#Surprise adoption do not resist Wars

[huh-1260]

Fuck it it crack fic time

:D

______

Blue

Red

Vio

Green (for the beginning)

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Now maybe they were overreacting a bit, but mostly out of jealousy between some members of the chain having relatives in the chain *cough cough * Time Wild, and Twilight *cough cough*

OH SHUT UP VIO! Blue yelled.

I wanna have a protege! Red whined.

THEN LET ME TALK! He yelled.

Okay, now where were we? Oh yes, now they, were maybe just going to take one of the lonely Link that aren't a protege-

And that's like super hard because Hyrule has Legend, Legend and Sky are like super weird around each other when a Zelda is mentioned and I dont want to get into that mess, and what Vio mentioned before-

Red! Out of everyone here I wasn't expecting you to interrupt me!

Oh so who were you expecting huh?! Blue yelled.

Ouch my ears! Fuck Blue don't yell in here! I'm trying to pick one

YOUR TRYING TO PICK ONE WITHOUT US! Red, Blue, and Green yelled.

Vio winced at the loud noise.

(Meanwhile in Four's Shadow:

Shadow Link: "HOW DARE THEY LEAVE ME OUT ON SOMETHING AGAIN!")

Well there isn't a lot to pick from the leftovers we ha-

I pick Warriors. Red interrupted.

Everyone turns to Red.

What.

Warriors doesn't have a mentor or a ancestor! Sure he has Wind, but Wind is just a little brother! Plus I can see how Wars can take after all of us! Red cheerfully says.

Red explain your logic. Vio asked.

Yeah, Red I don't see it.

Well, to compare our personality with Warriors, I guess to start with Green, Wars has good leadership skills like green, Blue and Wars have a temper but Legend mostly brings it out with Wars with their fighting? Teasing? Whatever, but with Vio, Wars is like super smart with strategy and stuff right? So he takes after you!

Green pauses for a moment. Okay that like explains some stuff but, how does he take after you?

Do you see how he gently treats the fairies and Epona? Of course that's the part he takes after! Also arson.

It really don't make sense for your theory Red. Personality traits aren't really genetic, its more influenced by parents. Vio starts mumbling, But then again, I don't exactly dive into child care books or brain development in children so either way...

Blue was oddly quiet. So what are we going to do, just grab him and show him to grandpa and say we made this or something?

BLUE! why?? Grandpa might get a heart attack if we just grabbed Wars and just claim he's his great something grandchild!

Red shrugs, I didn't think that far blu

Vio pauses his rambles, I think grandpa would be happy that he gets grandkids, plus Wars is pretty tall soooo

All of the colors nodded,

Warriors is their descendant now.

_____

It was weird seeing Four wake up so late, as it seems the kid didn't have enough rest or something, as he dragged himself to the table and flopped onto the captain's back.

"Wars, I adopt you as my grandchild, you are now my descendant."

"What?"

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Hi Frosty!!!! I just saw you had requests open! Is this true?

If so.... could I please have a brief....Hunter reaction to an accidental seeing reader in a wedding dress? I'm a sucker for this and will reread this trope over and over redone.

Thank you ❤️ and it's ok if not, just discard this then! Love your writing!

Alignment Events [Hunter x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: You and the tattooed sergeant of Clone Force 99 have caught unexpected feelings for one another towards the end of the Clone Wars following a chance meeting in the middle of a friend’s special night. Following the end of the war, your friend has chosen to get married to her soldier sweetheart on her adoptive home world of Naboo. You and Hunter are attending as part of the happy couple’s wedding party right around the time your feelings have gotten a little more serious for each other. While being involved in the preparation means there could be a fair amount of rumination on the future of your relationship, what you don’t expect is how much a fun bit of playful dress-up could end up changing your life.  Second Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader. Republic Victory AU (so no Order 66). Limited Mando’a (pet names and familial terms). Minimal Star Wars and real-world swearing. Reference/allusion to alcoholic beverages. Iler Ci is an OC who serves as Reader’s friend for the story. Narrative and stylistic use of italics.

Word count: 4,926

Call it what you like - the Force, an alignment of the planets and stars, maybe fate - the galaxy had a funny way of bringing people together. 

Meeting someone special in the middle of the Clone Wars had been an unexpected but pleasant happenstance. It hadn’t been in your immediate plans to make any changes to your dating status, but the first time you crossed paths with Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99 amidst what would later become a celebratory night out with some friends, there was something about him you simply couldn’t resist. 

A busier night than most, clumsy encounters and a spilt strong drink were to be expected. Trying to cross from one end of the cantina to the other, one did a fair bit of running into happy couples and hopeful romantics.

Hunter had been neither. 

There had always been the fleeting flirts and flings, but never anything serious and steady for either of you. There were no qualms about dating statuses, feelings of loneliness or even the emeralds of envy while in the company of partnered people. 

Not until the night you met. 

It would be a chance meeting. You and several friends were meant to be working, but the soldier sweetheart to a mutual friend had reached out and asked for help planning a special surprise earlier that morning. It would mean losing shifts and owing favors due to the last-minute nature, but hearing what he had in mind, you and your friends were willing to do anything.

Lane was a pilot in the Grand Army of the Republic, and had been in a long-distance yet serious relationship for some time now with your friend, Cici. They met while Lane had been on an assignment near Naboo almost a year ago. Emboldened by some of his brothers, he’d tried asking her out after a helping or two of liquid courage, but it must have been stronger than he anticipated. Lane maintains that while he recalls her politely declining the first request, he has no memory of her agreeing to get some food instead, or how she had apparently “helped” him back to the barracks. 

In the morning, he would find a note, and only then in his sobered state would he realize the Pantoran woman he had been trying to charm all night was none other than Iler Ci. For all her humility and generosity, many would not suspect that she was the heiress to a well-known family of artists on Naboo, by whom she was adopted and raised after her birth on Pantora. 

Thanks for a nice dinner and lovely company, Lane. Perhaps, if you ever remember where to find it while you’re still here, we can go to that Pantoran place you recommended? :) - Iler “Cici” Ci (PS: Don’t forget to take something for the headache.)

Though he would be reassigned before they could have a more proper date, Cici and Lane have been smitten with each other since. 

It would be in front of a full house at 79’s that you and your friends helped Lane propose to his sweetheart, mere months before the end of the Clone Wars. It had never been so loud within the bar as the moment the pilot dropped down on one knee in front of his brothers and other patrons to present Cici with a ring someone had fashioned for him that very morning. 

Soldiers in deployments of every color cheered for their brother when she agreed to marry him, and had drawn in from every corner to congratulate them. Marriages among Clones were less of an officially recognized thing, at the time, but Lane had been too eager, too deeply in love to care. The same could be said for Cici; it would not matter that it would only be another few months before the war was inexplicably over. 

Among the last to offer congratulations were five men, each of them clad in grayscale, non-standard armor accented in red. 

Standing ahead of the rest, a man somewhat shorter than Lane approached and put his hand forward. “Good to see you again, Lane. I came to offer our congratulations on behalf of the Bad Batch.” His handshake seemed quite firm. The four men behind him offered their respective greetings after that - two waved (one half-heartedly) while another merely nodded, and the fourth offered the only other handshake, even firmer than the first’s. 

In spite of having most of the feeling squeezed out of his hand mere moments ago, Lane was almost excited, arguably starstruck, by who had come to offer their congratulations to him and Cici. He would make eager introductions to everyone. 

“This is Sergeant Hunter, Tech, Echo, Wrecker and Crosshair of Clone Force 99. They’re the ones who helped us pull off that crazy rescue mission two months ago!”

Quite honestly you missed most of the short conversation between Lane and the sergeant as the other four went down the line and got everyone’s name; exchanging nice to meet you!-s with varying degrees of enthusiasm and politeness, shaking hands as they went. At the other end of the line, you were the last to personally greet each member of the squadron. 

Introductions had been going smoothly until it came time to shake Hunter’s hand. Feeling somewhat caught under umber brown eyes, you inexplicably tripped while taking that half-step forward to better shake his hand. To your great fortune, Hunter’s reflexes were sharp; though it proved to be a slightly embarrassing method—strong arms laced across your back that brought the two of you chest-to-chest—you were caught before you would have been seriously hurt. 

You could only offer a stammering apology, your composure rather rattled as you all but gawked up into the skull-tattooed face of the sergeant. There was a gentleness to the way he eased you off his chest only once he’s certain you’re unharmed, a softness in the way his aquiline nose bunched as the corners of his mouth turned up in a warm smile. 

In a voice smokier than the alleyway behind 79’s, he made a small joke in hopes of lightening the mood. “So long as you’re alright, there’s no need to be sorry about falling for me, mesh’la. I’m rather flattered.” It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, but the level of confidence and self-assurance he has came as a surprise at the time.

Flirting came with the territory at 79’s; passing advances were to be expected now and again from the GAR’s soldiers by Coruscant’s diverse nightlife. But you found yourself especially charmed by the sergeant. 

It would only be the beginning.

Though he may have been the one to make the joke about you falling for him, the truth was Hunter found himself equally smitten with you. He couldn’t get you out of his head. Comm numbers had been exchanged, but a bulk of the communication was done through Lane for the first few weeks following that special night at 79’s. 

It was becoming increasingly obvious that Hunter was trying to keep you closer than just the periphery of his life; it isn’t every day that Lane finds himself telling you that he’s pretty sure Hunter went out of his way to get a bottle of your absolute favorite body fragrance from a crowded Outer Rim market because he recognized it by smell alone (and heard a rumor it would be discontinued on Coruscant soon).

“He must really like you.”

A month out from the end of the war, there is plenty of accumulated evidence that things are looking a little more serious between the two of you. The near-daily electronic exchanges are a good start. But it’s more than that, of course. Your respective companions have been privy to plenty of instances where you’ve thought about the other, and not to mention the interactions outside of the healthy helping of mutual flirting. 

Like the night you had asked Hunter what his favorite mission so far was, his brothers sent you multiple pictures of him—all from different angles, all varying in quality—around their tiny attack shuttle, working on his response for at least an hour or more. Bathed in the blue glow of his datapad, smiling softly to himself. 

Or the time you were enjoying a night in with some friends when Hunter would make a near desperate request for holofilm recommendations. They had strict orders to wait out bad weather before returning to command, so they were looking for something Tech could “borrow” in the meantime. There had been much hemming and hawing about certain types of media in the recommendation list you were compiling for him, but your friends gave you encouragement to include them.

“Promise you won’t laugh if half of it’s for kids?”

“Promise. My vode, too.” 

Hunter may not have understood what it was about those movies that appealed to you right away, but he kept his promise, and filed the list away for another time, putting it to use later.

A month out from the end of the war, he asks to meet you at 79’s the very same night he and his brothers are due to be planetside. They have some important, short-term business they have to take care of; it’ll take a day at most. It could be his only chance to see you in person after all these weeks of long-distance communications. To great delight, you have agreed to meet him once you get off work, so long as he doesn’t mind that you’re in your work uniform. 

You could have worn a full sleep set for all he cared, he would be just as glad to see you.

You’ve beaten him to the bar by a matter of fifteen minutes, finding yourself lucky with skylane traffic for a change. Taking advantage of your extra time, you first make use of the ladies’ refresher, cleaning up your hair and any makeup applied that morning before settling in to wait for him. Securing a two-person table, you wait out any remaining time by glancing over a few personal messages. It won’t be long before Hunter meets up with you. 

Pay stub. Spam. Spam. Coupons. Work reminders. Delivery notice. Ooh, good coupons! More spam. Cici and Lane’s wedding plans. 

Intrigued, you open the mass message and begin to skim. The happy couple is thinking of tying the knot somewhere large enough to include everyone, having had some concerns that a marriage office here on Coruscant would prove too claustrophobic. Instead, to make sure no one is left out, they’ll be using property within Cici’s family - a charming lakefront villa on Naboo. 

You don’t get any farther than that before Hunter turns up, brothers in tow. 

Uh oh. Should you have gotten a bigger table?

Before anything can be done, Hunter takes the opposite seat at the table, followed by Wrecker and Tech. They each say hello before the latter carefully begins tipping a few small packages and envelopes out of the former’s pack onto the table. Two small, neatly wrapped packages and a handful of envelopes aren’t a lot of items, but it’s certainly more than you expected. Once everything is laid out on the table beside your bag, Wrecker offers encouragement over his shoulder as the two of them quickly take their leave.

“Have fun, Hunter! You’ll do fine!”

The sergeant must be nervous. Tugging the crimson cloth keeping the curtain of brown curls off his neck and out of his face, Hunter clears his throat before doing his best to flash you a smile, carefully setting a third package on the tabletop. 

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me here on short notice, cyar’ika.” More tugging, this time at the neckline of the bodysuit under his armor (which appears to be glistening) catches your eye. You gloss over the Mando’a for sweetheart and darling for the moment realizing he must have quickly wiped down his full kit before meeting you here. 

He not only called you sweetheart, but he cleaned up for you? Aww. 

You chuckle softly. “Of course! I see I’m not the only one who brought something either.” You pull your bag closer, wishing for the moment you had time to wrap any of it. It won’t matter. Hunter appears surprised to hear you have something for him, and offers you the chance to go first, if you’d like. You accept, reaching into your bag to pull ten identical items out. Two are offered to Hunter. “These are for you. I have more for your brothers.” Special micro-weave cleaning cloths from an electronics store are all you have to offer currently, your less practical gifts are either sitting in your apartment or still out for delivery.

Hunter’s nervous energy dissipates as he smiles, dumbfounded. “Guessing you got these for us because we ran out? That was… rather kind of you. Really.” Rubbing the back of his neck in thought, he debates which of the items on the table you should open first. Should he give you the largest package, the one carefully balanced on his knees under the table? Should you start with something small, and leave the best for last? (He should have asked Tech what the best way to do this kind of thing was while they were still at the Marauder. But then again, Tech was busy wrapping everything in old schematic papers.)

Maybe it didn’t matter. Come to a decision, Hunter nudges the pile of envelopes closer to you. “Start with these,” he says. “My brothers got these for you.” Hunter knows he’s made the right call when your immediate response is a surprised “Really?” paired with a smile brighter than the twin suns of Tatooine. 

