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dendrodorididae · 3 years ago

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Ok I’m trying my hand at fan fiction so

This is a Kaedehara Kazuha x his dead friend (Tomo) fic. TW for sh, suicide, angst, horny but not explicitly nsfw

Kazuha glanced at the sky above the ship. They had entered the sea surrounding Inazuma, and the vicious storm above began to soften. The traveler had insisted on going to his homeland, the place to which Kazuha never thought he’d return. As the ship moved closer to the islands, the man felt his nerves swell like the perilous waves below.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Beidou had said.

“It’ll be fine. It’s a quick stop, no ones gonna see you.” Despite the reassuring words, Kazuha couldn’t help but worry. Perhaps it was because he was a wanted fugitive? The man knew that this was part of it, but there was another reason. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

The water below surged with electricity. The gentle hum of the energy was surprisingly calming. Kazuha leaned over the side of the ship as he listened. Eyes closing, a thought crossed the man’s mind. The tranquil nature of the water was similar to that of Tomo’s vision. Kazuha’s eyes quickly opened, and he was suddenly aware of the weight of the vision in his pocket. The gentle hum and warmth were gone, reminding him yet again of his friend’s demise.

The man also became aware of the dull pain in his hand. It was quite bothersome, but Kazuha found it despairing that the pain would fade. The burn was left by Tomo’s vision dying, and it was the last reminder of his friend being alive. It was the last reminder of the masterless vision being full of life. The more the wound healed, the more he realized that Tomo was gone.

“What are you so down about, Kazuha?” Beidou questioned. Kazuha turned to look at the woman, startled. He hadn’t realized that his face reflected his emotions. He quickly corrected his frown, and hoped that the falling rain masked the tears running down his cheeks.

“The fact that I’ll likely never be welcomed in my homeland again.” The man replied, lying through his teeth. He felt bad for being untruthful, but he knew that speaking his mind at that moment would make him break down. Beidou looked at him with a skeptical frown.

“Alright, kid, I won’t pry, but it can’t be healthy to keep shit bottled up like that.” Beidou replied. At that response, Kazuha knew that Beidou knew he was lying, which made him feel even worse about it. Noticing his guilty expression, Beidou grinned and gently ruffled the smaller man’s hair.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up about lying, sometimes it the only way to keep your composure, y’know?” She said with concern in her tone. Kazuha looked up at the brunette and smiled, genuinely this time.

“Thank you, Beidou,” he spoke. Beidou grinned and walked away, and Kazuha redirected his gaze to the water. It was regular water this time, blue and quiet. He sighed and rested his head in his arms.

Not too long later, his eyes fluttered open, only to be met by the glaring sun. He quickly jumped to his feet. They were very close to Inazuma, close enough that he risked being seen.

“Oi, Kazuha!” Beidou called from the captains cabin. “I think it’s time you hid, we’re getting close!” Kazuha nodded, and quickly headed downstairs into Beidou’s small wine cellar. He despised the smell of alcohol, but ultimately decided that anywhere was a better hiding place than the bilge (the bilge is a cavity in the bottom of a boat filled with rancid water). The man crawled into the empty cupboard that Beidou had prepared for him, and gently closed the door. Luckily for Kazuha, the scent of the cedar wood walls overthrew that of the alcohol.

He relaxed as much as he could in the cramped space. His knee pressed uncomfortably against his injured hand, making the wound sting.

“Shit..” he mumbled. As bad as the pain was, Kazuha knew that there wasn’t enough room to readjust his position. He glanced over to his burnt hand. The darkness of the cupboard masked it from view, but he felt the bandage tightly wrapped around his skin. It had been almost a month since the incident, and Kazuha knew that Beidou would soon grow curious as to why the burn hadn’t healed. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to explain to her. Not that the burns were self inflicted, not why he didn’t want the wound to heal, and definitely not how much he enjoyed holding a torch to his hand, watching the skin char and blister, and… he pushed the thought out of his mind. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, but it felt so right. The more he did it, the more he knew that wasn’t really to just keep the wound open, but instead for the euphoric pain.

The ship suddenly halted, the force slamming Kazuha against the wall. He grunted at his knee slammed into his hand. Despite the throbbing pain making him grimace, he quickly calmed himself, and fixed his position as best as he could. He silently wished that his ‘hobby’ didn’t have such painful side effects.

Kazuha waited what felt like hours. The walls of the cupboard seemed to dig into his skin, and his limbs were sore from being idle for so long. Joy flooded his mind as he felt the boat begin to move, but the feeling was short lived. After all, he still had to wait until he left Inazuma’s waters.

Boredom must have gotten to him, because Kazuha’s mind began to wander. And of all things, he began to think about Tomo. Kazuha didn’t let himself do this often, as it often led to a spiral, but he simply didn’t care enough to stop himself this time. Luckily, he wasn’t thinking about his friend’s death, but rather how he made him feel. Whenever speaking with Tomo, Kazuha couldn’t help but notice how his friend’s lips moved, how his eyes scrunched up in the corners when he was happy, how his gray hair flew in the wind. He couldn’t help but think about what those lips would feel like against his. He knew that it was wrong to have these thoughts about another man, but he just couldn’t help it. He wanted Tomo in a way that he shouldn’t.

Kazuha often pushed away his fantasies about his friend, but today, he decided to let himself sink in thought. He thought about his friend’s hand gripping his back, the other running through his hair. He imagined his own hands cupping Tomo’s face, all as there lips pressed together. He imagined them occasionally pulling apart to take a breath, but the kiss would deepen each time they rejoined. He imagined his cheeks flushing, but that part wasn’t so imaginary. He imagined their tongues sliding against each other. He imagined Tomo’s hot breath against his face. He imagined Tomo pushing him down and laying on top of him. He imagined Tomo’s hand sliding to remove his shirt, before sliding even lower-

“Kazuha, you can come out of hiding now!” Beidou called as she opened the cupboard doors. Kazuha looked at her, his face an embarrassing shade of red.

“You’re pretty red, are you ok?” Beidou questioned. Kazuha tumbled out of the cupboard.

“Ye-yeah… I guess this cup-cupboard is just pretty hot,” He stuttered, growing redder by the second. Beidou chuckled.

“So, you’ve got a crush, huh?” She turned and started towards the stairs.

“Ah, young love,” she teased, despite only being a few years older.

“She must be a pretty hot bitch to get you all red like that,” Beidou walked out onto the deck, and Kazuha put his face in his hands. He wanted to correct her so badly, but he knew that Beidou would abandon him. No one could know that he liked men, they would hate him. His thoughts were interrupted by a meow. A meow? There weren’t any cats on the ship. He turned towards the sound and saw a small white cat. His eyes grew in shock. It was Tomo’s cat.

Kazuha crawled towards the feline. Was it really Tomo’s? His suspicions were confirmed when he saw its collar. It was the friendship bracelet that he had made his friend many years ago. What was it doing here? He also noticed a piece of paper, folded into the cat’s collar. He grabbed it and undid the folds, and realized it was a letter. A letter from Tomo.

Dear Kazuha,

I hope that this letter finds you as soon as possible. As you know, I have challenged the Raiden Shogun to a duel. I have always wanted to experience divine punishment, and me dying was no mistake. I wish I could’ve told you in person, but even now I can’t do it. The truth is, I don’t like women in a romantic way. I have feelings about men that I shouldn’t. I have feelings about you that I shouldn’t.

My family found out about these feelings, though. They said that they never wanted to see me again. Now that I have no place to call home, no family, and likely no vision soon, I have decided that suicide is my best option. I know that I could never win against the Raiden Shogun, and it is the perfect opportunity for me.

Kazuha, I want you to know that it’s not your fault. You are the person that has kept me going this long, but I just can’t do it anymore. What I truly want is a happy future with you, but I know that will never happen. My last request is that you tell the others about my sexuality. Tell them I’m sorry for resorting to death.

Also, I’m sorry to you. I’ve burdened you with my death, my feelings, and an errand. I know that you probably hate me by now, but you had to know. Please, remember that I love you. I love you from the bottom of my heart, and it hurts me to hurt you. I wish I could give you just one kiss before I die, I really do, but I guess I’m just a coward.

Thank you and goodbye, -Tomo

Kazuha couldn’t believe his eyes. His vision blurred as fat tears rolled down his face and landed on the paper. His hands trembled, and he let out a sob. He raised his hands to his face as he began crying loudly.

“Tomo..” he whimpered. He grabbed the paper from his lap and hugged it tight. Kazuha was crying so hard that he didn’t even notice Beidou enter the cellar, not until she rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, are you ok?” She questioned, worry in her tone.

“You can tell me things, you know,” she said. She sounded so genuine, that Kazuha considered telling her everything. And that’s just what he did. He slowly outstretched his arm, and offered Beidou the letter. The brunette accepted, and began reading. Her eyes widened as she got further down the page. She gently placed the paper on the floor, and pulled Kazuha into a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. Kazuha hugged back, and sobbed into her shoulder. They remained like that for a while, before Kazuha looked into her eye.

“Could I… tell you everything?” He asked. Beidou met his gaze and nodded. Kazuha took a breath and began to speak.

“I- I love Tomo too. I always have,” he started. Beidou’s face lit up with realization.

“Ohhh,” she said, as if she was putting a puzzle together. She must have remembered her input about Kazuha’s crush from before, because her face flushed with embarrassment.

“OHH… she said.

“Sorry, sometimes I forget that not everyone likes women.” She chuckled sheepishly. Kazuha looked up at her with bewilderment.

“Y-you too?” He said. Beidou nodded.

“Yeah, pretty much everyone on board is some flavor of queer,” she spoke. Kazuha’ face lit up, and more tears welled up in his eyes.

“Is that everything you wanted to tell me?” Beidou questioned. Kazuha shook his head.

“You know the burn on my hand?” He started. Beidou looked down at said hand and nodded.

“It healed a while ago. I… The ones there now are self inflicted, and I can’t stop doing it.” Kazuha admitted. His words sped up in the end, as if he was trying to spit them out as fast as possible. Guilt swelled in his stomach, before he noticed Beidou looking at him with the most loving expression.

“That’s ok, kid,” she comforted. She pulled off one of her gloves to reveal old, whitened scars that littered her forearm.

“I’ve been through the same shit, I can help you as much as you need.”

Kazuha melted at the sheer kindness. He leaned back into the embrace and began crying one again. Beidou patted his back, before asking another question.

“Oh yeah, what’s with the cat?”

#genshin impact #kazuha #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha’s friend #beidou #fanfiction #kazutomo #tomokazu #internalized queerphobia #tw sh mention #tw sui mention

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gabriel4sam · 4 years ago

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Not love at first sight (But love at the sixty-third life defying idiocy), a CodyWan story

Written for @swbigbang, with the help of @kitcatkim in the role of the patient beta and @outernorth for artist (art just there)

Because all the other members of their small outpost were not in shape (read, hungover), Cody and Obi-Wan go on a small, simple, totally not possibilities of explosions supply run.

Cody comes back with a headache the size of Coruscant, a new hate of insectoids life. And a brand new significant other, in the shape of his exasperating General

It’s not a hangover, it’s a hecatomb. Whatever Boil had put in his new still was a terrible, terrible idea. The entire Separatist Council could do pointes in tutus on the flight deck and the vode would neither see it, nor care about it.

Cody and Obi-Wan were the only ones not drinking the day before, them and the communication officers on duty. The communication officers because they were working, and Cody and Obi-Wan, well, because they like the occasion for the men to feel free, and they can’t with their superior officers in their company.

That doesn’t mean the men are supposed to feel free enough to incapacitate the whole bunch of idiots they are apparently in charge off.

“Latrine duties, the first time we do planet fall. The whole of them.” Cody grumbles, assessing the damage with a cold, clinical eye.

“How does that even work? Does every man have latrine duties for his own latrines? Do you make them install as many latrines as they are? ” Obi-Wan remarks. He’s the usual calm and composed Jedi Master Cody knows on the outside, but the Commander is pretty sure he’s laughing on the inside. Cody had met Quinlan Vos, ok? And he poured enough hard liquor in the man to obtain confidences. Confidences which horrified him, Obi-Wan had even less survival instincts than Cody thought, but confidences he can’t un-hear. He will know forever!

Or at least, he will know until a luckier droid kills him. Cody is not an optimist about clones living long, happy, fulfilling lives. He has eyes after all and a functioning brain.

Cody glares at Obi-Wan, just in case. He has learnt, in the two years since he took his position with his General, that Jedi react pretty well to glaring. Not that it stops them from doing stupid stuff, but at least, they feel guilty about it.

If they like the glaring party only. Commander Ponds had a lot of things to narrate about Mace Windu and the horrible, horrible conglomerate mogul.

Obi-Wan takes his most innocent air, something Cody stopped believing two days in their acquaintance, when his newly minted General had destroyed a whole block of warehouses on an unnamed moon and made a grown Hutt call for its parent. It had been a bad month for Obi-Wan. No need to judge. When innocents are in danger, the cost of the repairs is less a problem and more a number for the politicians to handle. And yes, Obi-Wan knows the money used could certainly be used in other useful ways, but no amount of credits could ever buy a life, in the eyes of a Jedi. But that day, when Cody, after a few, very stressful hours of radio-silence, had finally gotten back his General, slightly charred, the hostages, hungry and thirsty and exhausted but all of them in one piece, and a terrified Hutt, in the middle of a devastated battleground, he had understood better the warning of Alpha-17. There, Cody had sworn in petto to never underestimate his Jedi, despite the irreproachable manners, the swishing hair and the smile of a holo-star.

Together, they take the time to check every soldier, to make sure nobody was busy drowning in their own fluid because they were too hangover/still drunk, to roll over. Everybody is alive, and the communication officers are getting ready to do a double shift, and ready to nib their vode about it later.

“It’s a good thing we’re on down time,” Obi-Wan remarks, “I must confess, despite the talents of your brothers, I’m not quite sure we could withstand an attack from Grievous and his various cronies right now.”

“We would get our asses handed to us, you mean.”

“Exactly.”

Obi-Wan cautiously touches one of the abandoned drink containers, with more care than he gives to explosives.

“What did he put in this thing?” he asks, fascinated.

“You’re not testing it!” Cody immediately retorts, because he knows his Jedi, “not in the name of science, curiosity or whatever.”

Obi-Wan touches the container a second time.

Cody could swear the thing moves in return, like it wants to be pet. Obi-Wan hums, his face interested and he leans a little more in the direction of the container. If the thing starts growing whatever strange means of locomotion is on its mind, Cody is using his blaster, no matter the General’s opinion. That’s how bad holo-dramas start, with an unknown thing unleashed on an unsuspecting ship/outpost/space station. He refuses to star in one of those plot-lacking dramas his brother Wolffe pretends he doesn’t love.

The thing doesn’t move anymore and Obi-Wan loses interest and goes back to helping troopers into their quarters and their bunks.

Cody helps, but that doesn’t mean he’s not plotting terrible retributions. He knows the last few weeks have been pretty hard, the hardest in a long time, that’s one of the reasons Obi-Wan and himself made themselves scarce last night.

Now, they have a week just waiting for the Negotiator to come pick them up. One week for the men to rest and to heal and perhaps to train lightly…but that’s no reason for the sort of screw-up Cody is seeing right now. Boil and his still should be transferred from the 501th and put into whatever part of the army that handles studies about biological warfare. Biological warfare that the Republic officially doesn’t indulge in, studying it only as a way to protect its worlds against it. But Cody isn’t convinced. He has a lot of questions he will never ask about parts of the army which are not led by Jedi, and that the Jedi are trying, with no success, to have access too. Obi-Wan has promoted him so much that the Commander now has access to documents he’s pretty sure nobody thought a clone ever would. He’s staying silent for now. If the Jedi need help with that, if they fail, the vode will try, but Cody is keeping this ammunition in reserve. He can only fire it once, because when natural-borns who aren’t Jedi realize exactly how much power Obi-Wan and the Jedi council has given him and some of the other commanders, they will try to strip them of it, he just knows it.

At the end, everybody is moaning in their bunks, or manning communication, and Cody and Obi-Wan raid the nice rations, the ones with the green seals, no less food of unkown origins than the rest of it, but certainly the tastiest. They sit down at the entry of the outpost, sharing a canteen of water between them. They don’t talk, most of the time they don’t need to.

Cody isn’t really hungry but it’s easier to trick Obi-Wan into eating something when those who surround him do too. The warmth of the sun, the sounds of nature, the nice, and so rare, oh so rare, knowledge that they have a little free time instead of having to run to put out another fire. All of this is making Obi-Wan soften, like a carving of stone suddenly becoming pliable.

“Commander?” Cody’s holocom disturbs them, and Cody startles, suddenly realizing he was lost in the light playing into the copper of Obi-Wan’s hair.

“It’s nothing, really nothing probably,” the shiny in charge of this particular console explains to them, “ one of the new models of probes should have been back twenty minutes ago. I tried to raise it per the procedure, but it isn’t answering.”

“We’re supposed to be alone on this world,” Obi-Wan remarks, a line forming between his brows.

“They are still working the kicks out of this model,” the shiny admits, “that’s why we used them specifically on this planet where they are in no danger. We’re supposed to go back with all of them, for study, to hammer out the last problems.”

The line between the General’s brows is growing deeper.

“I will make a report to the Council about the danger it could pose to you, to send any vode on the field with materials not totally ready, and the Jedi Order will issue a formal protest.” His shoulders are tense. No matter the number of tries, the Jedi are blocked at every corner in the Senate in their efforts to better the life of the clones, even in the small things and it’s a terrible possibility that this time will be the same.

“You know what? We should go check ourselves,” Cody decides, because he wants to erase that line, that tension. “Since Boil poisoned the men, we could do it. A little trek in fresh air before breathing the recycled air in the Negotiator again.”

“Oh Cody, I can do it myself,” Obi-Wan offers immediately, “you don’t have a lot of free time-“

“Funny, I would have sworn you didn’t know the concept…”

“I am perfectly capable of knowing when my body needs down time.”

“That’s not what Master Erin said.”

And that’s how they leave the base.

It’s almost noon, birds or other small things Cody can’t honestly identify are chirping, the air is crisp and fresh, and the sky is only slightly purple, with no risk of rain. No matter how many worlds he sees, Cody is still out of countenance on worlds where the combination of gases in the atmospheres and stars emitting other waves than the Kamino sun combine to give entire landscapes strange colours. Most of the time, he’s wearing his helmet which filters the strangeness of it, and it’s only at the end of the battle, when he takes it off, that he realizes everything is weirdly green-tainted.

Also, he’s pretty sure Arc Trooper Fives was lying when he told him once he visited a world on a body guarding mission with his own Jedi were everything was glittering. He’s not putting any money on it, because Skywalker and his men were guarding the Naboo Senator. From what Cody observes, when Naboo people enter the scene, glitter just happens. He also thinks Fives is much better being Rex’s problem than his own.

Most of their supplies have already been packed for retrieval, so Cody and Obi-Wan only took one hover bike out, and for now Obi-Wan is piloting, Cody behind, and the Commander is beginning to think he made a tactical error. The plastoid of his armour is supposed to stop him from feeling Obi-Wan’s warmth, but Cody could swear he can still feel it. For all that the Jedi can seem aloof and strange, nothing makes him remember his General is flesh and blood than encircling a linen-warped waist with his arms.

The world passes around them, the colours of the trees, the playful course of the clouds in the sky, the peaceful scenery of a wild world, with its inherent qualities and defaults. Cody likes those worlds better, untouched by sentient life. Growing up in the sterility of Kamino, there is something intoxicating in nature running its course, forests giving way to meadows, biotopes decided by climates and geology, and not by a careful hand arranging them for the maximal profits in their exploitation.

Cody understands about the need for fresh territory, with the growth of population, but certainly, certainly the most carefully hidden part of him insists quite vehemently, there must be another solution than the desolation of grey and pollution that is Coruscant. Something else than seeing the poorest people of the Republic living in deplorable conditions, never seeing the fresh green of a new leaf, as the richest ones can sample the delights of nature in carefully constructed reserves?

More and more, Cody is curious about the Agricorps, and their works to restore degraded biotopes, but he had the vague impression, when he asked questions about it to his General, that it’s a difficult subject for him.

Probably, Obi-Wan wanted to go into the Agricorps and they didn’t want him to, for whatever reasons. Cody thinks it’s more glorious to restore nature and to help feed a community than to go to war, like Obi-Wan is doing right now, or to negotiate treaties, which he vaguely thinks is Obi-Wan’s job in time of peace.

Cody’s thoughts drift gently as the journey continues, going from nature’s beauty to the exact shade of Obi-Wan’s hair when he has been under a natural sun for more than a few hours. The way the copper of it becomes richer and richer…. After a little less than two hours, they switch pilots, and Cody does his best to keep his thoughts on track. It would be stupid to crash just because he’s distracted by a flight of birds taking off with the noise of the bikes, no matter how graceful they are. He concentrates on piloting, and not on the presence of Obi-Wan behind him, his arms around Cody, and not in the colours of the forest around them, and the bucolic impression of their little expedition.

The last known position of their wayward probe put it next to a small lake, four hours away on hover bike, at the base of the mountainous regions. If this part of the world was in winter season, the most logical reason for their missing probe would be a mudslide. Cody told in his reports time and time again that the probes should fly higher, that the field itself is much less friendlier than believed in the labs, but apparently nobody listens to him.

It’s the end of spring on this part of the planet, the probe was probably eaten by a giant fish, or something equally undignified.

They unseat on a single beach, the last known location. No more probe there than dignity and decency in the Senate. Nothing. No blackened hull of the thing if it had exploded under mysterious circumstances, best known as shoddy work in the conception. Not even a trace they could track back.

Cody turns on himself, surveying the landscape. Vegetation, mountains, peaceful lapping of water on the beach, more mountains with their snowy capes, a lot of weird looking trees. For a vacation, it would be peaceful. For missing military equipment, it’s sadly lacking.

“By incredible luck, you wouldn’t sense our missing flying friend in the Force?” Cody asks, because that would simplify things. That would simplify things, so of course the answer is no. As Obi-Wan struggles with putting together the scanner, Cody gathers pieces of driftwood, intending to start a fire. If they have to circle on foot, on uneven ground, to find the probes, nothing says they can’t do it after another meal next to a warm fire. In the harsh reality of war, Cody has learnt to wisely enjoy the few moments of peace, and he would very much like to teach that skill to his General. Obi-Wan is supposed to have decades of experience in him, but apparently he’s not aware that every sentient has their limits.

Cody is less than twenty meters from the Jedi and the hoverbike, facing Obi-Wan, his arms already full of a nice load when he sees Obi-Wan let go of the scanner, which tumbles on the stones, and turns to him, a hand already at his waist, reaching for his lightsaber.

“Cod-“ Obi-Wan yells, but the sound doesn’t reach Cody, as the stones give way under him, shifting in a dip of grey sand and Cody is gulped down like Master Yoda gobbles a small fish.

For a second, he can’t breathe, there is sand everywhere around him, on his skin, in his mouth, infiltrating his armour by the neck, and the wood in his arms squeeze against his ribs. He feels he’s gonna get crushed alive and he struggles with all his strength. Death has always been the end but he wanted to leave in combat. He can feel unconsciousness threatening and just before it would take him, he’s spit up violently and he rolls over with the momentum, the driftwood, the sand, and a few bits of the armour which didn’t survive the experience.

He can see someone lean over him, no more than a silhouette, because it’s so dark, he can feel the sand under his head, and also the head wound and the blood seeping out of it, and he takes a long breath, and it burns, all the way to his lungs, and then he knows no more.

For a long time, Cody floats. He dreams. Or he hallucinates.

He’s on Kamino again and he learns the world is without mercy for him and his brothers.

He’s training and he can feel Alpha-17’s eyes on him, pensive.

He’s very young and he doesn’t understand where the last of his batche went.

He’s older and he’s meeting his first Jedi, General Tii, and she always has a nice word for every clone, but her eyes are terribly sad every step she takes on Kamino.

He’s meeting Rex and their friendship soars instantly.

He’s seeing brothers dying and he’s seeing rescues and the world is a never ending war, but Cody refuses to let that be the only thing his brothers will know. He watches and he checks and he learns and he places his brothers the best he can, and he’s evaluating Jedi and people, and planets and his mind never stops.

Cody wakes up. General Plo Koon is leaning over him and Cody lets relief seize him, until he realizes something is wrong. No eye covers, no breathing masks, and as much as Cody can see in the very low light, the thick leathery hide acting as skin is much lighter than Plo Koon’s. A Kel Dor, but not the Jedi Master that the Wolffe’s pack would follow to the end of the galaxy and beyond.

After a few seconds of his brain going round in circles, it finally stops at a very important point: Kel Dor and humans don’t breathe the same atmosphere, and this Kel Dor is without breathing apparels. Cody goes to put a hand on his mouth in instinctual movement, like he could stop himself from suffocating, but the other lays a hand on Cody’s forearm, his entire body language non-threatening, and says something he can’t understand. That’s when Cody realizes something translucent is surrounding his head, like a bubble inflating and deflating with every breath he takes. He pokes it, very carefully. It’s flexible, slightly sticky and it smells earthy, a little like those mushrooms his General insisted he try once, when he took him to his friend Dex dinner.

Cody takes a careful breath. He doesn’t die in terrible suffering, so he takes another one. The air entering his lungs still seems appropriate for his species. He tries to sit up, moving very slowly to make the stranger understand he’s not attacking, and the Kel Dor helps him.

Seated, he can better observe the place around him. He has been placed on a pallet of light fur, in some sort of carved place, the walls decorated, not in paint, but in carving, and his armour is against one of the walls, carefully stacked. Cody wants to touch his head, where he was hurt, but once again the Kel Dor stops him before he touches the bubble. The only light comes from a small clay bowl full of sizzling oil, where a wick has been adapted. It doesn’t give enough light to help Cody see more than the small room and a crude overture in the stone, leading to more darkness. He can’t even study perfectly the features of the Kel Dor, more than to be sure it’s definitely not Master Koon.

The Kel Dor says something again and Cody makes a frustrated noise.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak your language.” The other doesn’t seem to understand that, so Cody tries Mando’a, with the same result.

He tries the Galactic Sign Language, no results.

He knows a few signs of the Alderaan Sign Language, the one from their Southern Hemisphere. Queen Organa taught him a few lessons once during a lockdown in the Royal Palace when he was guarding her, between grumbling about clones’s rights and what her husband better do about it in the Senate, and Cody learns fast. The Kel Dor still doesn’t react in any useful way.

