convinced for a while that the flower was liverwort.

“Its name is ‘Leberblümchen’ in German,” he said. “We used to see it in our garden.”

Beau stared critically at the page, then turned to examine Yasha’s drawing. “Your thing isn’t pointy enough,” she said. “And it doesn’t have enough of those…stringy things in the middle.”

“Liverwort is usually blue, too,” Caduceus said. “Sorry, Mister Caleb.”

He sighed. “It is fine, perhaps we should move farther south.”

Beau pulled over another book and started flipping through the pages. “Do you miss being home?” she asked idly. “I know you haven’t been back there in a while.”

She mentally kicked herself when she noticed Caleb’s smile turn melancholy.

“Oh, fuck, I didn’t mean to remind you—”

He shook his head. “No, no, it is alright, Beauregard. I do miss it, of course. In many parts. Your beer in America is piss poor, for example.”

She immediately rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you say that all the time.”

“It’s a sticking point. Oh, and your trains are very bad—”

“Ugh, I know—”

“—and none of your restaurants know what eggs and soldiers is.”

“No one knows what the hell that is.”

“I don’t,” Caduceus piped up. “What is that?”

“It is a soft egg eaten with little strips of toast. It is the only way to eat toast,” Caleb said wistfully.

“It sounds like you haven’t been back in a while.” Caduceus dipped his head. “It must be difficult, being so far from your family like that.”

“Ah.” Caleb’s expression changed. It was subtle, but the softness in his eyes went still. “That is…I do not have family there, anymore.”

“Oh, I—Caleb, I’m sorry—”

He raised his hand. “It is alright, Caduceus. You did not know. It is not, ah….”

“He doesn’t go around advertising it,” Beau said.

“Well,” Caleb huffed, though not at all angrily, “that is certainly one way to put it. And…yes, to elaborate a little more, since the rest of these people already know, I…some time ago, something happened back home and I decided to leave. It…was not an easy choice, but inevitable, I think, in some ways. And while I do miss Germany, as I said, being here, with my friends, has helped me quite a lot. I am…I find that when I say ‘I’m okay,’ lately, I mean that more and more.”

“You should’ve seen him before,” Beau grinned. “He had such a stick shoved up his ass he could barely smile—though, uh, I guess that’s not surprising since—”

She shut her mouth. She opened it.

“I’m going to go back to staring at flowers now.”

Caleb snorted. He slid another book across the table. “Here, try this one,” he said. “Plants of Italy. If it is not in here, we switch to the Americas.”

She took it. “Thanks. Here’s hoping.”

“Let’s go for another thirty minutes,” Caduceus said. “Don’t forget, it’s important to stretch and take breaks.”

— — —

“Seriously, if you don’t let me, I’ll die.”

“You will not.”

“I will. I swear, I will. I have to take a break. Ten minutes. Five minutes! Sixty seconds, at least, or I drop dead.”

From her perch on the large grey boulder that lay at the edge of the woods behind the cabin, Yasha opened one eye and saw that Mollymauk was already lying down.

He’d rolled off his log and was even in the grass. She frowned. “You are not even trying.”

“I tried, but none of this makes any sense! Sit still and try to ‘feel myself’?” He made air quotes. “Yasha, dear, if that’s what you really wanted, I definitely would not be sitting still.”

He waggled his eyebrows. She ignored him.

“Controlling your energy instinctive,” she said instead. “It is tied to our ability to see and read auras. But because you do not know how to do either, I am doing my best to explain it to you. This is the only way I know how. You are really not taking this seriously.”

“You think I’m not taking this seriously?” He scoffed. “Do you really think I would put myself through any of this if I didn’t think I had to? Need I remind you that my family was attacked by those crazy bikers as well?”

“What? They are not your family,” she blinked. “We were your family. But you left us when you fell.”

He made a show of dramatic incredulity. “Then I also need to remind you, dear, that I haven’t the faintest idea what that means. I’ve got amnesia, remember? Accidental hellfire and devilish charms aside, I really am not a demon. Not culturally.”

She frowned. “Culturally?”

“And I’d really prefer not to dwell on it,” he continued. “As far as I’m concerned, as soon as I get this ‘aura’ nonsense under control, I’m going to go home and get back to living an extraordinary, charmed, non-demonic life.”