You carefully open one of the flat sleeves to find several stickers and a note inside. The short note is from Tech, explaining he’s taken some inspiration from “nat-born” trends seen on the holonet and everyone has found a handful of stickers you could use to decorate computer terminals or water canisters. 

The conclusion and postscript make you smile before you set the note aside and look over the modest assortment of stickers he’s given you. 

They are waterproof and weather resistant, so they should last quite a long time. We hope you’ll enjoy them as much as we’ve enjoyed the process of you and Hunter getting to know one another.  Postscript: I hope the butterflies will suffice since I was not certain if you have a favorite insect.

You see evidence of how much Hunter has shared about you in the types of stickers each of his brothers have collected for you. Tech’s butterflies are mostly in your favorite colors. Echo’s given you stickers relating to places you’ve been, and planets you have an interest in seeing one day. Wrecker’s envelope is the heaviest out of the bunch; his collection showcases popular characters from your favorite novels and shows, and a few stickers of your favorite snacks have been added for good measure. (The sticker that says “Make today a BLAST!” with a rough depiction of a thermal detonator is probably your favorite from him.) And finally from Crosshair, you were given a few generic yet nice designs of animals you’d discussed early on with Hunter.

The entire spread is swept into their respective envelopes once everything has been looked at, at which point you make sure to thank Hunter at the very least. You trust him to pass along the sentiment for you in case you don’t get a chance to speak to the rest of Clone Force 99 tonight. 

It was sweet of them to get you anything at all. You certainly didn’t expect it. When you agreed to meet with the sergeant you had really only expected one little token from their travels at the most, only possibly wrapped; nevermind three from Hunter alone and all of them wrapped. 

One thing was clear: Hunter really likes you. 

Between chilled drinks and appetizers, more alignment events occur as the two of you have an enjoyable night using the limited time available. Quite honestly, most of what you talk about goes by in a blur between each package you open. From one such parcel, the face of a favorite character from one of the holofilms previously recommended to him peers up at you in soft, fabric form. You recognize this rendition as one you already own, but you see that it’s been customized. 

Added in thread, little details that are not typically included in merchandise have been sewn in with such care to make the character more screen-accurate.  

“Wow… This must’ve taken a long time.”

Hunter’s chuckle is warm. “For me, yes. Fortunately it’s just an afternoon or two for Crosshair.” 

“He did a really good job. I have one just like it at home, but I like this one a lot more.”

There’s some congratulatory commotion from the booth where his brothers are sitting nearby, among which you hear an excited “did you hear that?!” from Wrecker. Hunter waits until they’ve mostly settled back down before encouraging you to open the second of the three packages, watching as you carefully tear back the wrapping. What you find inside thoughtfully ties into one of your hobbies, made from recently-carved wood. It’s a material not-often come by in the jewel of the Core Worlds, so the rich, earthy smell catches you off-guard, adding to your amazement. 

“I made this one myself.” He seems quite proud. And he should be.

Made with his own vibroknife, Hunter has given this gift a lot of care and attention. Wide, curious eyes trace the patterns of swirling grain as you repeatedly turn it over in your hands to admire from every angle. Everything had been sanded smooth, eliminating any stiff edges left by the process of whittling and carving.

You smile appreciatively before finding something to say. “I hope you didn’t get many splinters for all the trouble this must’ve been…”

Shoulders bounce in easy-going fashion. 

“A few. Nothing too bad.” 

That’s relieving to hear. “I’d feel bad if you went through all this trouble for me and ended up hurt.”

“And if I thought you were worth the trouble?”

Hunter’s question has left you stunned, dropping a delicate hush over the table. Hearing you’re worth the trouble - the possibility of pain - is a sincere sentiment you have not heard outside your social circle in quite some time, perhaps even longer than you realize. Feeling now is the right time, Hunter surrenders the last of the packages to you, the one he has been carefully guarding throughout the night. “I hope this is enough of an answer.” he says by way of answering your unspoken doubts. 

An answer that carries you through the months to come. It’s a soothing balm to the long distances apart before the war finds an end, and fuel for the even longer nights after. Every time doubt had crept in and questioned the validity of what you have with the sergeant clad in smoke-gray armor, you returned to the note taped to the bottle of perfume to reassure and reaffirm. 

In a promise more precious than pearl or priorite, your relationship will only ever move as fast as you’re comfortable with when Hunter asks to make things official. 

No amount of playful pushing will change his resolve when friends, family and brothers find themselves gathered on Naboo in preparation for Lane and Cici’s wedding some months later. 

There’s a fair bit of work to be done to get the lakeside villa gussied up for the big day, but with everyone pitching it, it’ll be over before you know it. There’ll be plenty of time for pre-wedding activities before it comes time to tie the knot. After a week of steady progress, there’s only one room left at this point.

One of the largest rooms on the property, Cici’s art studio overlooks a large, glimmering lake, so it should make for the perfect place to serve as the wedding hall once everything has been cleared out. It’s probably double, maybe triple, the size of an average apartment on the surface level of Coruscant, crammed with all manner of art supplies. Ignoring the fine layer of dust and disorganization, it feels akin to standing in an art store once Cici has unlocked the studio door and let everyone inside. 

“I guess my parents never used my studio while I was away. That means there’s more in there than I thought… But! Between all of us, this shouldn’t take too long. A day at most, I’m sure!”

Wrecker matches her enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit, Ms. Ci!” 

The workload is divided among the fifteen or so people who made it to Naboo ahead of time as equally as possible. You and some of Cici’s other friends from work would find yourself spectating the clean-out if you let the men of the GAR get away with it. They’re certainly efficient, and have made a real art of talking and tidying up at the same time, too. Any messing around is kept to a minimum, but the conversations are plenty playful as teams take boxes and crates full of studio items to temporary storage. 

Wrecker and Echo are joking with one of your coworkers as canvases (some as tall (or taller) than the demolition expert) get shuffled into the hallway. One of Lane’s fellow pilots has volunteered to help Tech pack the various paint tubes by general color. And though you could easily move things off of the high shelves on your own, with Hunter holding the rolling ladder steady, Crosshair will not take no for an answer and insists upon helping you dust everything down. 

“It will be safer to pass them down to me.” The fourth word escapes in a soft hiss, toothpick rolling with building irritation. “I don’t like the look of the fourth rung.”

It was a little wobbly when you’d climbed up the ladder, hoping to spare Hunter’s heightened senses from the dust… “Mind dusting them down for me, then?” Cross takes a decorative box set from you without a word, offering only a nod. 

“Thank you, Crosshair.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As a team of three, you make steady progress. Hunter braces the ladder while Crosshair takes care of the larger items, leaving you to take care of the shelves and any smaller items. You would prefer to focus on getting this done as quickly as possible, so you leave the talking to the brothers. Brushing down a decorative bust, the marksman tries getting under the sergeant’s skin with a sarcastic smirk. “Taking notes for later, vod?” A sweeping gesture to bring attention to all the wedding prep is pointedly ignored as Hunter pretends not to hear the teasing question. 

“You missed a spot, Cross.”

Maker, he loves you, make no mistake. Hunter is content for the time being to take all the time the galaxy gives him with you, for the time being. 

But it’s too early to be thinking about marriage for him, he tells himself.

Maybe one day.

When the last of the crates full of various odds and ends have been moved into storage, and any paint splatters have been scrubbed from the floor, all that remains for the happy couple and their wedding party is waiting for the big day. Time is idled away with plenty of sightseeing and general merrymaking, everyone forging new memories together in the welcome wake of a three-year war. 

Perhaps the most exciting of these pre-wedding events was Cici’s final dress-fitting, for which Cici’s mother invites you and the rest of Cici’s mutual friends into the studio late one evening, when the sky has turned dusky and dark. Large changing screens have been brought in for the fitting, and curtains have been drawn over most of the curtains that overlook the lake. 

As Cici and her mother duck behind one of the opaque dividers, most everyone’s attention is given to something off in the distance, likely a first time for many. The elaborate structure, another Nabooian villa, glows brilliantly on an island’s lakeshore in the twilight. 

“We were hoping everyone would get to see it lit up. That’s Varykino Villa. Isn’t it beautiful?” Cici swoons over the sound of rustling and shifting fabric. “Before a family friend gave my parents this place, he told us he spotted a private wedding on Varykino Island while looking across the water one day. That was, what, almost three years ago, mom?”

Mrs. Ci hums in confirmation. “Before he completely lost his eyesight. It was already starting to go, then, but he was pretty confident the man and the woman were alone, aside from the officiant. A golden protocol droid and a blue astromech were all they had for witnesses.” The last of the zippers are fastened as some speculate on the unusual choice in witnesses, and Cici steps out from behind the divider to a wave of fawning awe. 

Wreathed in a flowing dress, Cici looks like a princess with her long hair pulled loosely over one shoulder. The cool-white fabric compliments the blue skin of her Pantoran heritage well. If she looks this good now, you can’t wait to see what she looks like once she’s gone through the hair and make-up process. She’d look like a proper queen. 

Smiling, she wrings her hands somewhat nervously. “Do you think Lane will like it?”  

It takes no time at all to reach a general consensus: how could he not? 

“Lane will love it when he sees you’ve recreated his armor pattern.” you tell her, gesturing to the beaded embellishments in the bodice. Paint patterns were just as personal as their names. Their colors were just as important too, if the way Hunter reacted to you wearing any combination of red and gray was any indication. 

He would tell you you looked good in just about anything, regardless of what you wore, but wearing anything in his colors was guaranteed to make your day extra special. 

Now that the final fitting has taken place, you expect to enjoy the refreshments and socialize for the rest of the night, but the fun is only beginning. 

Cici does more than just redressing in her previous clothing when she ducks behind the changing divider. With help from her mother, she wheels a large clothing rack covered by a large drop-cloth from behind the privacy screen. 

Curious murmurs ripple through your friend group. Is this what you think it is? 

“Are you ladies ready for a little fun?” 

The cover is removed with a flourish, revealing the rack packed full with all manner of fancy dresses and gowns in various sizes and styles. “There’s more behind the screen, too.” Cici promises, inviting you and everyone to look through all the fancy garments. A majority of them are wedding dresses, but intermixed you find ball gowns and cocktail attire in all manner of material. Chiffon, lace, satin, silk, tulle, velvet. The choices are near overwhelming. 

“Who’d like to go first?”

Down the hall from the primary studio, Hunter excuses himself from the bachelor party, a scribbled list of additional beverages he volunteered to get from cold storage in one hand with a promise he won’t take forever. From here, he can hear plenty of excited teasing and tittering from the studio. Sounded like the ladies were having a fun time, too. Good. 

Hunter starts down the hall, thinking he can slip past the partially open door unnoticed, but finds himself slowing when he hears your friends saying your name.

“Need help, honey?”

“Um, I think I got it!” you call back. 

Curiosity and temptation has gotten the better of him; from the door left ajar, Hunter peers into the studio. Just for a moment, he tells himself. Friends of yours are cloistered in a semicircle, trading giggles and whispers as their excitement builds. There’s several racks worth of expensive-looking dresses, and a changing screen in the corner. 

Mock fashion show? 

While Hunter has seen you wearing plenty of pretty and flattering things for everyday, casual events and special post-war celebrations, nothing would prepare him for the moment you step out from behind the privacy screen, clothed in a large, predominantly white dress. 

From the uncomplicated neckline and upper bodice of the a-line dress, the waist’s lacy accents hug you in all the right places before the skirt material fans out and creates a wide pool of silk at your feet, colors gradually building into a golden train with silken accents all the while. This doesn’t look like any sort of fancy party dress, as he initially assumed, but rather something bridal.

You’re modeling in a wedding dress. 

Hunter listens to the women peppering you with compliments, all while his heart flutters madly in his chest at the sight of you. Maker, you look beautiful. Radiant. 

You look like you could be the rest of his life. 

Hunter can’t explain it right now. He can’t tell what’s aligned, what’s fallen into place to make him so certain right now, but the feeling is unmistakable while he watches you show off the bridal gown to your friends. Spurred on by cheers and applause, you twirl and toss the fabric with bright laughter. You’re having so much fun. You have no idea he’s even there, practically entranced by you, envisioning your future, together.

One day, when the time is right, Hunter will make you a part of the rest of his life. 

Thank you so, so much for your patience, Dragon; I hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for sending in such a cute request! 🩷

Fic taglist: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit

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[nesiacha]

Letter of Madame Chalabre to Robespierre

I found something interesting on the excellent site amis-robespierre.org. It was mentioned in posts I saw on Tumblr about Madame Chalabre, a great admirer of Robespierre, who was supposedly arrested after his execution. According to Vandeplas, Bernard on the same site, some accused her of being an informant for Robespierre. Joke aside, I wonder if Stanisława Przybyszewska might be the reincarnation of Madame Chalabre.

But when you read the letter she sent to Robespierre, it’s much more than admiration; it shows a political spirit. When I see this, I think once again that some French revolutionaries, including Robespierre, missed the boat by refusing to make women equal to men.

Here is Robespierre’s speech from January 2, 1792:   "... War is good for military officers, for the ambitious, for speculators who trade in such events; it is good for the court, it is good for the executive power whose authority, popularity, and influence it increases; it is good for the coalition of nobles, intriguers, and moderates who govern France..." He continues: "... The most extravagant idea that can be born in the head of a politician is to believe that it suffices for a people to invade a foreign people to make them adopt its laws and constitution. No one loves armed missionaries..." "... Our victories by our generals would be more disastrous than our defeats..."

Here is Madame Chalabre’s response, which shows a good reasoning spirit: "No, I cannot find words to express to the admirable Robespierre the surprise and emotion caused by reading his interesting and useful speech in the latest Revolution of Paris. The patriots were right to include it, because this journal is widely read and goes everywhere. We cannot hurry enough to warn true Frenchmen against the execrable trap of war. But alas! I fear it is a foregone conclusion in the National Assembly, for the deputy Ramond (de Carbonnières) announces to us a long and beautiful report from the diplomatic committee whose conclusions will undoubtedly be for war. Just heavens! What betrayals! Unfortunate homeland. False guides still divert you from the right path with new ruses finer than those of the moderates. They do not have such a marked character of falsehood and are therefore more dangerous. Patriots are said to be misguided if they do not want war. Ah! Let us continue to be thus misguided to stifle it and save the homeland. Another speech at the Jacobins Monday played by the cruel war partisans who persist like ravens on their prey. If so, let us despair of the homeland’s salvation. Victorious even with the enemy’s power is to be defeated. That is the solution to the whole question but as you say, they always want to be beside the point. How with even a little judgment can one fall into such a trap? It seems incredible to me; instead of following nature, they prefer to reason against it. Shame, shame on eloquence in this case. Weak humans who boast of your enlightenment, the instinct of animals is far superior to your fine minds, for it never deceives them.