“A common language would be pretty useful to know if I’m your guest or your prisoner,” Cody jokes. Sarcasm now. He’s spending too much time with his General.

He shifts, trying to see if he will be stopped from standing, but the other only helps him, carefully arranging on Cody’s torso the ending of the bubble. Now that Cody studies it more attentively, he’s sure the stuff is organic. It’s like they forced his head and the superior part of his torso into some sort of ring of weird looking mushrooms, the mycelium of one of them extended around his head. If this is producing oxygen for him, he really doesn’t want to disturb it.

The world tilts when he stands up but the Kel Dor pushes a shoulder under Cody’s arm and they go out. When Cody passes his armour, he fetches his blaster, and the other doesn’t stop him. Either he doesn’t understand it’s a weapon, or he doesn’t think Cody will attack him. Her? Them? Are Kel Dol gendered beings?

Exiting the small room, Cody can’t see. Everything is dark around them. He can hear movements and the air around him has the quality of an enormous space. A cave, he would think, but the little lamp his new friend has in his claws is not enough.

“Of course,” Cody remarks, “your eyes are much much better. You don’t need a bank of lamps.” He almost jumps when someone joins them and if his head wasn’t still ringing, he probably would have attacked, but it’s only another Kel Dor, smaller, with a skin more brown. They ask something to the first one, but again, there is no sense for Cody.

He’s guided to a stone bench and the little lamp is pushed into his hands. Kel Dor are going in and out of the little circle and Cody tries to evaluate how many of them there are, but he’s, to his great shame, not good enough to distinguish between the Kel Dor easily. He can isolate one or two who have more evident features for a human, like one missing an arm, but the rest of them, all dressed in a very similar way with some furs identical to those Cody woke up on, and the alien features. Cody feels anger against himself. He judges natural borns for not making an effort to distinguish between the vode, despite their efforts to gain their own identity by tattoos or dyes, and he shouldn’t be victim of the same bias.

Finally, someone sits next to him. Cody studies their face, trying to commit them to memory.

People don’t seem unfriendly. He’s pretty sure the one he woke up with is some sort of local healer, and that it is this one who came back to him several times. Children even come to him, chattering in their language in a way which makes him think of the younger ones on Kamino, before some of their batches started to disappear and they started to understand what their fate in the world would be. A particularly daring little one climbs onto his lap and Cody looks around, ready to see the parent arrive and take its offspring from the strange being. But this community seems so peaceful nobody sees a problem with the child on the stranger's lap.

The little one shows him his treasure, a cube deeply carved with symbols Cody can’t decipher. Of course. In a world without sun, carving must be a medium and painting, or writing, must be inexistent.

“It’s a very nice cube,” he says to the little one, whose gender he can’t decipher. If Kel Dor have gender. He’s pretty sure he heard once that the biggest number of genders registered for a sentient species was eight, and the smaller zero, but he has no idea for this species.

The child seems pretty happy with the answer, even if they can’t understand it any more than Cody can understand their own opinion, expressed in an uninterrupted flow.

Around him, he can vaguely perceive people going about their day. How calm. How reposing. Nevertheless, peaceful or not, Cody can’t breathe the same atmosphere as them, and the strange organic concoction they put on his head to help will soon find its limits. He’s getting thirsty, for once, and he can’t drink without taking the thing off, which he can't. And that’s not even thinking about his General, who must be trying to reach him by any means the Force gives him.

If he knows Cody is alive.

No, no, he must know.

And even if the Force, whose exact limitations Cody is quite unsure of, even if the Force can’t tell Obi-Wan Cody is alive, Obi-Wan is not exactly a man to just go back to the outpost and declare him dead. He will search and search and search, and bring Cody back alive to his vode, or his body for his brothers to honour.

Cody knows: it had been a terrible row between the Jedi on one part and the Kaminoan and the Senate on another, this refusal to abandon dead clones bodies to the elements.

And, to the surprise of the Senate who was in the habits to bully the Jedi for centuries, the Jedi hadn’t budged. But Cody had seen what it had cost them: the Senate had made them pay, in late important reports who the Jedi needed for the war efforts, on refusal of important supplies, suddenly labelled unessential…

So, Obi-Wan is searching for him at the moment, and Cody needs to go to him. The ringing in his head, present since he woke up, has slightly diminished, and he has walked with more grievous wounds.

The question is now: how to mime exit to the Kel Dor, how to ask for a guide? Because if he has to feel around the cave until he finds an exit, he will, but that would be so much easier.

“Hoping there is an exit into your cave, little one,” he says to the child, who is falling asleep on his lap, “because if I have to drill through the roof to the exterior of the planet, it’s gonna cause breathing problems for your city.”

An adult approaches them, a long plaid in their hands, and they mime Cody putting it around his shoulders. Instead, Cody wraps the little one in it and puts the resulting bundle into the adult’s arms.

“I don’t suppose you could send me to the nearest exit?” He asks, and of course, the Kel Dor doesn’t have an answer.

He takes the little lamp and leaves to explore. He can’t see well more than two meters from the circle of light, and even with it, his eyes are struggling.

Soon, he’s stopped by a wall, which he follows until he finds a low door, with only a curtain. He risks an eye, feeling quite voyeuristic, but he only sees something resembling a storage space, big amphoras against a wall.

He continues to follow the wall, finds another one, loses himself in what is a succession of low houses. Above him, the roof of the cavern is still invisible and he can’t see the walls. He finds another little place with stone benches.

Or is it the same?

No, even underground, Cody is sure of his sense of direction. It’s another one place, and the city is bigger than he thought possible. He’s also walking way too slowly, because of the problem of light and his still ringing head.

“Kriff,” he whispers, sitting down on one of the benches.

“Obi-Wan, please find me,” he whispers before scolding himself. He’s no melodrama maiden, he is perfectly capable of finding the surface again by himself.

A burly Kel Dor approaches him, mushrooms in his claws and says something.

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand what you’re saying,” Cody tries to explain. The other sits next to him and gesticulates to the mushrooms helping, he thinks, him to breath, and when Cody doesn’t do anything, he starts placing the ones he brought against the first ones. They seem to merge in a frankly disgusting scene which is probably mushrooms porn.

“Does that mean you need to change them regularly for me to breathe?” Cody asks, despite knowing he won’t receive an answer he can understand.

To add another problem to the long list Cody is already shouldering on, the cave floor starts to tremble and people start yelling.

People are yelling, and despite the language barrier, Cody can understand the panic with no problems.

The soil beneath his feet grumbles again. There is a sound like a rockslide, and more yells, and terror is the taste at the back of Cody’s throat, because he still can’t kriffin see.

Finally, the trembling is so terrible he’s thrown on his knees and the sound reaches a crescendo as a great light emerges from the rock soil, three hundred meters from where Cody is kneeling. It’s some sort of giant worm, with a maw higher than Cody. It roars and glows even brighter, the bioluminescence of its chitin almost dazzling for Cody himself.

All around Cody, Kel Dor are yelling and struggling on their feet with great difficulties, as the rock soil is still trembling. The beast roars again and it sounds like a thousand ships taking off at the same time in the confined environment. As Cody is helping a Kel Dor to their feet, the pandemonium reaches an even higher spike as another worm emerges, further than the first, and the quake of the rock sends them flat on their bellies.

Cody really regrets letting Boil distribute his production yesterday, what he wouldn’t give for ten men and a rotary canon right now! Even for Hardcase, who he’s really happy is most of the time Rex’s problem, and his tastes for explosives.

He hoists himself more or less vertical, swearing all he can at the same time. He helps the Kel Dor to their feet again and then assesses the situation.

The lights of the worms let him have a good gaze for the first time at the enormous cavern they are in and the low buildings in it. Behind them he can even see big overtures, probably an entire network of caverns. An entire city in the dark, deep in the soil, protected from the outside world and its atmosphere which the Kel Dor can’t breathe, and from the Republic scanners which never knew they were there.

Protected from the sun, too.

And now that the light has come to them in the form of predators, they are defenceless. Cody can see people trying to flee, with a hand on their eyes, and with no success. By the time Cody has succeeded in approaching the scene of the disaster, at least three Kel Dor have been swallowed.

One of the worms, the closest, roars again and Cody doesn’t lose time: the maw, unprotected by the chitin covering the body, seems like a perfect target.

He raises his blaster and fires.

Another roar, even more deafening, as blood splatters all around in a gorish scene. A good part of the mandible has exploded, but the beast isn’t dead. It strikes, trying to gobble Cody like it did the poor Kel Dor. The difference is that the Commander can see in the light, on the contrary of the first victims. He evades just in time to escape certain death.

He rolls over and raises his blaster a second time, but the angle is worse than the first time, and the shot dampens itself on the chitin with no more effect than darkening it, and enraging the worm even more.

Again, it tries to kill Cody and the man dances out of range, blessing the hours of training the Jedi gave all of them. It had been the first thing the Jedi had done, because they thought the training the vode had received on Kamino didn’t focus enough on the art of dodging.

Cody never told them it was because the trainers and the Kaminoans thought the vode easily expandable and more useful for a suicide strike. He suspects the Jedi knew, if the way they act around the Kaminoans is proof.

Dodging, advancing, retreating, taking a shot every time he sees an overture, Cody fights, more a reflex than anything, to protect the Kel Dor. He wouldn’t refuse a little help; with spears even if they don’t have other weapons, but the cavern inhabitants are useless. They are not even running away from the worms, full of the terror of death, and the light, which have come in their city.

Nevertheless, the issue of the fight was never a real question. Even hurt and far away from his usual fighting grounds, Cody was bred a warrior and he had honed the skills given to him by his genetic donor all his life. The worm, a female, is in the habit of only fighting other female worms during the mating season for access to the best breeding ponds and to gobble Kel Dor and every animal it could. It never had to fight a sentient being, especially one with a blaster.

The blaster’ shots finally damage the roof of its mouth enough and one of them burns its path to the brain. The beast dies immediately, but the nervous system needs time to receive that message. For a moment, Cody fears the convulsions of the enormous body will cause the entire caves system to collapse on their heads.

When the movements finally stop, he vaults himself over a rock slide, caused by the events, and approaches carefully. The worm is still partially obscured by the rock he emerges from, but Cody can see a good twenty meters of it. He’s bringing back a chitin part to the GAR, because he wants ships protected like that!

A sudden movement to his left makes him turn, but too late. His zoological fascination has caused Cody to make a horrible, rookie mistake, the sort of mistake which makes a rookie never have an occasion to become something other than a rookie.

For a moment, he had forgotten there was a second worm.

He brandishes his weapon, but it’s too late. Only his reflexes save him from being cut in two, but a razor sharp incisor scraps against his armour, parting it like butter and only missing the skin by half a centimetre. The worm has no interest in the Kel Dor, no matter how easy prey they are. It just wants to kill the stubborn little creature who just killed its mother. His blaster clatters on the rock, too kriffin far away. Cody rolls on himself, tries for it, but he already knows it’s too late, when the sound of a lightsaber being ignited announces the arrival of the cavalry, just in time.

Obi-Wan Kenobi arrives on the scene like an armed deux ex machina. He’s wearing Cody’s helmet in order to breath in the cavern and death is burning light-blue in his hand. Rare are the materials which can resist the power of a lightsaber, and Obi-Wan doesn’t take chances with Cody’s life, no matter how he is repelled by the taking of a life, even an animal one. The head of the worm falls on the other side of the body as Obi-Wan is still airborne from one of those improbable jumps Force Sensitive do. The second his feet touch the rock; he’s rushing to Cody, trying to assess his health.

Across the galaxy, Anakin suddenly sits down in the marital bed, sending Padmé, who was asleep across his torso, tumbling into the sheets by the violence of his movements. The vision of a chitinous torso opening, full of meaty juice, dances before his eyes.

“Ani?” The young Senator asks, once he has succeeded in making her put down the blaster she retrieved from even the Force doesn’t know where. Padmé doesn’t do peaceful when she’s woken up abruptly, something he learned quickly in their marriage. Convincing the handmaiden that every noise inside their bedroom wasn’t a murder attempt and that they shouldn’t rush in, weapons drawn, was another interesting adjustment to the married life.

“I just.….I’m not sure…” He tries to grip what woke him up, but it already has disappeared. “I think I’m hungry,” he admits, “sorry to have interrupted your sleep.”

“The droids can make you something,” she suggests, burrowing into the nest of pillows, less prone to sudden shifting.

“Do you think we have insects?” He asks.

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

“Cody! Cody, are you alright?”

“Obi-Wan, General, are you hurt?” Cody and Obi-Wan ask at the same time, hands searching, patting the other bodies in gestures less destined to triage of wounds and more to the simple animal need for contact.

“The air of the cavern isn’t breathable for us,” Obi-Wan says, after a few seconds and Cody nods: “I deduced that, but the thing on my head….it’s helping.”

“How did you deduce such a- Oh, um, hello.”

Around them, the Kel Dor have begun to assemble, all of them an arm on their face, trying to protect their eyes.

“Your lightsaber, turn it off,” Cody says and, making something purr in the Commander’s chest, Obi-Wan immediately obeys, no question, no hesitation.

The Kel Dors guide them away from the scene of the carnage. Cody sees a few of them with stone machetes and axes, already working on taking apart the pale flesh of the worms, working from the wounds Cody and Obi-Wan made, as the chitin is too hard on other places of the big bodies.

Cody watches for a few seconds. One of a Kel Dor yanks open the cranial cavity. Cody turns to the other side very quickly, because butchering enormous worms is apparently more than his battle-hardened stomach can take. Nothing should make the noise an axe makes against flesh.

Cody finds his little lamp again. It’s not even extinguished, the events haven’t probably lasted more than ten minutes. The universe is a hard place, thinks Cody, where he could get eaten by any abomination with too much teeth in less time than an oil lamp runs its course.

They sit next to each other on the closest bench and in the halo of the lamp, Cody inspects his General better. He’s covered in stone dust and whatever else disgusting stuff is on his tunic: he probably crawled his way there.

The adrenaline is still burning through Cody, and joy too, as he turns to his General. On the whole, he misses the days life was simpler on Kamino, with no worms for example, but on Kamino, he never heard the sound of a lightsaber and knew, with a certainty so burning it could have well resonated in the Force, that he was saved. There is comfort, in the hard world he’s living in, in the certainty that his General will tear apart entire solar systems to rescue any clones. That all Jedi would. For a clone, raised to be interchangeable, this strong-willed refusal to leave even one of them behind is a balm to the soul.

“You found me,” he says, and he tries to infuse that with professionalism, and fails miserably.

“I will always find you,” Obi-Wan promises. It’s strange to talk to him like that, with Cody’s helmet on his head. Cody hadn’t realized he relied so much on the Jedi’s face to understand him.

“Yes, sir, but for a moment, I confess I thought you would more, avenge me or something.”

Obi-Wan touches his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to have been so long,” he says, “the system of caves proved itself tricky, and the Force insisted I couldn’t just blow up my way inside.”

“That would let the atmosphere on the outside enter,” Cody theorized, “and I think, our hosts….”

Like they have been summoned, two Kel Dor approach them. They are dressed as simply as all the others Cody has seen, but on the bust of the smaller one, there is some sort of ceremonial pectoral and it has a very big difference with everything Cody has seen since stepping into the cave. It’s in metal.

“Obi-Wan”, Cody whispers, “look at that.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t speak the language more than Cody. He can recognize it’s not the actual principal language of Kel Dor, which he has heard before, but no more than that. Nevertheless, it’s less a problem for a Jedi. He can feel in the Force other’s intentions, enough to understand easily that the people here don’t want to harm them, which Cody had deduced himself hours ago, and that they want to bring them to see something.

Cody is very happy to leave the dead bodies of the worms behind them.

And to General Skywalker eats insects! Bless the Force that Skywalker is Rex’s Jedi.

One cave. Another. Another one.

“How many are there? How big are these caves?'' Cody asks. He’s tired, hungry, thirsty, and more or less ready to go back to camp, thank you very much.

They find a ship, or more, the skeleton of a ship, in the last part of the caves system, the deepest one. It’s less a cave, and more the memory of a crash. The ship has been cannibalized, years after years, of everything useful, to the latest scrap of metal, except for the framework.

“It was probably made with a metal too dense for the meagre set of tools they have,” Obi-Wan theorizes.

“I can’t recognize the type of ship that is, the form itself is so strange,” Cody remarks, watching it with the eye of a man trained to recognize enemy and ally ships in a nano second in the middle of battle. Obi-Wan is touching the metal with his bare skin, with great reverence.

He always loved old things, his Jedi.

The happiest Cody had seen him was for a protection mission in a dusty archive, on a faraway world. General Skywalker was with them, and the young Ahsoka too, and the intel had been faulty. There had been no attack, Obi-Wan had had his Padawan and GrandPadawan close and safe, and spent his days making amorous noises at poetry treaties centuries old.

“It’s incredibly old. Probably before the foundation of the Republic."

"But that’s….that’s old as kriff."

"During the first time of space travel, ships weren’t as reliable. They probably are the descendants of a crew of explorers. After the crash, staying inside the caves was the only long-term possibility for them, if they hadn’t the means to produce enough respiratory apparatuses. It was the only way to survive for them. Nevertheless, it stopped anyone from finding them. And little by little, they regressed technically and lost the way to contact the outside."

"Do you really think they would have travelled from their world without a way to breath on other planets?"

"Perhaps it was stocked in a part of the ship lost during the crash. Perhaps it was so long ago, it was long before the Kel Dor knew very few worlds have an atmosphere breathable for them…Every species has the tendency to think the world at large tailored for them.”

They don’t leave immediately. Obi-Wan is of the opinion that Cody is too tired to use the path he himself used to find him. And he’s probably right. Cody’s head is throbbing where he hurt it during his fall, but he doesn’t see how he could get better here, where he can’t eat or drink.

What follows is a game of mime between Obi-Wan and the Kel Dors which Cody won’t forget, ever, no matter how much Obi-Wan asks, and he regrets he doesn’t have a holocamera.

After a time, and an unforgettable time it was, Obi-Wan and he find themselves stashed in a little room, so low they can’t stand. It’s more a bed stuffed inside some sort of structure made in the same weird-looking, weird-smelling mushrooms. Cody takes off the bubble around his head and Obi-Wan takes off Cody’s helmet.

The red head has the worst case of helmet’s hair Cody has seen, ever and Cody can’t stop an unprofessional laugh around his first mouthful of fresh water.

“I don't Not a head made for helmets, do I?” the Jedi smiles, as he tore in two a strange looking loaf of bread.

They fall on the food, famished, and tease each other at the same time. There is water and what Cody thinks is some root vegetables, and flatbread, and some meat he isn’t touching with a ten foot pool, just in case it's giant worm.

“If you swear to wear armour instead of linen in battle, I swear to the Force I will never mock your hair,” Cody smiles in return, and Obi-Wan makes a face, like he did already wear good, solid protection instead of tunic and leggings and whatever he calls the multiple layers of his Jedi’s clothes.

“I thought….for a moment, I thought…” Obi-Wan stops. It’s rare to see him lost for words, he of the Silver tongue, the Negotiator.

“I’m not dead,” Cody reiterates, because there is no need to beat around the bush. Even risking their lives every day the Force makes, nobody likes the kick of adrenaline when one of your men is missing. It never becomes normal. It never should.

“And yet, for a second I thought you were. When I saw the earth opening under your feet and gobbling you. And when I arrived during your battle, the Force trumpeting in my heart about the mortal danger you were running to.”

“The Kel Dor were pretty useless against those things. Couldn’t let them get eaten like that. Not when they rescued me and helped me.”

“I know. I know. And I would have done exactly the same thing.”

Obi-Wan sits on the bed, less gracefully than he usually does. From where he’s leaning against the mushroom wall, Cody stares. He can see the lines around his mouth, and after his late-night conversation with Master Quinlan Vos, he knows they aren’t from laughing. He can see the lines at the edges of the eyes, discreet for now, a little more present every day. He can see the first traces of grey on the temples, simply a trace of silver in the red mane…. He’s, almost, sure there was no grey at the beginning of the war, he has seen the holos of Obi-Wan against Prime, against Jango, all those years ago, on Kamino.

Obi-Wan is burning too bright, burning himself.

And Obi-Wan isn’t the only one not getting younger. The accelerated aging isn’t exactly good for Cody’s health, starting with his knees.

One day, he won’t be quick enough for the next giant, bioluminescent man-gobbling worm. Or Obi-Wan will be too tired against Grievous. Since they met, an assignment Commander- General decided by Alpha-17 himself, their life has been full of Separatist assassins, murderous fauna, Sith assassins, murderous geology, Separatist assassins pretending to be Sith assassins, and Sith assassins pretending to be Separatists assassins, brain-washed murderous Senators, murderous flora, murderous black holes, and one time a murderous sentient ship.

The whole galaxy is conspiring to kill clones and Jedi, for what Cody can see.

If his math is right, he survived today the sixty-third attempt on his life from Fate since he left Kamino. Obi-Wan was there for most of them, and Cody was around for the latest attempts on Obi-Wan’s life.

And one day, it will stop.

Cody opens his mouth before he can talk himself out of it. Life is short and he’s a soldier slave, he doesn’t have the luxury to wait for another time.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he says, and Obi-Wan looks like he has been whacked on the skull with a heavy object. It’s not exactly his best face, mouth round in surprise, and Cody only feels affection. Then Obi-Wan’s lips curve into a smile like a sun, blinding, warm, and the Jedi touches the side of Cody’s face.

The Jedi touches the side of Cody’s face.

He doesn’t speak. Not yet. His head against Cody, his breath sharing Cody’s own air, they close their eyes, and Cody experiences the strange idea that he’s detaching himself from his brothers.

For the first time, there is something in his hands, or well, in his heart, that he doesn’t want to share with Wolffe or Boil, or even Rex, who has become his closest brother.

He doesn’t want to hide Obi-Wan from them, but he wants….

He hasn’t the words. Not yet.

But, with Obi-Wan at his side, he hopes he will learn them.

And he hopes his brothers too can find something, or someone, so precious they need to share the joy of knowing it, but also to keep it to themselves, like he wants to keep to himself the smile of Obi-Wan when Cody tells “I love you”, or the small freckles at the side of his mouth, visible only so, so, so close.

The first “I love you” Cody hears from Obi-Wan is whispered against his lips.

The first kiss tastes of the bread offered by the Kel Dor, of the cave’s dust and it’s perfect.

They’re still in the same situation, two exhausted men, in a cave full of toxic gases, only protected from them by some unknown mushrooms exuding oxygen, and Cody feels like he could take over the entire Republic. He sleeps curved around Obi-Wan, like two parts of the same whole, touching as much as they can, and if the headache from his head wound brings Cody to the surface a few times during their nap, he feels rejuvenated after it.

After, the Kel Dor help them find the surface and Cody and Obi-Wan leave their new friends, hand in hand, quite happy to find back the sun and the sky, the fresh air of a late morning…and almost all their men crawling around their area, trying desperately to find them.

Obi-Wan keeps Cody’s hand in his and a few brothers less intimidated than others by Cody’s glare, embarrassed and proud at the same time, even bumped their big brother’s shoulders as a sign of congratulation. Obi-Wan immediately goes red, like he’s a teen on his first crush, and not a seasoned Jedi Master whose touch can bring life or death.

Cody finds it adorable.

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

It’s the middle of the night shift on the Negotiator, but Cody is still working on a different time zone, so he lets Obi-Wan sleep peacefully in their shared bunk. Their shared bunk! A notion that still makes him giddy like a shiny at their first kiss, even a month after getting together. They are taking things pretty slow, or in the wrong order, Cody isn’t sure, they sleep in the same bunk every night, but haven’t got very far in term of sex, and this perfect, because this is them, and not some sort of artificial list of relationship’s milestone. And Cody already knows, deep in his soul, that he will never love a man like he loves this one, even if Obi-Wan is killed tomorrow, and he’s sure it’s the same for Obi-Wan.

The Negotiator is in route to join with the Steadfast, so General Koth is on board after a conjoined mission where Obi-Wan and him gave Cody new grey hairs. He finds him easily in the mess, demolishing a healthy serving. The stamps outside the rations are a different colour than the ones Cody and his brothers eat.

“Can I join you?” Cody asks.

“Of course,” Eeth Koth immediately answers and the chair on the other side of the table moves on its own, offering itself for the Commander. Cody arches a brow.

“Don’t tell Obi-Wan,” the General jokes, “or I will endure a lesson for frivolous use of the Force.”

Cody sits and they stay silent for a moment, the General apparently happy to let him come to his questions in peace, continuing to eat his meal. Despite being tailored for a different species’ nutritional needs, it looks exactly as unappetizing as most rations Cody is used too.

“General Ke-“

“You can call him Obi-Wan in front of me,” Eeth Koth interrupts. “There is no need to be ashamed of what binds you.” He grimaces. “Force knows we will all need all the comfort we can get before everything is set and done in this war.”

“Obi-Wan and I, we had a bit of an adventure, last month.”

“From what I heard, you have a lot of them.”

“Yes but….it was…it was the first time I was around civilians. Normal people, I mean.”

“Not Jedi and not clones, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Putting apart the fact that you are normal people, and that we are too, that it is a slippery slope to consider us different, because then the rights…”

“I know you’re fighting for us in the Senate. I know. That isn’t the question…I just mean. They were civilians. Even more civilian than usual. I have only met natural borns who are Jedi and Senators and politicians or some sort of official. This was different. And I realized how little we know about the world outside the GAR. And how little we know about societies, and species who aren’t us. They raised us for war only…” Cody was almost trembling with it. Eeth Koth put a comforting hand on his wrist and Cody continued:

“Obi-Wan, I don’t want Obi-Wan to become my teacher. It’s not his role. But if we want to have a chance outside the war, us, the vode, we need to learn about the outside world. I wanted to ask you if there was something…a way…”

Eeth Koth had totally abandoned his meal and Cody could feel the weight of his gaze, the same gaze as Obi-Wan, transcending their species.

“Let me call a few people,” the Jedi said.

**********

Years later, Cody thinks a lot about that moment. Eeth Koth joined the Force during the war and Cody has to remember this moment for the two of them, this simple moment around a table, this moment which became one of the tipping point of his life. Not the too numerous almost-death, not the many battles, not even his first kiss with his dear Obi-Wan. This moment, in Cody’s mind, is the one which changed his fate.