Her frown took on a confused note. “But…you are a demon. That is that.”

“No, no, you’re not getting it, Yasha.” He rolled over and looked her in the eye. “Listen to me. Whoever had this body before, maybe, maybe that person could’ve been a demon. But whoever that was, they weren’t me. They were just some stupid asshole who got buried in the earth for, for—I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t even care. Because it’s no concern of mine.”

“Er…buried?”

“Long story,” he shrugged. “Not important. What is important is that the person you see now, that person is me—Mollymauk Tealeaf. Fortune-teller, sword-spinner, lover of…well, lover. You aren’t going to get anywhere until you at least understand that. Alright?”

He rolled back over, crossed his arms on his chest.

“Besides, it seems as if—at least, from the context clues that I’ve pulled together myself—you’re missing a few memories too, aren’t you, Angel? Maybe you should try reinvention.”

Yasha was silent a moment. Eventually, “But I still know who I am. I did not lose that.”

“A pity.”

“It is…no, it is not a pity. It means I still have a purpose. And a past.”

Molly scoffed. “A past isn’t worth bragging about. The present, though, now the present is something.”

She titled her head. “Er…meaning?”

He waved a hand. “Well—well, okay, for example, can you honestly tell me that you aren’t enjoying what you have right now? In this cute little cabin? I still happen to be offended that you don’t think the carnival is my family, but you seem to have found one of your own, too. These people, here, and their delicious pancakes.”

“W—yes, the pancakes are good, but—"

“And those tiny little blueberries, delicious!” he sighed. “I haven’t had berries that sweet since…who knows?”

“You…like sweet things?” Yasha blinked. “Wait, go back, what was it that you said about family?”

“Oh, so you do care that you upset me?”

“I did?”

“Of course you did! My god, The Fletching and Moondrop might not’ve been the most functional of units, it might not’ve been the most traditional, but I certainly cared about them a lot. They found me when I had nothing, was no one. They gave me a home. They took care of me. They were my whole world, and trying to deny me that is basically like—it’s spitting in my face!”

Her gaze drifted downward. “I did not know. I am sorry.”

“Oh, cheer up, cheer up!” He scrambled upright. “You didn’t know, it’s alright, Yasha. God, have I just made an angel feel guilty? Isn’t it supposed to be your job to do that?”

Her brow furrowed. “I have been trying to do my job for two hours. I am supposed to teach you. You do not listen.”

“Because that’s boring. Sitting still is no fun.”

“I explained it already, Mollymauk. You are not just sitting still, you are centering yourself to connect with the world’s energy, then turning it inward—”

“Oh, I know! Why don’t I teach you, instead?”

She stopped. Her brow furrowed. “You…what?”

“Let me teach you something!” He clapped his hands together, eyes shining with glee. “Come on, come on, what do you say? It can be anything you like! Tarot reading!”

“No, what—”

“Alright, alright, it’s not for everyone, okay…how about sword spinning?”

She frowned. “Why would you do that?”

He rolled his eyes. “Why not? It’s flashy, exciting, and you can show off your skills! What, think won’t don’t have the dexterity for it?”

Something in Yasha bristled. “I am good with swords.”

“Then prove it! I’ll go back into the house right now and fetch the glass ones, then—"

The fog cleared; she caught on. “Wait, wait. If you go in, I am sure that you will not come back out.”

He laughed, completely unashamed. “Fine, fine, how about…oh! Why don’t I teach you to make flower crowns?”

She immediately opened her mouth in protest, but for some reason, somewhere along the line, the response that came out was a semi-choked, “Huh?”

“Flower crowns!” He grinned again, sensing weakness. “Come on, it’s great if you like flowers. Don’t tell me you don’t have those in Heaven.”

“I…it is called Elys—of course we have flowers.”

“Perfect! Do you have a favorite kind?” He leaned forward. “C’mon, I promise it’ll be quick, and then I’ll absolutely pay attention to the energy stuff. Just ten minutes! Only ten.”

She wanted to argue again. She knew she had to, it was her duty, her responsibility to tell him no way, to pick him up and throw him over her shoulder and sit him up straight and threaten him until he listened…

But what she said was:

“…fine. Ten minutes, and then we start again.”

“Yes!”