{} I cannot resist the feeling of gratitude inspired by the virtuous conduct and wise writings of the faithful Robespierre, despite his own advice to us not to give in too much to these transports. His touching modesty will produce the opposite effect judging by myself but it will not be dangerous for freedom, the noblest emulation will be the fruit. Greetings, friendship, Chalabre."

Thus, beyond admiration, Madame Chalabre shows great lucidity on the issue of war. I would love to know more about this character.

This makes me all the more furious about the films of the French Revolution that portray women as passive, too gentle, and groupies according to macho standards (yes, I have my eye on Heffron's films, the horrible movie "The Passion of Camille and Lucile Desmoulins," and even very good films like "La Terreur et la Vertu" by Stellio Lorenzi).

PS: I looked for Tumblr posts about this letter specifically and an analysis but did not find one. If it is already there, I sincerely apologize to the author. The goal is not to plagiarize.

[emblemxeno]

I know ranting about Birthright's localization is kind of my new obnoxious thing, but the really unfortunate aspect about it is that I very much love Birthright's main narrative structure and themes.

Much like how Conquest is a spin on how you're effectively playing the Camus role in the conflict and grappling with the baggage that comes with it, Birthright is also flip on the traditional FE plot. Instead of Corrin having his home taken over during war, becoming an exile/refugee, and needing to gather other allies to take it back, he actively sides against the home he knew his entire life. Corrin's desire to stop the war as quickly as possible and his disgust towards Nohr's crimes overrides his personal fondness towards Nohr as the place where he grew up surrounded by love and strong familial connection.

This is why his Birthright supports with Azura are about his fond memories with Nohr juxtaposing with Azura's abusive childhood and Hoshidans' general sentiment towards Nohra as a country, because the things he sacrificed when choosing Hoshido were his personal attachments. That's why Birthright's plot is an in-universe retread of Corrin's character: an inexperienced, but extremely kind-hearted and trusting prince who believes in the good of others. This is who Corrin was in Nohr, but since he's chosen Hoshido, that facet of his character must be built up with his Hoshidan allies. Why else would his Hoshidan siblings react with surprise and confusion over Corrin's naive choices? They don't know him, and so, Corrin's convictions and morality must be developed in order to have his Hoshidan allies trust his judgment. Otherwise, what was the point in siding with Hoshido? Why sever the bond with your adoptive family when your new allies meet your every decision with resistance and criticism?

Conquest, as many know, asks the opposite question. What's the point in siding with Nohr and your longtime family if Corrin's unable to change how his country operates? Why sacrifice personal morality, in that case? Birthright and Conquest are meant to be opposite but equal journey's for Corrin's character. Corrin wants peace to reign but are they willing to throw away either their ideals or their bonds to do that? Revelation, in the middle, then answers the question with "neither." Corrin doesn't have to sacrfice any part of his character to end conflict (hence why his personal authenticity and ego is challenged the most in Rev). He instead has to see how Nohr and Hoshido's war is senseless at its core and seeks to end it through both ideals and bonds. All three routes are supposed to work as answers to this question of choice.

And this is precisely why Birthright's localization is as bad as it is. Because any and all negative results of Corrin's decision to side with Hoshido are either sanitized or removed entirely, and Corrin's personality was changed from self-critical, sincere, and sensitive to cocky, sarcastic, and quick to criticize everyone else.

When Corrin no longer feels the personal guilt for his decision ripping his Nohrian family apart, or for his decision resulting in the deaths of Flora, Elise, and Xander, you remove the weight that choosing Hoshido is supposed to have. When Corrin is overly critical of the actions and words from Flora, Leo, Camilla, and Xander, as opposed to being sympathetic to their plight as a result of his choice, you instead enforce the idea "well obviously this is the right choice, and Nohr isn't" when none of the choices in that situation is supposed to be absolutely perfect or correct. By changing Birthright in this way, and leaving Conquest and Revelation mostly intact, you weaken the latter two stories. When BR Corrin is proactive, quick to shift blame, and self-assured, CQ Corrin reads as spineless, whiny and pathetic, and RV Corrin reads as wishy washy and self absorbed. What's the point in caring about what stories CQ and RV are trying to tell when the main character is so radically different from BR, and to many people, unappealing? Why else would Birthright be crowned the "only non-terrible story" in Fates, if not for the fact that almost all of the nuance around choosing Hoshido was scrubbed clean and replaced by a generic strongman (not even up to par of other action oriented lords in FE) in a Corrin costume? Birthright is now the "obviously correct" route that's headed by a badass who says fun one liners. What's not to like?

Corrin was written to be a specific character with specific traits: kind, naive, trusting, well defined morals, values personal attachments, quick to question himself, able to sacrifice a part of himself to attain a goal.

Birthright in its original script follows this just fine. Birthright's localized script inadvertently warps and simplifies its main protagonist, and so drags itself and the other two routes' stories down tremendously in the process.

[that-assassin-ninja-stuff]

Thank you @kitkabam for the tag! Sadly I do not have pics of my Hawke or Inky or bonus Rook, but I will give a short description hehe

Warden - Alessa Tabirs - Hazel blue eyes and bronde hair, short pointy ears. Duel wielding rogue. Once a country pumpkin street rat in the Ferelden Alienage, now ruling House Arianai by Zevran's side. Growing up with a cynical view to survive she somehow opened up to a certain assassin and learned to live life. Going from closed off to allowing to show her heart to those worthy. After much hardship, tough decisions, and trauma during her time as a Warden, she now lives in Antiva with good food and wine. Helping Zevran. And finding out much about her past.

No pressure if selected! Just for fun to see everyone's characters 🙂 @therookandthecrow @watcherintheweyr @antivan-beau

Garrett Hawke - Blue eyes, short black hair. Elemental mage. After the loss of his sister and Carver becoming a Warden, Garrett throws himself into much work and drink. Mostly purple but sometimes blue/red hawke on certain things. What was supposed to be a fling with Isabela and fun times, ends up catching feelings. He blames himself for not catching Anders sooner and helping his friend before many died. When he helps the Inquisitor, he is surprised that he made it out of the Fade alive. He writes to Carver, and the brother reunite to go to Weisshaupt and help where they could. Only to find the leadership more corrupt than previously thought. (relates to Alessa's trauma)

Inquisitor - Markus Trevelyan - Chocolate brown eyes, short light brown mullet hair. Sword and shield warrior. He is a good guy and boring through and through, but plays The Game well enough to impress Vivienne. He is pretty predictable unless it's talking to nobles, or outsmarting the enemy. Pretty chill except for when it comes to Dorian. The only person in the whole world that could "bully" the inquisitor and ruffle his feathers. And that's why the man fell for the mage. By the end of Trespasser, he is sad that Solas did not trust him enough to help if he could. After many deep conversations and years of trust, Markus is hurt and unsure what to say to his once trusted friend. (Personally he would not have said anything more, but game wise he vows to help.) He disbands the Inquisition and follows Dorian to Tevinter to help the resistance. (I secretly think they found the Shadow Dragons)

Rook - Alessa De'Rive (formerly known as Tabris) now with blonde hair and darker tan thanks to the warmer climate and beach life. Duel wielding rogue, but is discovering her mage powers. She now has been in Antiva long enough to discover her parentage secrets, Viago being her half sibling. And has been cured, now a Warden turned Crow, first to freely choose the House of Crows, De'Riva. Now a seasoned Crow and helping with the war efforts and keeping the Antaam at bay or at least contained in Treviso thanks to her Blight strategic mind (chats with Sten). But is now caught up in another world ending event, another war, and all of her personal demons and enemies flanking her. (Warden politics, past enemies, and Crow politics). One thing is for sure though, her and Zevran including Lucanis into their relationship certainly stirred many up.

(Bonus Rook) Alvina Arainai - Silver eyes, blonde hair. Duel wielding and bow. Spitting image of her long lost father, Zevran. She never understood why House Arainai kept a firm grip on her leash, so to speak, through her Cuchillo House. She never understood why she was given up by her adopted family so easily when the Crows came knocking. Through her training and first year as a Crow she keep much to herself. But the witty and inner jokester part of herself won't let the past slow her down. Then she's sent to Tevinter while the high ups calmed down after her last mission.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Andrew Doyle

Published: Jun 18, 2024

With the inexorable spread of DEI – Diversity, Equity and Inclusion – across the western world, it’s refreshing to see at least one major company resist the decrees of this new religion. This is precisely what happened this week when Scale, an Artificial Intelligence company based in San Francisco, launched a new policy to ensure that its employees were hired on the basis of – wait for it – being the most talented and best qualified for the job.

This innovation, which sees race, gender and sexuality as irrelevant when it comes to hiring practices, should hardly be considered revolutionary. And yet in a world in which the content of one’s character is less important than the colour of one’s skin, to treat everyone equally irrespective of these immutable characteristics is suddenly deemed radical.

Scale’s CEO, Alexandr Wang, explained that rather than adopt DEI policies, the company would henceforth favour MEI, which stands for Merit, Excellence, and Intelligence. He explained the thinking behind the new scheme in a post on X.  

“There is a mistaken belief that meritocracy somehow conflicts with diversity. I strongly disagree. No group has a monopoly on excellence. A hiring process based on merit will naturally yield a variety of backgrounds, perspectives, and ideas. Achieving this requires casting a wide net for talent and then objectively selecting the best, without bias in any direction. We will not pick winners and losers based on someone being the ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ race, gender, and so on. It should be needless to say, and yet it needs saying: doing so would be racist and sexist, not to mention illegal. Upholding meritocracy is good for business and is the right thing to do.”

One can already hear the likes of Robin DiAngelo and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez screaming in fury at this blatant implementation of good old-fashioned liberal values. Surely the only way to defeat racism and homophobia is to treat ethnic and sexual minorities as incapable of high achievement and in need of a leg up from their betters?

It is instructive to compare reactions from the Twittersphere (now X) and Instagram, as one X user has done. If nothing else, the comparison reveals how the divide in the culture war is playing out on social media since Elon Musk’s takeover. On X, major figures in the corporate world such as Tobias Lütke (CEO of Shopify), Palmer Luckey (founder of Oculus VR) and Musk himself have congratulated Wang on his new initiative.

By contrast, here are some of the responses on Instagram:

“You’re ‘disrupting’ current hard-fought standards you don’t like, by reverting to a system rooted in bias and inequality that asks less of you as a hiring manager and as a leader” – Dan Couch (He/Him)

“Curious to see how hiring processes can effectively (and objectively) measure one’s ‘merit’, ‘excellence’, and ‘intelligence’, all of which are very subjective terms” – Cole Gawin (He/Him)

“What is merit and how do we measure it?” – Rio Cruz Morales (They/Them)

“This sounds a lot like excuse making for casting off DEI principles” – R.C. Rondero De Mosier (He/Him)

The pronouns, of course, signify membership of the cult, and so we should not be surprised to see the sentiments of its minions mirroring each other so closely. What Wang is proposing of course builds equality into the hiring system and, contrary to these complaints, it is entirely possible to measure merit objectively. This, after all, is the entire point of academic assessment. The arguments against merit can only be sustained if one presupposes that systemic inequalities are ingrained within society, that all of these relate to the concept of group identity, and that adjustments have to be made accordingly to guarantee equality of outcome.

This gets to the heart of “equity”, a principle which has become so entrenched in the corporate world partly it sounds so much like “equality” and has duped many into supposing it to be synonymous. In truth, “equity” is the precise opposite of “equality”, just as “diversity” actually means “political homogeneity” and “inclusion” means “exclusion of non-conformists”. As I have argued many times before, the culture war is really about language and who gets to control the meaning of words. The prevalence of DEI did not come about because it is the best system, but rather because its practitioners use slippery terminology that operates as a Trojan Horse, sneaking in regressive ideas under the cover of progressivism.

With the corporate orgy that is Pride Month, now seems a good time to appeal to businesses and corporations to revisit their policies, and to consider adopting Wang’s suggestion of MEI rather than DEI. The advantages are obvious. Hiring the best people means that profit and productivity will inevitably rise. As an additional bonus, it also means that minorities will not end up being patronised and treated as second-class citizens. For genuine progressives, this is surely the way to go.

That the workplace has become so politicised is also, of course, why cancel culture has been able to wreak such havoc. With that in mind, I’d like to take this opportunity to offer some of my own thoughts on how companies might tackle the problem. In September 2020, I posted on Twitter a proposed six-part pledge for business owners. My Twitter account was relatively small at that point, and so the fact that it was retweeted hundreds of times showed that there was at least some appetite out there to put such measures in place.

This was the wording of the pledge for business owners:

We will never discipline or fire members of staff on the basis of pressure from online activists.

We have no interest in our employees’ political opinions, and how they choose to express themselves outside the workplace is no business of ours.

We will not probe into our employees’ thoughts with “unconscious bias training”, or force them to undertake workshops that presuppose the existence of “systemic injustice”.

We will never make statements of fealty to any given cause, political or ideological, or claim to promote certain “values”. Our aim is to make a profit, not preach to our customers.

We will not tolerate the public shaming of employees if they cause offence, either through a joke or poor phrasing, and will instead seek to resolve internally any disputes that naturally occur when human beings work together.

We reject the current predominance of identity politics and will simply treat everyone equally (staff and customers alike) irrespective of their race, gender, sexuality, or any other immutable characteristic.

Fanciful stuff, obviously. I was later informed that at least one manager had adopted my suggestions, and it would be interesting to hear, all these years later, how this worked out.

In any case, if you happen to own a business why not give it a try? At the very least, I would strongly recommend hiring on the basis of ability and experience rather than skin colour, sexual orientation or the contents of applicants’ underwear.

[beirarowling]

No, JK Rowling is not a Holocaust denier

The LGBT lobby has found yet another sickening way to attack JK Rowling. Trans-activist bullies, who so often delight in sending death and rape threats to the Harry Potter author, are now suggesting she is a Holocaust denier. It should go without saying that this is an absurd and defamatory slur. It is also one that’s being increasingly employed against anyone who dares to question the trans lobby’s latest attempt to rewrite history.