Eeth Koth died not even two months after that, one among a lot of Jedi who gave their life, alongside the vode, for a chance for the galaxy and its people. Not that people are particularly thankful about it: the discovery of the Sith engineering the two sides of the conflict rocked the easy confidence of the Republic in the solidity of its system.

Democracy is never forever, if people don’t work for it.

No, democracy is only saved for now, and never will it be saved forever and ever. But that shock to the system is treated by the most intelligent of the bunch like a chance to seize. All across the reunited Republic people are working hard, entering politics, creating organizations to teach the population, to hold those in power accountable….

It’s a sad thing so many vode, jedi and civilians had to die and suffer for that. It’s even sadder to think it didn’t almost happen. The Republic almost burned, the Sith almost won, the beloved former Padawan of Obi-Wan Kenobi almost helped murder Mace Windu, Master of the Order...Mace Windu isn’t exactly the type to hold a grunge, but Obi-Wan still needed months after that to stay in his presence, the guilt that should have eaten Anakin transfered.

Honestly, if Obi-Wan forgave Anakin much too quickly, and Windu too, the vod needed a much longer time. Skywalker had almost helped the man who had engineered them as slave soldiers, the man who would have wiped out their free will, the poor part of it they still had. The vod had needed a long time to forgive, and would never forget, but Cody still has the desagreable impression Rex’s anger is a most important consequence in Skywalker’s mind that the almost death of the democratic system and the almost rise of a dictatorship.

Sometimes, late in the night, Obi-Wan stays awake, something lost in his eyes than mediation never totally makes disappear, and Cody is sure that day figures in a good part in his dark thoughts.

Obi-Wan, and Cody too, think about what could have been. If Cody hadn’t been there that day, in the Temple, who would have been in charge of keeping an eye on Skywalker in the Council Room? No one, that who. Because Skywalker was a Council member, if a very fresh one, and there wasn’t on hand a Jedi Master with enough years to take a look at a Council Member and decide he needed baby-sitting. All those Masters were deployed, or in beds in the halls of healing. But Cody, Cody was there, and since he and his General had become an item, he had taken sometimes to act, despite what his logical brain told him, not like a soldier Anakin could order around, but like an exasperated step-father. Exasperated and concerned, as the war advanced and Anakin seemed less and less attached to his morals.

Who would have followed him to the Senate when Skywalker had refused to wait anymore, and tackled him at the last minute? Who would have stopped Anakin Skywalker from doing something as tremendously stupid as to save a Sith pitted against Mace Windu?

And all of that had been possible because Jocasta Nu had taken the first excuse she could to keep Cody on Coruscant that month. A well-known linguist was visiting for a series of talks, and she thought he could be a good professor for Cody, and more importantly that well-know linguist had enough political power to obtain permission for a clone following his courses.

And the Republic had lived, because Cody loved linguistics, or more because he had loved the little he understood of it at the time.

But Cody refuses to let the horrors of those years of war, and his terrible first years on Kamino, define him. He prefers to think, again and again, to that moment with Eeth Koth.

Cody didn’t know exactly what he wanted. His accelerated childhood, raised for war and war only, hadn’t given him the words for it. He just knew that for his brothers and he to have a chance after the war, they needed more. Or even more terrible horrors would certainly befall them. Soldiers without wars aren’t useful anymore, and tools with no use are only fated to be dismantled for parts.

Following Eeth Koth’s call, Jocasta Nu and her assistants had descended on the GAR with determination, great efficiency and anger that they hadn’t thought about that themselves. By dint of foraging the Jedi Archives, and every friendly archives of the galaxy, for legal precedent to help the Vode, they had forgotten all answers weren’t found between the terabytes of a datapad.

Master Nu is seated right next to Obi-Wan in the public and trying very hard to pretend her eyes aren’t misty, as Cody receives his diploma, earning himself the title of Doctor in linguistics, for his work with the forgotten Kel Dor city, right next to the first Kel Dor of said city to have made the jump to Coruscant.

Cody isn’t the first clone to finish his thesis. Not surprising: he left the GAR years later than some of them, refusing to leave before his lover, who had been pressed into service as long as the Senate could justify it, and even longer. With Anakin leaving the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan was certainly the most famous member of it for the public, and it was as if the Senate tried to make him pay the Jedi’s refusal to abandon the vode. But Cody was the first clone Jocasta Nu talked with, when she arrived to try to help the vode not in pleading that they shouldn’t be slave soldiers, but in demonstrating they were so much more.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to leave the GAR officially, that honour went to Rex who followed Ashoka to Orto Plutonia, the first clone to be officially accepted as a member of the Jedi Corps. For what Cody understands, his life consists of almost losing his toes ten times a month, hunting with the Taz and flirting desperately with every passing skirts, as Ahsoka flirts desperately with her own Senator and supervises Republic-Taz contacts. Obi-Wan and Cody went once during permission, and Cody swore to himself that the next time Rex and Ahsoka wanted to see them, it could be on a tropical atoll.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to find a job outside of the Jedi orbit. That honour went to Fives and Tup, who left together and chose the most pacifist world they could. “We were almost separated once, never again. I’m not touching a weapon again in my life” Fives had said to Cody that day, watching Tup, busy hugging Rex, with something ferociously possessive in his eyes. Now, they have a nursery of succulent plants on a small island, in the south hemisphere of Alderaan, and Cody still isn’t sure if they are the best friends in the world, or one of those pairs who took brothers in a quite different sense, and frankly, he doesn’t care. There is a small potted thing they sent as a gift on Cody’s desk, with red undertones and white flowers once a year, but the former Commander has a black thumb, and only Obi-Wan’s careful nursing in the Force saved the poor thing already thrice.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to enter academia, that honour went to Waxer, who now teaches mathematics on Mandalore and is busy reintroducing Fett’s genes into the population with a long string of ex-partners, who still like him very much and with who he raises an army of children, at least three of them bearing a name honouring Waxer.

Cody wasn’t the first clone to marry, that honour went to Jesse and Cody isn’t touching that choice of spouse with a ten-foot pool.

Cody wasn’t the first in a lot of things. But it’s ok. He doesn’t have to lead his brothers anymore. He doesn’t have to bear responsibilities for death and help who didn’t come, and for the horrors that were their life.

The vode are free and Cody can only be a brother like any other.

He can be only Obi-Wan’s husband, even if Obi-Wan jokes that now, it’s more him that will be only the husband of Doctor Cody Kenobi, his arm candy in gatherings.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #codywan #my fics

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wisteria-lodge · 4 years ago

Text

a bird secondary with a *very* unhealthy badger model

i’m pretty sure i’m using both Bird and Badger secondary tools - i just cannot for the life of me figure out which one’s my actual secondary, and which is the model. it doesn’t help that both of them are at least slightly charred. when i was younger, i was surely a Bird secondary, no doubt.

One of the reasons I ask people for childhood stories is I fundamentally don’t believe that sortings ever change. (Maybe that’s the Lion in me talking.) You can build beautiful models that you adore living in, but important aspects of yourself don’t just... fall away. They change, and grow, and level up.

i’ve always loved collecting knowledge, i store trivia better than many a fandom wiki, i’ve studied things just because they interested me, i’ve once memorised a big portion of the pokedex just for fun… you get the idea.

I’m going with Bird secondary as a hypothesis, but this doesn’t necessarily say bird secondary to me. Bird of some kind, sure. But it could still be a model.

when academia kicked my butt (hello, undiagnosed adhd), and i realised my natural talents and good memory won’t help me, i think i burnt my Bird. it really hit me very hard.

That can happen. And it’s brutal. But when a secondary burns from over-use, it’s not gone it’s just... tired.

i’ve started appreciating kindness and hard work, and i wanted to be a person who - wasn’t necessarily the smartest in the room (because i felt that this ship has already sailed.)

There’s a fun word for someone who thinks they’re the smartest person in the room. And that word is “asshole.” :) Seriously, ‘being the smartest person in the room’ isn’t a real thing, and definitely not something to aspire to.

didn’t help that i’ve also acquired a nemesis who was just as smart as me, but an asshole, lmaoo.

Like I was saying...

But I thought perhaps I could be the kind one. the patient one. the steady one. of course, that didn’t work for me with my adhd at all, lol. i am physically and mentally unable to reach that ideal of stable, patient, consistent, reliable. and it hit my self esteem real hard again.

There is some sort of POWERFUL Badger secondary influence in your life, making you believe that you need to be that way too. And you don’t. That’s the entire premise of this system. That there are many ways to solve problems, all equally effective and valid.

after all, not everyone can be smart, and that’s alright - but everyone can be a hard worker, right? it’s not a matter of any innate abilities.

You think the chip that allows you to settle down and focus on doing a non-preferred task in increments over long periods of time is not an innate ability? This is why I hate standardized tests. They test your ability to take a test much more than they test the material. Not everyone *can* sit at a desk in a silent, windowless room and do math problems for four hours. And why on earth should that be that a desirable, rewarded ability? The end goal is not to graduate and start working in a factory like its 1905.

my bachelor degree’s taken me a year longer than it should have, because i’ve started just… not doing my work. didn’t come to class, didn’t hand in my homework, didn’t contact my professors. did everything at the very last minute, if at all. and i didn’t know why.

It’s because you struggle with executive dysfunction. Because you’re neurodivergent.

i’ve felt terrible about it, because i wanted to be a good student, you know? i wanted to feel like i earned that degree. i passed, because i’m bright and i can extrapolate based on the knowledge i already have, and i have a lot of knowledge in this wonky brain of mine - but it doesn’t feel like i… deserved that pass.

for instance, we had this class - literature masterpieces of XX century. we were supposed to read one book each week. obviously i didn’t manage, bc despite reading as if my life depended on it in my early years, i lost that ability sometime during my high school years (when depression hit). so the night before, i’ve sat down, read the wikipedia article on every book and every author on the list, read goodreads’ reviews, sparknotes, whatever i could find. sometimes even fragments of the original text. and i passed that (oral) exam, even with this extremely strict professor. and i felt horrible about it, because i didn’t feel i deserved to pass that. i didn’t read those books! i’ve lied to you! i’ve cheated!

Listen. I’m a teacher, and I am telling you, you deserved that degree. You got the info, you thought about it, you understood. You didn’t trick your strict professor. Your professor did a good job, and allowed you to think and learn and demonstrate your knowledge in a way that worked for you. (Which is what they’re supposed to do.) I love students with ADHD, their brains are fast and non-linear, and yes they skim the reading, but they make connections and take things to new levels and process things in such cool way, and it just makes me feel alive you know?

I actually have more trouble with the opposite type, the student who obviously did the reading, but didn’t play with it or connect it to anything else they know, so it just kind of sits in their head like a lump, not doing them any good. But they are really good test-takers.

then again - doing things the right way was (and still is) sometimes just simply unaccesible to me.

There is no right way to do things. The right way to do thing is whatever makes you happy and gets the job done. But that’s a hard one to internalize. I still have trouble truly internalizing that one. But I’m getting better.

the badger secondary, therefore, is not anything that’s actually… useful to me, most of the time, lol.

You are crushing yourself under the weight of a Badger secondary model.

unless it’s the ~vibes~ of the badger that make professors like me, most of the time - and because of that liking, they’d often turn a blind eye to just how badly i’d fuck up.

I bet your professors like you because you’re an interested, interesting student who brightens up their day. And if they’re turning a blind eye, it’s because they know that people with ADHD struggle with deadlines sometime. And that’s /fine/

i often seem trustworthy and reliable in the beginning, before my executive dysfunction trips me up, and makes me beat myself up for not actually being that.

My thoughts on secondaries and executive dysfunction.

it’s the bird that helps me still achieve anything these days - the knowledge i still have, and the things i pick up along the way, from friends or twitter or online articles. i can bullshit my way through many things, because i know quite a bit about a wide range of topics.

It is so easy to pick up on true bullshit as a teacher. We *know* when you don’t know what you’re talking about. When you put together interesting statements and arguments on the fly - when you pull something out of your ass - it’s still coming from you. That’s just an alternate way of thinking. Also, everything you have written is SO BIRD.

but actually applying myself - which i feel is both necessary to succeed

It’s not.

and the right way to do things

There’s no such thing.

- is just… out of my reach. sorry for the rant, but i’m just so super confused, lmao. if you have any thoughts on this mess, i’d be very grateful. apologies for any mistakes, too - english is not my first language.

English isn’t your first language??? Your English is amazing. You’re a bird secondary, and a pretty brilliant one by the sound of it. And you are torturing yourself because you aren’t living up to an entirely arbitrary Badger secondary ideal.

#sortinghatchats #sortme #wisteria sorts #bird secondary #burnt bird secondary #badger secondary model #executive dysfunction #adhd #teaching

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mimiwrites2000 · 4 years ago

Text

Legends

Chapter Thirteen ~

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie/ Eren x Mikasa/ Jean x Hitch (other pairings will be added as the story goes on)

Words count: 6966

* spoilers for chapter 127 and up

Summary:

an injury

a miracle

an understanding

and maybe 'everything happens for a reason' holds some truth in it, and all of it leads to that tingle of emotions with unsolvable maze that hypnotize its victims

~a story of broken hearts who are searching for a cure while mending each other’s wounds

The air was salty.

Armin licked his lips, and he tasted salt, as if he kissed the ocean.

Seagulls hunted for generous travelers who tossed bread crumbs, seeking nourishment.

The sun was hot on his skin, coated with a slick layer of sweat. Blonde strands of his bangs sticking to his forehead, he kept brushing them away, but the soft, salty breeze ruffled them back on his face.

It was a hot summer day, hotter than usual. He should probably get inside his rented cabin, but the ocean had him under its spell. Armin held a book in his hands, neglected. His eyes never wavered off the infinite blue laid in front of him, blending with the sky in the middle. The white foam made by the ship matched the fluffy clouds scattered upon the sky.

The ocean enchanted Armin, it did since the very first time he saw it, and every time he sees it, he has all these unexplained sensations trembling in his veins, and he completely loses himself in the vast blue around him, the endless waves, and the sun's reflected rays on them, adorning the blue with glimmering glints of white.

He floated on a canvas with a bucket of blue paint spilled on, and he was that one, marginal dust on it. He couldn’t see the end of the canvas, and he lost the starting point long ago.

The ship broke through the waves, making its way to the safety of the island, and a tingle of excitement tackled Armin’s lips into a smile. He suppressed it, shaking it off.

The rage from two days ago felt so foreign to him at that moment. He almost forgot about the clutched paper in his hand; the reason he was on a ship, on his way to the continent.

Connie, whom Armin left in his house, had promised Armin he would take care of the house. Even though it wasn’t that big, and it’s not like Armin had a backyard filled with plants or a pet to take care of, still, Armin had a strong feeling that when he comes back, he’s gonna be greeted by a heap of charred wood replacing his house.

If anything calmed Armin a bit, it was his certainty that Connie wouldn’t step into his office. Since their training day, Connie had this cold war with books and theoretical subjects, and Armin was sure that his friend wasn’t nostalgic for those days-

“Ha!” Someone screamed from behind Armin, and he jumped in his place, a gasp left his lungs as he turned around to strike whoever the intruder was.

His eyes landed on someone that he was perplexed - to say the least- how coincidence brought them together, on this ship.

“What the hell? Hitch?!” Armin cried out, hating his shaky tone. His heart was beating so fast against his ribcage, it might as well jump out his throat.

Hitch laughed out loud, clapping her palms on her thighs, attracting other travelers’ attention. The flowery-patterned summer dress she was wearing ended right above her knees, her hair pulled away from her face in a bun so messy that seemed it might break at any second. Armin couldn’t help but admire how pretty she was.

He swiveled his gaze back to the ocean he was lost in a minute ago, disappointed at his interrupted moment, but after the shock wore off, he realized that he missed Hitch immensely.

“Oh God,” Hitch choked out between hiccups of ceasing laughter before she dropped beside Armin, “you should’ve seen your face!”

“Ha ha, so funny,” Armin tried to sound annoyed, but the smile on his face seeped into his fakely-bent-up tone.

“What a great coincidence! What’s up, Brainiac?” Then she leaned closer to him, and whispered “can’t risk calling your real name, after all, it’s been three years since you died.”

Armin rolled his eyes at the nickname, conceded to ignore it, but he answered her inquiry anyway: “I was going to ask you the same question, what business do you have here?”

“The ship? Nothing, I don’t work here,” Hitch retorted, spreading her arms on the bench’s back, crossing her legs, and Armin rolled his eyes again, “ok ok, I just have some business on the continent, what about you?”

Armin unconsciously tightened his grip on the paper in his hand, overlooking that this unremarkable gesture didn’t get past Hitch, who immediately snatched the paper from Armin’s hand.

“Hey!” he tried to get it back, but Hitch slapped her palm on his face, stopping him as his hands flailed helplessly, trying to retrieve the letter.

“Oh, well isn’t this interesting.”

“This is really none of your business-”

“Dear Armin…” Hitch started reading out the letter, and Armin groaned.

Dear Armin…

We’re so sorry if we were too much trouble today… we’re just worried for you and want you to be happy…

So we may or may not have asked Hanji for a small favor

Mikasa and Eren, and little Ymir

A small stick figure with two ponytails was drawn at the bottom of the paper, beside Ymir’s name.

“Little Ymir… isn’t that the queen’s kid?”

After a struggle, he released himself from Hitch’s grip. He rolled his neck and crossed his arms, nodding.

“So the queen still trusts her kid with these two morons?”

Armin didn’t answer; however, he did wonder how she knew about that… but considering what Mikasa told him a few days ago, about Hitch and Jean…

“What are they talking about?” she asked, checking the letter’s back.

“Oh…” Armin reached into his pocket, there was no point in hiding it from Hitch anyway…

Hitch read through the formal letter, her eyes scanning over it so quickly Armin thought her eyes would roll to the back of her head.

Her eyes lingered at the bottom of the letter, where the official cof the Survey Corps was.

“This is…”

“Ten official days off from Commander Hanji…”

Hitch gawed at Armin, before she lobbed the paper, giving Armin a second to catch it before it flew with the wind.

Hitch scoffed: “And I thought your dog died or something.”

“I don’t have a dog-”

“And what are you so upset about?”

Armin bit the inside of his lower lip. He trusted Hitch a long time ago, since the old days of spending sleepless nights at a certain cold basement, staring at a bulk of clear crystal, a girl floating in the middle of it…

Armin shook his head. He wanted to lie about the letter, come up with any excuse, but he couldn’t. Maybe the heat affected him, but... he suddenly had a foreign impulse to talk and talk, to let it all out…

“You know I didn’t ask for it…” Armin started, he was hesitant for a moment, but when he glanced at Hitch… she was listening, giving all her attention to him.

He took a deep breath and continued: “I never asked for a break, and they acted on their own, and I hate when they do that and it makes me feel pathetic and I’m so fucking done with them looking down at me like I’m still the weak nine years old kid- ouch!”

Hitch flicked her finger at Armin’s nose, he winced, wishing he could glare her to death.

“Yeah you are so pathetic,” she conceded, not stopping a second before saying it, “you never leave your house, you’re failing at relationships-“

“It was just one fucking relationship-“

“-and you developed a temper.”

“I didn’t.”

“You sure as hell did.”

“Ok so what?” Armin turned to her, frustration flailed his hands in front of his face.

Hitch raised an eyebrow at him, before she clicked her tongue: “You’re hopeless.”

Armin swallowed, he was thinking of any retort, any snarky comment that would throw her off, a remark that will make her as annoyed as he was.

It hit him, and he knew exactly what it was.

He leaned back on the seat, and with as much calmness he could muster, he said: “Well, it looks like you and Jean are much closer than I remember.”

From the side of his eyes, Armin saw the muscles in Hitch’s forearm clinch, the edge of her eyebrow uptick.

Armin fished for another comment: “I never thought he was your type-“

“Oh shut it, don’t mention that fucker’s name.”

If Hitch was trying to throw Armin off with her comment, then she vastly succeeded; it felt as if she kicked him off the deck and into the ocean. He flinched and shook his head, stared, trying to decide whether Hitch was joking or not, but she looked so serious, and Armin found himself speechless.

Guilt surfaced up his throat, because he knew exactly what it was like to be teased about this exact same topic.

“I-I’m sorry, I just thought you and him… you know, maybe you’re right, I’ve probably grown a bit impulsive through these…”

Armin forgot the rest of the sentence when he saw Hitch shaking… with laughter.

She bursted out in cackles and Armin touched his face, checking if he grew a third eye.

“You’re-” she snorted, “unbelievable!”

“I’m so done with you,” Armin got up, taking his suitcase with him. Hitch was dying of laughter as she clinged onto his wrist, splattering pleads for him to stay but half of her words were gibberish through laughter.

“No no no please please wait!”

“I’m so fucking done with you-”

“No no I promise I’ll explain!”

Armin plopped himself back on the bench, suitcase falling beside his jittering feet.

He tried to keep his eyes on a seagull as the hysterically-lost-it-all woman beside him gradually got herself together.

Hitch wiped a tear away as she said: “I knew I have it in me.”

“You’re not explaining yourself.”

“You’ve developed a temper alright,” Armin started to get up again, but she anchored him down with a hand to his shoulder, “no no please listen,” he sat down, but didn’t look at her.

“I’m going to the continent because I’m auditioning for a movie.”

“Uh… a what?” Armin heard that term somewhere before, he couldn’t put his finger on it…

She turned to him and elaborated: “It’s like… a play, but not really, it’s just… a bunch of pictures…” then she stopped, gesturing with her hands, as if the movement would compensate for her non-existent, poor explanation.

“Oh…” Armin remembered what she was talking about, it was these movies that are shown in places called cinemas… motion pictures.

Actors, directors, screenwriters… he read about these in one of his books.

“And… you want to become... an actress?” Armin asked, his eyebrows scrunched together. He would certainly be the happiest for Hitch if she became a big star, but he couldn’t imagine a soldier choosing that path after years of serving in the military….

“Well, after the war, the whole Military Police branch was wiped out. I thought, why not?” She retorted, shrugging her shoulders, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh right…” of course the Military Police was terminated in the aftermath of the war. There was simply no point in dividing themselves into three military branches. The same goes for the Garrison. All the soldiers were given the option of transferring to the Survey Corps or retiring…

Armin might be the only one from the original corps still serving in the military, beside Hanji of course… even captain Levi retired and opened a small coffee shop…

“You have that look on your face,” Hitch commented.

Armin raised an eyebrow.

“That look,” Hitch pointed at Armin’s face in circles,”it’s like that… that face you used to make when you stared at Annie.”

“Oh…” Armin went silent.

“It was that look… like, you were just absolutely out of it, like you’re dreaming or I don’t know, but very distracted,” Hitch looked at Armin, the seldom look in his eyes stopped her.

He looked away, pressed his lips, his eyelids fluttering,

“I…” Hitch softly shook her head, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s ok.”

“I know she meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah…”

A beat of silence, seagulls’ cooing puncturing it.

“Do you…” Hitch muttered, “still think of her?”

Armin’s jaw clenched.

A beat of silence.

Hitch clicked her tongue: “and by the way, I wasn’t lying about Jean.”

Armin’s jaw relaxed a bit, glad she changed the subject.

“I can’t stand him, and he can’t stand me, and I don’t even know if what we had is even considered a relationship,” She said casually. Armin didn’t know how to reply; should her offer comfort? because apparently Hitch wasn’t that close to Jean after all, and the break up -if it’s even should be called that- didn’t seem to affect her in the slightest…

Armin gazed back at the ocean. A thin line of land was steadily boldening as the ship cruised towards it. At that moment, Armin wanted to freeze the boat for eternity, to stay in the midst of this vast, bottomless blue.

“I…” Hitch said, and Armin turned his head towards her. He was taken aback by the soft look on her face, she was being genuine, but she didn’t continue her sentence, she merely looked in Armin’s eyes, and he understood everything she didn’t say.

I’m sorry about her.

“It’s fine, it really is fine,” Armin said, a smile on his lips, it didn’t reach his ears.

Hitch’s lips pressed into a thin smile, before her face brightened up, a light bulb flashed above her head, and she suggested: “You know there’s this place that I heard off, it’s some sort of a village, or maybe a small town, anyway, it has some really interesting places, besides, it will be holding a massive celebration for the third anniversary of the end of the war.”

“….and?”

“And? Seriously?” Hitch rolled her eyes, but Armin didn’t fidget. She smacked her lips before continuing: “I can meet you there, in two days, I had other plans, but I can delay those, I can get you a room at the same hotel I’m staying in, we can have fun, yeah?”

After that, Armin found himself standing at the harbor, a small piece of bagel-brown paper in his hand, an address scrabbled on it, as Hitch waved off to him.