— — —

“Do you think he’d look good with pink instead?” Jester let a strand of Caleb’s hair fall from her hand and back onto his shoulders. “Caduceus could probably help, too. Couldn’t you, Caddy?”

“Sure I could.”

“I don’t know,” Nott rubbed her chin. “I mean, pink, don’t get me wrong, it’s a great color—”

“Thank you.”

“—but close to the original. If we’re going to do a dye job, it should be wild.”

Caleb counted to ten. “The ‘if’ in your statement should sound more hypothetical,” he said.

“Well, it’s only if you want it, Caleb. But you know, you’d look really cool with dyed hair!” Jester gushed. “How about a streak? Like Fjord? To be stylish?”

“I’m glad you think I’m stylish,” Fjord called from his armchair, Conventions now draped across his face. “But you know I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“Right, right—”

“What, really?” Nott glanced at him. “What happened? Don’t tell me it was a prank someone pulled.”

“Why?” he grunted. “Upset you didn’t do it first?”

“Yes! Of course I am!”

He sighed, and tugged the book off his face. He ran a hand through his short black hair and found the shock of white streaking through it.

“I got it in the accident. With the shipping company, remember? That whole thing with the engine malfunction. Big storm, boat went down, but, uh, I got rescued.”

“Yeah,” said Nott, immediately relenting. “I…remember. You nearly drowned.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “I noticed this grey streak after leaving the hospital. So…either a nurse used some real strong hair dye, or…I dunno, maybe it was from the stress?”

Jester very quickly reached over and squeezed his hand.

He gave a tiny smile. “It’s alright, it’s been a while since it happened. And you know, thanks to all the bad press they got after, they had to do something for me. So…it balanced out.”

“They sent you to college,” said Caduceus, remembering. “The scholarship?”

“Yeah. And an offer to work for them again after I graduate.”

“Hell no!” screeched Nott. “Are you kidding me? After everything that happened, do they really expect you to work for them again? Or even to go out on the water?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “I really liked sailing, I…I miss it sometimes, actually. But I probably shouldn’t go back to them, that’s true.”

“What was the name of the company?” she demanded. “I’m going to leave them terrible reviews.”

“I don’t think you can do that for corporations.”

“Just give me a name, Fjord, it’ll make me feel better, if not you.”

He sighed and put his book back on his head. “U.K. Toa Shipping Industries. Have fun.”

“U.K.?” Caleb gently tugged himself free. “It is British?”

Fjord was quiet for a moment. “Huh,” he said. “You know, I don’t actually know. I always assumed so, but I guess I never asked.”

“That’s it,” Caduceus suddenly said.

They all turned.

“That’s what, Caddy?” Jester said.

“Fjord’s accent,” he grinned. He sounded incredibly satisfied. “You’re British now, aren’t you? I knew there was something different.”

A pause. Then:

“Oh my god, I completely forgot—”

“Nott—”

“That’s right! You did do that, Fjord—”

“Jester, I’m begging—”

“You told me you were Texan,” Caduceus nodded. “You talked all…twangy, before. In freshman year.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Nott all but beamed.

“I want to die,” Fjord moaned. “I want to die, it was—it wasn’t a phase, but…oh god…” He sunk down even lower in his chair.

“It’s a sweet reason,” Jester said supportively. “Real sweet.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Fjord, can I tell him?” she asked.

He vaguely waved his hand and Jester removed his book to tap him on the nose.

“Well, you see, Fjord did it partially ‘cause he was going to America and he didn’t want to stick out as the British kid. But he also did it because he wanted to remember his old captain. Vandren.”

“He was Texan,” Fjord mumbled. “And it wasn’t just, you know, remembering by itself, it was also…I dunno, I wanted to emulate him. He was…he had this way of commanding a room that just…you know.” He shifted awkwardly. “I…I wasn’t the…most confident person, before. When I was younger, especially. But putting on a mask, pretending to be Vandren, it…helped. Especially since nobody knew me here.”

Caduceus hummed his understanding, and nodded.

“What changed?”

Fjord’s cheeks colored. “Well…you know. After a while, I realized it was…pretending to be Vandren was preventing anyone from knowing me. The mask was comfortable, but it wasn’t…true.”

Caduceus smiled. “Jester was right. That is very sweet. I’m happy for you. And this accent isn’t bad.”