Rowling was accused of Holocaust denial last week, after she wrote a post on X that doubted claims that the Nazis made trans people a specific target for genocide. This argument is part of a wider attempt by activists to place trans people at the centre of the Holocaust. But the truth is that they weren’t. At least, not in any meaningful sense.

Digging into these claims, I soon discovered that activist historians have been sewing together a patchwork story of an alleged trans ‘genocide’ that is breathtakingly misleading. In fact, their entire narrative is built on only a handful of trans victims. Crucially, most of these victims were also Jewish or homosexual.

In response to Rowling’s comments, Pink News published an article claiming that ‘the persecution of trans people by the Nazis was devastating’. The proof for this? The names of five trans victims. What Pink News fails to disclose is that three of these people actually survived the war and fortunately lived to a ripe old age. One victim – Liddy Bacroff, who was arrested as a male prostitute – did sadly die in a concentration camp. Another, Gerd R, took his own life.

Take the case of Gerd R, one of the victims mentioned by Pink News. Gerd was a married, heterosexual man who had a history of crossdressing. He was arrested multiple times for public indecency after his neighbours grew tired of finding him hiding naked in their communal bins. He was later rescued from a concentration camp by the intervention of his doctor, who pointed out that he was heterosexual. This action saved his life and he was moved to a mental institution. There, Gerd took his own life.

Gerd’s fate was tragic. But it is almost certain that he would have ended up in an asylum for this behaviour anywhere across Europe at that time. The idea that a non-Jewish, heterosexual man like Eddie Izzard would without question have been murdered when Gerd R was not is fanciful, self-serving nonsense.

Another victim, Gerd Kubbe, a woman who identified as a man, had a very close brush with the authorities. In 1938, she was arrested for wearing men’s clothes and sent to a concentration camp. But a few months later, she was released and permitted to dress as she liked and to adopt the gender-neutral name of Gerd. One ‘queer’ historian admits that ‘police at first reacted harshly but later showed surprising leniency’. Even gay transvestite Fritz Kitzing, who was repeatedly arrested for soliciting, was sent to join the army rather than killed in a concentration camp. Kitzing survived the war and ran an antique shop until the 1990s.

So far, the mixed fortunes of the handful of named trans victims suggest that it was entirely possible to be ‘trans’ and elude persecution. If you were heterosexual, considered ‘Aryan’, followed the rules on public crossdressing and avoided prostitution or public indecency, you at least had a chance of surviving the brutal regime. No such leniency was afforded to the Nazis’ key targets, like Jews or disabled people, who were ruthlessly sought out for elimination.

When trans activists describe this truth-telling as ‘Holocaust denial’, they do a disservice to all Holocaust victims – including the few trans victims who really did suffer at the hands of an evil regime for their other characteristics. We must resist this blatant rewriting of history and the trans appropriation of the Holocaust.

[transingthoseformers]

Oh yeah. I'd say the transformers baring the beastformers ie Maxamals, Predacons and Ravage their food web is N/A. In a world like TFP they're basically all n/a except for Predaking and he drinks cubes. I'm leaning TFP since i know it best.

Orcas, Dolphins, and fricken octapi would definitely terrorize any Cons in the water. As would the larger sharks.

And humans being omniverous we could get energon from cyber plants, other cyber animals and just cronch the crystals raw as well as drinking cubes of refined energon. There's evidence even as far back as two million years ago our ancestors were hunting megafauna to extinction. And being turned into robots to serve Deceptacon overlords? People would be Pissed. Homo Sapiens techni would be a terror to the Deceptacons as would most megafauna. Scraplets with a vendetta that wouldn't eat you alive just chase you untill you colapsed untill you were too tired to run anymore.

Can you imagine a herd of bison or moose? They will ef up a mofo, and his vehicle. The poor vehicons wouldn't stand a chance agains cyber-ungulants.

Tarantulas where ever he is would be over the moon though. Here you have mechanical organisms retained their organic body plans. And now their easier to fix! Surgons being able to remove and replace wonky organs more easily. Even in the Pit, he'd be swooning with joy. Shockwave would also find this intriguing.

This isn't even getting into the whole Unicron at the center of the earth thing. Would that make us resistant to Dark Energon or more susceptible to it?

Do you think Homo Sapiens techni would be able to transform? Cause in the cosmology Primus is a benevolent diety. Would he adopt the Bastard Children Unicron abandoned? Especially if Optimus did something with the matrix to intervene?

Yeppp, so they absolutely are not prepared for this :)

Goddamnnnnn technoorganic cephalopods would be terrifying, and honestly giving them longer lifespans as a treat WILL probably mean they get to learn more— not necessarily more intelligent, sure, but they'll get more time to apply it. This Will Have Consequences

Also consider: cyberformed dogs. And I don't mean the little yappy fuckers, I mean large hunting dogs and sheep dogs. Imagine how fucking cool they would be, and they too are persistence hunters.

Nopeeeee, ohh. Oh they are in for such a time. Moose are so much bigger than you would anticipate, and I feel like cyberforming would make a lot of these larger herbivores even more bold.

Also bears, don't forget bears.

Tara would be! I've been thinking a lot about Tara but in tfp, and I imagine his little technoorganic spark would be in love with this place regardless of which characterization we're rolling with here. Hell, in this situation, I can see him turning against the cons if we're rolling with a more beast wars style. After all in BW didn't he try to overthrow Megs?? If we're going for Earthspark Tara I feel like he's liable to just fuck off into the CyberEarth woods to study it all. Shockwave's gonna be stealing ideas from Mother Nature: enhanced addition

ooo ohhh adding dark energon into this shit will be interesting as fuck, because we KNOW that shit interacts in interesting ways with energon and if it interacts with the technoorganics... It wouldn't be a surprise if some of the CyberEarth animals that die don't stay dead. zOMBIE SHIT Y'ALL

Adding transforming into this gives us so many more fun things

Not even just including your typical humanoid to vehicle or animal, but being able to transform different weaponry— technoorganic humans and animals alike. Can you imagine if a wolf could have a form more optimized for damage and one more optimized for speed? New opportunities for amphibious lifestyles?? Taking retractable claws and fangs to a whole new level?? I'm staring at a Curious Archives video on "The Future Is Wild" so I might be in the same spec bio heaven mode as Tara is. It would be so goddamn fun if Primus did intervene for the sake of his brother's wronged children, if he (and Optimus, to some degree) wanted to give what's here of humanity and nature a better chance.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight

a Stephen Strange x OFC Romance

genre: pre-Infinity War, slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, teacher/student to friends to lovers characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC), Moraine of Hadeeth (OC), additional OCs as Kamar-Taj staff rating: general audience to begin with, later chapters will contain 18+ material

Ch.One | Ch.Two | Ch.Three | Ch.Four | Ch.Five

Chapter Six

Teyla was already awaiting him in the courtyard, the woven bag she had brought with her from Hadeeth, packed and sitting at her feet.  Stephen knew without asking how excited she must be, for he had arrived several minutes early himself yet she had still preceded him.  She wore a gauzy, pale blue dress, belted with a fabric sash of darker blue, which accentuated her slim waist and narrow hips; the matching hemline fell just above her bare calves, and simple denim flats encased her small feet.  She had braided several red and navy ribbons into her hair, the total effect more feminine than he’d ever seen her—and very festive.  He couldn’t quite tell if this was Hadeethan style dress—or if she had adopted a look seen often enough on the streets of Greenwich Village.  It put him in mind of a bohemian peasant design, reminiscent of the late 70’s--and suited her nature perfectly. 

“Good morning, Doctor,” she called to him brightly, smiling so brilliantly as he drew near, that it seemed she eclipsed the morning sunshine in the cloudless sky.  He noted a flash of silver and bright purple on her hand as she waved him closer.

“Good morning, Teyla,” he replied somberly, unable to resist teasing her for just a few moments, “Going somewhere?”

She tossed her head prettily, smirking at him, “You know well, Sir, as you agreed to escort me upon this adventure.  I barely slept last night from the anticipation.”

“Oh, right—I misplaced my to-do list this morning,” he joked.  Standing beside her, he felt her happiness as though it were his own, spurring him to speculate if her empathetic nature could create a two-way connection.  “And what’s this?” he asked, pointing to the ring on the middle finger of her left hand.

“Another gift from my father—wisely bestowed upon my 16th birthday.”  Teyla raised her hand to give him a closer look.

“I’ll be damned,” Stephen murmured, “A mood ring.”  He took her hand, chuckling at the surprise, “I haven’t seen one of these in ages.”  The vivid violet of the stone was sign enough of the joy reflected in her eyes.  

“They have rudimentary magic, you know,” she explained, though it was quite unnecessary.  “Father presented it to me as a reminder that it is all well and good to be able to read the feelings of others, but I should never do so to the exclusion of my own.”

“A wise man,” Stephen nodded, looking forward to meeting him more than he had expected.  “Shall we then?” he asked, stretching his hands forward to create the portal.  As the orange-gold ring flared to life, Stephen scooped up her bag, and offered her his arm.

Wide-eyed and smiling happily, Teyla slipped her arm through the crook of his, and together they passed into the New York Sanctum.

Though she was eager to begin—not even taking a moment to goggle at her new surroundings--Stephen kept Teyla waiting ten full minutes as he changed into street clothes for their trip to Lafayette Street.  His thoughts strayed again to contemplate how she had been here—in the Big Apple--all those years ago, attending high school while he perfected his medical skills and worked his way up to the pinnacle of his profession across town.  Facts which continued to amaze him as he looked forward to what further surprises might be unveiled when they reached their destination.  He promised himself he would give her a thorough tour of his new domain before they returned to Kamar-Taj.

Late afternoon, summer in the city, the bustle of residents and tourists alike thronging on the sidewalks, the disorganized background symphony of traffic, the occasional distant siren rising above it all.  His city, whether uptown in his old life—or here and now, as he served as the city’s anonymous guardian.  His city, and despite the drastic change in the course of his life, ever his true home.

Upon hitting the sidewalks of Bleecker Street, Teyla showed no surprise at the multitude of people around them—very like a seasoned New Yorker—but wisely stuck close to his side on their trek to her father’s building.  She took the opportunity to tell Stephen more about him as they walked.  “Father is a professor at Columbia University.  He teaches Art History and several intermediate courses in various disciplines.”  They stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change.  “He is an artist himself,” she revealed proudly, “He draws and paints, but his true passion is sculpting.  He loves the challenge of bringing life and emotion to blocks of inert material—transforming them into his unique vision by the skill of his hands.”

“That’s a passion I can understand,” Stephen said quietly, recalling the medical miracles that had once flowed from his fingertips, before quickly shunting aside the attendant regrets for his loss.  The light flashed to allow pedestrians to cross.

The crowd around them moved forward, and though she was jostled by a stranger or two, Teyla remained in place without a word, looking up at him with infinite patience and unspoken understanding, and finally placed a consoling hand on his arm.  Caught off guard (how does she do that? he exclaimed inwardly), he drew a deep breath, not trusting himself to speak, instead simply willing her to just let the moment pass.  Teyla nodded softly, the bittersweet of her small smile an echo of the heartache he always wished to keep well hidden.  Without a word, Stephen patted her hand, maintaining the contact that was her honest proffer of comfort, before flashing her an impudent smile.  “Shall we?” he asked, and she squeezed his arm gently in answer, allowing him to lead her on their way.

“And so Father had hoped I would remain here long enough to receive a college degree, but I realized part way through sophomore year that I could not deny my yearning for home,” she concluded as they came to stand in front of a four story brownstone, “But it was not only homesickness that swayed me so—for I knew I had much left to learn of the healing arts from my Hadeethan teachers.”

“And you haven’t seen him since?”

Teyla shrugged and bowed her head, “Regretfully, I am remiss in my familial duty to him.”

“No, Teyla; I’m sure he doesn’t see it that way at all.”  Stephen leaned closer, offering what wisdom he could, “He’s your dad after all, and he certainly wants to see you happy and fulfilled above all other things.”

“Yes…you are right, or course, Doctor.  Thank you for reminding me.”  She drew a long, deep breath, and squared her shoulders, “I am ready now.”  Teyla drew a thin chain from around her neck; Stephen hadn’t noticed it, tucked inside her dress.  It bore the key to her father’s loft.

The glass door to the building was unlocked.  They entered a small atrium lined on either side with tenants’ mail slots, and a buzzer beneath each to allow visitors to announce their arrival. Teyla went directly to the box marked ‘Charles’.

Several minutes passed with no response, so that she rang a few times more.  When there was still no answer, she hit the buzzer marked ‘Superintendent’.  She looked up at the lobby camera, knowing the super would be checking whomever sought entry.  A tinny, disembodied voice asked, “What can I do for ya?”

“Yes…um…hello, Sir,” Teyla addressed the monitor, “I am here to visit my father, Walter Charles.”  She raised her key into view, “I have a key to his loft, but he does not appear to be home.”

“Teyla?”

“Um…yes,” she answered, and turned back to motion Stephen forward, “I am accompanied by my mentor, Doctor Stephen Strange.”  When there was no reply, she continued, “My visit here was unplanned, so that my father is not expecting me…”

“Well, no, he wouldn’t, would he?”  The super sounded puzzled.

“I…I do not understand.”  Teyla looked to Stephen, confusion shadowing her features. 

He came to her side to address the camera himself, adopting his most authoritative tone, “This young woman has journeyed a mind-boggling distance to visit her father.  Do you think you can help her out?”

“Oh, hey man, it’s cool,” said the voice, “It’s just that…well, come on down the hall to my office, ‘cuz we need to talk before ya head on up there, okay?”  The latch on the inside door released.  Stephen pressed his hand lightly against the small of Teyla’s back, offering reassurance while urging her to pass inside.

The superintendent’s office was clean and brightly lit, which Stephen knew from long experience was a good testament to the quality of the building and its residents.  The man stood to welcome them, and invited his guests to take seats opposite him at his desk.

“It seems you know my name, but forgive me please—I do not remember yours.”  Teyla’s apprehension was tangible; the strong urge to protect her washed over Stephen once again.

“Uh, yeah…” he extended a meaty hand across the desk to her, “Karl Worley.  I’ve been super here…hmmm…four years come September.  So we’ve never met, Miss Charles, but I’ve been expecting you…”

“How’s that?” Stephen interjected.

Worley spared him a brief glance, and then offered Teyla his explanation, “Your father closed up his loft a couple years back, but paid the rent five years in advance. Even arranged for a cleaning service to come by every two weeks to keep things tidy for you.  Told me your work kept you away for years at a time, but that you might show up one day, unannounced.  And that when you did, I should let you in, no questions asked.”

“But why?  Where did he go?”  Despite her steady manner, Stephen could tell that Teyla was crestfallen.

Worley shook his head, “I’m sorry, Miss Charles—but I don’t have a clue.”

Teyla swallowed hard, absorbing the little information she’d been given.  Stephen spoke up on her behalf.  “Alright then, Mr. Worley—maybe you can allow us to check out the loft.  Perhaps Mr. Charles left his daughter a more complete answer than you were given.”

“I’m guessing as much.”  He addressed Teyla directly, softening unexpectedly, “Wherever he is now, I want you to know that you were...are… his first priority, honey.  Anybody hearing him talk about you knew right away that he loves you more than anyone or anything in the world.”  He raised his right hand as an oath, “God’s honest truth.”

She nodded and thanked Worley for his help and for his kindness, as he handed her a new key card to allow her access to the building and the loft.  Stephen was hoping to linger a few moments, perhaps to glean anything the super had left unspoken, but Teyla was too anxious to delay even a minute more.   

Once the elevator doors closed, Stephen was quick to wax optimistic for her sake. “I’m sure everything’s okay, Teyla,” he offered, aiming to sound casual, despite the concerns which that conversation had raised, “That guy struck me as pretty melodramatic.”

“Yes.  Perhaps you are right.”  Though she was trying to be brave, she sounded unconvinced.  He wished he could drape an arm around her shoulders and reinforce his own show of bravado, but he guessed she might not welcome that as she likely knew it was a bluff.

Exiting the lift, Teyla marched forward, undaunted by the imagined possibilities.  She slid her keycard into the door slot and entered the accompanying security code, then swung wide the door.

The place was even more spotless than Stephen had expected; the walls were bare, with stacks of—what he assumed were—framed photographs and artwork leaning along the baseboards, and light gray drop cloths covering the furnishings.  The windows glimmered with the late afternoon, summer sunlight, but the loft must have been climate controlled, for the air temperature was quite comfortable.  Teyla moved about the space tentatively at first, eventually calling out for her father several times, hoping against hope he would surprise her with an answer.

Stephen noticed a large white envelope tacked to the gleaming, stainless steel refrigerator.  Her name was embossed in black sharpie across the front.  “Teyla, honey,” he beckoned, unconsciously using the same endearment for her as Worley had, “There’s something here you need to see.”

She rushed to his side, hope breaking upon her face; the doctor in him noted her respiration was shallow, her pupils grown large despite the bright sunlight flooding the room.  Classic symptoms of ‘fight vs. flight’, he concluded; she’s barely holding it together. “It’s going to be alright, honey,” he assured her, wishing with all his heart that saying it would make it so.

Her eyes wide as saucers, were locked on his as she nodded solemnly—and somehow, even in her extremity, she managed a wee smile, that felt like it was for his sake alone.  She took the envelope in hands that trembled slightly, removed the letter inside, and began to read it to herself.

Several paragraphs in, Teyla gave the barest shake of her head. “No,” she whispered, her voice rising each time she repeated the word.  “No…no…no,” she said, shaking her head vehemently.  “No,” she whimpered at the last, letting the pages drift from her hands as she fell to her knees, covering her face and weeping painfully.  Stephen could feel her heart breaking.

He crouched down and pulled her into his arms, feeling the sobs that wracked her penetrate his bones.  Breathing in her pain, praying he could give her some measure of solace, he found her to be so small and frail in his embrace, that he had to take care not to hold on too tight.  “Oh god, Teyla,” he murmured against her hair, “I’m so, so sorry…”  Wondering what sort of comfort might make a difference for her.

She cried this way for several minutes, while he stroked her hair and crooned what consolation he could, letting her tears wet his collar and neck.  He found himself rocking her gently, and eventually she began to relax.  Teyla drew several deep breaths, doing her best to come back to herself, beginning to disentangle from him--though Stephen was unwilling to let go of her completely just yet.

She laid a cheek against his own—how flushed her skin felt!—prompting him to speak his thoughts, “Anything you need, Teyla…just tell me, and it’s as good as done.”

Her voice raw with pain, she thanked him, “You have done already what I needed most.  But please, Sir, do no leave me here alone.”

Stephen squeezed his eyes shut against the sorrow in her plaintive request; gently he urged her, “If ever you should read me, read me now, my dear; I wouldn’t leave your side now for all the world.”

Teyla sniffled--and he swore he felt a flash of her sweet smile—before nodding against him.  “You are a good man, Stephen Strange.  The best comfort I can imagine having, so far from my home.”  He shivered as she brushed her lips against his cheek—a second kiss, but as far from that first, fairy kiss as the Moon is from Mother Earth.  She pulled away enough to face him directly.  He had never thought to see such despair in the depths of her soft brown eyes—but the steel that was a gift from Moraine was there as well. 

“C’mon,” he told her, rising to his feet and pulling her along, “Does this place have a sofa or somewhere soft to sit?”

Teyla nodded, pointing to one of the cloth draped shapes several feet away.  Still holding her hand, Stephen led her to it, pulled back the cover, and motioned for her to take a seat.  Once situated, he crouched by her side again, “You stay here.  I’m going to find you something cool to drink.  You’ve had a terrible shock, and I’m still enough of a doctor to tend to you properly.”

Checking the fridge, Stephen found several sealed bottles of water; finding them unexpired, he removed two, cracking one open as he returned to Teyla’s side.  “Drink it slowly, Teyla.  Doctor’s orders,” he quipped.

Obediently, she swallowed a little at a time, and before he took a seat beside her, asked quietly, “The letter, though.  I haven’t finished it.”

“Rest a little first, honey.  It’ll be better for you this way.”

She sighed hard, but offered no protest, folding her legs beneath her and laying her head against the top of the couch.  Her eyes were unfocused, and though he sat no more than a dozen inches away, Stephen felt certain she didn’t register his presence--until she spoke…

Softly at first, and then with growing urgency.  “Why did I not dream of him, Doctor Strange?  Of what use is this ability, if I was blind to see my own father’s need?”  Tears spilled from her doleful eyes, “And why did I dream of your hands, yet had no clue to who you were, let alone any chance of preventing your pain?”

Too familiar himself, with guilt’s useless but well-worn paths, Stephen counselled her, “Teyla, you mustn’t do this to yourself.  There are some questions we can never answer…and some tasks that are beyond us, no matter the sacrifice are willing to make…”

“But why?” she interjected, “Why show me visions where miracles are needed, and not give me the chance to work even the smallest of miracles to right things?  Why give me the desire and the skill to be a Healer, if not to allow me to help those in dire need?”  She laid her hand over her heart, and her pain there was palpable, her grief a wave that washed over him, “Of what use am I if I could not even save my own father?”

Stephen bowed his head, the memories of his own lost opportunities grown painfully fresh, the wisdom he had to offer earned through his own failures, “Oh, Teyla—believe me, I’ve asked myself the same sort of questions.  And I’ve learned that’s it’s the nature of miracles that we can’t choose where and when to perform them.  All we can really do is be ready to act without hesitation when the opportunity presents itself.”

Wearily, Teyla rested her forehead against her hand, “You truly believe this, Stephen Strange?”

“Absolutely,” he answered, watching her closely, wanting to ease her anguish.

“Your council is wise, and gives a measure of consolation.”  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then nodded to herself.  “Now I would know all that my father had to say.”

“Of course.  Right away.” Stephen rose and retrieved the letter from where it had fallen, then returned to Teyla’s side.

“Perhaps…” she started, tentative in her request, “Perhaps you could read it to me?  I cannot brave this news alone.”

Though reticent to broach her privacy, he nodded, and took a deep breath before he began…

My Dearest Teyla,

My darling girl.  I’m so sorry to have to tell you these things in a letter.  You deserve better, but some things are beyond our control.  If you are reading this, chances are very likely that this is my final farewell.  I had hoped for a chance to see you once more; in person at least, for you are so often in my happiest of dreams.  Indeed, you are the sweetest dream I’ve ever had, and the one that I take with me wherever I go.  Know that when I close my eyes for the last time, your image will be the one that sees me into my final rest.

I won’t tell you not to mourn.  Your heart is beautiful and deep, and your nature too loving to do anything else but mourn.  But do not let it dim your light, for the world—both our worlds—is always in need of more light.”

(Stephen stole a look her way; Teyla held her head proudly, her eyes closed, appearing the image of calm strength despite her sorrow.)

“The time you spent with me here was the best time of my life.  And coupled with the time I had with your Mother, my most prolific.  My beautiful Muses—no Artist could ask for better, nor think to be blessed with two so distinct and--in their own ways—perfect ones!

About three years after you returned to Hadeeth, I began to experience blinding headaches.  My doctor at the time diagnosed them as migraines, prescribed a series of medications that didn’t help, and advised me to work less and relax more.  Ha!—well, I was better served ‘self-medicating’, but even that did not delay the inevitable.  In time, I began to experience weakness on the left side of my body, and difficulty maintaining my balance.  Too late I sought a second, third, and fourth opinion, so that this thing--an anaplastic astrocytoma, they told me--growing inside my brain had a well-entrenched foothold, from which neither chemotherapy nor radiation could shake loose.  My last hope was a hot shot, genius of a doctor, practicing his art (I say art, for it seems to me that medicine truly is as much an art as it is a science—and not all those licensed have the gift to make real miracles happen) out of Metropolitan General, uptown.”

(Stephen hissed softly, rereading the last sentence to himself, recognizing with bitter clarity that the ‘hot shot genius’ had to have been himself.  Recognizing that he—perhaps—had played a role in Teyla’s heartbreaking loss.  He cleared his throat before he began reading aloud again.) 

Getting an appointment with this man was nearly unheard of, but I managed. Unfortunately, within the first five minutes of our consultation, he made it clear I was inoperable, and with very little ceremony, sent me on my way to do my dying discreetly, and far from view.”

(Closing his eyes, Stephen tried to remember the anonymous face of Walter Charles, one of too many he had written off in his hubris.  His time, then, had been far too valuable to waste on hopeless cases; his business was not to provide comfort to the dying, but to save those patients who provided the calculated challenge enough for him to cure while creating breakthroughs in the field of neurosurgery.)

“Thus leaves my story off.  I’ve been through the five stages from grief to acceptance, and I feel ready for the journeys to come.  Finishing here, then moving along to the next.  You know I believe in the next.  There’s just too much wonder and beautiful in this wide, boundless Universe to believe we are but a candle’s brief flame.  You and your Mother are proof enough of that.

Please tell your Mother she was in my thoughts as well, during my last months.  And tell her that after her, there was no other woman for me; our time may have been relatively brief, but it gave me a full lifetime of happiness. 

Teyla, my gentle, loving Teyla, know that as I go you were—you are—the greatest creation that came from me (though I should take little credit for how you turned out, as so much of who you are is as natural to you as breathing).  You are my opus, my masterpiece, the answer to every ‘why am I here?’ that I have ever asked.  My purpose and my sweetest reward.  I pray you find fulfillment and peace of mind & spirit, in measure even further beyond that which you have given me.

Love today & always,

Dad

Teyla remained silent, brushing tears from her cheeks with both her hands, and then looked to him.  His stomach roiling with shame, Stephen could not hold her gaze for long, and turned his attention back to the remaining pages of the letter.  He skimmed through them quickly, then shared the contents with her.  “These last two pages list your father’s assets, and how they’ve been distributed.  It seems he sold a lot of his work to ensure you’d have this place to come home to, and to see to your living expenses and whatever other needs might arise down the road,” he explained, feeling her watch him, keeping his eyes squarely on the papers in his hands, “The money’s in trust, and he left instructions should you want to access it.  The bulk of the work he didn’t sell he left in the hands of Columbia University’s School of the Arts--again for you to access as you wish.”  Finally, he met her eyes again, finding no hint of accusation though he thought she must feel his guilt.  “Those works that had the greatest meaning to him—and, he hoped, to you—are stored here…”  Stephen trailed off, seeing the gratitude in Teyla’s eyes, knowing he deserved that the least of all things.  He folded the letter and handed it to her.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she told him quietly, “You have made this burden far easier to bear.”  She held the letter against her heart.  “I nearly heard my father’s voice as you brought his words to life.  This is a gift I will not soon forget.”

His face felt hot with remorse, wondering when she would read the truth of his culpability; honesty might be the best policy, relieving him of guilt, but he could not inflict that additional sorrow upon her.  “It’s the least I could do, Teyla.  I wish…I wish I could do more.”  So much more, he thought, wondering if when she did learn the truth of his failure to help her father, she would be able to even look at him…let alone forgive him.

(Having just reread this, I have to ask: if this touched your heart in any way, please, please reblog it. I feel that letter is one of my best pieces of writing.)

Feedback/Reblogs are incredibly meaningful. Please support content creators by doing us the honor. Thank you!

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[cosmoshard]

Ohhh, can you elaborate on the Mutant/Yokai apocalypse au??

Okay funny thing: i wrote this au back in 2021 when Rise was just beginning to air its second season, so I had no way of knowing we were gonna get a movie, nor what its plot would be like, so imagine my surprise when I look back at this au and realize its just an alternate, (much more amateur) version of the Rottmnt movie premise. Now its not plot for plot, there’s a ton of differences OKAY LEGGO!!✨

Like the movie: the turtles are all adults and the leaders of the revolution, with the help of their friends. They are in hiding from the rest of the world because of lack of warning before the invasion/revolution and are slowly fighting back. All the turtles had roles to play: Leo was a fighter pilot/foot-soldier, operating from the air where he had a birds eye view. Rlly leaned into his cocky do-it-his-own-way attitude lol. He also adopted a small yokai girl he found one day on the battlefield.

Raph was the tank, the one always on the front lines, first one there and last one out. He got real tough over the years so he was always using himself as a shield. He also saw a lot of allies die so he became quieter and more stoic. The opposing side called him Walking Death because whenever he arrived he would lay waste to thousands of their kind, mind stuck in savage raph as a way to cope wt all the violence. Raph had a relationship with a mona lisa type character and he has a small kid named enan, who’s a mutant Gecko/turtle hybrid.

Donnie was the brains of the operation as usual, in classic neurodivergent fashion he forgets to take care of himself and holes up in his underground lab where he tries to constantly stay on top of the Yokai’s mystic magic with new inventions. A bad lab accident left his shell and backbone exposed along with destroying his left arm and scarred his side pretty bad. He now has a robot arm and is bionically attuned to his inventions. (I have a more on his inventions but i dont want to spoil it all as i might keep them for future ideas :D)

Mikey is the cook/home-base man. Making sure everything stays running and doing his best to keep the family together. He is fastly becoming more doctor Delicate Touch moreso then Soft Mikey as he used to be. He is also gets to babysit the most often cuz he’s always at home 🙄/lh

April became their resident Medical Expert and has appointed herself as Donnie’s daily nagger to get sleep and food. She also ends up being a sort of therapist for the resistance but doesnt give herself the same luxury even tho the bros offer many times. Because she stays in base most of the time her and Mikey end up shouldering the same responsibilities and they understand each other on a deeper emotional level then most of the family.

Other Characters Roles:

Shredder is back and is the leader of the yokai’s, but is distant and only using them to conquer the world and become emperor. Baron Draxum is his Star General and the one mostly in the spotlight, therefore directly influencing the yokai below them, (and any major decisions they came up with.) Big mama demanded to be called Empress and she commands most of the army

A couple more things✨

Shredder’s whole plan is to reach the core of the planet to find the source/core of all mystic energy (which was later revealed to be canon!?? in the s2 finale wt the empyrean spring beneath the hidden city.) the resistance has to find it before shredder can so they can turn the tide of the war.

That’s basically it, other than plot points, thank you for asking!!! It took a little bit to make it coherent because i write in bullet notes lol, if ya want to know we can dm or reblog chain :3

[winniethewife]

Jewels made of stardust 

(Poe Dameron x OC! Rhoswen Jewelace.)

Chapter 10: Fall back into place

A/N: Thanks to @runa-falls for the song Rec for this chapter.

Last chapter ~ Next chapter

Words:887

Poe stood in the Falcon, prepping for a recon mission. He had just finished making some last minute adjustments before they would leave. He heard Rhoswen closing up the ship as she makes her way to the cockpit. It turns out a group of resistance spies had gotten some information, a cash of information was hidden away on Serenno, things that the first order was vying to get its hands on. Poe and Rhoswen were chosen to retrieve the information. As Rhoswen enters the Cockpit she smiles at him.

“Everything look good?” She asks as she slides by him to sit in the piolets seat. it felt almost surreal, sitting in the seat that her father had occupied for so much of her childhood. Poe sighs.

“As good as it can be. Still finding Sand in places it shouldn’t be, and an abandoned Porg nest. But what do you expect.” He sits down in the co-piolets chair and turns to her.

“I mean that sand could be from, practically anywhere, Tatooine, Jakku, Ryloth… so much sand.” She laughs slightly before standing a moment to check the Navi-computer. Poe looks at her slightly worried.

“You sure you want to fly this time? I can…”

“I’ve got it. I learned how to fly in this ship, I can handle her.” She quips back sharply but as she sits back down she sees the look on his face and instantly feels bad as she sees the slight hurt in his eyes and his eyebrows pushed together in concern. “Sorry. I just…I know why you’re worried but I’ve got it okay? This is the most at home I’ve felt in a long time. I know the Falcon. She means…everything.” She sighs and Poe puts a hand on her shoulder.

“I know Red. If you need a break…”

“I’ll let you know.” She smiles.

When they landed in Carannia, things seemed to be going to plan. They play it cool, pretending to be traders, they find their contact in the city. She directs them to a Cliffside facility where apparently a separatist warlord held his treasures from the clone wars.  All those years ago.

“That’s where the Empire kept this cache of info and some other things, I don’t know why the First Order wants it if both the Separatists and the Empire didn’t think it was worth its time.” She says.

“Thanks. It doesn’t really matter why they want it, as long as we get to it first.” Poe remarks, his arm around Rhoswens waist, partially to keep up apperiences but also to keep her close. Something is off. He can sense it. Rhoswen nods at the contact before casually scanning the perimeter. He feels it too. Something isn’t quite right here.

“Well, I wish you both luck.” The contact nods at Poe and gives Rhoswen this look, she hesitates a second. Before speaking softly. “Stay safe…princess.” Rhoswen feels her chest tighten at the title. It was her code name but at the same time, it meant something deeper than that. She looked back at this woman and nodded. As they walked away Poe held her waist close.

“Hey…you alright?’ Poe mutters as they walk to the transport to get back to the Falcon at the spaceport.

“Yeah, its just…I forget what it means sometimes, to be the person I am.” Rhoswen sighed. Poe looked at her with affection and understanding.

“Never easy being an icon right?” He laughs slightly as they naviagete through the busy streets. Rhoswen laughs with him and shakes her head.

“No it never was. I mean even if I was adopted and changed my last name, I was tied to these big names, Solo, Organa, Skywalker.”

“Wait, really? I thought you always had the last name Jewelace?” Poe was surprised.

“No, Actually, My biological parents were, but when I was adopted they had my last name changed to Solo.” She explained. They boarded the transport. It was crowded and all the seats were taken. Poe grabbed onto one of the standing supports and held her close to his body as the vehicle started to move. Rhoswen smiled at his protective nature and rested her head on his chest clutching his jacket tight

“What made you decide to change it back?” He asked softly trying not to draw anyone’s attention.

“Well, when I joined the resistance I couldn’t help but think of all they did for the rebellion, I mean, they were heroes in their own right. If you look at the lists we see a lot of the same names, we’re fighting for the same thing our parents did, it only seems right that there still is a Jewelace on the list.” When she said that Poe felt a swell of emotions. She was right. Having pride in their history, that was important. Thinking about what his mother and father did for the rebellion, it made sense why she would want to honor them. He squeezes her tighter.

“Do you think you’ll change it back when this is all over?” He asks.

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll change it to something new.” She smirks at him slightly and his heart sped up at the idea, He chuckled.

“Maybe you can use mine.” His voice taking a flirtatious tone. She laughs slightly and playfully nudges him.

“Maybe.”

~

Masterlist

Tag: @femmeanonymelives

[ilikeyoshi]

drops them in here. skyrim oc brainrot is real

anyway this is miriam free-winter, nord dragonborn, and cambria mede iv, imperial princess. :) because the knight/princess flavor of lesbians is FUN dammit.

miriam was orphaned in windhelm as a child and eventually adopted by brunwulf free-winter. she soaked up all the stories about brunwulf being a hero because he fought for ulfric stormcloak during the great war, and now she wants to follow in those footsteps by serving the stormcloaks, which if u know brunwulf as a character, has led to a lot of tension between him and his daughter.

despite her political allegiances, miriam is really sympathetic to the non-men peoples of skyrim, and her anger is focused on factions over people, like the empire and the thalmor. a lot of her journey involves dismantling these ideas she has in her head about who ulfric and the stormcloaks really are, and coming to the same realizations brunwulf did. but uh, she starts off with some very flawed ideas about the war, that's for sure!

cambria mede, fourth of her name, is the granddaughter of the current imperial emperor, titus mede ii. she is, to say the absolute least, a total troublemaker of a princess. having grown up surrounded by people that condemn skyrim for its resistance to empirical rule (and the many bad things that come from it), cambria starts on a different path, wanting to experience skyrim and its plight firsthand and figure out what they really need and how to provide it.

thus, she declares she's going to skyrim for a relative's wedding in solitude—a perfect excuse to get into the province and investigate—only to get caught right in the middle of the helgen incident. cambria survives and is rescued by riverwood villagers, and while she withholds her true identity from them, she immediately knows skyrim is about to be in far worse trouble than it already is with a dragon of all things on the loose, and her priorities shift accordingly.

miriam eventually meets cambria in riverwood, having been sent by the stormcloaks to investigate weird rumors about helgen shortly after the incident. by now, cambria has freshened up on Skyrim Folklore, and with half a prophecy already fulfilled with the dragons' return, she sees no reason not to believe the other half of the prophecy will soon reveal itself—the dragonborn. miriam stands out to her because of a surprising resistance to dragonfire, and suspecting her, cambria requests her help investigating the nearby bleak falls barrow, explaining that the ancient nords might still have documentation of some sort that can help skyrim against the dragons.

what she's really after, and what miriam soon learns, is proof she's dragonborn—and of course, cambria finds it when miriam is able to learn the word of power buried in the barrow. :)

as always, i named my skyrim ocs after fonts, because my first skyrim oc was named thusly and it's a fun tradition to keep up! i really wanted to more strongly incorporate the civil war than i normally do in playthroughs too, because it's such an integral part of the story, but one i tend to disregard because neither option is very good lol. instead of that being a deterrent this time though, i decided to explore it—i wanted characters who had various reasons for the choices they made, and to see how those choices change as they learn and grow. skyrim as a story isn't nuanced enough to pick a Truly Good Option at the end of all this, and i haven't found a mod that promises much better (though i haven't started that questline in my current playthrough yet, so if you have suggestions PUHLEEEEASE hit me up!!!!), but that's what Imagination and Putting My Fingers In My Ears is for.

anyway, as u can see they are my world-saving lesbians of the week. <3 i am rotating them in the microwave that is my brain at terminal velocity.

picrew credits! [1-2] [3] [4]

[jule1122]

Malex Fic - How am I the lucky one?

Written for @alexguerinappreciation February prompts of fluff and tiny nod to possession.  The fluff is serious in this one.  It might be one of the most self indulgent fics I’ve written.  I admit I may have given a romanticized version of pet adoption especially involving a special needs animal, but I am so in love with these dogs for Michael and Alex.

How am I the lucky one? on AO3

Summary: Michael does his best to make Alex's birthday special. 

Tittle from “First” by Cold War Kids

Michael wakes early, too excited to sleep, and shuts off Alex’s alarm.  He waits patiently for Alex to wake up.  It doesn’t take long - Alex is an early riser even without an alarm.

“Happy Birthday,” he greets Alex quietly as soon as Alex opens his eyes.

“Thanks,” Alex replies with a sleepy smile.  He turns toward Michael, and Michael wraps him in his arms.

They trade lazy kisses for a few minutes before Alex pulls back.  “This is nice, but I need to get ready for work.”

“Nope,” Michael says before kissing him again.  “No work for you today.”

“Michael, it’s just my birthday.  It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Michael argues.  “And besides, only sociopaths work on their birthdays.”

“Really,” Alex rolls his eyes.  Alex starts to get up, but Michael tightens his arms, holding him in place.  “You can’t actually stop me from going to work.”

“Wrong again.  Possession is nine tenths of the law, and you are mine,” Michael pulls Alex even closer.  “And last week Eduardo told me he was revoking your security access for the day.”

Michael braces himself for another objection, but Alex relaxes in his arms.  “I guess I really am yours for the day,” he tells Michael.

“You’re always mine,” Michael can’t resist reminding him.  “But I do have plans for your birthday.  I thought we’d start with breakfast at the Crashdown then head out to the desert with our guitars for a few hours, maybe have a picnic lunch.  Then I have a surprise for the afternoon.”

“Surprise?”  Alex arches his brow at Michael, but ruins the effect by yawning.  He turns onto his back and stretches.

Michael watches, transfixes, as the sheet slides down exposing more and more of Alex’s skin.  He pulls the sheet all the way off and moves to straddle Alex.  Breakfast can wait.

They make it to the Crashdown for lunch.  Arturo brings Alex a milkshake he didn’t order - one lit candle balancing precariously in a mound of whipped cream.  He sets it in front of Alex and pats him on the cheek, whispering a quiet “feliz cumpleanos” as he leaves.

Despite their late start, they still have time for almost two hours at their favorite spot in the desert.  They sit in the back of Michael’s truck and alternate between playing their guitars and making out.  Michael plays every cheesy love song he can remember for Alex - serenading him, partly just to make Alex smile, but mostly in earnest.  When Alex plays Michael a few of the new songs he’s been working on - letting Michael know he’s the first to hear them - Michael feels like he is the one getting a gift.

“So where are we going?”  Alex asks as they head back to Roswell.

“Did you forget what surprise means?”  He looks over at Alex quickly just so Alex can see his smirk.  Even though he’s confident Alex will be happy with his plan, he can’t help drumming his fingers against the steering wheel when he pulls into the animal shelter.

“Michael?” Alex asks, a hopeful note evident in his tone.

“We’ve been talking about a dog for awhile,” Michael explains.  “I thought your birthday was a good reason to see what our options are.”

Alex grabs his hand and kisses his knuckles.  “You are so good to me,” he says in a husky whisper.

“No more than you deserve,” Michael reassures him.  He squeezes Alex’s hand before letting go to open the door.  “Come on, let’s go play with some puppies.”

Half an hour later, they are sitting outside with a volunteer named Miranda completing the application process.  It’s too hard to do inside the kennel, she told them, with the noise of the dogs and the temptation to rush through to get to see them.  So they sit at a picnic table in a large courtyard where they can see a few other volunteers walking dogs.  

Michael lets Alex do most of the talking - describing their house, their schedule, what they think they are looking for in a dog.  Michael has no idea what he wants, he tried looking at the website and had been overwhelmed with the idea of choosing from so many dogs - all needing a home.  So he leans into Alex’s side and listens, he answers a question when asked directly but otherwise lets the soothing sound of Alex’s voice wash over him.  

When Alex cuts off his sentence for a much quieter “Oh hey,” Michael sits up.  He notices a medium size dog nosing at Alex’s leg.  Alex leans over to pet the dog, still speaking softly to it.  The dog is a mass of curly black and white fur, and Michael’s about to ask Miranda what type of dog it is when he sees she’s staring open mouthed at Alex.

Before he can say anything, another dog and volunteer come running over.  When the dog cones to a full stop about five feet away, the volunteer - Brian, Michael notices his name tag - skids to a stop next to it.  The dog doesn’t seem to be aggressive or growling, but it’s definitely on alert - ears and tail up, body perfectly still.  It’s bigger than the dog Alex is petting, Michael’s pretty sure it’s a boxer with a multicolored brown coat he remembers being called brindle.  Brian is staring at Alex with the same shocked expression as Miranda.  

“He’s allowed to do that, right?  Pet the dog?”  Michael asks when the silence becomes awkward.  Alex hasn’t noticed - too caught up in the dog - but Michael knows he would hate it if he saw Miranda and Brian staring at him.  Michael doesn’t understand why they are staring.  Petting the dogs, getting to know them, is the reason they’re here.  

“No, it’s fine,” Miranda shakes her head.  “It’s just that’s Jelly,” she points to the dog Alex is petting.  “She’s afraid of everyone.  She’s never,” Miranda stops and looks over at Brian.

Brian shrugs.  “I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Seems pretty friendly to me,” Alex says quietly, without looking up, letting Michael know he’s been listening the whole time.

“Brian and Samantha are the only volunteers she’ll walk with.  She’s never approached anyone,” Miranda says, sounding confused as she watches Alex continue to pet Jelly.  “She’s not really adoptable.”

“Why?” Michael asks sharply.  Jelly looks up at his tone, but Alex soothes her.

“She’s mostly blind and she and Peanut Butter,” Miranda points to the other dog who still hasn’t moved, “are a bonded pair.  They were found together and Peanut Butter takes care of Jelly.  He guides her when she needs it and is very protective.  Finding someone to take both of them, someone who they accepted, is virtually impossible.”

Michael looks at Alex who is rubbing Jelly’s ears and cooing to her.  He tries to think of a polite way to tell Miranda that impossible is an average day for them without bringing up things like aliens and pocket dimensions.  Just then, Peanut Butter makes a small noise that catches his attention.  The dog is still standing at attention, but he’s looking at Alex - head cocked - like he’s trying to figure out what makes him special.  For some reason Michael thinks back to high school when he accepted Alex’s offer of shelter when he turned down every helping hand Max or Isobel ever gave him.  Despite all he’s gone through, there is still this goodness in Alex that shines through.

“He has that effect sometimes, you get used to,” he tells the dog with a smile before turning his attention back to Miranda.  “So what do we do to make our house safe for a blind dog,” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

Of course it's not that easy.  The shelter isn’t going to just hand two dogs they’ve deemed unadoptable to them just because Jelly isn’t terrified of Alex.  They decide multiple visits will be needed to see if Jelly really is comfortable with Alex or if this is some kind of fluke.  Then they will need to determine if Jelly can accept Michael and see if Peanut Butter will decide they are trustworthy rather than threats.  Miranda explains that it’s not unusual for dogs to be returned once they are adopted, but they don’t want to take any risks with Jelly and Peanut Butter since that kind of upheaval would be especially traumatizing for them.  

The plan is for Michael and Alex to visit a few times a week, have a home visit and then reevaluate.  But Alex and Michael show up every day.  They ask about the dogs’ routine and come during their normal walk and exercise times so they don’t disrupt their schedules.  Once the shelter sees how serious they are and how patient they are willing to be, they offer some additional suggestions.

Michael and Alex bring in shirts and blankets they’ve used for Peanut Butter and Jelly’s kennel so they can get used to their scent.  After a few weeks, Jelly actually greets Michael first one day, and Peanut Butter walks next to them instead of keeping his distance and lets them pet him.  Seeing the progress being made, Brian does a home visit so they can bring the dogs to their house for a few hours on the weekends.

Their first walks with the dogs were supervised by a volunteer, and that’s how Michael and Alex learned about the dogs’ backgrounds.  Both had homes at some point.  When they were rescued, Jelly was already spayed and Peanut Butter was wearing a collar.  Neither was microchipped or listed as missing so it’s assumed they were abandoned - Jelly due to her medical condition and Peanut Butter for any number of reasons.  They are both younger than Michael thought - neither likely older than three.  He was right about Peanut Butter being a boxer, and Jelly is a poodle mix, most likely with border collie or sheepdog.

As the weeks go by, they keep the dogs longer and longer each saturday.  The shelter brings in a trainer to help the dogs learn to navigate around Alex when his prosthetic is off or is he using one or two crutches.  One by one they bring their family to the shelter to meet Peanut Butter and Jelly and let the dogs get used to their scents and voices since they will spend time at the house. Michael builds a doggy door out to the backyard, and Alex starts baking homemade dog treats.  Isobel teasingly asks if she should be throwing them a baby shower, but Michael is too happy to be offended.

A little over a month after their first visit, they arrive at the shelter to find Jelly agitated and pacing near the path they usually start their walks on.  She ignores both of them, not even acknowledging Alex’s soft greeting.  Peanut Butter presses against Michael’s leg and whines softly.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asks Brian, who seems stressed as well.  He drops a comforting hand on Peanut Butter’s head.

“We had an emergency repair done at the shelter today.  It was during the storm so we couldn’t take them outside,” Brian explains.  “It was pretty close to their kennel so there was a lot of noise, new voices, new scents.  Jelly’s just overwhelmed.”

“Did you have a rough day, sweetheart?  It’s ok, they’re all gone now,” Alex says quietly as he carefully lowers himself to the ground.  He continues to talk until he coaxes Jelly into his lap.  “That’s my girl,” he praises her as he strokes her fur.  Once she sits, he begins to sing softly, barely loud enough for Michael to hear.  Jelly tucks her head into his neck and sighs.

Michael can see how Alex relaxes as Jelly settles.  He keeps singing and after a few minutes, Peanut Butter drops to the ground next to him, resting his head on Alex’s knee so his nose is pressed against Jelly’s back.  Michael clears his throat and looks at Brian, relieved to see he isn’t the only one tearing up.  They bring the dogs home for good the next saturday.

Despite all the preparation they did, having the dogs full time is still an adjustment.  They both have some separation anxiety which leads to Peanut Butter to destroy a few pillows and Jelly to hide in her crate when they first come home.  But they work through it, and Michael will never get tired of seeing Jelly’s full but wiggle when she hears Alex’s voice or having Peanut Butter flop into his lap for a nap.

What Michael doesn’t anticipate is the ripple effect Peanut Butter and Jelly’s adoption has on the rest of the family.  Maria places a donation jar for the shelter at the Wild Pony and fills it with the mandatory fines for customers who have their keys taken away or get the cops called on them.  Isobel and Kyle adopt a chihuahua named Bruno who growls at everyone and makes Kyle carry him everywhere.

The biggest surprise is Sanders.  Michael comes to work one day and sees a greying pitbull following Sanders around the yard.

“Who’s this?” he asks.

“Gus,” Sanders grunts at him.

“Is he waiting for his owner’s car to get fixed?”  Sanders swore after his last dog Lucy passed away he’d never get another dog so Michael’s trying to come up with an explanation for Gus’ presence.  

“He’s mine.  Don’t look at me like that,” Sanders complains when Michael’s eyebrows go up.  “After you and Alex brought those pups home, I was looking at the shelter’s website.”

“You can do that?” Michael can’t help teasing.  Sanders always insists he can’t use the internet.  “Does your old dial up connection still work?”

“That’s enough sass out of you.  You want to hear this or not?”  Sanders glares at him until Michael gestures for him to continue.  “Turns out they have a senior dog foster program.  Figured the old grumpy ones like me need homes too.  He might not have much time left, but Gus deserves better than to spend it alone in a cage.”

“You old softy,” Michael practically flings himself at Sanders who tentatively returns the hug before pushing him away.

“Save that mushy stuff for your husband,” Sanders grumbles.  “Or even Gus.  He may not look like it, but he’s a cuddler.”

Michael drops to his knees and gives Gus a hug.  “Don’t let him fool you,” he whispers into Gus’ ear, “he’s a cuddler too.”

“Enough of that.  Stop lollygagging and get to work. We’ve got another mouth to feed now.”  Sanders walks away, Gus trailing after him.

“Yes, sir,”  Michael salutes even though Sanders can’t see him.  He quickly pulls out his phone, “Hey babe,” he says as soon as Alex answers, “you won’t believe what Sanders did.”

A few months after the adoption, Michael comes home to find Alex napping on the couch - Jelly asleep on his chest and Peanut Butter curled up at his feet.  Neither Jelly or Alex stir when he comes in, but Peanut Butter lifts his head and looks at Michael.

Michael holds up his hand so Peanut Butter knows to stay and goes back to the bedroom to change.  When he comes back out, Peanut Butter is still awake so Michael asks him quietly, “Want to go play?”

Peanut Butter slides off the couch, and they head out to the backyard, careful not to make too much noise.  Now that Peanut Butter trusts them to take care of Jelly, he shows more and more of his own personality.  He loves to play fetch and run around the yard, Michael’s even thinking of building him an agility course to give him more stimulation.  For now Michael grabs a few of his favorite toys and starts throwing them.

They are both winding down - Peanut Butter trotting rather than running after the toys - when Michael hears the back door open.  Jelly comes into the yard, and Peanut Butter immediately diverts his attention from Michael.  He drops his ball in front of Jelly, waiting until she sniffs it to step back a few feet.  He barks loudly so she’ll know where he is and she rolls the ball to him.

Alex comes up next to Michael and watches the dogs play.  He wraps his arm around Michael and kisses the side of his head, “Best birthday present ever.”

Michael knows he’s telling the truth, and it makes him both happy and sad.  When he looks at his husband, he sees Alex’s hair is still sticking up from his nap, his eyes are still a little puffy and his shirt is covered in dog hair.  But he’s smiling, relaxed and happy in a way that used to be rare, but is now how he almost always looks around Michael.  And Michael’s going to do everything he can to keep him smiling like that.

He turns to pull Alex in for a kiss.  Just before their lips meet, he promises “I’m just getting started.”

[locitawritingsblog]

I posted 255 times in 2022

That's 255 more posts than 2021!

89 posts created (35%)

166 posts reblogged (65%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@genericficerblog

@locitapurplepink

@foundationsretail

@cassie-fanfics

@photogirl894

I tagged 198 of my posts in 2022

Only 22% of my posts had no tags

#oc design - 60 posts

#tag game - 58 posts

#picrew - 57 posts

#writing post - 35 posts

#star wars fanfiction - 31 posts

#sw resistance - 30 posts

#star wars resistance - 30 posts

#my ocs - 28 posts

#oc ask game - 25 posts

#the bad batch - 23 posts

Longest Tag: 75 characters

#if anything i loved the surprise of getting them without knowing even more!

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

@tiny-badbatcher asked me to write about Kaz and Torra's relationship and this is second time of this pairing. It took awhile to figure and I got one.

Memories to Keep It

Kaz & Torra

Based on Xiono Story series (my fanfic)

Torra still felt gulity what happened at her husband's blanket. She knew his blanket was a gift from his uncle from years ago who he was used to love spending time with.

She forgot to feed her pet, Buggles which making him so hungry and looked anywhere that he could eat or bite. He looked at Kaz's sunflower blanket.

Even through Kaz forgive her but she still felt that she didn't deserve it.

At night, Kaz just finished doing his face mask and heading to the bed but quickly mentioned Torra was down as rubbing Buggles' back.

"Hey, is everything alright, Honeylatte ?"

Torra sighed "Not really. "

He hold his hand "You know you can tell anything, right ? That's what our marriage for."

She took breath as staring at him with tears in her eyes "I feel guilty about ripped your special blanket. I know that you forgive me but I feel like...I don't deserve it. I started thinking if you'd...rather left me than this."

Kaz shook his head as wiping her tears "Torra, don't say like that. I know that you didn't mean that on purpose and I know how much you love me since you were acting crazy when we first time met."

Torra chuckled "But you chose me to race against with."

"Let's say that a nikto friend told everyone on this station after I accidentally talked about my dream to be the best pilot. It was driving me crazy." The couple laught.

At the same time, Buggled walked to Kaz and slept on his lap "But at least I survived." He rubbed his back.

"You see, Honeylatte. Even through I don't have stuffs to remember but at least I have good memories in my mind like Uncle John was used to put me on his shoulder and pretended to be my ship and we flew away." He told her.

"Since you told me this, I've been seeing you play that game with Ayumi and she really enjoy it." She replied.

"Yep, and I still would do that again."

"Until she's too heavy to carry." She teased.

"Hey... " "Kaz, no, stop it.." Kaz tickled Torra on her stomach, she laught loudly until the couple lay down on the bed.

After that, Kaz touched her cheek "Torra, no matter what happen between us, I won't leave you. You're a part of me that need to stick together with."

Torra took breath and smiled "You're a part of me too." Then the couple kissed each other while Buggles laid down between them.

"Sweet dream, honeylatte."

"Sweet dream, my love."

And they all fell asleep together.

The end

Hope you like this one.

I tag @foundationsretail , @tiny-badbatcher , @cassie-fanfics , @zaya-mo , @genericficerblog , @thebadbatch2022 , and @girlzrok-archive

16 notes - Posted October 9, 2022

#4

This is my drawing for my Star Wars Resistance Modern AU fanfic on wattpad, Hope Inside.

I drew this two years ago. Let me tell you about this family.

Jarek Yeager adopted his three kids after he lost his biogical family during the accident.

First, he adopted Neeku when he was a baby, next he adopted Tam on the street who survived from the house fire when she was 13 years old, and lastly, Kaz. He mentioned that something off with him until he figured out that he was abused by his drunk father and took him to his house and overtime, Kaz felt safe and loved by his new family.

What do you think @cassie-fanfics , @zaya-mo , @thebadbatch2022 , @girlzrok-archive , @foundationsretail and @tiny-badbatcher ?

17 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

#3

I just finished drawing Omega wearing a junior high school for my Bad Batch High School fanfic.

Here some things about her :

She's more comfortable wearing trousers than skirts but when she has to wear school skirt, she would always wearing leggings.

This school uniform is inspired by one of my uniforms when I was in elementary school 😅

She's more comfortable wearing boots than sneakers as you guys can see on this picture.

What do you think @cassie-fanfics , @zaya-mo , @crosshairs-simp, @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond , @s-pirth-lemonade , @littlefeatherr , and anyone else who wants to see this.

18 notes - Posted October 10, 2022

#2

Tell me a reason why you want to write star wars fanfics then tag five blogs who also love writing too.

Mine is expressing my imagination into the story to be remembered.

@photogirl894 , @foundationsretail , @kanerallels , @thebadbatch2022 , and @genericficerblog

28 notes - Posted November 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Ayumi enjoying her drink.

I tag @photogirl894 , @leosardonyx18 , @cassie-fanfics , @genericficerblog , @zaya-mo , @l-lend , @tinysbandanadad , @tiny-badbatcher , @summer-1902 , and anyone else who wants to.

41 notes - Posted August 23, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[starseedfxofficial]

Kim Jong-Un's Threats: A Secret Signal for Forex Moves? The Risks Are Higher, and So Are the Opportunities Kim Jong-Un isn’t just about parades and missile launches; it turns out he’s also become a master in, well, inadvertently signaling global market shifts. North Korea's latest development push and rhetoric about “risks of nuclear war” might seem like distant headlines, but savvy Forex traders know these events are more like tectonic plates shifting beneath the market—they could cause some unexpected ripple effects, especially for currencies correlated to geopolitical tensions. Now, you might think, “Sure, but how does North Korea’s sabre-rattling really affect my trading strategy?” Great question! Here's where we dig in deeper. Tension Equals Volatility: How the Yen Might Dance The Korean Peninsula has been a geopolitical hotspot for years, but this current wave of tension is on another level. In situations like this, historical patterns show that safe-haven currencies like the Japanese Yen (JPY) often gain momentum—and not just a little, think of it as the Forex equivalent of realizing you've accidentally adopted an alpaca while trying to get a cat online. Dramatic, unexpected, but hey, you make it work. When Kim mentions “nuclear war,” traders often look to recalibrate their risk. The JPY tends to strengthen, not because traders are suddenly Japan enthusiasts, but because Japan is seen as a relatively stable economy in a stormy neighborhood. Here’s where the real trick lies: understanding this sentiment wave early can put you ahead of slower traders. While they panic, you profit. But Here's Where the Real Magic Happens... Kim’s rhetoric also sheds light on another area—the weakening of currencies tied to riskier assets. Emerging market currencies, particularly those in the Asia-Pacific region, may see a dip as investors shy away from risk. The South Korean Won (KRW), for instance, could face some headwinds. A little known tactic? Going long on the Yen while shorting the KRW during these volatility spikes has been a consistent contrarian play that insiders have whispered about for years. EU/UK Data: A Shiny Little Gem for the GBP Switching gears, let's talk about the latest UK GfK Consumer Confidence numbers. They're in at -18.0, smashing the expected -22.0. Imagine the relief—it's like finding out that mystery charge on your credit card wasn't for a dubious streaming service but for a gift from a friend. Unexpectedly nice, right? The British Pound (GBP) may not be flying to the moon, but better-than-expected consumer confidence is a good sign. It tells us that perhaps the recession fears are slightly overdone, and consumers are hanging in there—albeit by their fingernails. For traders, this means a possible upside surprise in GBP pairs. If sentiment holds, we could see stronger-than-expected retail sales data down the line, which is traditionally GBP positive. Time to start watching those support levels closely. Hidden Forex Moves: A Playbook for Savvy Traders So, what can you actually do with all of this? Here’s the game plan: - Stay Ahead on the Yen: When tensions rise in the Korean Peninsula, don’t wait for the mainstream news to overcook the story. Consider long positions on JPY. Enter early, and be ready to exit before the hype peaks. - Short the Won: Most traders miss this play, but going short on KRW in times of heightened North Korean tension has historically been a money-maker. Remember, Kim’s threats aren’t just bluster—they impact the regional risk sentiment significantly. - Play the GBP Upside: With better-than-expected consumer confidence, there’s a chance the GBP could rally in the short term, especially against currencies with a weaker data outlook. Keep an eye on GBP/USD and GBP/JPY pairs for possible breakouts above resistance levels. - Set Alerts for Emerging Trends: Use a smart trading tool to automate alerts for sudden moves in the Yen or the GBP—timing is everything in these trades, and automation can keep you ahead. In Summary: Geopolitics Isn’t Just Background Noise It’s easy to dismiss headlines about North Korea as irrelevant to your Forex game plan, but for those who pay attention, these stories can signal lucrative opportunities. Remember, the market isn’t just about technical indicators; it's about understanding human behavior and the ripples that political events create. You’ve got this—keep your eyes open, your mind sharp, and your trades strategic. And if you’re looking for more insights like these, don’t forget to check out our exclusive updates and trading tools at StarseedFX—where hidden strategies become your new edge. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated   Read the full article

[singlequantumevent]

Dogtown: Part One

Content Warnings | Next Chapter

There’s this place up in Massachusetts called Dog Town. It was home to a group of widows, sailors’ wives, witches (if you believed the rumors), and the dogs they kept for safety. They say that after the inhabitants died, the dogs left behind became feral, ghosts, or werewolf-like beings that stalked the town.

I don’t know how much of that is true. But with my life being what it is? It wouldn’t surprise me if it were.

I.

“Hey, little lady. How’re you?”

The dog in the kennel wagged her tail fiercely. She had been in that kennel for about five months now. This didn't surprise Bo; the dog, Daisy, was a Pit Bull mix. Not full Pit Bull (there was probably some kind of retriever in her), but she looked just enough like one to scare off potential adopters. It was a shame. Daisy was one of the sweetest dogs in the shelter. She barked the least, too.

“Look, Daisy, I know you’re happy to see me, but I need to replace your blankets. Can you let me in?” After a few more seconds of tail-wagging, Daisy backed away from the door. “Thank you.”

Bo stepped inside. Almost immediately, Daisy jumped up like she was trying to climb into his lap. “Whoa, hey, big girl.” He knew he had ten other kennels to clean, but Bo couldn’t resist kneeling down to give Daisy some attention. “I’m glad to see you too, sweetheart.”

It really did suck that she was still there. Bo would adopt Daisy if he could, but his apartment only allowed small dogs. Which was...ironic, all things considered.

If they only knew.

Bo scratched behind Daisy’s ears and smiled. “Okay, big girl. You going to let me take those blankets without turning it into tug-of-war?”

The big, goofy grin on her face said she made no promises.

.

II.

Bo didn’t own a car.

On the one hand, he didn’t see the need to own one. He was within biking distance from his job, he didn’t have to pay for gas or auto insurance, and he didn’t have to deal with Florida’s shitty drivers. On the other hand, it was hotter than the earth’s core most days. He worked up a sweat getting to work, he worked up a sweat at work, and he worked up a sweat on the way back from work. By the time his day was over, he just wanted to lie on the floor and do nothing.

Unfortunately, not everyone was as lazy as he was.

“Not tonight, Ginge, I have to work tomorrow.” Bo rubbed his eyes. “Sunday. I have Sunday off. Yes, the whole day. Uh-huh…okay…” He scratched furiously at his scalp, mussing up already sweat-slicked dark hair. “I can do Saturday night, too. Should be good beach weather. It’s too damn hot for anywhere without water.” He listened to the voice on the other end and laughed. “Yeah, skinny dipping. Of course. I’ll see you then. ‘Bye, Ginger.”

Once he hung up, Bo sank back to the floor. The linoleum tiles were cool from the past fifteen minutes of concentrated air conditioning. They felt blessedly cold against his skin. “This year,” he said to himself. “This year, I’m getting a car.”

Not likely. He said the same thing every year, and it hadn’t happened yet.

.

III.

There were a lot of strays in the area. Most of them were cats. You saw them everywhere: lounging under cars at the Wal-Mart, perched on walls, watching with distrustful eyes. Cat gangs, Bo always thought when he saw them. He didn’t trust them.

Every now and again, though, he would see a stray dog. As a proud employee of the local Humane Society branch, Bo felt it was his civic duty to pursue these animals before they got hurt. This was easier said than done. He might’ve trusted the dogs more than he trusted the cats, but damn if the dogs didn’t make things difficult.

“C’mon!” he said aloud as the dog ducked into someone else’s yard. “Work with me, here!”

The dog was not working with him. In fact, she seemed very intent on working against him as much as possible. Bo couldn’t blame the dog for that. There was always a chance that the stray in question had been hurt by humans. She had no way of knowing she wasn't going to hurt him.

If it weren’t the middle of the day and if I were closer to home…

Bo shook his head. No sense in thinking about it. After all, there was no guarantee that Plan D would work any better. All he could do was keep chasing the dog and hope he didn’t get yelled at for being on someone else’s property.

“Hey…” Bo advanced warily into the yard. “Look, buddy, I’m trying to help.”

The dog's ears perked up at the sound of his voice, but she didn’t run. Good. Please, no more running. “That’s it…c’mon…” He kept moving forward, very slowly, trying not to make any sudden movements. “Steady, girl…”

He and the dog locked eyes. He could feel her sizing him up, smelling him, trying to decide if he was friend or foe. He willed her to come closer with everything he had in him. Please, please, please…

She considered his pleas. Then, she took off.

Oh, come on!

Bo took off after her, but he knew it was a lost cause. The dog was much faster than he was. She was out of sight within seconds.

He wasn’t sure what was worse—the fact that he had lost the dog, or the fact that he was probably going to be late for work now.

I swear to God, if some punkass bastard stole my bike…

.

IV:

No one had stolen his bike, and he made it to work on time.Bo’s supervisor for the day took one look at his beet-red face and let him take a few minutes to sit down. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked as he passed Bo a water bottle.

“Almost late.” Bo slurped noisily from the water bottle, not caring how much ran down his chin and neck. It felt good. “I was trying to catch a stray.”

The supervisor didn’t look phased by this. Trying to catch strays was one of Bo’s unofficial duties at the shelter. “You can bike a bit more slowly next time,” he said. “I mean, what’s the point in being on time if you collapse from heat exhaustion?”

“Right. Right, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bo still felt overheated when he got started. He took a second to douse his head with the water hose before using it for its intended purpose: re-filling the dogs’ bowls. “Don’t look at me like that,” he told the dogs as he walked down the row. “I was trying to save one of you. She wouldn’t listen.”

The dogs didn’t care. Most were just happy to get some water.

Daisy was still in her kennel when Bo reached it. He’d expected that, but he was still disappointed. “Hey, Miss Daisy.” She licked his hand when he held it out to her. “Hard day?” Her tail wagged slightly. “Me too, girl. Me too.”

.

V:

Then came the weekend.

Bo considered bailing several times Saturday morning. He’d had a long week, and the idea of spending the evening playing video games in air-conditioned splendor sounded heavenly. But he’d said he would show, and it had been a while since he’d seen his friends. Anyway, arrangements had already been made for Fred to give him a ride. Fred did not take no for an answer.

“You smell like shit." Fred was also very intrusive about people’s personal hygiene, though what counted as smelling bad for him was a bit different than it was for normal people. “Did you take a bath of straight Old Spice or something?”

“Would you rather I smell like kennel?” Bo shot back.

“Over whatever that is, yeah.” Fred’s tone was as blunt as his features—slight underbite, nose with a broken look to it, hair cropped short. “We’re driving with the windows down.”

“Whatever, man.”

They made the drive to the beach in silence, save for the sound of the air rushing by and the occasionally labored sound of Fred’s breathing. He sounded like that sometimes—rough and snuffly, as though he were perpetually congested. Bo tried not to worry about it. Fred always insisted he was fine. Then again, you could set Fred on fire and his only response would be a mildly annoyed sigh. He wasn’t one for complaining. Bo admired that.

When they arrived at the beach, it was getting close to off-hours. Technically, they weren’t supposed to be there, but Ginger knew a guy. Ginger was an I know a guy kind of gal. Three cars were waiting in the parking lot when they arrived. There was an older car that, while sporty-looking, had clearly seen better days; a pickup truck with a perpetual forest smell to it; and, finally, a bright yellow VW bug. He recognized their owners as well—Artemis, Ginger, and Dot. Also with them was Olaf. He must’ve hitched a ride with Ginger. His car had been on the fritz lately.

“Gang’s all here,” said Bo as he got out of the car. “Hey, G—oof!”

And there, as usual, was one of Ginger’s overly enthusiastic hugs. She actually managed to pick him up a bit. “You work too much,” she told Bo as she put him back down.

“Good to see you, too.” Just as Bo was starting to recover from Ginger’s hug, he was picked up again, this time by Olaf. “Whoa, hey, big guy!”

“Try that on me, and I’ll bite you,” Fred grumbled.

“Oh my gosh, don’t be such a baby,” said Dot. She lightly punched Fred’s arm. “We missed you, too.”

Fred grunted. If you knew where to look, you could see the smile forming on his face.

Artemis’s hug was much gentler. “I’m glad you could make it,” she said. “We all really missed you.”

“I missed you guys, too.” And he had. He really had. “Is the beach all clear?”

“Just about,” said Ginger. “Only a few stragglers left.”

Those few stragglers took about twenty minutes to leave. The pack spent that time passing around a bottle of beer and chatting. Bo updated them on the shelter situation, who had come, who was gone, who remained. There was a collective groan of disappointment when he mentioned that Daisy was still there. “So, that aside,” said Fred as he tossed the bottle into a nearby recycling bin, “anything interesting?”

“Well…I failed to catch a dog?”

The rest of the pack looked at him with similar startled expressions. “You?” said Dot skeptically. “The premiere dog catcher in the area?”

Olaf giggled at her choice of emphasis. Bo rolled his eyes. “I have my off days too, you know.”

“Did you try…?”

“I was in the middle of someone else’s neighborhood. I couldn’t.”

“Boo.”

“I’ll find her eventually,” Bo said. I hope.

The last of the stragglers walked by. The second they were in their car, the pack made a break for the beach. “Finally!” whooped Olaf, who somehow managed to take off his shoes while he ran. “I thought they’d never—hot sand! Hot sand!”

Bo laughed, though he immediately felt bad for it. “Easy, big guy.” He glanced over his shoulder one more time before starting to take off his shirt. “Don’t kill yourself.”

The rest of his clothes came off, deposited in a heap in the sand. His skin felt too tight. It came off next, deposited in the sand on top of his clothes.

The sand was hot against his paws, so he ran to the ocean. Ginger followed, her golden fur shining in the setting sun. Dot overtook both of them, despite the stubbiness of her legs. Olaf trundled behind, high-stepping to avoid scorching his massive paws, and Artemis followed him, holding back from her usually considerable speed. Finally, at the back, was Fred, trundling along.

They ran through the water, chasing waves and each other until the sun went down. But not even that slowed them down. They didn’t need the sun to see.

Not when they were like this.