At least, he had plans.

~~~

Armin had two days for himself to discover the city he was staying at.

He mooched around the town, his suitcase dragging beside him. Just like the first time he visited Marley with the survey corps a few years ago; the same overwhelming jitters of astonishment rushed through his body. Enthusiasm of unveiling-the-unknown awakened in his heart, pumping quivers in his veins.

The mid-day sun overhead, shedding light on gray-tiled streets meandering between similarly-gray markets, contouring the sides. Puffs of smoke emitting from chimneys, blending together in a whirl of a gray before mounting up, the sunlight filtering through it, softening, adding a touch of haziness to the atmosphere.

In contrast to the gray-dull blocks, people clad in rainbow-palette charades, a flurry of liveliness, carrying singing instruments alongside it, its harmony a blend of melodious laughter, rhythmic chatters, nostalgic uproarious kids’ squeals, and the shopkeepers howling offers.

People spoke different languages. He recognized his own language spoken here and there, but in completely different accents that he didn’t understand parts of it.

One cohesive symphony delicately orchestrated.

Melodies from afar punctuated the coordinated harmony, adjoining another layer of ecstasy. Armin thought that it was his ear putting together all these overwhelmingly-pleasing sounds and making up this melody, but as he snagged his way through the sea of colors, the music source got louder, the notes in sync with Armin’s heartbeat, pulsating in his ears.

His feet led him to the sound, and it was close, so close. Armin broke out of a curtain of people, and-

A guy sat on a carpet woven from the rainbow beams, his fingers strumming strings effortlessly, on an instrument that resembled a guitar, but its neck thin, its body a hollow swelling of light brown wood. He played it like it was second nature to breathing, the notes compatible with the thudding of boots and chatter, merging in congruence. He faded with his surroundings, his gray unfamiliar-clothing matching the jagged bricks of the building behind him, only a few eyes glanced at him or at the colorful carpet beneath him.

When he saw that Armin was staring, he winked at him.

Unexpecting it, Armin backed away, accidentally stepping on someone’s foot.

Armin tumbled but didn’t fall, he stuttered out: “I’m so sorry!”

A man, the man Armin stepped on his foot, was babbling in a language Armin never heard before.

Armin flailed his arms around, trying to apologize somehow, but he stopped; the man smiled, bowed his head, and put his palm on his heart.

Dumbfoundedly, Armin found himself tentatively mimicking the man’s gesture.

After that, the man beckoned Armin to follow him, and started down the street. After a hesitant moment, Armin nodded and walked side by side with the man.

Their walk was interrupted constantly by the man stopping every few steps to greet someone. Armin wondered if everyone knew each other in this town… then it dawned on him that you don’t have to know someone to wish them a good day.

The town itself was a decaying skeleton of bricks and stone, but the souls occupying it blew life into every crevice of it, blooming as those souls grew older, their bond solidifying like bricks within walls.

They jostled their way through the current of colors. With every step they took, a sweet aroma wafted through the air. Armin sniffed, spotting a coffee shop down the street. The man invited him in, offering a hot drink and a weird dessert that Armin had no idea what it was made of, except for the flower petals adorning it.

The man refused any payment, doing the same hand-on-the-heart gesture from earlier.

A few minutes later, Armin resumed roaming with a warm cup in his hand. The burnt-brown mixture was not different from any other coffee, but the smell and the taste had a unique twist to them, accompanied with the flowers-infused dessert; an addicting taste that he could get used to. Armin couldn’t pinpoint the different ingredients, but enjoyed it nonetheless.

Beside the coffee shop stood a thin tall construction with a pointy head, like a pencil. Armin saw exact replicas of it scattered around the town as well; different colors and sizes, but same embellishments. He didn’t know its function; it reminded him of a lighthouse, but it certainly wasn’t; no lighthouse is in the middle of land.

A marginal part of Armin found it hard to admit it, but he felt… happy, or more like relieved. He surprised himself by the sudden feeling of wanting to go out, to see people and walk through crowds, not interacting with them, but merely watching from afar.

He was caging himself in a shell, forbidding himself from this very primitive liberty for so long.

A new yet rudimentary form of freedom.

He regretted treating Mikasa and Eren badly a few days ago. When he first read the letter, he boiled with anger. Ignoring Connie’s shouts, he sprinted out his house, taking the shortest route to Mikasa and Eren’s place, and when he reached it, he barely held himself back from denting the door with knocking.

Eren cracked the door open, and when he saw Armin, he slammed it shut in his face.

That was when Connie stepped in, and after tedious tirades and three cups of coffee, he convinced Armin to take this vacation and ‘enjoy his time’.

Armin bought a postcard and an envelope, intending to write to Eren and Mikasa and apologize to them.

He spent the rest of the day walking through town, taking in as much detail as possible, collecting memories to tell, and when his legs were numb enough to stumble upon, Armin decided to get something to eat.

He sat on a bench at a square, a spacious square with a fountain centering it, kids splashing water, as their parents shopped at the markets surrounding the place. A mouth-watering aroma allured Armin to a traditional restaurant where he got a sandwich with a drink, both have foreign names that were too hard for him to pronounce.

As his muscles relaxed, he realized how tired he was. He didn’t rest after the long boat trip, captivated by the charming spirit of that town, besides, he had been walking for hours with a suitcase as an extra weight. He needed a place to stay for the night.

A small girl with unruly red locks flailing around her face jumped around, her green, flowery dress swirling with every step she took. A stack of newspaper weighing in her hands, obviously a burden.

Armin waved his hand, catching her attention. With a smile on her face, she approached him, handing out a newspaper.

“Thank you,” Armin said, but the girl skewed her head at him in confusion, she probably spoke a different language.

“O-oh, um… thaaaa….nnnkkk….yooouuu…” he repeated it again but slowly, only to realize it wouldn’t make her understand. But then, she pointed at her ears, and it dawned on Armin; she was deaf. He remembered the hand-on-heart gesture from the coffee man before, so Armin bowed his head, and put his hand on his heart. The girl smiled, and did the same. He paid for the newspaper, and the girl trudged back to the middle of the square, holding the newspaper stack tight to her chest, keeping it dry with the kids splashing water around.

Armin opened the newspaper. He sighed when he saw most of it was written in the language he spoke.

The first title made him choke on his sandwich.

As the third anniversary of the war is nearing, the world is wondering, is it really over?

Armin scanned through the rest of the page, his mouth inching wider with every word, a crumb of chewed bread fell out his mouth.

Is it really over? Are all titan shifters actually dead?

Or is it just another trick from the devils of paradise?

The world demands proof that the Eldians are unable to turn into titans anymore, and it won’t rest until the truth is out.

Armin couldn’t believe his eyes, and suddenly, the sandwich in his hand was no longer appealing.

~~~~

The hunting for an affordable inn started. Armin roamed the streets again, instead of keeping his chin up and reading signboards, his gaze was fixated on others; he felt every pair of eyes on him, only watching him, somehow knowing that he was the colossal titan, with one, unremarkable scratch, he could blow this whole city, charring it into dust, as if it never existed before.

Fear shoved the ruthless joyfulness into a far, abandoned corner, cackling. Sweat broke on Armin’s forehead, his heart beating fast in his chest.

For the first time in three years, Armin felt unsafe.

All he knew for the past three years was living for his own self, safely. He was still stuck with the military, and he had troubles sleeping the first few weeks he moved alone into his house, but it was as if he was reborn, turned a new page, and started a brand new life. Even if the whole world declared his death, for him, it was a new beginning.

Armin needed a quiet place, as fast as possible.

He entered the very first inn he laid eyes on.

The inn was in the middle of the town, with an affordable price and clean rooms. Not big but not small. It wasn’t crowded nor was it empty. He booked a room closest to the emergency exit, hastily snatched the key from the concierge's hand, throwing a trembling thank-you over his shoulder as he scuttled as fast as he could up the stairs, reaching his room, checking the number engraved on the key twice, before going in and locking the door.

He flopped his suitcase on the bed, closed the curtains, then double checked that the door was locked.

Stepping into the bathtub, he stayed under the warm spray of the shower longer than needed, all the while checking behind the curtains.

He snuck under the blankets, unexpectedly cold after the warm shower, slept with one eye open, as light gradually faded behind the curtains, denoting the end of his first day of this unforeseen vacation.

The last thing he thought of before drifting into an uneasy sleep- was buying a ticket back to the island, first thing in the morning.

~~~

Light crept into the room as the sun rose up in the sky. Armin didn’t see it, he was under his blankets, speculating the closed curtains, his heart thudding loudly in his ear.

His ears perked up for any sound.

His throat was dry as a desert.

His water bottle was across the room.

Armin observed it, unmoving. He closed his eyes for a long second, hoping that when he opens them, the water bottle would be right in front of his face.

But it didn’t move an inch.

He should get going, get up, gather his stuff, and leave.

This is ridiculous, Connie himself would be ashamed.

He got up, a shiver went up his spine the moment his toes touched the carpeted floor. Even though he was aware he was being an idiot, he couldn’t shake off this paranoia. Tiptoeing to the water bottle, he reached to it, his mouth getting dryer, his fingers were an inch away from it-

KNOCK KNOCK!!!

Armin hit the water bottle, knocking it off, water spilling on the floor, splashing the curtain.

Freeze.

He didn’t dare move a limb.

His brain went through every possibility of who could be at the door. Angry people with torches and swords? Maybe men in black with guns in their hands? Or it was the government on a mission to arrest him? Or-

KNOCK KNOCK!!!

Armin flinched. He took a deep breath, and approached the door with inaudible steps, as light as he could. It felt like ages before he reached the door. He spied through the peephole, it was blurred with dust, but it was enough to see a figure of someone standing there.

A woman.

A blonde woman.

No way no way no way-

Short

Petite

Armin leaned against the door, squinting, trying to decipher her features, his heart involuntary beating faster in his chest-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!!

Armin fell back, tumbling on his ass, a grunt escaped his mouth. He slammed his palm on his mouth, the pain from the fall momentarily vanishing, but it was too late.

“Alright if someone is in there, for God’s sake just answer the fucking door, I got other businesses to do!” a gruff voice called from the other side of the door, impatient, their tapping foot could be heard from down the hall.

That’s not… her...

“Y-yes?” Armin squeaked out.

“Towels? This is room’s services, do you need extra towels?”

What? Room service? I didn’t ask for-

“Just answer the goddamn question-”

“N-no!” Armin half shouted, trembling, “th-thanks I don’t need t-towels please.”

“You got a letter,” the gruff woman added.

A letter? Wha-

“Hello?! Can you stay with me for one fucking minute-”

“I’m sorry!” He blurted out, “f-from whom?”

“Do I look like I would know?” A very loud sigh, “are you even gonna open the goddamn door? Actually nevermind-”

Armin heard rustling, before the tip of white paper sneaked under the door.

“Next time answer the door faster, just wasting my Goddamn time, as if I had any more time to waste…” the complaints faded down the hallway.

Armin layed on the floor for extra few minutes, energy drained out of him.

Another letter.

Armin feared what could be in it.

He slit open the top of the envelope with trembling fingers, shook it, a small piece of wrinkled brown paper fell out.

He held it so close to his eyes, rereading the few lines over and over again.

Ayyooo Armin!

I hope you enjoyed your free time!

Just a reminder about our meeting tomorrow, oh and I already got you a train ticket and a room in that hotel

See ya there!

Hitccchhh~

He didn’t leave his room for the rest of the day. Plans of leaving to the island seemed way far off reach.

~~~

At night, Armin took the train to the town Hitch told him about. Keeping his eyes down, his movement unnoticeable, dissolving within the train’s car.

It was barely dawn when he arrived, the sky a dark blue, the moon absent.

It was one of those nights where you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face; the surroundings plunged into darkness. The only available light coming from fluorescent street bulbs with vague halos, fireflies zipping around them. He barely got himself to the hotel Hitch told him about, the process of checking in all but blurry. Paranoia substituted by exhaustion. He flopped on the bed, only able to kick off his shoes before he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

He woke up at noon.

Sweaty, hot, tangled in the sheets, the sun glaring through the window.

Sleeping at dawn and waking up at noon was one of the things Armin avoided for the past three years; he was an early bird who liked mornings. When he woke up with the sun scorching in the middle of the sky, it was as if he fell off a cliff and all his bones were broken, muscles from head to toe aching.

Of course, the morning buffet the hotel provided had long ended, (now that he was aware of it, the hotel Hitch recommended was rather nice… pricey as well, he noted to talk about this with her, he couldn’t let her pay for it). Armin could no longer ignore his stomach walls clamping on each other, so, with caution, all his senses fully activated, he left his room, making sure to hide all his personal stuff underneath the mattress and behind the closet.

Only then did he have a chance to look around the town.

Frighteningly astonishing, it looked as a bucket of rainbow splashed on it. The silent buildings decided to grow non identically; each one sprouted from its roots in fortuitous angles, frozen mid dance on inaudible tunes.

A canvas of a bored artist and a brush, spontaneously drawing strokes wherever and however. And what was a mere boredom act had become a masterpiece others marvel at.

It was quiet for such a colorful city, even though people zipped up and down the streets, but for Armin’s eyes that were still adjusting to the light, it was all but a blurry gray-scaled lines.

After his vision cleared… he found out it wasn’t much different than when they were blurry.

People clothed in three colors… black, white, and gray. Striped, dotted, and squared. Their faces wore similar schemes; stoic, prosaic, blank. All busy and in a hurry, scurrying down the streets, everyone going on with their day, not glancing at one another.

Armin, with his blue shirt and brown pants, felt so out of the place.

Any sort of the modern technology Armin saw when he first visited the continent- were nowhere to be seen; there was not a single car on the streets, only black bicycles that passed by him like wind. The zig-zagging chimneys sprouting from houses didn’t blow gray toxics into the air, and the air tasted different; clean and refreshing.

However, the fresh air didn’t seem to affect the people at all, either they were too used to it, or simply didn’t care.

Armin swallowed, thinking why on earth did Hitch recommend this city. Yes the place was nice, cheerful and pulsating with life, but its people were as emotionless as an unremarkable stone on the sideroad.

It wasn’t about the fanciness of a place, its color or its shapes, it never was and never will be.

it was all about the people.

They either spread life in town, or rob it from it.

Armin tried to not make eye contact with anyone, and not because of his dilemma of being exposed, but because everyone seemed intolerable to a delaying-glance.

He permitted himself to stroll the streets and discard his situation on the shelf for a while.

After all, it was ridiculous.

Utterly ridiculous.

He took a turn right, a turn left, walked for some time, went through alleys and squares… it was too late until he realized he could no longer go back to the hotel.

He was lost and had no idea where he was, internally freaking out.

Do not panic don't panic do not panic

If his frantic thoughts showed on his face, he’d probably be an easy prey and get blindly robbed. He must stay sharp and focused.

Time passed, and Armin decided that he wouldnt find his way back if he didn’t move, and soon enough, he found himself walking through a traditional market rounding a vast square, traders wearing hints of color, intruding the greyness of the town-people, Armin realized that this market was attended by foreigners.

In the middle of the square, a small stage was being set up, almost finished. From people’s questioning stares and glances, Armin concluded that it was as foregin to them as it was to him.

But after fleeting looks, people would resume their life, running errands, their kids killing time waiting for their parents; playing and hopping around.

Armin forgot his hunger and that he was lost for a second, watching the kids.

Much like his younger days, with Mikasa and Eren in Shiganshina...

The atmosphere ignited nostalgia’s candle under Armin’s nose. He sighed, wishing that he invited his friends with him, maybe having company wouldn’t have gotten him in the mess he meddled in, why didn’t I even think about that?

Armin’s stomach grumbled in response, reminding him that he didn’t eat anything since… the day before...

The side market-stands with fresh fruits watered his mouth. He swallowed, approaching a stand where shiny apples were snatching glances from everyone at the market.

Armin picked two apples, one red and one green -he didn’t have a personal preference- and any food on an empty stomach is worth a fancy meal at the monarchy’s feasts.

Horns echoed.

Every head in the square swiveled to the center, where the stage was completely set up, a middle aged man standing on it, his chin up, beside him a younger man, a younger replica of him. Four musicians, carrying small horns that were a shame for real horns, standing behind him.

Classy

“Attention, people of this town,” the old man with a round belly announced, hushed murmurs transpired, and Armin heard admirable words like it’s the Mayor! Or how humble he is!, which made Armin raise a confused eyebrow.

Everyone went quiet, and as if on cue, the Mayor continued: “As words had been going around, we’re holding one of the biggest festivals here, in memory of ending the big war. Three years ago, when the world saw peace again!”

Claps erupted, Armin grimaced at the Mayor’s meek wording.

The mayor’s chest inflated with pride (or ego?), the buttons on his gray-striped shirt threatening to pop off. He raised his hand, and the crowd, once again, fell into homage silence.

“And as I promise you, my dear people,” few people sighed, “I’ll make it worthy for your praise and admiration. People from all over the world are going to visit us, and from my place here, I ask you for generosity and hospitality, and to take advantage of this trade investment! It’s a great opportunity for your markets to flourish!”

The crowd clapped again. The Mayor half bowed, before he descended the stage, his younger look-alike following him.

Comments, squeals, and whispers spread rapidly, and the square was as alive as it was before the pause.

“Young man?”

Armin turned to the seller, he almost forgot where he left. He reached into his pockets, but stopped when the seller whispered to him, his accent heavy but understandable: “Did you see what he did? He’s using the people, his people for money!”

Armin’s mouth opened and closed several times, taken aback, before he asked: “What do you mean? Isn’t this for their own good?”

“What? No young man, no. I take it you’re not from here?”

Armin shook his head.

“Well let me tell you something,” the seller leaned closer to Armin, his voice dropping to lower than a whisper, “that man owns this market, he takes 50% percent of the profit, from every single one of us!”

“...what?”

“Exactly!” the seller looked right and left, making sure no one was eavesdropping on them, “half of my hard work goes right into his pockets!”

Armin scrunched his nose; he had a bad feeling about the Mayor the moment he saw him. Armin didn’t know why the seller was telling him this… maybe he just wanted to let it out…

“His son looks no better than him… I’m sorry young man, I shalln’t hold you up any longer.”

Armin nodded with an apologetic smile, handing several coins for the seller, he turned around and-

He pumped into someone, and a paper bag full of groceries was dropped out on the ground, the two apples slipping from his hands and falling into the mix.

“I’m so sorry! I-I apologize!,” Armin knelt and started picking the goods and putting them back into the bag.

Armin wasn’t bothered that he picked up all the groceries by himself, their owners not doing anything; it was his fault after all.

When he was done, he stood up, glancing at the two apples which were no longer edible; one split in half and facing downwards, the other had a huge soft brown circle on it, contradicting how appetizing they looked just ten seconds ago.

“There you-” Armin’s voice stopped in his throat.

His eyes met a pair of familiar icy blue eyes, wide open, boring into his own.

“Annie…” Armin whispered, his eyes widening.

It was her, blonde hair in a bun, blue eyes- it was her.

No doubt.

Annie...

There is no way this is actually happening; she can’t just vanish for years then pop out of nowhere like this.

That wasn’t fair, it was ridiculous, the world had a plan, and Armin was a toy controlled by someone else, snickering at him as Armin couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t believe his eyes.

He spent three years trying to forget her, they can’t go through this again-

She yanked the paper bag from Armin’s hands, pulled a gray cape over her head and walked away.

Armin froze for a moment, but when he saw her figure fading into the crowd, he darted behind her.

“Annie! Annie, wait! Please wait!” Armin called, as he pushed through people, whose sudden purpose was hindering Armin from getting to Annie. He accidently pushed a guy who happened to be holding a basket filled with eggs to the rim. The guy staggered, squelching half of them on the ground.

“Hey! Watch out!” The man complained, but Armin didn’t acknowledge him in the slightest.

She didn’t slow down, she maintained her fast pace, ignoring Armin’s calls, pulling the cape further down her face when people started giving them suspicious glances.

“Annie! Please!”

More eyes looked at them.

Armin barely kept up with Annie, trying so hard to not lose sight of her. Until they reached an intersection, people double the number, bicycles zipping past Armin-

She turned right.

Armin sprinted, crashing into bodies, people throwing profanities at him. He turned right and-

She was gone.

She vanished.

Armin halted in his tracks, his breathing erratic, staring at the last spot he saw Annie at.

Was that… was that a facade?

A hand clapped on Armin’s shoulder, he jumped, only to see that the hand belonged to a man.

An angry man, with a basket of half cracked eggs.

The man was shouting, complaining, cursing. But Armin didn’t hear him; his ears ringing, his mouth dry, and his sight swaying.

A few blocks away, a blonde carrying groceries bag was hastily leaving the scene, covering her head, not turning around to check if he was behind her.

Ignoring the awkward glances from passbyres, she kept going until she was out of the center of the town, where houses scattered over vast land, and it was more peaceful than the market, less crowded, less people.

She walked to a small, humble house, took out keys and unlocked the door. Discarding the bag in the kitchen. She beelined to her room, closed the door behind her.

She looked around the room, searching for anything to break, to smash, anything to let out her anger on, anything.

When she decided she mustn’t leave a trace of her rage, she sat on the ground, leaning against the door, and bit down hard on hand. Closing her jaw as hard as she can on flesh, until she tasted her own blood.

Sharp pain shot from her hand, she let it go with a hiss, watching blood dripping on the ground.

She watched her wound.

A labored, shaky sigh left her mouth, she rested her head against the wooden door as she eyeballed steam emitting from her wound, flesh forming and healing, accompanied with a murmur of a hiss.

“Are you done? Did you let it all out? Or you wanna bite your other hand?”

She looked up, a girl sitting on her bed, legs crossed, a smirk blasted on her face.

“What… what have you done, Hitch?”

AAAAAAAAAHHH Oh my GOD I didn’t update Legends in so long I’m so excited to finally post this dkgdlsajgkds Thanks for everyone who tolerated this story not being updated for some time, thanks for sticking around, I really appreciate it I know I haven’t been updating as much as I used to, I’m gonna graduate soon, so I’m a bit busy with university right now The thing is, I’m too attached to this story, and only recently I realized this. I started writing this story in April 2020, it was the beginning of lockdown and all the crazy shit we’re going through right now. It was my own escape, and I enjoyed writing every single word of it I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ll never abandon this story, because it became a part of me that I can’t live without So thank you guys for coming along this journey, I appreciate it. ALSO SORRY FOR ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER I’M SO SORRY OH MY GOD Ok that’s all, feedback is always appreciated, here on tumblr or ao3 (or twitter uwu) OK THANKS AGAIN YOU GUYS I LOVE YOU MWAAAHH

#Aruani #Armin Arlert #annie leonhart #armin x annie #eremika #Eren Jaeger #Mikasa Ackerman #eren x mikasa #aot #snk #fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #aot fanfiction

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creative-type · 3 years ago

Text

wake from death (and return to life) ix

AO3 first summary: Zoro had always been told Kuina died falling down a flight of stairs. But she didn’t fall, and she wasn’t dead.

It took Kuina almost five minutes of dangling over the rails of the ship to realize there was no wind. She was punch-drunk and giddy, the weight of uncertainty rolled off of her shoulders now that she had a clear path forward. She was a Revolutionary. She was going to be the greatest swordsman in the world.

Kuina allowed herself those five minutes. With everything she’d gone through in the last week and a half she’d more than earned them, and it had been so long since she’d felt any real excitement for her future. But no swordsman worth their blade would let themselves get lost in childish emotionalism. Kuina steadied herself with a few deep breaths, mentally drawing in the flights of fancy that had momentarily escaped from her imagination—daydreams of facing Dracule Mihawk at the behest of the Revolution, of proving once and for all that she could do what so many thought impossible, of reuniting with her father and Zoro proudly bearing the title Greatest.

It was like trying to wrangle a gaggle of unruly children. The more Kuina struggled to contain herself the more her imagination tried to run free, but she managed to settle back into the state of tranquil serenity that was more befitting of her training. The practical side of her, the part that quietly disapproved of this most recent turn of events, knew that now that she’d painted the broad strokes of her future it was high time to figure out what the hell Aria de Gris was doing now. It was then, and only then, that she noticed that the air was unnaturally still.

The sailors around her were not perturbed even as the Valor’s sails hung limp from their moorings. Kuina could feel that they were moving on the clear, mirror-flat sea. Slowly, but that was better than being dead in the water. Kuina wandered to the ship’s bow, noting that the Valor was sailing almost due south. If the Revolution had followed the same heading since leaving Tolouse, and Kuina had been unconscious for two full days, that meant…

“Don’t worry, we should be out of the Calm Belt by the end of the week.”

Kuina flinched, sword half-drawn before realizing it was only Dara using what had to be the most annoying Devil Fruit ability in the history of the world. Dara laughed as she popped out of the deck, hooking her thumbs in her pockets as Kuina shot her a glare.

But most of Kuina’s irritation was at herself for letting herself be caught by surprise, and she returned her attention back to the water. It was impossible to sail through the Calm Belt without some sort of engine, which the Valor lacked, to say nothing of the danger presented by the innumerable nests of sea kings that buffeted the Grand Line from the Four Blues.

Even as Kuina tried to wrap her mind around it, a dark shadow emerged from the depths directly in front of the ship. A high-pitched, eerie wail, almost like a siren’s song, reverberated through the air and deep into Kuina’s chest.

A monstrous head breached the surface so close to the Valor it sent rippling waves across its hull. Sprays of water jettisoned thirty feet into the air, exposing only part of a stripped, misshapen body before submerging once more. Great flukes, as large as a whale, but covered with algae-like strands of hair, slapped against the surface of the sea and sent sprays of salty water against the deck. Someone in the crow’s nest above whooped out a cry of encouragement.

Thoroughly confused, Kuina looked at Dara, whose grin only widened as she pointed to a tiny speck bobbing to the space recently vacated by the leviathan. “Oh look, there’s Cam. Someone should send a boat after her.”

“As if she’d take it!” a Revolutionary Kuina didn’t recognize shouted from across the deck.

“True,” Dara said contemplatively. Beckoning Kuina to follow, she meandered to the starboard side of the deck and loosened a rope ladder into the sea. “It’s probably faster to just let her swim.”

If Kuina hadn’t been so amazed by the fact Camille hadn’t gotten herself eaten, she would have marveled at the speed with which she cut through the unnaturally-still sea. Kuina considered herself a good enough swimmer, but Camille looked like she’d been born for the water. She moved like she was part fish, each stroke strong and graceful, returning to the Valor in moments. When she climbed back onto the decks she seemed sad to be there, looking back longingly at the water.

“So, how’s Fin?” Dara asked.

“Good, good. I adjusted the harness to fit more comfortably.” Camille arched an eyebrow at her friend while adjusting a leather thong around her neck, from which hung the biggest tooth Kuina had ever seen. “And his name isn’t Fin.”

“Well since you haven’t said what his name is, you’ve left me no choice but to improvise,” Dara retorted. She nudged Kuina in the ribs. “Can you believe she went through the effort of taming a sea king and then didn’t name it? ”

“You tamed a sea king?” Kuina said. “ How? ”

Camille rolled her eyes. “I didn’t tame anything. We’ve just...reached an understanding.” She gave Kuina an appraising look. “I’m surprised the doctor let you out of her grasp so soon.”

“She almost didn’t,” Kuina admitted.

Dara wrapped an arm around Kuina’s neck, ignoring the choked yelp of alarm and Kuina’s efforts to squirm free. “Forget about that! Did you hear, Kuina joined up. She’s officially one of the team!”

“I thought that was a given.” Camille said, utterly disinterested as she wrung the excess water from her shirt.

“When did you hear that?” Kuina said at the same time.

“Pfft, Dara knows pretty much everything on this ship,” Camille said. “You get used to it.”

Kuina frowned. She didn’t like the idea of someone with Dara’s ability nosing her way into business that wasn’t her own. If there was anything she’d learned since sailing with the Revolution, it was that there was very little in the way of privacy while at sea. Ships crowded everyone together, crewmates eating, sleeping, and working in close proximity. While the forced closeness had its advantages, Kuina was used to spending great blocks of time alone. It was something to get used to, and to be wary of.

“Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me,” Dara said, tweaking the end of Kuina’s nose. “You saved me from losing five hundred berries, and to Lizard of all people. I am at your service.”

It took Kuina a moment to remember Dara’s ill-thought wager with Elizabeth, and before she could voice her protest Dara had taken her by the arm to make official introductions to the crew, Camille laughing a half-step behind.

There was John the cooper, and James the blacksmith. Among the deckhands Kuina was introduced to rapid-fire were Kojo, Zhao, Lin, Char, Sean, Jen, and Tiva, and by the end of it she had gotten them so thoroughly confused with one another she had no idea which one was which. Others were working belowdecks, or off-shift and resting.

Elizabeth was still regretfully in charge of cooking duties, while Lyudmila was the ship’s quartermaster and second in command. Kuina was surprised to hear that in addition to taming sea kings in her spare time, Camille was the crew’s navigator.

“And what is it you do?” Kuina asked as Dara dragged her back below decks for the grand tour.

“Get newbs like you up to speed. Now here’s Trini’s room—try not to get stuck in here unless you want to spend the afternoon feeding lettuce to snails.”

Kuina blinked in amazement. The communications room was packed full of terrariums housing snail phones of every size and color. At its center was an enormous machine that looked vaguely like what the marines used to send their faxes, with thin cords attached to half a dozen den den mushi. Behind the machine sat Trini wearing an oversized pair of headphones, deep in concentration.

“She’s scanning the airwaves,” Dara said in an exaggerated whisper, carefully closing the door once more. “Not that there’s much to intercept in the Calm Belt, but you never know with the marines these days.”

“The marines can cross the Calm Belt?” Kuina said. “I can barely believe we’re crossing the Calm Belt!”

“It’s all thanks to Fin. Sea king bulls don’t typically fight with one another unless it’s mating season, so even if he’s pulling along a tasty treat we should be all right. I think his song has something to do with it, too.” She made an exaggerated gesture. “As for the marines, I have no freaking clue, but it must be a pretty new development since Boss doesn’t know about it, and the Valor isn’t sea-king proofed either.”

“That’s right, this was a marine ship,” Kuina murmured, looking up at the planks with fresh eyes. It was funny, without the marine’s distinctive painted hulls, she’d never would have been able to tell the difference.

“Oh, yeah. Came with all the amenities, which is how Trini got her state of the art snail room.”

“So if you guys had a sea king snuck up your sleeve this whole time, why didn’t you use it during the battle?” Kuina asked. “A monster that size would have been useful on Tolouse.”

“Ach, must everything be about fighting with you?” Dara said. “You must never have seen a real sea king, but Fin’s practically a baby, not even half-grown. And it’s surprisingly smart—for all my teasing, Cam was right. The thing has a mind of its own and acknowledges no master. I don’t think we could get him to attack a ship if we wanted to.”

“But he’ll pull a ship through the Calm Belt?” Kuina said.

“It’s better than going the long way around, eh?” Dara said with a shrug. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

At the barracks, Kuina had her choice of seven open bunks. One, which happened to be closest to the door, had a small crate propped on top of the thin mattress. Inside was stuffed with clothes and basic belongings. When Kuina looked askance at Dara the light in her eyes dimmed.

“That’s Danny’s stuff,” Dara said. “The rest who died already have their things stowed for when we get back to base, but as far as any of us know she doesn’t have any family so we’re not really sure what to do with hers. I’d say for you to take the clothes since you don’t have any, but I don’t think they’d fit.”

Kuina drew her fingers over the box, trying to think if she’d said anything about any family in their short time together, but all she remembered her mentioning was an apprenticeship under a cruel master. Kuina’s throat tightened as the memory of Danny screaming hysterically echoed in her mind unbidden.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Dara rubbed her neck uncomfortably. “It happens. I already told Boss when I bite it to sell all my stuff and use the money to have a party. If you all can’t be happy, at least you’ll be drunk.”

“I don’t drink,” Kuina said.

“Then you and Mila can be mopey together,” Dara said with determined cheerfulness. “It won’t matter to me, I’ll be dead. Now, where do you want to be? I’d be careful about that middle one there, it’s next to Lizard, and she snores terribly. ”

Kuina took the hint, and changed the subject, trying not to wonder how many of the bunks available to her had only emptied after the battle of Tolouse.

After the tour came lunch, and with two solid, if not especially tasty, meals under her belt, Kuina was beginning to feel more like herself again. The itch to train was back, and Kuina wanted nothing more to test the limits she’d recently expanded and chase after the high of battle, but much like her time on Belo Betty’s ship she was first subjected to the humiliation of being the newest and lowest-ranking sailor on a large and understaffed warship.

“You’re kind of shit at this, aren’t you?” Camille observed from her perch at the ship’s bow, watching as Kuina ran her mop over the deck for what felt like the hundredth time.

“You could help,” Kuina said.

“And deprive you of the opportunity to learn? Never.” She gave a long, catlike stretch. “By the way, you missed a spot.”

Kuina muttered an oath as she stabbed the mop into the bucket. “It isn’t as if it’s dirty.”

“Water expands and seals the wood, salt protects against rot.” Camille yawned, as if bored by the conversation, and wandered back to their useless rudder. As she passed Kuina, she said, “If you want to live in a drippy, softwooded ship, be my guest. As for me, I’d prefer not to die the first time a Grand Line squall hits.”

She left Kuina with her head bowed and cheeks burning. But the words had their intended effect and Kuina redoubled her efforts, determined from that point on that no one could in good conscience reprimand her sailcraft ever again.

It was nearing dark when de Gris and Lyudmila emerged from the captain’s quarters to call a meeting with the crew. After a long day of labor, Kuina’s muscles ached and she yearned for the sweet respite of bed. And it wasn’t as if the work had been taxing, especially after Clara Cross emerged from the infirmary like an avenging angel to tell off the entire crew, but especially Kuina, for overexerting herself.

There were some things not even Devil Fruit magic couldn’t sweep under the rug, and apparently the exhaustion of a near-death experience was one of them.

“All right everyone, gather round!” de Gris yelled. “Watchmen too! There aren’t any ships out here, and if the sea kings come after us we’re fucked anyway. I want everyone to hear this. Where’s Trini? She can leave the damn snails for ten minutes.”

The crew scrambled to obey the order. Kojo (or maybe Sean) went to gather those who were still belowdecks. Minutes later everyone was assembled in a loose circle around the main mast, with de Gris at the center. She paused a moment to ensure everyone was paying close attention, and under her stern gaze the idle chatter vanished into deathly silence.

Rays of dying light cast against de Gris’s back and framed her face in deep shadow. “I know you all have been wondering lately why the hell we were called to the East Blue so suddenly, and why we’re leaving just as quickly. I’ve heard you lot asking where our next destination was and wonder why I’ve not said where we’re going once we hit the Grand Line. Well, the answer’s simple. Until today, I didn’t know.”

From the folds of her coat, she pulled out an old and crumpled sheet of paper. Kuina squinted her eyes and was just able to make out the blurry picture of a masked figure. The bounty underneath, however, was clear as the sky above. Master-at-Arms Gemini, Wanted Dead or Alive. Bounty: B48,000,000.

Beside her, Dara snorted. “Oh, I bet the marine who thought up that name thought he was very clever.”

It was difficult to tell much from the photograph, but the one detail that was absolutely clear was Gemini’s strange, double-segmented arms, too long for an ordinary human and vaguely insectile. Kuina, who’d never seen anything like it before in her life, wondered what it would be like to fight someone who essentially had two elbows.

She brushed the thought away and turned to Gemini’s face. Their mask, fittingly enough, was divided vertically into halves, one dark and one light. The side that was dark was completely bereft of ornamentation; Kuina couldn’t even make out an eyehole to see out of. The side that was light, however, was painted with a garish grin. A shock of wiry black hair fell past their shoulders, but beyond that it was impossible to discern any identifying features. Baggy clothing and the poor quality of the photograph obscured anything else, even gender, and after spending this much time under de Gris's command, Kuina knew better than to assume.

“Gemini is a prominent figure in the criminal underground,” de Gris continued. “Arms dealing, drug trade, slavery, the whole lot. Removing them from the equation will make the world a safer place.”

“What’s an arms dealer got to do with the Revolution?” someone to Kuina’s right called. “And what have they got to do with the East Blue?” A murmur of agreement rippled through the crew.

“Enough!” de Gris bellowed, silencing them once more. “Tolouse's government were slavers, that much is now clear. They called it political exile to a labor camp, but the end result is the same—the World Government gave the king kickbacks for human chattel, using the Callihan Trading Company as a middleman. And we now now that the CTC was taking orders from Gemini. If Gemini is willing to go through so much effort to set up a scheme in some East Blue backwater, who knows what other fingers they have stuck into various pies around the world.”

“So we’re going after them,” Camille said, crossing her arms across her chest.

“That's right. So far Gemini has been able to stay one step ahead of us, but with the intel gathered on Tolouse we have the upper hand.” De Gris marched to the mast. In one smooth motion she drew a dagger hidden in her boot, and stabbed the bounty deep into the wood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to Kyuka Island. In the days ahead I’ll be divvying out assignments. Any questions are to be directed toward Lyudmila or myself—out of an abundance of caution, you’re not to discuss your orders with anyone else on this ship. I’ll keelhaul anyone who tries.” At this her gaze went directly to Kuina, who got the impression these instructions were given strictly for her benefit. "Kyuka is marine territory through and through. I pray none of us fall into Government hands, but if we do, it's safest for the Revolution that each individual knows as little as possible about our plans."

After a pause, and hearing no objections, de Gris lit a cigarette for herself. “I’ll pay anyone who finds any intelligence on Gemini that leads to their capture or death the full value of their bounty. I’ll pay double to anyone who brings me their head. This chase has gone on long enough, I want this bastard dead. ” She flicked a bit of ash off the end of her cigarette and added, almost as an afterthought, “Dismissed.”

A gap in the circle opened to let de Gris through. As she passed, she grabbed Kuina by the shoulder. “Come on, greenhorn. It’s time we sort out your position on this ship.”

For the second time that day Kuina was led to the captain’s quarters. De Gris’s desk had been cleared away, the sea charts rolled back into their proper places and ashtrays emptied. Kuina slid back into a chair that smelled like tobacco. “What is it? Does the Revolution have Articles of Enlistment for me to sign? Is there a manifesto I’m supposed to study?”

“Don’t be stupid.” The sun had almost dipped below the horizon, and de Gris found a box of matches to light a kerosene lamp. The orange flame danced on its wick and flickered with the natural roll of the ship. “I’m told Dara gave you the runaround today.”

Kuina nodded.

“Clara never came screaming at me, so I have to assume you’re not feeling too poorly,” she mused, taking the time to light another cigarette.

“I’m fine,” Kuina said, rolling back her shoulders so de Gris couldn’t see the weariness in them.

“And have you taken that sword out of its sheath even once today?”

“Uh...no?” Kuina said.

“Unacceptable.” De Gris leaned back in her chair and let out a long stream of smoke. “You’re not some swabby or rigging monkey, you’re here because of your blade.” She looked at Kuina as if she were an idiot for not realizing this sooner.

“I’m willing to work just as hard as anyone else on this ship,” Kuina said stiffly.

“And you will. Harder, even, since you’re so far behind. But a ship is like…” She gesticulated, trying to find the right word. “It’s like a person. A crew is its own organism, and every one of us has to fit into their part. You don’t expect a heart to do the same work as a kidney, and no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to be half the sailor as the people who’ve spent their whole lives on the water. It’s ridiculous to think otherwise.”

Kuina nodded. What she said made sense, and in many ways Kuina agreed with her. But there was something about agreeing with Aria de Gris that didn’t sit right with her, so she said, “I have to learn sometime.”

“Obviously. I’m not about to let you be a liability once we hit the Grand Line, but there has to be balance. You’re no good to me if you get yourself killed because you spent too much time studying the different types of sails instead of your swordsmanship.” De Gris was pensive for a moment. “I’ll have Mila set up a schedule for you in the morning. Half the day working chores, the rest training. A few of my men use katana, but you’re better than all of them. Most of what you’ll do will have to be self study.”

“That’s fine. I haven’t had a master in years.”

De Gris looked surprised to hear this, but didn’t comment. “We have regular sparing times as well, to help our less practiced fighters build their skill, and to give the mainliners a chance to get used to each other's styles. Depending on how this all shakes out, you might be pairing with Dara or Camille for the upcoming mission. Do you know how to use a gun?”

“Of course not,” Kuina said, caught off-guard by the question.

“Then you’ll learn.” De Gris cut off Kuina’s protests before they could begin. “Can you kill someone at twenty yards with your sword?”

“No,” Kuina said mulishly.

“Then you need to know how to fire a gun, and probably keep one on you as a backup weapon. I have no use for senseless pride on this ship, girl,” she said as Kuina scrunched her nose in distaste. It’s your job to listen to what I say, and it’s my job to try and put you in a position to not die. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Kuina said, still unhappy at the prospect of sullying her hands with a firearm.

Without warning, de Gris pounded her fist on her desk. The kerosine lamp tottered and threatened to fall, but her eyes never left Kuina’s, the scar on her cheek pulled taunt with her scowl.

“I said. Do. You. Understand ?”

“And I said yes, ” Kuina snapped. “I’ll learn to use you’re stupid gun, and when I figure out how to kill someone at fifty yards with my sword I’ll drop kick it into the ocean where it belongs." She crossed her arms across her chest. "I already told you I’ll do what you say so long as you don’t interfere with my ambition, so there’s no need to treat me like a child.”

They glared at one another for a long while, hackles raised, but this time Kuina refused to let herself be intimidated into backing down. Slowly, still without breaking eye contact, de Gris eased back into her chair and doused her cigarette. “I have put too many people’s belongings into boxes because they wouldn’t listen. For your own sake, I hope you’re not one of them.”

For the second time that day, memory of Danny's last words echoed in her mind. “You’re in luck, because right now I don’t own enough stuff to fit into a box, let alone anyone to send it to.”

“No one at all?” de Gris said, eyebrows raising.

Kuina’s breath hitched as she thought of her father back at Shimotsuki village. Would the Revolutionary Army be able to return her meager belongings home without the marines knowing? Would he be able to stand knowing she’d joined Dragon’s cause despite all his warnings? What about Ipponmatsu? He at least wasn’t under suspicion by the World Government...Or was he, now that she’d attacked Tashigi?

Of everyone she knew, it was probably safest to give her belongings to Zoro , but gods only knew what part of the Grand Line he’d found himself in. She almost laughed at the thought of him using two of her swords for himself.

“No one,” Kuina said. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescent moons into her palms, but she kept her voice calm and her tone even.

After another heartbeat of painful silence, de Gris said, “Well, you’re not the only one." The words were probably meant to be reassuring, but Kuina felt they were anything but. “If you think of anybody, make sure someone knows.”

“I don’t plan on dying,” Kuina said.

De Gris snorted and lit another cigarette. “None of us do. Now get some grub and get to bed. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Kuina rose to her feet. After a moment’s hesitation, she bowed slightly. “Thank you...Captain.”

De Gris waved her away with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “You don’t have to break your teeth saying it. I don’t give a damn what you call me so long as you follow orders. Just know I take discipline on this ship very seriously. Cross me, and keelhauling is the least you’ll have to worry about.”

Kuina didn’t doubt it for a second. Murmuring her goodbyes, she left de Gris to her cigarettes and her musings, grateful to be able to swallow the clean sea air once more.

#wake from death (and return to life)#creative-type writes #holy crap it's been forever since I updated this #I think I missed several chapters on tumblr #I apologize in advance for being bad at promoting my own work #one piece #kuina #One Piece Fanfiction

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the-fifth-tragedy · 3 years ago

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Chapter 1: Discovery

[Transcription of a video interview given by Sculptor Liran some time after the fifth occurrence of the Tragedy.]

Liran is sitting at a table, facing the camera. They look to be about average height, with coppery skin and darker hair that looks like it's still growing out from a mourning haircut, almost long enough to brush their shoulders. Their eyes are mostly green, and they sit with their upper set of arms resting on the table and the lower - one of which is prosthetic - in their lap. They are wearing a long dress, in a simple cut but with detailed embroidered designs that cover half the fabric and look to still be unfinished.

They look down at the camera, possibly reading something, and then close their eyes, sit up slightly, and begin to speak.

"I don't know what I was expecting when I saw the crashed ship.

I knew it was something bad, of course. It had to be. No one who had the skills to fly a ship in the first place would land so badly, not if they were still able to control it.

But I wasn't prepared for what exactly it was. What had happened to the pilot.

It had been a cold morning, much like every other on the Wake. And I was still up, it had been a few days since I'd slept. I was deep in a conversation with a friend a few stars away when it must have hit, so I didn't really notice. But they did, they pointed out that there had been some kind of loud noise on my end. So I went outside to look. And I saw that ship. Small, like any other, but really beat up looking. Definitely hadn't had a smooth landing. And no one was coming out of it. I waited for a few minutes, but still no one did. So I went over there and looked inside.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. I don't think I'm ever going to forget that horrible smell. Burned hair, and worse. I covered my face with my shirt and kept going. I called out, but no one answered, so I went to the front of the ship where the pilot would be. That's where I found them. Still at the controls, but slumped over, they didn't look conscious. This was about when I realized the scale of what must have happened. There were scorch marks all over. The controls looked scorched, half-melted. There were two dark spots on the floor, and I felt this.. sheer dread fill me, when I stepped close to those. Some part of me knew there was death in that ship.

The person in the pilot's seat wasn't dead, though they looked it. I could see them breathing, just a little. They were... gods, they looked like they should have been dead. Their hair was half burnt off, though that couldn't have accounted for all of the burning smell. They were sort of twitching a little? Their hands were twitching on the controls. I realized the ship's inner lights were still on at this point, the air filters still trying to clear all that god-awful smoke out of the air. Now, I don't know how much you know about ships like that, but they don't have backup batteries. The pilot has to do everything manually. They sort of go into a trance, I think? Like an out-of-body experience. But they usually stop, once they've landed. So they can go and do whatever they've gone wherever they've gone for. But this person hadn't, they were still in that trance. There was something else wrong with them, too - their power was... I don't know how to describe it. It was like they weren't controlling it properly. Sparking out of them like some broken electronic thing, melting bits of their mask and adding more little burnt holes to their already far from intact clothing, flickering over their skin. I knew immediately that I didn't want to touch them. It was easy to put two and two together with that, and the scorch marks on the floor so close to them, and the fact that no one ever flies a ship alone. But I didn't want to. I was still hoping that somehow this wasn't the Tragedy, that they'd just taken ill or something on their own, that it wasn't as bad as it looked. But it was as bad as it looked, and I think I knew that.

I wasn't really sure what to do at this point, so I ran back home, told my friend what I'd seen and went to find someone who could help. I found my closest neighbors - Horticulturist Ikel and the Provost - Ikel because I knew them, and Provost, I don't know their name, because they used to be a teacher of some sort on one of the stations, so I thought they might know ships. And then we went back to that ship. I warned them about the smell before we left, and they brought scarves for us to wrap around our faces. I didn't take one. Covering my face wouldn't remove the memory of it, wouldn't clean the smoke from my lungs. I didn't want to go back into there.

But I did anyway, letting the others go ahead of me.

The Provost said I was right to not want to touch that person, and that since they were still in flight-trance and had lost control of their powers they were dangerous. Couldn't touch them without risking a shock. They told Ikel something quietly, and then Ikel explained to that person although I don't think they could hear, that we'd need to get them back into their body before we could move them, and that it might hurt but they'd try not to. They had something that's apparently used in pilot training if someone gets too far out of their body. Something soft with a very insulating handle, I guess? I wasn't really looking at it. Since this wasn't really my area of expertise - well, none of it was my area of expertise, I just was the one who found it - but, I wasn't really looking at what Ikel and the Provost were doing as much as I was looking at the person lying on the controls there. I hadn't really gotten a good look at them the first time so I was doing that now. Their hair was black, but it looked really scorched and was already starting to crumble away at the slightest touch, so I didn't know if their hair was actually black or if it was just all charred. Two arms, three fingers to a hand, nothing unusual about their build except that they were kind of tall. They had dark skin, sort of iridescent, probably would have been very pretty but they had all these cracks or wounds over them. With their power going through those cracks it looked like veins of lava or something ripping open through their skin. Aside from the injuries, they didn't look like anyone in the groups that live in this system, but I don't know where they might have been from. Spacers can look like anything and be from anywhere, you'd literally never know. They had a mask on too, looked like some sort of horned animal. I guess it's a standard pilot thing because it had all these wires from it connecting to the ship, but some of the wires were broken and the mask itself was... melted, in places? I don't know if the spots on the controls were bits that had melted and dripped off of the mask, or just blood, or... something else. One of their hands was still gripping a lever, so tightly that I wondered if we'd be able to get them to let go, or if we'd have to cut the lever off of the control panel. I hadn't brought metal cutters with me, and I don't think Ikel had either, and the Provost isn't the type to even own metal cutters. There was soot and smoke all over the ship, not just on its pilot but there was a lot of it on them, and a big charred burned spot on their back. There were still little wisps of smoke coming off of their body whenever their power sparked into the air and back down to them. Ikel flinched at one point, I think because one of those sparks hit them, and when that happened the pilot sort of... flinched? shuddered? I'm not really sure, but it was a movement, and more almost coordinated than the twitching that was all they'd been doing up until then.

I guess eventually the Provost was able to coax them out of the ship and back into their body, because they stopped sparking and we were able to get them physically out of the ship. I had to pry their hand off of the lever that they were still holding. Would have really preferred someone else to do that but since I'm a sculptor they said I had the most gentle touch... I don't really know about that. They... their hand...

Well. I was able to get it out of their hand, but. A lot of skin came off with it. Most of the skin of their hand.

Anyway, we all carefully lifted them up and carried them out. Not with our hands, of course, just powers. Someone as injured as that, you don't want to touch them more than you absolutely have to. We got them to the settlement and brought them to a medic, and then I went home as soon as I could and slept for about a week to try to get my mind off of everything I'd just seen."

Liran stops, opens their eyes, and looks toward the camera.

"Was that all you wanted?"

They pause for a few moments, reading or listening to something, and then nod.

"I didn't know what had happened there immediately. Or maybe I did, but I sure didn't want to. By the time I woke up, they'd been able to regain consciousness and speak a little. The Provost kept me updated on how they were doing, and what had been learned about them.

And what had happened was that, they'd been in their ship with two others from their fleet, and one of those two had betrayed them, taking advantage of their absence from their body to threaten harm, and forcing them to take their ship here, instead of the space station they'd been heading for. And, I think Provost explained it as, either the fear got to them or they pushed themself too hard and went into overload. Either way, what must have happened is, one of their friends touched them and the other friend at once, and it connected a circuit between all three of them and the ship. With three people's worth of electricity, and the other two not expecting it, it probably killed both of them instantly. That's what those scorch marks on the ship's floor were. So, yeah, it was the Tragedy after all. The betrayal of one in so vulnerable a situation, and the resulting harm... and the death. It's been, what, two centuries since the last time this happened, right? I guess we were all thinking it wouldn't happen again. Just an awful fact for the history books. But, well, we were wrong. It happened again."

Again, Liran looks at the camera for a moment.

"Yeah, I still see them around sometimes. After they were healed enough from their injuries, they got put with some people pretty close by who were willing to take care of them. One of those is someone I know, so I see them a lot and sometimes I show them some of my works. They're completely blind, and their power perception is only slightly better than their sight, so I've made a few smaller versions of my favorite sculptures so they can feel the shapes. They're kind of odd sometimes, but they're nice enough, and I... oh hey."

They look away from the camera recording them, turning around to face someone off-screen. "What're you doing in here?"

Someone behind Liran slowly walks into view of the camera. They're tall, with dark skin shot through with flame-colored scars, and unnaturally white hair, reminiscent of certain paintings depicting an ancient mythical psychopomp. They are wearing a short white skirt, a white cloth covering their eyes, and nothing else.

"Hey, Fivey, what are you doing? This is my house." Liran asks playfully, tapping the other's scarred arm with their prosthetic one. 'Fivey' turns toward them at the touch, seemingly not responding to their words, and then somehow notices the camera, tilting their head as if curiously looking at it.

"Yeah, that's a camera," Liran says. "I'm doing a video interview right now. About you, actually."

They still don't acknowledge the words, instead still seeming to stare at the camera through their blindfold. Then they reach out toward it with one hand, the pinkish burn scars covering their palm and the underside of their fingers coming into crisp focus.

The video feed flickers, becoming slightly warped and separating into its component colors at the edges. The focal point of the video shifts, first from the scarred hand to the scarred face, and then to Liran's face, where it remains even as they collapse.

Liran jumps up and catches them before their head can hit the table. "Damn it... Fifth, I know you like to see, but you gave me too much of a shock right there. Please can you get out of my camera and get back in your body?"

Again, the feed flickers, but this time it becomes less distorted. Fifth pulls their lanky frame back into a standing position, but leaves one hand in Liran's for a bit longer before letting go.

"What was it you wanted here, by the way?" Liran asks.

Fifth still doesn't speak, instead looking around the room. They slowly walk to one end of it, and then collapse out of frame.

Liran laughs softly, picking up the camera and angling it to show Fifth's scarred body lying facedown in a pile of soft-looking pillows. "That was what you came here for? Floor time?"

Finally they speak, mumbling just the word "cold".

"You... were cold?" Liran asks. "Why not just put on some more clothing?"

Fifth replies, voice still muffled by the pillows, and the only word audible is "coords".

"Good point," Liran concedes. "Here, how about I get you a blanket. I've got one that's white, it'll match your blindfold." They then look back at the camera. "Well, I think I've said enough for you to get your scoop, now, haven't I? Plus a glimpse at the Tragedy themself. They don't look like death anymore... now they just look like Death." They laugh a little, amused by their own joke. "Though, they only resemble the reaper in their looks, they've got a pretty sweet personality when you get to know them. Now, I think I'm done here." They gesture toward the camera, fingertips sparking, and the video stops.

#the fifth tragedy #my writing #spilled ink #writeblr #sci fi #chapter 1 #chapters #long form #Eno #Fifth #Liran #Ikel #Provost

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years ago

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Four Years and Counting

A gift fic for @vindicatedvirgil! I hope you enjoy the soft Virgil bonding content^-^

Summary: Virgil just wanted to make a surprise breakfast when Janus and Remus show up and interrupt him. He ends up being grateful for the intrusion. Familial holiday fluff.

Ships: Familial DRLAMP

Warnings: food and holiday mention. Ask to tag others!

WC: 1809

Four years.

Virgil grinned in the darkness as he crept silently down the hall towards the stairs. It had been four years since he had done this the first time, sneaking down to the kitchen to grab snacks before the light sides would wake up to start their holiday celebrations. He had shut himself up in his room- pointedly ignoring Patton’s tentative “Merry Christmas, Logan’s straightforward knock, Roman’s stomping footsteps; even Janus and Remus Visit had gone ignored as he simply turned up the music and buried himself further in his blanket nest, so sure that if he would come out no one would really want him around or he’d be passively persuaded to go back to the dark sides territory where he belonged.

The subsequent years had gotten easier, especially after he had been accepted. He still snuck down to get snacks and a couple of Logan’s famous peanut butter cookies before retreating to his room and waiting for someone to urge him down the stairs for breakfast, still not entirely convinced he was actually wanted. This year though, this was the first year he was coming down the stairs at five in the morning for reasons other than sneaking snacks under his mattress and shoving a couple water bottles behind the dresser. This year he was coming down, phone shoved in his pocket and one headphone in playing softer music as he made his way carefully down the steps, knowing just where to plant his feet so as to not make a sound. This year he knew he wouldn’t be doing anything unwelcome or stepping on anyone toes if he made breakfast for everyone. This year he knew Roman would smile and Logan would brush their fingers and Patton would ruffle his hair and they’d sit down and be a family.

His smile turned bitter for a moment before he shook his head and continued forwards, mentally ticking off the ingredients he’d need to gather to make what he was planning, hoping to everything emo related he could make it right even if he didn’t have the most experience baking out of all of them. That honor oddly went to Logan, who’s precise nature led to the least amount of fires being accidentally (or on purpose in Remus’ case) being started in the kitchen. Patton and Roman tried but they definitely needed supervision when it came to making food. Virgil shuddered at the thought of charred to a crisp lighter-fluid flavored hot dogs having been made as recently as this past July.

Moving to the fridge he grabbed out the butter to soften before puffing out a breath and looking around the kitchen to figure out where the rest of the ingredients would be kept. It took him a few minutes but eventually everything was set out surrounding a large mixing bowl. Apparently dumping the flour straight into the bowl wasn’t the way to go as he quickly turned to sneeze it out of his nose, stilling and listening for any sign he may have woken anyone up. Breathing out a sigh of relief as he heard nothing he turned back around and prompty shrieked before clapping the hand previously holding the measuring cup over his mouth while said cup bounced harmlessly off of Remus’ forehead. The side didn’t react at all, not even blinking as he took in the ingredients on the counter he was currently perched on.

“Watcha doin’ Virgin?”

“Remus what the fuck get off the counter!” Virgil hissed, ignoring the nickname in favor of shooing the other off his space.

Simply levitating a few inches Remus stayed where he was still gesturing to everything laid out. “I didn’t know you baked, you never did when you lived with us!”

“Because this,” Virgil gestured to the now pouting creativity. “Would have been a regular occurrence and I was not equipped to handle you at six in the morning. Now get the hell off the counter so I can make these in relative peace-”

“Remus how many times have I told you to grab and go, the others will be down soon and I do not need another speech telling me that we aren’t-”

Janus’ voice cut through the kitchen abruptly, making Virgil swallow down an instinctive hiss as he stared at the deceitful side who now stood stock-still in the doorway taking in the counter space and Remus’ hovering, coming back to rest on Viril’s conflicted face. “I didn’t rea;ize- usually you’re gone by now.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Stalker much? And what do you mean ‘grab and go’? What have you been taking?”

Janus sniffed indignantly and tugged his gloves further up his wrists. “Logan’s cookies are something Remus and I refuse to miss because of some idiotic grudge the ‘Light Sides’ have against us. And if you say anything against us taking some you are a raging hypocrite since you snuck in here to do the same thing years before you were even known about.”

Smushing his mouth to one side of his face Virgil looked down for a moment to take in the knowledge that the others had been doing the same thing as him for a taste of familial normalcy for as long, if not longer than he had. His thoughts were interrupted however by a quiet squeal from Remus.

“Gingerbread pancakes? You can make those?!”

Virgil turned back to him. “I don’t know yet, I was interrupted before I even started.”

“Well we wouldn’t want to interrupt you further. We’ll come by at a later time, come on Remus.”

The darker aspect pouted once again as he finally got off the counter and dragged his feet towards Janus, muttering something about comparing batters which Virgil dutifully extracted from his brain. Taking a breath He reached out a hand and tugged on Remus' somewhat greasy sleeve.

“If you guys wanna- stay...and help...I could probably use it.” He met Janus’ eyes very briefly before dropping his hand, anxiety spiking minutely as he shuffled awkwardly in place. “Only if you want to, obviously.”

Remus bounced back to his former position but now closer to the ceiling, grinning wolfishly as Janus hesitated before stepping into the room fully. “I don’t know that the other’s-”

“It’s the holidays Janus. Just- set the table while I figure out how to mix this up.” So saying Virgil turned his back and turned his phone back on to go down to the steps in the recipe, holding his breath until he saw Janus grab a stack of plates while snapping quietly at Remus and mouthing “Down now” making Virgil roll his eyes fondly. He had missed this; though their dynamic wasn’t as easy as it once was they were still learning and Virgil- was more willing to take steps than he had been previously. They both still pissed him off to no end the majority of the time but he figured that was pretty normal for them at least. He could handle making pancakes with them in the room as long as Remus left the batter alone.

Some time later the batter was mixed, Remus now resided on top of the fridge swinging his legs joyfully while he licked the whisk and Janus was dutifully ignoring him in favor of brewing strong coffee with the occasional exasperated sigh. Virgil grinned as he flipped the next pancake for the stack feeling surprisingly at ease in the kitchen. The pancakes smelled great and he had only burned one so far which Remus had swallowed whole as soon as it had come off the griddle, getting an earful from Janus that was promptly shrugged off. The others would be waking up to pancakes and coffee soon and hopefully wouldn’t blink at the extra company this morning and there was barely any mess to clean up since Janus couldn’t seem to figure out hoe to sit still. It would be a good morning, he told himself. It was the holidays, it had to be a good morning.

“Good morning , Remus. Janus. Virgil.”’ Virgil squawked surprise at Logan’s entrance, having not heard him over Remus’ chatter over something or other he wasn’t inclined to pay attention to. Logan didn’t bat an eye at the extra company, simply getting out the appropriate amount of mugs and setting about making everyone’s coffee. Virgil grinned weakly as Logan turned to him, pointedly dismissing Remus dumping half a container of garlic seasoning into his mug and Janus smacking him in the back of the head for it. “Are you in need of any assistance?”

“I uh- no, I think I'm good L, thanks though.” He eyed the generous stack of pancakes on the counter. “I’ll be done with these soon so-”

“Wha-”

“Oh!”

Roamn and Patton stood still in the doorway taking in the sight of everyone already gathered around the stove, Virgil wielding the spatula defensively as he glanced around nervously. Thankfully Patton broke the silence first, grinning happily through his confusion and sitting at the table so he wouldn’t be in the way.

“I didn’t know you’d be making breakfast,this is such a nice thing to wake up to!’ Janus and Logan distributed the coffee with Roman and Remus found their seats, the latter staying surprisingly civil even as Roman eyed his twin wearily for any weapons he was almost never seen without. Virgil shrugged and placed the last pancake on the stack, turning off the griddle and placing the stealing plate in the middle of the table.

“I thought it’d be a nice change from hiding in my room all day.” He winced at his wording but no one paid it any mind, grabbing for the sweet smelling cakes before they cooled. Patton hooked an arm around his waist in a quick side hug before he sat down, making him smile and lean into Patton’s shoulder a bit before getting his own stack and smothering it in syrup.

“These are delicious Virgil!” Janus complimented warmly, his usual cool put togetherness slightly ruined with syrup smeared across his face.

“These are really good cringerbread-man, you should make breakfast more often.” Roman winked at him playfully letting him know he was only teasing and Virgul relaxed as the table dissolved into easy banter, Remus getting smacked in the face with a pancake at one point that started a small food fight between the twins, Logan leaning back slightly while reading something on his phone and showing it to Janus as a pancake narrowly avoided the side of his head. As chaotic as everything was he found himself being grateful for it as his old family and his new family came together to become one big one. As cheesy as it sounded he couldn’t be more grateful that his fourth year being accepted was turning out to be the best one yet.

Hey the pancakes are actually a recipe!

#false writes #gift fic #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #holiday fic #sanders sides fic #platonic drlamp #familial drlamp #something to say tbank you for being such a good friend #and for being so supportive ^-^#happy holidays❤💚

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lassieposting · 5 years ago

Note

Amenadiel/Eve/Linda/Maze for the Domestic Ship meme, please.

domestic ship meme!

send me a ship and i’ll tell you:

who reaches out to new neighbors

they either get a visit from eve, or ambushed by maze. eve is like. a labrador. she’s the friendliest person alive. she’ll make like a casserole or something to take over when she sees the moving van, so they don’t have to worry too much about unpacking everything. if they have kids, she’ll offer to watch them. if they have a dog, she wants to pet it. eve sees the entire community as her community. maze on the other hand will just straight up interrogate the newbies on the drive. she’s more territorial than lucifer, but she’s a lot less subtle about it; the meeting usually concludes with either an “i like you” or a “you won’t last long”.

who remembers to buy healthy food

amenadiel. he sees looking after his humans as a solemn responsibility. he has memorised the amount of each vitamin humans need. how much lean meat they’re supposed to have a week. the exact ingredients needed for maximum human health. and he makes sure they get it every day. he packs healthy lunches for linda once she goes back to work.

who remembers to buy junk food

maze. she doesn’t have the same nutrition requirements as the humans, and she doesn’t have lucifer’s appreciation for fine dining, so a lot of the time she lives on a diet of junk, vodka and more junk.

who fixes the oven when it breaks

they all suck so much at DIY. amenadiel doesn’t even know how modern technology works. he’s just about figured out texting. eve embraces it wholeheartedly but still refers to it as “magic”. maze is a huge fan of the “hit it with a hammer and see if that helps” school of adulting. and linda would rather just call someone out to deal with it; she’s too dainty and elegant for that nonsense.

who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s)

eve is a huge pet person and very green-fingered. she spent her first lifetime growing food in eden, after all. she’s the type to have a little herb garden and grow her own tomatoes.

who wakes up earlier

amenadiel - he likes how quiet the suburbs are before anyone else is awake. sometimes he likes to go for a quick flight around the block while the rest of the world is still asleep, stretch his wings. there are lots of things he doesn’t miss about being an angel - that is, an angelic angel, one that actually lives in the silver city - but he does miss being able to fly whenever he wants.

who makes the bed

linda. she thinks an organised environment helps keep an organised mind. she’s not a ‘showhome’ kind of person in the way lucifer is, but she likes the little rituals of keeping her personal space clean. it’s the time she takes to ‘therapy’ herself; put her feelings in order and deal with any internal crises she might be having.

who makes the coffee

amenadiel. he likes the little human rituals, and he’s got the best memory so he only ever had to ask once how everyone likes their preferred hot drink.

who burns breakfast

maze. it is a fact universally acknowledged that Mazikeen Cannot Cook. she keeps trying though, because she refuses to be outdone by amenadiel in the Effort Made To Make Life Easier For Linda stakes. given that her diet pre-Earth consisted mostly of charred meat and fungus, it’s understandable that her cooking sucks; she knows one way to make food safe to consume and that is to turn it to charcoal.

how do they let each other know they’re leaving the house

amenadiel goes around giving kisses on the cheek because he’s learned that’s how human lovers say goodbye. linda does the same, because that’s who he’s picked it up from. eve leaves cute little notes letting everyone know what time she’ll be back. maze stands by the front door and yells see ya, bitches.

how do they greet each other when one of them gets home

everyone knows when maze gets back, because she just sort of slams the door open and it bounces off the wall. they’re working on her indoors manners. charlie, as a half-angel, can sense whenever amenadiel is close to him and will start reaching for the door and babbling for daddy. (he also does this with lucifer, and it freaks luci the fuck out)

who brings home little gifts like flowers/chocolates more often

eve. she’s like a little magpie. whenever she sees something she thinks someone she cares about would like, she has to bring it home for them. sometimes it’s a tropical musk candle. sometimes it’s anal beads. it’s a toss-up.

who picks the movie for movie night

charlie. everyone picks out whatever they want to watch, then they all call to him and see who he crawls to. whoever gets the baby first gets to put on their movie. it’s not the most sensible system, but given that two of the family are Not Human it’s saved a lot of bickering.

their favorite kind of movie to watch

amenadiel is a sucker for tearjerkers that show off the great human capacity for love; things like a dog’s purpose or my sister’s keeper. he’ll curl up holding linda/a cushion/eve and have a good therapeutic cry. maze has no tolerance for that touchy-feely bullshit, but she’ll watch those movies quite happily. she thinks they’re funny.

linda likes a simple feel-good comedy that’s a bit dirtier than you’d expect her to enjoy - think bridesmaids or we’re the millers. she likes something she can have a good cackle at, but doesn’t tax her brain too much. her job’s high stress and she needs to wind down and do something mindless for a bit.

eve likes teen dramas/coming-of-age stories, because that’s just sort of where she’s at in life. think st trinians or wild child. she gets super invested in the characters she projects on most and their happy ending.

maze likes horror films. she likes to point out all the ways they’re inaccurate; the exorcism isn’t set up properly, the latin chant is pronounced wrong, here’s what would actually happen if you cut off someone’s head with a chainsaw. she’d pick out things like final destination and nightmare on elm street.

who first suggests a pillow fort

maze. trixie insists that it’s an important tradition for every human child, so maze is insistent that they do it for charlie. she’s a little disappointed when linda points out that charlie is only a baby and won’t appreciate a well-built pillow fort for a few years yet, but she lets it drop. then lucifer mentions that his humans built one and he got fucked in it, so she starts bringing it up again. he’s not allowed to have a sexual experience she hasn’t had too.

who builds the pillow fort

they all join in. linda and eve actually put it together, amenadiel is in charge of filling it with blankets and pillows, and maze “camouflages” it as well as she can (not very well. linda’s living room is not set up for that kind of thing, but it’s instinct and she tries).

who tries to distract the other during the movie

maze. she’s super horny for all three of them, she doesn’t stand a chance. eve is also pretty bad for this.

who falls asleep first

whoever’s most tired, often linda - she’s the one with the full-time job and the very young baby. she and eve sleep pretty peacefully though. maze has spent her whole life in hell, where she and lucifer had to trade off keeping watch while the other slept, and she’s been edgy since goddess and then pierce almost killed linda. amenadiel, who needs the least sleep to function, will take pity and keep an eye out while maze gets her head down.

who is big spoon/little spoon

amenadiel gives great hugs and has Those ArmsTM so he’s generally a big spoon. maze is mostly a big spoon, but she’ll let eve hold her. linda and eve are both little spoons.

#nonnies in my askbox #lucifer on netflix #lucifer on fox #mazikeen smith #linda martin #amenadiel canaan #eve #i assumed you meant the foursome and not the two separate ships so i hope this is okay #i have no idea what the foursome shiptag is tho #rip #lucifer headcanons

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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942

“ar_”

ARB Have you ever had strawberry rhubarb pie? Do you like it? I have not. I’m afraid I don’t even entirely know what rhubarb is; I wouldn’t call it a part of Filipino culture. I don’t know if I would like this kind of pie; I prefer my pies more savory than fruity. Do you like carbs a little too much? Yes ma’am. I can’t exist without heaps of rice in every meal. Last garb you wore? The last fancy/formal thing I wore was my business casual look for last Thursday’s interview. I felt a little overdressed arriving at the office because the other applicants just wore a shirt and jeans...but ultimately I think it was better that I looked more prepared than they did lol. Do you know anyone named Barb? There’s a teacher in my old school named Barbie but the other teachers call her Barb. ARC Would you like to see the Arc de Triumphe? Sure.

Are you a narc? That’s not a common slang where I live, but I’m gonna say no. ARD Have you ever read “The Tales of the Beetle and the Bard”? Nope, I’ve never heard of it. Do you have a credit or debit card? Debit. I don’t exactly know how credit cards work just yet, so my dad has kept me from getting one hahahaha. What’s the last card you received? For which holiday? We don’t really exchange cards over here. We tend to go ahead and give physical gifts, no matter how simple it is. I think the last one I received was a birthday card from Athenna, five years ago. That was a different time. What’s something that is hard for you? Letting go. I have serious issues with abandonment and I always feel like it’s the end of the world when someone leaves my life or something I’ve been accustomed to abruptly ends. I’ve never been good at handling all of that. Do you ever feel like a tub of lard? I am almost positive that I’ve never felt like one before. What is in your front yard? How is it landscaped? Just a few plants and a tree that my grandpa planted for my mom shortly before he passed. Last piece of meat that you’ve charred? I’ll get back to this question in a few years where I’ve hopefully learned how to cook a few things, including meat. Have you ever lived with barred windows? No. That sounds awful. Is it easy for you to let your guard down? Just with the right people. Otherwise I prefer keeping a wall up; no one else needs to know who I am behind closed doors. Have you ever cut yourself on a shard of glass? No. Again, sounds like my worst nightmare. This happened to my mom a year ago and I remember being unable to help her because I would’ve proceeded to just faint anyway lmao Favorite barnyard animal? Cows. What do you like to do in your backyard? Cooper loves our backyard, so I bring him there to play and run. He loves staying there so much more than actually walking around the neighborhood, which is a little confusing but still endearing. What do you think of people who use the word “retard”? They’re stuck in the late 2000s and early 2010s and need to be schooled on Twitter as soon as possible lol. Last person you sent warm regards to? The HR person who hooked me up with my internship. What do you tend to disregard? Fake news or people who routinely share fake news, for obvious reasons. Have you ever worn a leotard before? For what? I’ve worn a swimsuit as a leotard, but I’ve never owned a leotard that was meant to be that.

ARF Last time you barfed? I kept hurling last week when I did a lot of crying and had a few breakdowns, but nothing ever came up. The last time I puked would be over a year ago when I was at Pop-Up with friends. Last food you scarfed down? My mom’s burger from last night. Do you rock a fashion scarf? Nah, not really my article of choice. What does your winter scarf look like? I don’t own one. ARK What pair of animals would you like to bring on Noah’s ark? I would try to save as many of them as possible; but in the cruel circumstance that I only have limited choices, I would prioritize stray cats and dogs first as well as cats and dogs in animal shelters. Did you used to watch Arthur the aardvark? I did not watch the show – I’m not sure if they ever aired it here – but I liked reading Arthur books. Those were one of my favorites to read at the library. Have you ever been to a ballpark? No. Well baseball is not a popular sport here so it’s not like we’ve got lots of those, and the few that we have are a little dilapidated due to a lack of interest or support in the sport...we do have a field in my old school that’s designated for our softball games, but it’s hardly a legit softball field. Is your bark worse than your bite? If this is a saying or slang, I don’t know what it means. What’s a personal benchmark of yours? Hmm I know what a benchmark refers to, but I’m not exactly sure of the context in this question. Where is your birthmark? My most distinguishable birthmark is on the upper left region of my back, but I also have one by my butt. I used to have one on my right arm that was green-blue when I was an infant, but now it’s nothing more than a super slight discoloration that is only noticeable if you look hard enough. Do you fold book pages over, or use a bookmark? I remember the page number. I don’t like the gaps that bookmarks create, and I like keeping the pages of my book pristine. Are you afraid of the dark? Only if the context is meant to be scary, like how abandoned houses or forests are dark. I like the dark when I’m trying to fall asleep though. Do you prefer dark or light colors? I prefer neither extreme. I like muted and pastel tones. Last time you disembarked a ship? 2016. Last time you embarked on an adventure? End of February, 2020. Do you celebrate any of the hallmark holidays? Some of them, but I take them seriously a lot less than the actual holidays. I celebrate them primarily because I have people in my life who value those Hallmark holidays, so I greet them so they don’t feel forgotten, like greeting my parents on Mother’s/Father’s Day. If I had it my way I’d ignore those holidays completely, though. Do you watch the Hallmark channel? No. I don’t think we even have that channel here. Do you like the song “Hark The Herald Angels Sing”? I have nothing against it. Which landmark would you like to visit? The pyramids at Giza. Last mark you made on a paper? I made random scribbles because I was just checking if my pen had ink. Do you know anyone named Mark? I don’t think so. No Marks are coming to mind. Have you ever heard a lark sing? Nope. Do you know how to parallel park? Yeah but I’m kind of cheating a bit because I own a really tiny car that fits nearly anywhere ha. What’s your favorite activity to do at the park? We don’t have any public parks...if we did, I imagine I’d have picnics and take my dogs there for long walks. Last postmarked piece of mail you received? I don’t really receive mail of my own. Last person you left a remark for? Idk maybe my dad when I remarked how spicy the sisig he made for dinner was. Do you speak with a lot of snark? Only in private or with my closest friends. I try not to be snarky with workmates. Do you ever have the Baby Shark song stuck in your head? That does happen sometimes, yes. Until today ha. Last time you went around your house stark naked? Oof, I never walk around the entire house naked. I only do so in the bathroom and within my own room. What’s your signature trademark? Everyone knows me as loving Paramore, so maybe that. Does it bother you when there’s a watermark on an image that you want to use? Sometimes yes, sometimes I realize someone took effort for that image and probably just needs to earn a little bit for it. ARL Who did you snarl at last? I don’t snarl a lot these days. Are your fingers gnarled? No. I don’t actually know what this means but my fingers are pretty healthy so I’m guessing it’s not whatever gnarled is. ARM Have you ever broken an arm? Nopes. Do you keep people at an arm’s length? In some ways, like how I refuse to talk about the things I’m going through and I don’t like showing most people that I struggle.

Last time you went to a farm? I’m not sure if I’ve been to one. We drive through fields and farms all the time, in the provinice; but we’ve never actually stopped over and went to a farm. Do you self-harm? Yes. Surprisingly, I haven’t done so this month. But yes, I have in general. What time is your alarm set for? For a while it wasn’t set to anything but now that I have an internship I’ll probably need to set it to at least around 8 AM. Do you own any firearms? No thanks. Would you get a tattoo on your forearm? Sure. Do you have a certain charm about you? Don’t you kind of have to ask other people when it comes to possessing charm? I certainly wouldn’t endorse this myself, lol. Do you need to be disarmed? I have nothing on me, so no. ARN Were you raised in a barn? I was not. I grew up in a house in a suburban-ish neighborhood. Do you use “damn” or “darn” more often? Damn. I’ve never used darn...or if I have, it would’ve been well over a decade ago. Do you knit or crochet with yarn? I don’t crochet or knit. ARP Have you ever caught a carp while fishing? No, I’ve never gone fishing before actually.

Do you like harp seals? I’ve never heard of them until now but it’s an automatic yes for me because they are animals. Would you like to learn how to play the harp? Sure. Name something in your house that is sharp? Keys. Is anything you own covered by a tarp? No. ART Last time you fell apart? This morning. Well, it’s 2 AM now so it’s more accurate to say yesterday morning. Are you good at any sort of art forms? Not at all. I like coloring and painting, but with painting I like those that come with paint-by-number guides. I’m not very creative myself and don’t know for the life of me what colors work together and I’m terrible at creating images. Last place you used a shopping cart? Grocery store, ages ago. Have you ever created a chart in Microsoft Excel? Yes but it’s not my favorite thing in the world to do. Who is your other counterpart? I dunno if I have anyone. Angela, I guess. Do you like to play darts? I’ve never played it but it looks fun and I’m always up for a friendly game. Who’s the last person you departed from? My family, when I left the living room where we were all staying at to go back to my bedroom to resign for the evening. How often do you fart? Never. I don’t like the sensation and if I feel one coming I suppress it lol. No one has heard me do it before, and I don’t plan on making it heard hahahaha How’s your heart been feeling lately? Not well. Is there a K-Mart or a PetSmart where you live? No. Is it easy for you to outsmart a child? Idk man, they can be a little surprise at times. Where is the part in your hair? It’s on the left side. Have you ever gotten a part in a play? No, because I’ve never auditioned for one. Not interested in that kind of activity, either. Last time you had to restart your computer? It’s been a while. Would you consider yourself to be smart? In some ways, like in academics. What trend would you like to start? I don’t feel like starting one. Do you like tarts? Not very much, but my old school has this trademark tart that I love so much. [a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]

#survey #surveys

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thisislizheather · 4 years ago

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July Jiffs 2020

This was me all month.

The key word being was. We bought an air conditioner! We’ve been an A/C-free family for some time now, but since we’re spending so much time at home, we figured now was the time to be cool. In other news, everything still blows! What a shock! Here’s how I spent July.

I didn’t even know another Halloween movie was being made but of course I’ll go see it even if it turns out to be trash, you gotta support classic horror franchises, that’s just basic horror etiquette 101.

This is the most basic, boring-sounding sandwich on planet earth, but it tastes incredible I promise you (I didn’t add bacon, but I did add fresh mozzarella) and whatever bread you use, it’ll still be great. I find myself constantly forgetting about the greatness of mayo because I, my dear, am an idiot.

I ordered a bunch of new address labels on Zazzle because they were having a Christmas in July sale, so I bought some seasonally inspired labels to use over the next few months. If you’re not seasonally co-ordinating your return address labels, are you even living?

I’m still doing Nathan’s podcast on Patreon incase you’re interested. (You can find more clips on his Instagram.)

I attempted to watch the new Baby-Sitter’s Club on Netflix and it’s really not meant for me. I was never into the books or the movie or any of it, I never liked the idea of kids caring about making money, it seemed too sad to me. “Just be a kid!” I’d always thought.

Speaking of childhood nostalgia, I have started to watch reruns online of Sweet Valley High, which I loved as a kid. It’s no Breaker High, but it’s still pretty great to rewatch. God, Jessica really was an absolute bitch.

Some other things that I’ve rewatched: Con Air (practically a perfect movie, will always love, *Nic Cage forever* might be the only tattoo I’d ever get), Supermarket Sweep is on American Netflix and I was so excited (for about three episodes) then I moved on with my life, Sleepless in Seattle (still a very nice, average, reliable movie), Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure (actually a really great summer movie, will always be a fun time to watch, will forever be a huge Keanu fan, I just feel like I could trust him??), and Dick Tracy (will always love this movie even if it has eight million too many montages, the set design is gorgeous, and this one outfit that Madonna wears makes me question… everything).

Some new movies that I’ve watched: Always Be My Maybe (so, so great! How did it take me so long to see this! So many good scenes, such a good movie), The Karate Kid (insane that I hadn’t seen it before, kids were uncomfortably mean in the 80s, favourite part was when Mr. Miyagi beats up the children, great movie), The Stepfather (pretty fun time, so happy we’ve starting watching horror movies again), Eat Pray Love (ugh, I don’t know, I do love movies about women just leaving and doing fun shit alone and abandoning their lives, but this was pretty lame, I hated James Franco’s character more than life and truly didn’t understand how Julia Roberts was even briefly into him), and finally the original The Hills Have Eyes (which I loved weirdly enough despite being incredibly tense the entire movie, I just thought it was so well done and scary and incredible, the rape scene is of course awful and I shut my eyes for that part, but that was the only thing I hated, it doesn’t make sense that I liked this movie so much).

I don’t know how to word this, but something is off with the reasonably priced (and almost too cheap) parmesan sold at Trader Joe’s. It melts weird. It doesn’t taste like normal cheese. Something is afoot and I won’t buy it any longer. I’m truly dreading and equally anticipating the day that all of Trader Joe’s secrets are exposed. Be warned.

That being said, obviously I’m in love with the seasonal summer candles that TJ just released. We have a complicated relationship.

I made this gruyere mac and cheese with caramelized onions (I used almond milk and it still came out good) and can every recipe just include caramelized onions? The world is ending, let’s just put sweet, tiny, brown onions on everything and call it a day.

Ennio Morricone passed away last month and I find myself listening to the Cinema Paradiso soundtrack on repeat.

Read this great piece about summer blockbuster movies which also has just some great ideas for movies to rewatch right now.

I have to remember that Essie’s vibrant colours just f-ing suck. Only their muted/bland colours are good. They should really just stick to those. And if you’re looking for loud colours that stand out, the summer collection at Urban Outfitters is my go-to (and there’s always a 3 for $10 sale with them).

I listened to Taylor Swift’s new album and so far my favourites are definitely: the 1 and this is me trying.

Ugh, Astoriaaaaaa, DO BETTER.

I’ve been thinking about cancelling my Ipsy subscription again (because I think I don’t care about makeup at this current moment in time) and when I logged on to cancel, they let me choose one of the items being sent next month as if they knew I wanted to leave! So I chose a Sunday Riley product (because any sample I’ve tried from them, I’ve loved) so maybe I’ll cancel next month?

I tried a sample of Drunk Elephant’s shampoo & conditioner (which smelled so lovely) and my hair did seem softer the next day. There’s something about this brand though, I feel like they might be tricking us with their beautiful packaging and minimalist persona.

I bought and tried the ancient Biore Strips and I have absolutely no idea if they did what they’re supposed to do. Are you supposed to see the blackheads or whiteheads come off onto the strip? It felt like it just tried to peel my face off. No idea what’s going on with these.

I have been in love with the Peter Thomas Roth Correction Pads, I use one pad before bed each night and I think they’re doing something good because I always wake up with no new pimples. It has even started erasing all of the redness I’ve been experiencing lately from the summer heat and sweat and mask-wearing. At this point, I can definitely see myself rebuying when I run out, and if I do then I’ll definitely not get them from Sephora because you can get them way cheaper at other online retailers.

I’ve also started using this Dr. Dennis Gross All-In-One face cleanser and I think it’s a good one. It’s hard to tell because I started using it the same day at the correction pads I mentioned above (yes that was a bad idea but here we are), so maybe they’re working together to make my face good? We’ll revisit this.

I finally opened up this Belif set I bought a few months ago and it’s really nothing special. I think the face cream is probably the best item in there because you truly don’t need to use a lot to feel moisturized. But the face cleanser? Meh. I don’t think it does very much, it definitely didn’t help any redness. And the toner? Don’t get me started on how I kind of think toner might be a scam. And the “eye moisturizer”? Seems superfluous. My eye area is plenty moist, thanks.

Perfect summer soap scent: Fresh Rainfall. If I can’t travel this year, I will escape into this scent. (Send help.)

Very excited to hear about Lindy West’s new book.

So I heard that Lady M now ships their cakes to Canada and I was able to scream in excitement for approx. four seconds before looking into it and seeing that it’ll cost you over $100 to get ONE cake sent. THE GALL, I tell you. THE GALL.

I briefly looked into the app Sweatcoin after hearing good things, but it really just seems like an app where its main goal is to track you. And yes, your phone already does that whether you’re aware or not, but I think I’ll pass on the extra tracking.

I heard that the upcoming Halloween Bob’s Burgers episode will “follow the kids as they try to deliver a burger to the hotel on their street.” It’s such a sad little bit of tiny information, but I love their seasonal episodes so much that I’ll take any crumbs available.

Actually helpful tips on how to clean your home efficiently.

Christ, why do I keep forgetting that Bareburger is absolutely nothing special? Why in the good fuck is it taking so long for a Shake Shack to come to Astoria?!

I ate on the patio at Hoja Santa in Astoria and the tacos were nothing to write home about. The service, drinks and chips were outstanding though, so I may have just ordered badly.

New favourite beer alert.

Best tweets of the month over here.

I tried Thai iced coffee and it was so wildly sweet and too aromatic, I probably wouldn’t get it again. And I also tried a Vietnamese iced coffee and it was the perfect level of sweet! What’s the difference between the two, you ask?

I finally tried the katsu sandwich at Hi-Collar as takeout in the East Village and it was absolutely nothing special. No idea why people are so into it.

I haven’t been to Bite in so many months, so it was nice to get takeout earlier this week. God how I’ve missed their ciabatta bread. They use it on their sandwiches and it comes from Balthazar each morning and it’s always heavenly.

I have found the perfect, light summer blanket and I’m trying not to focus on the fact that it came from Amazon.

I tried a grapefruit shandy and holy shit, it might be my favourite new summer drink.

I ate on the patio at L’Artusi since it just reopened and good god, that carbonara will change you. So psyched to see they have the wagyu steak tartare on the menu now, too. The burger, the panzanella salad and the charred corn were all great, but that carbonara was the standout.

Some things I’d like to do this month: I’d love to try this tomato toast with blue cheese mayo, I’m going to start using a new clothes steamer I just bought with the hopes of getting rid of my iron & ironing board, I rebought a tube of Revitalash because of how great my lashes were looking when I used it a few years ago so I’ll start using it on August 1st and track my progress to prove how great this product is, I can’t wait for Moesha to be coming to Netflix this month, and I am waiting waiting waiting until I can find time to return to Lilia (on the patio) to eat this incredible tomato focaccia & garlic butter (shown below).

If you’ve got any interest in reading last month’s roundup, you can see what went down in June over here.

#monthly post #this is liz heather #Liz Heather #July 2020

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jack-o-chica-multiverse · 5 years ago

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I realized I never put together a ‘blog rules’ post of my own for this blog, and seeing as I’ve gotten a few new followers since I was more active, here’s a little introduction and PSA for Jack-O’s blog:

🎃

Just to get this front-and-center, I want nothing to do with maps, LBGTQIA-phobes, transmeds, exclusionists, terfs, racists, and anyone who is even complacent with pedophilia or incest. If you fall within any of those categories, don’t interact with my blog. And hey, do yourself a solid and learn about why those leanings not only hurt you and the people around you, but society as a whole. Hate and abuse are not welcome here.

Also no shipping/romantic rp’s with Jack-O, please. She’s got a lot of love in her charred little heart, but it’s all platonic. And it’s going to stay that way.

🎃

Multi-fandom and OC friendly! Seriously, OC’s are amazing and I love having Jack-O meet them!

Mostly long-ish form rp’s/replies. I ramble a lot ... in case you couldn’t tell from this post, heh. Sorry. I do try to tag longer threads with #long post once they take a couple swipes to scroll through.

I’m prone to fewer/slower replies, especially during weekdays. Fyi, mun lives in the Pacific Time Zone, and is more likely to be active in the evening.

This blog can tread some pretty dark/angsty/violent/emotional ground and I’m fine with that ... but I know not everyone is. I try to tag the big triggers, but if there is ever anything anyone wants me to tag - no matter if it’s a trigger or squick or whatever - please let me know.

And since we’re here: please, if you feel like you need to unfollow for any reason, you do you boo! That’s not just for subject matter but also because I’m an adult mun and I know that’s something that not everyone’s cool with. Your well-being will always be more important than following me - or anyone, for that matter! You are the curator of your Tumblr experience and if I can help you keep it safe by tagging or just not being part of it, that’s totally ok!

🎃

Jack-O: she/her. Was human and female-presenting back in ye olden days (aside from that – up to interpretation). Besides her murder she doesn’t really remember her life, but she does get the faintest sensations of déjà vu that call back to who she once was.

Mun: she/her (but I’m comfortable with nb adjectives like they, too). Ace panro and more-or-less cis (I think?). Adult. Absolute nerd with too many hobbies and never enough time. RP-main is @Malady-red-rp (’Malady’), non-RP-main is @Inga-DON-Studio.

🎃

Jack-O is based on the non-canon Halloween-y version of Nightmare Chica from FNAF4: The Halloween Update with … a lot of creative license thrown in.

Basic backstory below if you want to read it (it’s sort of ramble-y):

Essentially, she’s a several-hundred-year-old dream-demon (aka a Nightmare in her universe) who took the shape of her prey’s greatest terrors and fed on their fear via relentless, ongoing animalistic ‘hunts’ in the mindscape and in waking nightmares. She would usually be freed from her chosen form once her prey’s mind was too shattered-apart from the constant assault to maintain a singular, cohesive personification of their fears, but on that last hunt … the situation never reached that conclusion. Thus, she’s stuck in the form that The Crying Child’s mind created for her before his death as a result of complications from The Bite of ’83 and his weakened state from the Nightmares’ attacks. Some things went down with the other Halloween Nightmares that night, resulting in her complete abandonment of the hunt and what it was to be a Nightmare (the birb done woke). Thirty years of coming to grips with all the evil she had done over the centuries and one hell of a massive guilt complex, she wants –more than anything- to try to put some good back into the world, even if she knows it will never balance out what she has taken from it.

She awoke to October’s calling on Oct. 1st, 2018 to find herself in the Officialverse- and just kind of rolled with it. There were plenty of familiar faces – and many, many new ones – and she quickly embraced the chance at a new start, silently promising to try to stand up against the literal and metaphorical representations of what she once was. As she made friends who have become the truest sense of a found family, she has become fiercely protective of the people she cares about … even if sometimes she’s a little lost on how to really help them. Hey, just cuz she’s a few hundred years old doesn’t mean that there isn’t still plenty left for her to learn - and she knows it.

I do reference back to some past events (like Ink Stains) and she mentions other Officials fairly often – some no longer active around here but remembered as cherished friends who left a lasting, important impact on her. No, you’re not expected to know about them. It’s just an important little part of who she is- that she doesn’t let go of things easily now that she has people and memories worth holding onto...

(The Ink Stains event was a biggie because she was one of the corrupted, and for the first time it forced her unwillingly back into something like the Nightmare she once was. It also cemented in her mind how important the people in her afterlife are to her, and how much she needs them. So, mentions of ink and corruption still find their way into conversations fairly often.)

#Some long overdue housekeeping for the New Year #PSA #About the blog #blog rules #If you have any questions feel free to ask! If you want it privately answered just say so in the ask - my DM's only seem to work on main :/#I might add/edit this and try to post it every so often #The backstory part especially needs to be re-written but OOF there's a heck of a lot of story I had to condense into that chunk of words...#Reusing old art? On my blog? It's more likely than you think.

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orenonahaichigoda · 5 years ago

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I had a rough day, and came to a realisation. I will say a bit about my own experience, and then, after having to lay the groundwork of explaining 400 things about Japan because American schools and media think the whole world is the US, Western Europe, and places to blow up, making explaining necessary, will tie it to Ichigo, or at least how I portray him.

I'm Post Dankai Juniors, growing up in Japan. So's Kubo, actually. The boundaries of this Japanese generation are roughly '75 to '85, Yutori, the following generation that's always translated and localised as Millennial, pretty solidly set as beginning at '86. These things are always fuzzy because you can't vivisect living brains and find the part that likes char siu buns and the part that likes jazz fusion. I *majored* in Social Science. You'll have teachers who say "it is absolute that we date people who are similar to us because we're all actually narcists." (It *might* be because they're like our beloved family or community. Narcistic Personality is not universal) But it really just is fuzzy, and that teacher/book author is an idiot. Anyway, Yutori is always translated as Millennial. I don't know the end boundary. Post Dankai Juniors covers almost totally a debated throe for Germanic nations (I know Britain, Germany, and Nederland use the same generations as America, and their languages are Germanic) because of how fuzzy it all is, though.

Anyway, so since coming to the US, my interactions with other Asians, again, how is this defined when China, Mongolia, Japan all border Russia and West Asia includes Jordan and Saudi Arabia, South Asia is India's area, Southeast Asia is Laos, Thailand's area, I mean, find the Arabic kanji. I don't think Thailand even uses soy sauce. What the heck IS Asia, really? (Or "Middle East" when half of that's Africa and the other half shares plate with Europe? )

Anyway, my experience with Asians that are Boomer ages tends to be people who immigrated as adults, who more identity with a generation like "Dankai" or "Sirake." My experiences with Latinos older than me... I've never actually asked if the generational labels are even the same.

The thing about that is that when the name is the same, it means enough cultural traits are shared.

My biggest experience with people who grew up under the term "Boomer" are Black and white.

I've noticed a unifying trait.

If they're something oppressed (Black, gay), their attitude tends to be"it is mandatory to stand up for *my* demograph...but kicking the person behind me on the ladder in the teeth is wholesome, pure, and fun."

Outing me to large groups and saying I "speak Asian" seem to be the most common two. Calling me "Chinese" long after I've cleared this up for them is a close third.

I mean, don't get me wrong--my experience with Italian Americans past GI generation has been that now acquiring the "white" label, just like biphobic/aphobic/transphobic cisgays, they're more often staunch priveledge defenders than cishet people of Anglo descent! And it's just as true for X and Y as it is for Boomer (for the latter, one need only look at NYC destroyer and trump defender Giuliani) I actually don't really identify with my Italian side at all because I was kinda locked out of making any meaningful connection.

But back to my point that even in so-leftist-it's-almost-not-America Bay Area, Boomers are still like this!

The kind of stuff that flows out a X/Y TERF's mouth, or the mouth of an X/Y person with a Confederate flag on his wall, American-raised Boomers say with ease regardless of their alignment! It's banananas.

(Please note that I also just have not met a whole lot of Native Americans, period, nor enough people significantly older than me from any one place in Africa, that was an omission of lacking data, not intended as erasure)

How I tie it to Ichigo--

So Kubo avoids specifying birth years for anyone.

When I see something like this, I generally assume date of publication, as do most people in most fandoms (which of course gets screwy when you have something endlessly rebooted like Superman or Batman or something eternally unchanging like Detective Conan)

Anyway, the first Bleach something published was the comic in '01.

I generally assume it was supposed to be the start of a new school year, as Ichigo doesn't know many of his classmates until at least the first test scores come out. So it's probably April or something.

If Ichigo was 15 then, he'd also be Post Dankai Juniors, just barely. If Ichigo TURNED 15 shortly after, during his adventure, he'd be undebatably Millennial.

Now, there is still something up with Dankai and Sirake. PM Abe is the latter, b. 1954. A lot of his age-peers are behind him. This is the guy who supports remilitarisation and was caught funding a private militarist/fascist high(?) school that teaches that people from countries Japan conquered during its brief phase of trying to beat colonial Europe are less than dogs.

Now, I left there as a teen. Clinton was US president. Scandals still got people kicked out of public office in Japan. I hadn't figured or come out yet. Sure, I got bullied for being mixed, but kids will pick if you like different singers than the "cool" ones. They'll pick based on what's in your lunch. That data is sausage.

I'm not 100% sure what Ichigo would face day-to-day sociopolitically as he grew up/aged. I haven't had living family since'95 there, and friendships don't get deep enough to ever last distance until at least high school. For me, adulthood.

But I've kept/caught up enough (you try keeping up in the South before the internet was more than ten University sites!) that I know he'd face fascists (c'mon, the guy takes on a martial law government to save a new friend--that's anarchist, he just doesn't seem anarchist in his own world. He only fights humans in defence) I'm not sure how he'd feel about the JSDF, but he only fought the sinigami's war out of feeling like it was his responsibility because the adults around him kinda made it so. I super don't see him being for *starting* wars. In a human war, I see him actually being like Sugihara Chiune, a historical figure who died when I was a kid who I majorly admire. He worked at a Japanese embassy in Nazi territory, and when the embassy was evacuated,he continued throwing passports to Jewish people to go to Japan from the train he was departing on,and is hidden from Americans in the same spirit that Martin Luther King is...pulled the teeth out of. (PS, speaking of,go Google Steven Kiyosi Kuromiya)

Also, Ichigo's whole schtick is defending those worse off than him. He's not someone I see defending Yamato Japanese priveledge. Heck, I could see him joining Uchinanchu efforts to get Parliament and the US base to leave them alone. I can easily see him sticking up for a Filipino domestic worker he met thirty seconds ago.

To this end, I think regardless of what he is, he'd have a large rub with Japan's equivalents of Boomers.

Not to mention that Abe supporters tend to be very sexist and queerphobic, which isn't even homegrown but imported from Américanisation. I mean, there were female warriors--assasins, which is what Yoruichi and Soi-Fon are styled after, and go look at some Ukiyoe, like Utagawa Kitamaro. Quite a few artists in the 200-ish years of the Edo period depicted life in the queer districts. I've also had people posit that Noh might've been a welcoming draw for trans people the same way drag was all over the US in the twentieth century and still is in rural areas, where there's less cisgay gatekeeping. But this isn't something I can reasonably research without access to plenty of older and not well known dusty documents, and lots of time, and I live in the US many years now. And do you know how much round trip airfare alone is!? Also, the language changed so much and I can't read anything before Meiji without dropping words. Rukia, Byakuya, Yoruichi all have made for TV old-sounding Japanese like period dramas. Actual 18th Century Japanese would be unintelligible to the unspecialised.

So this stuff isn't really native, but Abe and a lot of people his age support all these -isms.

I super don't see Ichigo being happy about this.

(I also feel like Issin's old enough to remember before these -isms, but that's my own thing. In my project, he was in those districts, but that's me)

At the same time, I'm still writing this through my own lens. Also, not still being there, I just don't have enough data on Yutori in adulthood, or the grown Yutori lens. Honestly, even most other immigrants I meet are older than that. Or older than that and their adorable three year old children. So I have no clue.

In the early 2000s, I got myself from the South to CA and began to reconnect, but began to is the key phrase. I can tell you right now that Abe is as much of a second phase of Nakasone as trump is of Nakasone's buddy Regean. But what shifted when, I can't say. I'm not entirely sure how Koizumi ran the ship, as it were. I know some things, but not enough to say.

But whenever things shifted however, and whichever year Ichigo was born, I just cannot imagine him being any more on board with current events than really anyone in my area not born between 1946-1964 and raised in America.

I feel like he'd probably be too tired or self-effacing to fight for himself, but he'd take on, loud and proud, any bigotry against *others.*

I...also can't really say I'm much different, except my joints are held together by the power of wishes, so I'm more like "get the victim to safety" than "give the attacker plenty of regret." So, I can only do anything in limited ways.

Ichigo is also entirely fuelled by the power of love. Lost his ability to protect and feels like his sinigami friends ditched him? Mondo depressed, however much he wants no one to notice--which most do a great job of ignoring! Everyone in his world turned against him for a guy who has attacked people close to him? Terrified, and murder can now be an answer. (Fullbring Arc)

I was going somewhere with that. I've forgotten, but I'll leave it.

But anyway, I feel like he really only comes close to fighting for himself when others are taken away from him in a way that's also wronging them.

So yeah, I super don't see him happy with current events or Sirake gen.

I'm not sure how much I see him fighting for himself as mixed panromantic grey-ace. I mean, we know he fights people who are about to punch his face in for his looks, but what else can you reasonably do at that point? Get your head bashed in? I'm not sure how much I see him fighting hateful words pointed at him versus resigning himself to "people are the worst." I mean, when he talks about being picked on, he kinda seems resigned, or at least like it's a fact, like shoes being for outside or something.

I guess I tied it to Ichigo a lot better than I thought!

But also, the struggle against people born just after the war is not just you, and not just America. It's a major problem.

And it's likely that Ichigo would agree.

#out of body #musings #baby boomers #generation x #millennials #Japanese generations #Japanese politics #queerphobia #colonialism #moritomo gakuen scandal #sugihara chiune #japanese history #yoruichi shihouin #edo period

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v-thinks-on · 5 years ago

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Generations - Part 3

First | Previous | Next

There was no reason to delay. Kirk didn’t even have a career to sacrifice. He would rather not steal a starship, but having recently returned from the dead, he didn’t have many options.

“Computer, put me through to Admiral Brackett-” Kirk began.

The beep of his communicator cut him off.

“Wait on that,” Kirk ordered and tapped on his communicator.

It was Picard. “Jim, we’ve received a transmission from Ambassador Spock.”

Kirk’s heart leaped. “I’m on my way.” He turned off the communicator, cancelled the call to the admiral and nearly ran down to Picard’s quarters.

“What did Spock say?” Kirk demanded as the doors slid open to let him inside.

Picard was at his desk, working on the computer terminal. He turned it off when Kirk entered and answered with a smile, “He’s on his way. We’ll meet him between here and the Neutral Zone.”

It took Kirk a few moments to truly register what Picard had said. Spock was on his way. There was no need to go to Romulus. He would see Spock soon, in a matter of days. He remembered seeing Spock off like it was just a month ago, but it had been eighty years since Spock had last seen him, since their minds had touched - a whole lifetime. Kirk couldn’t imagine how much had changed in his absence.

A jittery rush of nerves and excitement spread through his veins. He couldn’t hold back a grin.

“Good,” Kirk said, “great.”

“I imagine he’ll be pleased to see you.”

“I hope so,” Kirk said, though he couldn’t really bring himself to doubt it. “Is there anything I can do around here in the meantime?” With nothing left to plan, he could easily go crazy just waiting around.

Picard shook his head. “The Farragut is over staffed as is. I’ve just been doing my best to stay out of the way.”

Kirk couldn’t help but sympathize with the captain stuck on another’s ship. “I don’t envy your position.”

“It gives me some time to catch up on my reading.” Picard gestured toward the book on his desk.

“You collect antique books too?”

“I find it makes for a richer experience.”

Kirk nodded in agreement. He glanced at the novel and exclaimed in surprise, “The Tale of Two Cities?”

“Are you familiar with it?”

Kirk grinned. “It’s a favorite of mine.”

“I didn’t realize you were interested in history.”

“I am, but that one was a gift.”

“I was curious about its portrayal of the French revolution, but it’s clearly written from an English perspective.” Picard frowned at the thought.

“You’re actually French?”

“Yes, I was raised on an old-fashioned vineyard near the border with Switzerland.”

“With your accent, it’s easy to forget,” Kirk said with a wry smile. “I have a similar interest in American history.”

“I know less French history than maybe I should,” Picard admitted. “Usually I prefer archeology; studying lost alien civilizations.”

“Sounds exciting. You’re in the right place to do it, though I was usually preoccupied with the civilizations we found.”

“That’s often the case,” Picard said with a touch of disappointment, “But occasionally I have the chance to uncover something no one has seen in millennia.”

“There’s so much out here, we can barely even brush the surface,” Kirk marveled, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m certain the admiral’s offer stands.”

Kirk waved it off. “I’m retired.” After a moment’s thought he asked, “She said something happened to the fleet?”

Picard nodded. “The Borg. They’re part organic and part machine. They assimilate sentient species into their empire - for lack of a better word. They’re adaptable and relentless, just one of their ships destroyed most of the fleet. They would be centuries away, but a powerful alien we’ve encountered a few times decided to introduce us to them as a sort of practical joke.”

“And there’s no reasoning with them?”

“No, at least not until they see us as a real threat.”

Kirk glanced away, his mind already racing far ahead of him, trying to figure out how to beat such an opponent.

“I’m sorry, I’ve brought you into a dangerous time,” Picard said, jolting Kirk back to reality. “Thankfully, we think most of their fleet is still years away, so we should have some time to improve our defenses before we have to face them again.”

“Every age has its challenges.”

Picard nodded. “I wouldn’t have wanted to get in a fight with the Klingons.”

“We didn’t fight them face to face much. It was mostly just competing over allies and resources, but they did play dirty.”

“The Klingons? They can be ruthless, but they have their honor - for the most part. The Romulans on the other hand…”

“Maybe things have changed in eighty years. We only encountered the Romulans a few times, but they seemed to be honorable in their way.”

“I’ve just read about your times, but it seemed like the galaxy was a very different place.”

“I have a lot of catching up to do,” Kirk said with a smile.

“If you want any lighter reading, you’re welcome to borrow a book,” Picard offered. “My quarters were mostly undamaged in the crash.”

“What do you have?”

Picard led him over to a small cabinet in the corner, full of books. Some were a little charred around the edges and others had been banged up pretty badly, but they all looked readable. Kirk bent over to peruse the titles. There was Shakespere, some Klingon poetry, a few books in French, and other classics from all over the galaxy, even some Vulcan philosophy.

Kirk was considering the Vulcan philosophy when something else caught his eye - “The Campaigns of Alexander, it’s been years since I last read that!”

“You’re welcome to it.”

“Thank you.” Kirk carefully drew the old book out of the cabinet and flipped through the pages, scanning for familiar names and places - in all honesty, he was mostly looking for Alexander’s loyal companion, Hephaestion.

Picard hesitated. “If you get tired of reading, I’ve been meaning to go fencing when I have the time, you could join me,” he suggested a little awkwardly.

“I’ve never fenced before, but I could give it a try.”

“I can teach you the basics.”

“Sure. Just tell me when and I’ll meet you in the gym - this ship does have one?”

“Yes.”

“It has about everything else.” More seriously, Kirk said, “Thank you.”

“Not at all.”

Kirk took the book and returned to his quarters, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on reading - maybe later in the evening it could distract him from tossing and turning in bed. Instead, he left The Campaigns of Alexander on the table and made his way up to the ship’s bar. It was still bustling, but he recognized a few familiar faces in the crowd. Guinan waved to him from the bar and he spotted Riker and Worf at a table, not far from where they had been sitting when he ran into them the day before.

Kirk greeted Guinan with a nod and headed over to the table staked out by the senior officers.

“Captain Kirk,” Riker exclaimed, “I see you’re as bored as the rest of us.”

Kirk shrugged. “I’m helping by staying out of the way.”

“Those are the captain’s orders,” Worf grumbled.

Riker stood and insisted, “Have a seat.”

After much rearranging and polite apologies, Kirk ended up in a chair that had been hastily vacated by a timid ensign, who would not reclaim it despite all his protests, and promptly fled to the far corner of the room.

“Rank has its privileges,” Riker said wryly.

Kirk just shook his head.

“So, Ambassador Spock is on his way,” Riker remarked once Kirk was settled.

Kirk grinned. “News travels fast.”

“I heard you married him to keep him from being assigned to another ship when he was your first officer,” Riker said, though he was careful to neither endorse nor deny the assertion.

“No, it was for the joint shore leaves once Spock had a ship of his own,” Kirk countered.

Worf glanced between them, as though he couldn’t decide if it was worse if they were lying or telling the truth. “I thought Vulcans were supposed to be logical,” he said at last.

“But when a man is in love…” Riker trailed off.

Worf looked dubious.

“I’m surprised you decided to get married at all, or do the history books have you pegged all wrong?” Riker asked.

“Vulcans have a different idea of marriage than humans,” Kirk said, though he couldn’t say much more.

“I see,” Riker said with a grin. “And it sounds like he was one hell of a first officer too.”

“I couldn’t ask for any better. Does Mr. Data have much command experience?”

“Putting together a command team already?”

“No” - Kirk waved off the suggestion - “I was just wondering what the crew makes of him.”

“He took a little getting used to,” Riker admitted. “But I don’t think there’s anyone who’s gotten to know him that doesn’t like him.”

Worf nodded in agreement.

“What about you?” Kirk asked. “Do you have your eyes set on a first officer?”

Riker shook his head. “I’ll probably get a command one day, but I’m happy here for now.”

“Really? I was probably promoted too young, but I’m surprised you’re not ready to get out of here.”

“So am I, But I’m happier as first officer on the Enterprise than I’ve been anywhere else, and I think that’s more important than a promotion.”

“Who am I to argue with that? I accepted a promotion to admiral and where did it get me?”

“Was it really that bad?”

“For someone else, maybe not, but I don’t belong on Earth commanding a console. There’s nowhere better than the bridge of the Enterprise.”

“I’d toast to that.” Riker raised his glass and tipped it back.

“Hear!” Worf exclaimed and followed suit.

“She was a good ship. I hope the Enterprise-E will live up to the name, but I don’t know if it’ll ever be quite the same.”

“It isn’t,” Kirk said. “You were in command when she was destroyed?”

Riker nodded.

“I sacrificed the first Enterprise for a lot less. It was still worth it, but the Enterprise-A never felt like home in the same way.”

Riker finished the dregs of his drink. “Speaking of, I should probably get back to approving those transfers for when we do get the Enterprise-E. It was good talking to you, Worf, Captain.” With that, he stood and took his leave.

Another officer promptly stole the vacated chair to take it to another table, and Kirk found himself alone with the Klingon. They seemed to size each other up, neither quite ready to make the first move.

To Kirk’s surprise, Worf spoke up, “At Starfleet Academy, I read about your battles with the Klingons.”

Kirk nodded. He would have been lying to say he regretted them.

“You were a true warrior,” Worf concluded.

“I admit, I was sometimes lacking in diplomacy, but our mission was peaceful exploration,” Kirk attempted.

“But you fought well,” Worf protested.

It sounded like it was intended as a compliment, but Kirk wasn’t quite ready to take it. Instead, he asked as casually as he could, “Are you the only Klingon in Starfleet?”

“Yes,” Worf said.

“Why? The Klingons must still have their own fleet.”

“After my family was killed in the Khitomer massacre, I was raised by humans,” Worf explained, but with the way he said it, he might as well have been talking about someone else’s family.

Still, Kirk’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, I didn’t realize. That can’t have been easy.”

“I faced some challenges,” Worf acknowledged stoically.

“You almost sound more like a Vulcan than a Klingon,” Kirk suggested with a smile.

“Vulcans are pacifists” - Worf said the word “pacifist” with some disdain.

“That’s usually the logical course of action,” Kirk argued, “But there’s no one I’d rather have on my side in a fight.”

Worf gave him a look of disbelief.

Wryly, Kirk asked, “You’re set on being a Klingon?”

“That is what I am,” Worf insisted.

“You’re right,” Kirk said. It had been unfair of him to suggest otherwise. “How is it, serving on a ship full of humans?”

“They are not warriors, but they are good colleagues” - Worf hesitated - “And friends.”

“Good. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been assigned a Klingon officer,” Kirk admitted. “I can only hope I would have followed your Captain Picard’s example.”

“Many Klingons still have a difficult time accepting the Federation as our allies. Most humans would not fare well on a Klingon ship - they do not understand the glory of war.”

“Some do, but they usually end up as the villains.”

“Yes, I do not understand why humans place so much value in reluctance.”

“Maybe we’re just indecisive,” Kirk suggested with a wry smile.

“That is not how I would describe my human colleagues.”

Kirk tried again - “Isn’t it better to go to war for a good cause than a bad one?”

“Perhaps,” Worf acknowledged, “But humans seem to place no value in the glory of battle.”

“No, I suppose we don’t. We’re not so fond of death and destruction.”

“You fear it,” Worf charged.

“With good reason.”

“Why fear the inevitable? At least a warrior can die well.”

“Is anything really inevitable?”

“All things die.”

“I don’t know, I’ve managed to cheat death well enough myself.”

“Your case is a unique one,” Worf admitted, “But eventually you will die.”

“Maybe, but I don’t believe in no-win scenarios. Even if everything supposedly dies, there’s no reason to surrender and let it happen.”

“You would consider charging into battle, prepared to die, a surrender?” Worf demanded.

“Isn’t it better to live to fight another day?”

“Not if all your days are spent fleeing in fear of death.”

“Maybe you’re right, but if there’s a way…” Kirk trailed off, his eyes gazed out the windows that made up the far wall.

For a moment Worf drank in silence. Abruptly, he remarked, “I don’t understand how you humans can spend days on end doing nothing but waiting.”

Kirk looked back at the Klingon with a smile. “We don’t like it any more than you do. We just try to distract ourselves.”

Worf seemed to consider the suggestion. “Maybe I will go see if the Farragut’s holodeck has a suitable calisthenics program. You are welcome to join me.”

Kirk was curious, but shook his head. “Maybe another time.”

“Very well.” Worf finished his drink and took his leave.

Kirk was in his quarters reading when Counselor Troi dropped by. She joined him at the desk, no doubt ready with another barrage of questions.

“Good afternoon, Counselor,” he said, putting the book aside. “What can I help you with?”

To his surprise, she asked, “What are you reading?”

He smiled. “The Campaigns of Alexander. I borrowed it from your Captain Picard.”

“Alexander the Great?” she clarified.

He nodded.

“May I ask why that book in particular?”

“It’s a classic.”

Troi could tell there was another reason, but she didn’t press him on it. Instead she said, “The captain told me that Ambassador Spock is on his way.”

Kirk grinned. “Yes, I know.”

“How do you feel about seeing him after so long?” Troi attempted.

“It’ll be good to see him again,” Kirk said with half a shrug, as though there wasn’t anything else to be said, but the counselor could sense a deeper turmoil of nerves and uncertainty.

She decided it was time to take another approach. Starting on more solid ground, she asked, “When did you last see your husband?”

Kirk glanced away in recollection. “It was a little over a month before the launch of the Enterprise-B - Spock could tell you exactly how long. He was on Earth for just a few days between meetings with the Klingons. He wasn’t an ambassador yet, but he was well on his way.” Troi could feel some bitterness amidst his pride.

“Did you have many chances to talk to him while he was away?” she asked.

Kirk gave her a wry smile. “A few.” Troi could tell that it was intended as a joke, but she didn’t know why.

“You spoke with him frequently?” she clarified.

“You could say that,” Kirk said with that same private bemusement.

“Is there anything you wish you could have told him before you fell into the Nexus?”

He shook his head. “If I knew I wasn’t going to be in there forever, it would have been nice to let him know, but there weren’t any secrets between us.”

Kirk was carefully keeping something out of the conversation, Troi could feel it, but she didn’t know what. Unless… She hesitated. “When I first met you, in sickbay, I sensed that you were attempting to contact someone telepathically. I am aware that Vulcans have significant telepathic abilities, did you and Ambassador Spock have a telepathic connection?”

Kirk grinned and she could feel that she was correct. “Vulcans are a very private people, Counselor.”

“I see…” she said. Delicately, she continued, “I take it you and Ambassador Spock have not been in contact since you left the Nexus?”

He shook his head. “Not a word.”

“I’m sorry. To go from constant communication to nothing must be very unsettling.”

Kirk grimaced. “We were ‘out of contact’ for a few years after Spock’s death. It was a lot worse then, but it is still unsettling.”

“How do you think your husband is feeling right now, on his way to see you?”

“He is a Vulcan,” Kirk said with a wry smile.

She just gave him a look.

Again, Kirk glanced away, out the window, in thought. “I don’t know,” Kirk admitted at last. “I know I miss him, but it’s been so long… Eighty years… It’s longer than I’ve been alive. I can’t imagine… Maybe he’s just coming here to prevent me from going to Romulus.”

“Do you actually believe that?”

“No. But it might be easier for him if I hadn’t come back.”

“Why?”

“I’ve given him a lot to worry about.”

“You seem to worry a lot about him,” she pointed out.

“While I was in the Nexus, at least I was safe. I can’t say as much about him.”

“If your connection really was severed” - Kirk winced at the thought - “He may not have known you were safe,” Troi remarked.

“I don’t know…” Kirk trailed off. He hoped the bond hadn’t been broken. Even if it hadn’t, it was probably silent on Spock’s end, but he was a proper telepath, maybe he could sense something that Kirk couldn’t.

“How do you think he feels?” Troi prompted again.

“I hope he hasn’t been too worried. Jean Luc said Spock still feels guilty for the time I spent on Rura Penthe, but I don’t even think an illogical human could spend eighty years worrying.” He gazed out the window, lost in thought. “I wonder how much he’s changed…”

“En garde!” Picard called out.

Kirk raised his sword for another attack - it was surprisingly heavy between his fingers. The stiff uniform was stifling, the helmet like a cage over his head. He peered at Picard through the mesh - not that he could see his opponent’s face - his sword bouncing in his hand.

Kirk let Picard come to him - they had barely bothered with footwork. Their swords met. He could tell Picard was going easy on him, maneuvering his blade this way and that in small neat motions that Kirk was sure left him wide open for an attack that Picard was kind enough not to take. Kirk circled Picard’s blade with his own in an attempt to replicate them, but it didn’t get him anywhere.

Finally, he threw caution to the wind and took a wild stab.

The alarm went off - the tip of Picard’s blade had caught on Kirk’s glove, winning him the match.

Picard raised his blade in a salute and Kirk only belatedly remembered to follow suit before pulling off his helmet. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Good bout,” Picard said.

Kirk opened his eyes and accepted Picard’s gloved hand with a wry smile.

“It’s a lot harder than it looks,” Kirk remarked as he tried to shrug off the thick jacket.

“It just takes practice,” Picard said, though he looked a little smug. “Not up for another?”

Kirk shook his head. “I think I’ll stick to wrestling.”

Kirk accepted a towel from Picard, grabbed a glass of water from the replicator and let himself fall onto the bench by the wall to catch his breath. Picard soon joined him.

They sat in silence, catching their breath. Abruptly, Picard asked, “You’re married - I don’t suppose you ever had children?”

A grimace flitted across Kirk’s face. “I had a son, but I barely knew him.” More lightly, he asked, “Do you have kids?”

“No,” Picard said. “The closest thing I had to a son was my nephew, René, but he and my brother were killed in a fire recently.”

“I’m sorry. David died a few years ago - give or take a few decades - but I never really mourned him.”

“I never liked children,” Picard continued, “But René was the exception. Now, I wonder if I made a mistake not settling down and having children of my own.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t settle down either. David wasn’t really mine. I was his father, but his mother and I weren’t together; she didn’t want him taking after me and running off across the galaxy, so I stayed away. I didn’t think twice.”

“Do you regret it?” Picard asked.

“Of course I regret not being there when I should have, but I wasn’t ready then and I don’t know if I’ve ever been ready. Spock certainly didn't want kids," he added a little less seriously - though he didn’t know what Spock wanted now.

"I didn’t think I did either, but now I’m not so sure.” Picard hesitated. “That’s what the Nexus showed me - a whole family in a stately old home. I thought that was what my brother wanted, that I’d moved beyond it somehow, but maybe we were more similar after all.”

“Maybe,” Kirk said, “But it would be hard to captain the Enterprise from the family homestead.”

“True. Perhaps the Nexus merely shows us a path not taken rather than our hearts’ desires.”

“I would rather be on a bridge than that old cabin any day,” Kirk said with a smile.

“Why did you retire?”

Kirk’s smile quickly faded. “I gave up too much. Spock died because of me. He came back, but I couldn’t risk it happening again.”

“Surely it was dangerous before,” Picard attempted.

“We always made it out alive somehow.”

Picard hesitated. “I didn’t die, but I was assimilated by the Borg to be their representative to humanity. I lost my identity - part of myself. I considered leaving Starfleet, that it wasn’t worth the risk, but with more than a little help I learned to live with it.”

“You’re a braver man than I am, Captain.”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I just have less to lose.”

#v writes #Star Trek: The Original Series #Star Trek: The Next Generation #Star Trek: Generations #Spirk #Generations

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incorrectsmashbrosquotes · 6 years ago

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10,000 Follower Special: The League’s Path to Victory! The Time Plan?

In this thrilling installment of the League of Villains tale, Ganondorf and his team of dastardly devils make their big move, playing their cards big! Ganondorf’s ultimate plan is revealed, and the Super Smash Bros must race to both stop it, and save their friends!

Bioshock Universe: The Floating City of Columbia

For Booker DeWitt, life had taken a nosedive down the rabbit hole and just kept going and going all the way to looney-ville. As if a fascist/fundamentalist floating city in the sky wasn’t enough, a teenage girl with time-hopping powers whom he had begrudgingly come to care for topped tings off. Add in weird magical powers from drinking magical coca-cola and apparently machine-men and... yeah he was pretty sure that life would never make sense again.

How he had ended up on this quest to save the world from a psychotic religious zealot he’d never know. But by whatever God there might be he was going to kill him as painfully as possible.

And now, here they were. At the precipice of destiny, ready to end the son of a whore once and for all.

“Stand back.” Booker growled to Elizabeth, mentally deciding if he should split Comstock’s skull with his knew zipline claw, or just blast his head off.

He was leaning towards the skull splitting.

Elizabeth shot him a look. “Booker, no.” she said firmly. “This is between me and him.”

Booker shook his head. “You are WALKING into a TRAP.” growled the former soldier.

“I NEED to do this.” she said, the stubborn jut in her jaw announcing an end to the argument. The look was strangely familiar to Booker, but he mentally chalked it up to the girl being more stubborn than any human had any right to be.

The door swung open, Comstock awaited, in all his self-righteous glory.

The room was beautiful, illuminated by a stained-glass window with a small basin in the center, presumably for baptism.

Comstock smiled, looking for all the world like a loving grandfather. “Come here child.” he spoke with a smile as they approached. “Well come on! I don’t bite.” he said with a laugh.

‘He’s jolly for a man who’s been consistently getting his army killed. Is he just that arrogant?’ thought Booker to himself, not releasing his grip on his gun.

“My, oh, my how you’ve grown.” said Comstock gently as Elizabeth approached.

“...Tell me.” said Elizabeth. “What- what am I?” she asked.

Comstock extended a hand and Elizabeth allowed him to take it. “Look at you child, you’re a mess.” he said, removing the sponge from the full basin.

Feeling a surge of protectiveness and anger Booker ground out “Hey! Let go of her.”

Comstock ignored him. “Elizabeth, everything I’ve done is to keep you safe.” he said as he washed her hand.

“Safe from what?!” snapped Elizabeth.

Comstock sighed. “”The Seed of the Prophet shall sit upon the Throne and drown in flame, the Mountains of Man.”” quoted the self-ordained prophet. The his eyes turned grim. “But the Archangel revealed something else: “Beware, Prophet. Beware the False Shepard, Booker DeWitt, for he shall be as a Wall between her and Destiny.”

“Why?” asked Elizabeth, practically begging for an answer. But Comstock no longer had eyes for her, he was glaring at Booker and Booker was matching it.

“Booker, I’ve been a fool.” he declared. “I’ve sent mighty armies to stop you! I’ve rained FIRE FROM ABOVE!” he cried, slowly walking around the basin. “I did all of that, to keep you from her, when all I had to do was tell her the truth!” snarled Comstock.

“That is the thing about lies, isn’t it.” drawled a smooth voice from behind them. “They have a short self-life. They go bad, and quickly.”

Booker spun around and his already weird day took another dive down the rabbit-hole.

The silver haired man in all black was the strangest man Booker had ever beheld. And not just his outlandish clothes and ridiculously long hair. He also held a weapon, a Japanese-style sword as long as a man was tall.

Booker leveled his shotgun at the man. “Who are you?” he growled out. “And how did you-” he began, but was shoved aside by Comstock who fell to his knees before the man.

“The Archangel!” he cried. “The Angel who came to me! The Archangel: Sephiroth!” cried Comstock, tears in his eyes. “You’ve returned.”

Booker felt like his hear had dropped into his stomach. There was no way. An Archangel? Really? It was impossible!

But... with all that had happened...

“You?!” cried Elizabeth incredulously. “You’re an Archangel?”

The now named Sephiroth chuckled. “I’m an Angel... after a fashion.” he said, before turning his attention back to Comstock. “You’ve done your duty well Prophet. The time has come. You shall be rewarded.”

Booker began to unconsciously backing up to stand with Elizabeth, putting the basin between himself and the ‘Archangel’.

“Yes, mighty one.” said Comstock. “I’ve... I’ve worked so long. I’m ready.” he said.

“Yes.” said Sephiroth, placing his palm upon Comstock’s forehead. “Your reward.”

“A quick death.”

There was a blinding flash of light, a blaze of unholy heat, and Booker instinctively grabbed Elizabeth and tackled her down, using the basin as a shield between them and the explosion.

Slowly, after the heat had dissipated, Booker and Elizabeth stood, looking towards Comstock and the Angel. Elizabeth screamed and buried her face into Booker’s chest. Booker could only stare dumbly.

Where Zachary Comstock had been, was a charred and black skeleton, bits of flesh still clinging to it, ablaze. The ground beneath it was blasted to high, holy hell, leaving Sephiroth staring dispassionately.

“Well, that’s done.” drawled the Archangel, for what else could he be but an angel, “Now,” he said, pointing his massive weapon at Booker. “Give me the girl, and this will go smoothly.”

Booker didn’t think. He didn’t wait. He grabbed his shotgun and blasted at the Angel, or Demon, or whatever it was.

Sephiroth deflected the bullet with the flat of his blade. Sighing, Sephiroth spoke. “Very well. We’ll do this his way.” And with that, Sephiroth snapped his fingers.

The stained glass window behind them exploded, and a monster entered the room.

It was huge. A twisted dragon-like purple monster even bigger than Songbird. The creature landed, crushing the basin beneath it. Booker raised his shotgun to shoot the monster, but it knocked him aside with a single back-hand.

“Booker!” cried Elizabeth.

Booker slammed into the wall, his vision becoming blurry as pain dominated his body. He was vaguely aware of the monster grabbing Elizabeth and taking off in flight. The Archangel followed, a single black wing flowing behind him.

As unconsciousness claimed Booker, he was aware of a massive mechanical monstrosity stomping towards him.

Columbia was burning.

Rebel and loyalist alike found themselves crushed under the furious attack of nightmare creatures. Mechanical nightmares, twisted mutated creatures that had once been human, and demons straight from Hell itself swarmed the streets as they slaughtered the all within the city.

Elizabeth saw all of this from the clutches of the flying demon as it flew beside Sephiroth.

“Stop!” she cried. “Stop! Those people are innocent! Just STOP!” she cried.

The demon laughed. “There are no innocents girlie. By morning, this place will be a smoldering ruin, sinking into the ocean.” it said in a mocking tone.

“Now, now, Ridley, no need to mock.” said Sephiroth to the now named Ridley. “Besides, we have a job to do.”

And that’s when Elizabeth saw their destination. The Angel Statue, her prison. All about the structure smaller ships flew, attaching strange machines to it, readying it for... something.

Sephiroth spoke. “You see my dear, we needed your father for this task. To build us the Angel. To construct us this colossus for our own use.” his eyes flicked to her. “And to rear you. Our precious Lamb.”

Elizabeth glared at the so-called Archangel, tears in her eyes. “Why!? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!?”

Sephiroth chuckled as they landed atop the Angel’s head. “Why, for exactly the reason we said. To rain fire down upon the mountains of man.”

There was a blinding flash of blue energy, and they and the Angel were gone.

Arcadia Bay, Life is Strange Universe

“This is my storm, Chloe.” said Max Caulfield quietly as she and her friend- no, they’d been through too much for Chloe to be a mere friend anymore- stood by the lighthouse, staring at the veritable hurricane bearing down on Arcadia Bay. After all, it had to be her storm. What else could it be? All that screwing around with time, it had all led to this.

The world was a cruel place. To bring her and Chloe back together like this, only to have this happen. She felt rage in her heart at the raw unfairness of this whole shitty deal. Both hers and Chloe’s. First Rachel, then that monster Jefferson, now this?! It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

“Max-” began Chloe, but she was interrupted.

“Oh my sweet summer child or some shit. You ain’t seen a storm yet.” sneered a voice that reminded her eerily of Nathan Prescott at his worst, and yet infinitely more malevolent.

Chloe and Max spun around, seeing the new arrival. He was about their age, maybe a little older, with ashen gray skin, blood red eyes, and bone-white hair. He was dressed like he was going to a Renaissance Fair, complete with a sword in his hand and a shield on his back. Except the sword looked very, very real.

“What’re you talking about dipshit!” snapped Chloe, moving protectively between Max and the stranger. “And who the fuck do you think you are!?”

The stranger cackled, somehow over the wind. “Me? I’m a shadow. A reflection. The punchline to the bad joke you call existence.” he cackled. “And I’m the guy who’s here for your little girlfriend bitch.”

Chloe snarled and put her fists up. “Try it fuckwit.” she growled. Max felt her heart swell for Chloe, her brave punk warrior.

The dark stranger cackled. “Oh sweetie. It’s not me you have to worry about... it’s him.”

Thud.

Chloe and Max turned their heads, seeing their new adversary.

A towering mountain of metal armor and what seemed to be raw malice was marching towards them, a massive flesh-covered sword in one hand and a demonic looking claw flexing in the other.

Max was not afraid to admit that she voided her bowels in that moment,

:What the fu-” began Chloe, but the creature lashed out, seizing her in it’s clawed hand. Chloe screamed in pain, Max screamed in horror, and the monstrous knight roared as he pitched Chloe off the cliff.

“NOOO!” screamed Max, instinctively reaching out with her powers, but there was a sharp pain to the back of her head, and she collapsed into unconsciousness.

Dark Link spat as Nightmare picked up the girl. “Well, that was easy. Hope Seph got his as easy.”

“Sephiroth was chosen by the Master. The Master does not fail.” proclaimed Nightmare.

Dark Link rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Let’s go big guy. We got a schedule to keep.”

Nightmare nodded and Soul Edge pulsed with power. A massive red portal opened for them and they stepped through.

Neither noticed the winged mechanical monstrosity grab Chloe Price before she hit the sharp rocks below.

Songbird, the mechanical guardian of Elizabeth Comstock landed on the beach of Arcadia Bay, Booker DeWitt and Chloe Price in it’s arms. Before the mechanical beast were three people. A grown man and woman sharply dressed in khaki’s, and a small child in a blue and purple striped sweater.

The woman placed a hand on both Booker and Chloe’s limp form. “Excelsior. Both perfectly fine. Well done.” remarked Rosalind Lutece to Songbird. she turned to her brother, Robert. “You see? I told you it would work.”

“I never said it would not work. I merely predicted a 97.836% chance that the plan would fail.” he said. He glanced from his sister to the child. “You did well to come to us Frisk.”

*Frisk tells the Lutece’s that they’re happy the plan worked*

“Well there’s still plenty of room for failure. Don’t you worry about that.” said Rosalind dryly.

Robert picked up Frisk and placed them upon Songbird’s back. “Now, to the Smash Mansion, all of you. Tell the Smash Brothers that there is more at stake than they realize. Worry not, we will abate the storm.” he assured Frisk.

*Frisk thanks the Lutece’s again for their help.*

“Well given that we exist within time itself, we had better help you.” said Rosalind. “Now off!”

Frisk nodded and patted Songbird. The mechanical beast flew off, disappearing through one of Frisk’s shortcuts, learned from Sans of course.

“Do you think they will win?” asked Rosalind lightly.

Robert shrugged. “For once... I cannot see. And I rather like the not knowing. That’s more fun than I remember.”

“Indeed.” remarked Rosalind. “Now, the storm? Shall we?” she asked.

“Indubitably.” remarked Robert.

The Twins of Time began to glow with power.

Arbiter’s Grounds, Legend of Zelda Universe

Ganondorf stood before the mostly reconstructed Mirror of Twilight, painstakingly reassembled through massive effort after Midna had shattered it. Ganondorf stood upon the scaffolding, built around the massive Angel of Columbia, placed here by Sephiroth and Ridley after their mission. The Mirror now sat with the chest of the Angle, nestled between it’s collarbones.

“So that’s it?” asked Chara. “The Gateway?”

Ganondorf nodded. “Aye. The Mirror was a gateway between this world and the Twili Realm. But now, with the Angel to serve as a conductor and amplifier, it shall open the doorways between all worlds.”

Chara nodded, an evil smile spreading across their face. “And with the Time Power of those two brats within it...”

Ganondorf nodded. “All of Time and Space will be ours for the taking. And you, Chara, with your own Temporal abilities, shall be the one to open the way.” he said, lovingly ruffling the demon child’s hair.

“I’m ready father.” said Chara proudly.

Ganondorf laughed. “Of course you are.” he said proudly. “And soon the Angel will be as well.” Ganondorf laughed as he turned from the mirror to face the rising sun. “Rejoce, my child, for Convergence is upon us. And our final victory.”

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