Fjord chuckled. “Thank you,” he tipped his book like a hat. “That is—thank you kindly, partner.”

“It’s tragic that you decided to be genuine,” Nott sighed, leaning back into a cushion. “Your southern accent was way hotter—”

“I got it!”

This outburst came from Beau, who had ended her break early to resume the search. Fjord all but threw himself out of the living room in pursuit of this new distraction.

“What?” he asked, sliding into the kitchen. “Is it a match?”

“Fuck yeah it is, look! Everyone, look!”

The rest trailed in behind him and gathered around Beau, who was practically vibrating.

“Trientalis borealis! The starflower!” she yelled. “Here it is—” she slapped Yasha’s drawing onto a page displaying a faded photo. “It’s a perfect match, seven pointed petals, a lot of yellow stringy stuff in the middle. And it’s tiny. Half an inch wide.”

“The starflower is one of the more common spring wildflowers native to eastern North America,” Caleb read, sitting down in the chair next to her. “The species name borealis refers to being from the north, although this plant is also distributed in the Midwest and the higher elevations of the southern Appalachian Mountains. Depending on latitude and altitude, starflowers generally bloom from mid to late spring into early summer.”

He leaned back, and gave Beau an amazed look. “You are right, this photo is exactly the same. You…you did it, Beauregard, that is…incredible.”

She punched the air. “Now who’s the king of nerds?! Wait, gross…”

— — —

“—little longer, you just need a second color. Something, hm…maybe blue. Or yellow. Preference?”

“P—what? Oh, uh…either is fine.”

Yasha and Molly had drifted away from their makeshift stools and into the forest, coming through the grass for summer blooms. Molly was flitting from flowerbed to flowerbed, plucking up stems and laughing when bumblebees had to spiral out of his way. Yasha had taken to sitting below a tree trunk, moving as little as angelically possible, so as to not disturb her crown.

Molly had placed it atop her head, and she could feel the petals on her brow. They were purple wildflowers. They were soft.

Yasha was always surprised by just how soft flowers could get—after all, they had to live outside all the time and there was so much danger, so much weather, it was a miracle they could grow at all. Still, it made her nervous to touch flowers; she was worried that her big, calloused hands would break them, maybe damage or ruin them somehow—

“Don’t be silly, love. You could never do such a thing.”

Yasha flinched, startled. “What?”

“Er…I just asked if you liked these,” Molly frowned. He’d flopped back down beside her and was showing off a hand of pudgy yellow blossoms. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Oh, er…yes. I am fine.” She blinked, and that whispered voice was gone. A second later, she wasn’t sure if it’d been there at all.

“In that case, look, look, what do you think?” He held the flowers up to the sun. “Nice, right?”

Yasha felt her face soften. A tiny smile crept into the corners of her mou—

“Hey, where’d they go? Yasha? Mollymauk? Where are you guys?!”

“I think I see them, through there—"

“Uh-oh.” Molly turned to Yasha and grinned. “I think we’ve been made.”

She groaned, and shut her eyes.

— — —

“—you understand how important this is?! We told you what the stakes were, I can’t believe you were picking flowers!”

“Hey! Why does everyone think I don’t understand anything? And anyway, Yasha was with me the whole time—”

“Oh, right, pin it on her, you asshole—”

“Fuck you, I’m not pinning anything on anyone—”

“Hey, hey, okay, calm down,” Fjord stepped between them and raised his hands. “Whoa, déjà-vu. Anyway, let’s just relax. Please?”

“She’s accusing me for no reason,” Molly said, hackles lowered but still with a bite.

“And he’s slacking off,” Beau glared.

“Yasha did say they agreed to take the break together,” Fjord reminded her. “And it’s the first day. It’ll take time to perfect the, uh, formula, right, Yasha?”

The three of them turned to look at Yasha, who was standing back with the rest of their friends, wearing an expression of absolute discomfort.

“Er…er…yes, right,” she said clumsily. “We just got…carried away.” She gave Beau a nervous nod. “Sorry.”

This was enough to soothe Beau’s foul mood. She sighed. “I don’t blame you, Yasha, I blame that one.” She jabbed a halfhearted thumb at Molly.

“Hey!”

“Just let her have this,” Fjord said.

“It’s not your fault,” Beau continued, ignoring them. “And—ugh, I hate being the bigger person—I get it. It’ll take time. You need breaks. I’m…sorry I freaked out.”

“Thank—” Molly began.

“Not you.”

“Well, It was worth a try.”

Yasha seemed more than relieved by Beau’s words. “You do not need to be sorry either, but thank you. And I will be more, ah, better next time.”

“Next time,” Molly grumbled. “Well, as long as she isn’t there, next time.”

“That is right,” Yasha tilted her head. “Beauregard, why did you come outside?”

From the back, Jester grinned. “Oh, Yasha, it’s so exciting!”

“That’s right!” Beau’s face lit up immediately, her annoyance at Molly all but melting away. “Guess what?”

“Er…what?”

She whipped out a book, small and bound with a soft green cover.

“I found it. Your flower.”

Yasha’s eyes widened. “You—what? You did? Where is it? What is it called?”

Her grin widened as she turned the pages. “It’s the Trientalis borealis, let me show you the picture—"

“Tren…” Yasha frowned in concentration. “The…three-foot…no, one-third—”

Beau actually laughed, then flipped the book around, pointing to a small picture beneath text. “Its common name’s ‘starflower.’ Sound familiar?”

“Star…flower.” Yasha hesitated. “That sounds…I’m not sure…”

“It would be ‘ʢƾʯɬƺƛᵿɿʑʖɕʚɬ,’ I think—” Caduceus said.

“Yeah?” Beau asked hopefully.

Yasha nodded. Her frown had vanished, and now she was staring at the book, nearly frozen, glued to the image of a little white flower. “…starflower,” she murmured. “ʢƾʯɬƺƛᵿɿʑʖɕʚɬ. You found it.”

“Hell, yes!” cheered Nott from between the others.

Yasha managed to tear her gaze away and this time, it fell on Beauregard.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “You…found it. Thank you.”

Beau’s cheeks flushed. She forced herself to stay still. “Oh, well, you know, it was…it…nothing.”

She did not resist as Yasha took the book, moving it closer to get a better look. “No, it is everything,” she said. “You did it.”

“Well—fuck, I mean, you know,” she scratched her neck and looked down, “I told you I would.”

“And you did. Thank you.”

“Now that she has found the flower,” Caleb cut in, both to Beau’s relief and disappointment, “we can start narrowing down a region. In fact, we already know from this book that the starflower is endemic to the United States.”

Yasha patiently waited for him to elaborate.

“That is, it grows near us. It is common on the east and west coasts, and is usually found in the early summer.”

He stepped forward, and with Yasha’s permission, flipped the page and showed her a map. Much of the US and Canada were blue.

She traced this with a finger. “Wait, then…does that mean I might have been in Iothia this whole time? Or right next to it?”

“That remains to be seen. It depends on how big Iothia is,” Caleb said. “And of course, again, exactly where it is. But we can use this map, and the geographical features we know, to compile a list of locations that would give you the most likely areas of Iothia.”

He gave Yasha a satisfied nod. “You are well on your way to going home, Engel.”

Her gaze fell back to the book. She turned the page to look at the flower.

Its name is ‘starflower.’ Isn’t that funny?

“Wha—why is that funny?” she said out loud.

“Hm?” Caleb cocked his head. “Why is what funny?”

She frowned. “The…name of the flower, I think. Or the…stars?”

“Actually, I was thinking that too,” Nott said. “Since, you know, you fell from the sky, right? And I guess these little flowers did too!”

Beau groaned. “So, this whole time, we were looking for a pun?”

“I think that’s irony, actually—” Fjord began.

Yasha blinked.

—and that whispered voice was gone…

When she looked up again, everyone was staring at her.

“Are you okay?” Jester asked. “You…is everything alright?”

—a second later, she wasn’t sure if it’d been there at all—

She shook her head, then realized that looked like a negative and managed to produce a weird, swooping nod.

“I am very happy,” she said quickly. “I am just…it is just a lot to take in. The flower. This…memory, it was…something important.”

Caduceus smiled. “Then it gets to be important again. This time, it’ll help you find your way home.”

Seven little petals. Bright like a star. Tiny enough to fit in someone’s hand.

She passed the open book back to Beau. She noticed Beau’s hand brush the flower.

“I…you are right,” she said, half to herself. “I think it will.”

“We all will,” Beau grinned.

—

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN!