#Thank you so so much for reading this hunk of junk lol

[clover-the-awesomest]

Vent??? I guess??? Made for socially awkward ppl I think?????

Disclaimer: I'm not diagnosed with social anxiety or anxiety at all, and have adhd instead, and thus I'm just. Terrible at social interactions. This post is made for people who just want an explanation for why they struggle with social interaction and it's also just a way to get my feelings out myself. I'm not trying to assume anything about anyone!

And also, this post is an extension of this reblog:

You don't need to read it, but if you want then sure. Most of the context is in the tags I wrote tho so... Yeah.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you're mentally okay.

I hate being nice sometimes.

Being friends with people who have seen/gone through some fucked up shit or are just mentally insecure is the norm for me. None of my friends are sane. I'm no different, having been basically raised by the internet and mentally neglected in school for a few years. (Not in highschool tho) There are times where I can relate to my friends heavily, and times when I question whether or not they need like 3 therapists. We typically just like to make insensitive and dark-humored jokes via discord though, since my dry sense of humor works well with theirs. It always works out well...

Until I we end up talking about serious issues in life.

Don't get me wrong, I am more than willing to listen to them when they need to vent about something or get any pent-up sadness out there. They listen to me info-dump all the time, so it's only fair I listen to them too. It's just basic human empathy!

However, I'm terrible at just. Talking to people normally. I cannot hold a regular conversation about real life even if it would save me from some kinda imminent danger! I hate having to talk about anything but my hyperfixations because I then just don't know what else to talk about. So when my friends start venting or asking for advice on something, I freeze up.

I overthink. I freak out. I panic. I feel the need to say something, anything to my friend, because they are my friend and they need support! But nothing comes out of my mouth. I stutter, I sputter, I start treating the situation like a college-level math equation because the situation is so goddamn deep and it's all so complicated and then all of a sudden they look at me like they expect me to say something and I can't say anything because my brain can't process what they're talking about and I just don't know how to react and I don't know what to say and if I do say something it'll be along the lines of "I can't relate" or "I'm sorry" or "I don't know what to say about that" and all of those options are so stupid and so rude and will end up ruining our dynamic/relationship because I acted out of line and I didn't do the right thing and I assumed something about their issues and I'm a failure and I'm stupid and I should've kept my mouth shut and I'm gonna lose them forever and I made them feel worse and now I feel worse and-

...

I don't get stressed easily. I'm not level-headed in the slightest, but I don't really freak out about a lot of things. I'm always just indifferent about things.

It's painful for me when I'm stuck in these situations though because I actually start internally freaking out! I never know what to say or do, even with people I've known for years! I'm not in any bad blood with my family. I'm not in desperate need of a therapist. I'm not suicidal and I sure as hell don't have depression. My life is relatively normal compared to all my friends, who all have some sort of physical and/or mental problem, so I never know how to act when they bring up their issues. I internally panic and I beg whatever holy being I feel like worshiping that I find the words, but they never come. So I just end up feeling like a jerk, like we shouldn't be friends and that I'm the worst person in the world.

I know it's all in my head. I know these fears and insecurities are irrational. I know that they probably are glad that I just listened in the first place. But sometimes, it's all just too much.

So in short, I hate being nice sometimes.

I'll be honest, this was all just me venting on fuccin Tumblr of all places, and I do wish I could provide any comforting words for those who feel the same and need to hear something nice. But true to my own words, I just don't have anything to say. I do believe that you, the reader, can get better and I do have hope for others who struggle with social interaction, because it's just a small issue in the grand scheme of things and it doesn't truly matter. For me though? I got nothing. I don't have any hope for me. I'm just doomed to the internet for all of eternity.

All I can say, is that you should keep your head up and not lose hope with these kinds of things. Don't worry about every little syllable, don't stress over every single word. Chances are nobody will give a crap and they'll just be happy that you listened. The worst case scenario is that they'll tell you what you said was insensitive. That's it. Someone's told me that before, and it sucked, but it truly is the worst that can happen, and you'll likely get over it soon. So again, don't worry over every little thing. It's alright, everything's okay, and it will be okay.

You don't have to like being nice all the time.

[starry-knight-coffins]

OKAY SO I wanted to ask what was that made you think about making the vacation ACNH themed? I feel like it's something strange to think of and very creative actually, the fact that you were able to think about stuff for the themed days was actually so cool and the fact that there was always Leoide around even where I'd struggle to fit it, you did. When i first read the title i wasn't expecting much, but the fanfic is actually amazing and is now one of my favorites and i can't wait until it's done!! Happy half anniversary for Leona Crossing: New Shroud Horizons, yayyyy

Hi hewwo Astro!!! Thanks for dropping by yippee!!!

SO like. The acnh theme is partially like self projecting lol. When I first got to play on a switch I was able to play acnh and honestly really loved it. Spent all summer addicted to acnh. Just the simplicity of catching bugs, fishing, hitting lads with nets, and filling my beach front with junk I just "couldn't sell" was the best thing ever. So I kinda thought like, what if Idia was addicted to acnh (projecting), and what if Leona was jealous of that?? The only thing that could pull me away from acnh was pretty much other acnh things (looking up acnh clothes designs online lol) so I thought it'd be neat if Leona and Idia followed the same pipeline where Leona gets Idia away from his switch through the introduction of an acnh themed event. So, tada!! Acnh leoide vacation! I'm glad to hear you found it cool tho!! I was acnh and leoide delusional I just merged my interests lol. I wonder how my villagers are doing now... (Haven't visited in two months)

Planning out the themed days has honestly been the funnest part, and a few of the themed days I planned that I was looking forward to is coming up! All I had to do was think of things I enjoyed doing in acnh and just... Translate it to the fic, I guess? Seashell gathering was fun, so leoide had a beach walk. I also really enjoyed fishing, so I got them to fish in a pool! They could've caught normal bugs in the bug chapter, but I had so much fun snacking comrades with nets that I thought the shrouds should have the same thrill lol. I almost included diving, but the only pleasure of diving in acnh is just the sight of the endless blue. Getting another hunk of seaweed isn't fun... Anyway yeah, you'll see the rest of my favorite acnh activities soon enough hehe!!

I'm so yippee to hear Leona crossing is like, one of your favorites like yeah!!! That's so cool to hear saying that this is my first fanfic and everything YEAHHH!!!!! AMAZING WOOO!!! Makes me really happy that you've enjoyed my passion project like fr fr!! Can't wait till this is done myself :3c I have some neat plans....... And some of these later chapters I've had planned since the beginning so I'm excited to get to em lol.

Thank you for joining me for the half anniversary of Leona crossing yo!! I hope you'll keep following my silly fic :D

And also, before you go. 🥭 Mango for you

[itsclydebitches]

Until proven otherwise, my headcanon is that both Ironwood and Watts survived and are going to team up again out of necessity lmao.

HI, ANON. So let me tell you about how this simple, silly sentence sent me down a 4k writing rabbit hole. “Lol I’m going to write a little parody about that” I thought to myself and then somehow? It got serious?? I honestly don’t know what this fic is, but I’m chucking it at everyone anyway. 

Also, I changed the whole “Atlas and Mantle are immediately submerged in water” plot point because it’s my coping mechanism and I get to choose the canon we ignore. 

***

Once upon a time there were two villains having a Very Bad Day.

The first, Arthur Watts, had survived an explosion, being buried under rubble, and the threat of a ten-story drop only to find himself suffocating amidst a magically produced fire. A horrible way to go, all things considered. Painful, of course, but more importantly, no self-respecting man should die with soot on his clothes.

Or leave behind a charred corpse. 

In fact, Watts had just begun to acknowledge the full indignity of his death when the momentum he'd felt — just there on the periphery of his awareness — suddenly ceased, Atlas crashing into Mantle and throwing him with a squawk in the process. His head took a nasty hit against one of the desks, the smoky gray of the room growing darker, and by the time Watts had come to, the fire had been replaced by water.

Ice-cold water, lapping up to his knees.

"Well," he said, lifting a sodden boot. "I suppose this is an improvement."

***

Elsewhere, James Ironwood — former General of the now sinking Kingdom of Atlas — was lying facedown on the stone of the outer vault, contemplating his choices. Upon reflection, no, he didn't regret what he'd done, but it would have been nice if things had turned out...any way other than this.

"Fuck," he said to the empty hall, enjoying the reverberation. He deserved that much at least.

In time, Ironwood was able to pick himself up off the floor, supported as much by the fact that he'd been knocked out by his own blast as his shaky, barely-there aura. Up the elevator running on emergency dust reserves, through the corridors that groaned ominously under damaged supports. Ironwood headed towards the military headquarters purely out of habit and as he did the sound of water grew stronger, almost like waves, until there was an inch of it across the floor, more trickling in from the staircase. Ironwood had been watching his boots splash with each step, almost mesmerized, and didn't look up until another pair unexpectedly entered his view.

Watts froze in the act of wringing out his pantleg, eyes wide. His expression, the water, how the hallway tilted downward at a slight angle... it all felt like something out of a dream. Ironwood just watched as Watts watched him, until his eyes traveled to the gun clipped on his belt. Ironwood hadn't even realized he'd picked it up.

"Here to kill me, James?" Watts said.

"No." He knew it was true as soon as he'd said it. The mere thought of starting another fight right now was... exhausting. "Do you intend to kill me?"

"Oh really. Does it look as if I'm in a position to fight you? Do use your head for once. I have no weapon, no aura — damn fire ate it all up — I feel as if I've swallowed a hot coal, I am wet — "

Ironwood turned partway through the ramble, meandering back up the way he'd come. He'd passed through two checkpoints before realizing that Watts was not only still talking, but following him.

"What do you want?" he asked, more to shut the man up than out of real curiosity. If Watts was capable of reading the difference between the two, he didn't show it.

"Cinder."

"Cinder?"

"I don't make a habit of allowing people to try and murder me without consequence, James!"

"She's gone."

"Yes, thank you for that stunning bit of info! There's no possible way I could have realized that for myself. What's gotten into you? They left us, fool. Salem, Cinder, Neo, Emerald, even your so-called allies... they all deserve the worst that we can grant them. Though right now, I'd settle for wringing that idiot Pietro's neck. Ten years I gave to that research and he rendered it obsolete with a single report, all because he wanted to play father to some stupid hunk of metal. I never would have gone to Salem if — " Watts cut off, hands balled into fists.

Ironwood just blinked dazedly, coming to a halt. He searched his uniform, the scroll he'd stashed there miraculously whole. Dimly, he registered that he should be feeling some sort of emotion right now.

"I can do that," he murmured.

"What?"

But Ironwood was already keying in the code, the desire to complete a task, any task, taking hold. Watts looked on, mouth twisted in a deprecating sneer.

"I already took out communications, in case you failed to notice."

"But not the trackers I had installed in my top scientists." Ironwood held up the screen where a small, red dot was blinking. "Pietro's still here. Looks like he's out near the mine with a second aura signature. If you want to...?" He wasn't going to finish that sentence.

"I see," Watts said in a tone that heavily implied he didn't. "And you'd just give me this information out of the evilness of your heart?"

Ironwood considered that. "I killed a man yesterday, tried to kill two others, and was ready to bomb all of Mantle to keep the rest of my Kingdom safe. I don't care what you do with the man who betrayed me."

"...fair enough."

Except after five steps Ironwood realized that Watts wasn't following him. He was looking down at his arms, still as a hunted hare.

"You put trackers in all your scientists?" he asked.

"A requirement I implemented after you went missing."

"Ah! Ingenious. Lead the way then."

***

The way led to the tundra, an environment that neither of them were prepared for. Watts was wet from the waist down and Ironwood had long ago learned that snow and metal didn't mix. Neither had the aura for the kind of storm that was raging either. Luckily, the panic of Salem's invasion had left plenty of vehicles to purloin and soon they were speeding East with the heat on, the faint beeping on Ironwood's scroll growing stronger.

He'd felt the impact of his city crashing down and the two of them had clamored out of Atlas' husk, dropping into rubble and cracking ice. Still, the true destruction wasn't evident until they were moving away from it. Through the rearview mirror, Ironwood could see pillars of smoke from fires that the water hadn't yet smothered, dark shadows that could only be grimm, and Atlas itself, plunged halfway into Mantle. It wasn't noticeable from this distance, but all of it was sinking.

"I was lucky," Ironwood said, his voice hollow. His eyes flicked back to the expanse of snow ahead of them. "If Atlas had tipped the other way, the vault would have flooded. I'd have drowned."

Watts snorted. "I'm lucky. That damned water put out Cinder's fire. I'd have burned."

Neither felt particularly lucky and for fifteen more minutes, neither was keen to discuss it.

***

Once upon a time, two heroes were having a Very Bad Day.

"You've got to be shitting me."

Maria paused in the act of bandaging Pietro's leg, mechanical eyes narrowing at the two figures that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Watts sucked in a breath at the duo. Ironwood gave a small, awkward wave.

Then he nodded his head at the scene: one old, exhausted woman and a paraplegic currently bleeding into his chair. "So... going to kill him?"

Watts ground his teeth. "Well now that just feels like a fool's errand. Look at him. He's pathetic!"

Pietro was slumped at an uncomfortable angle, sporting a gash in his leg and an impressive display of bruises across his face. Maria, in contrast, seemed to have only lost her hair tie.

"Pathetic?" she spat. "Your lackey did this!"

"Who?"

"Angry girl with the creepy arm."

"Ah, it all comes back to Cinder." Watts pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, thank you for recognizing that I was her superior, but no, I didn't send her to kill the likes of you. Must have done it on her own, the little idiot. Don't believe me? I was in jail at the time, if I recall correctly. Isn't that right, James?"

"You were helping me hack Penny."

Maria let out a skin-crawling cackle. "Why do you think the girl was here? She blew a hole in the bottom of Amity! Penny tried to hold us up, but..." she swallowed, still pressing against Pietro's leg, but turned warily towards them. "You hacked her? You did that? What precisely do you think happens when a man who never learned to apply aura as a shield crash-lands in this hunk of junk!"

"I expect most men in that position perish," Watts said smoothly. "The fool is lucky to be alive, but he won't be for much longer if you keep trying to staunch the wound with your soiled gloves. Move aside."

"Get away from me!"

"Oh, put your stick down, you old bat. I'm trying to help."

"Why?" Ironwood hadn't realized he'd spoken until Watts was glaring daggers his way.

"So I can kill him later myself!"

Still surreal. Still dream-like in its absurdity. Ironwood listened to the bickering between Watts and... Mary? Maria? He wasn't even sure. He wandered away, content to gaze out through one of the windows at his Kingdom. Or what was left of it. He idly massaged his left arm, trying to rid himself of a pain that wasn't there, and when the howl of a grimm reached them across the snow, he shivered.

His unlikely companions screamed at each other loud enough to reverberate through the whole building. There were the sounds of two bodies trading blows, but only for a moment. Pietro, voice groggy and high-pitched with terror, demanded to know where his daughter was. 

"She's dead," Ironwood said. He didn't turn to see their expressions, didn't need to. "Winter she... she defeated me as the Winter Maiden. That can only mean one thing."

"One thing to you, perhaps." Ironwood did turn then, watching stoically as Pietro tried to right himself in his chair, Watts cursing as the leg continued to bleed. "Where is she? I want to see my little girl. I can heal her, fix her — " he broke off, doubling over with a cough that splattered more blood into his hands.

"Maybe you could have," Watts said, a cruel satisfaction in his voice. "If her little friends hadn't made her human."

Some of the pieces fell into place then. His Lamp, long missing, had apparently wound up in Neo's hands, then Salem's, before it was finally used by Cinder. Watts described — with immense pleasure — the plan the group had concocted and the wish they'd asked of Ambrosius. He'd been a bit preoccupied with bomb duty to learn the details, but he knew that Cinder lived and Ironwood, it seemed, knew that Penny had perished. What a tragedy. Do you know how to bring back the non-mechanical, Doctor?

Ironwood honestly thought the old woman was about to kill him, murderous intent put on hold only because Pietro collapsed then, curling in on himself as sobs wracked his frame. The only words that escaped the mess of tears were "Penny" and then "Maria," one hand reaching out blindly for comfort. Pietro found it, the two holding onto each other as Watts sat at their feet, grinning up at the display.

Ironwood thought only, So that is her name.

The other, crucial bit of info was that everyone was gone. Dead or evacuated, it didn't matter. As far as any of them knew, they were the last four in Atlas, with Salem on her way to destroy whatever kingdom next took her fancy. It was over. They'd lost. And despite the horror of it, the realization was oddly freeing too.

When Maria asked in a tone edging on hysteria what precisely they were going to do — because it seemed this was a "we" situation now — Ironwood suspected she meant in the short term. What were they going to do about their wounds? The grimm? Finding and reaching the others? But those were foolish concerns, the thinking of someone who'd never had a kingdom's life in their hands. Ironwood knew there was only one answer here, the same one he'd had from the start.

"You can do whatever you like," he said. The metal of Amity sparkled against the rising sun, leaving splotches of color behind his eyes. "I will defend Atlas."

Maria's mouth dropped open and Watts stared. Even Pietro ceased his crying long enough to suck in a breath.

"Defend it from what?" he asked.

Ironwood shrugged. "The grimm. Salem. I don't know. I don't care. To quote a former friend, I have never wavered in defending the Kingdom of Atlas against its enemies and I don't intend to start now. This is my city and I won't leave it."

"It's sinking!" Watts cried, overlapping with Maria's, "We need to help" and though so much softer, quieter, more innocent than the spittle Watts was scattering across the floor... that single word sank its teeth into Ironwood. The woman may as well have stabbed him.

"Help?" he said. "Help? I tried to help! Everything that I have done in the last two days — the last two years — my life! — has been to help not just Atlas, but everyone I feasible could. Don't talk to me about help when you and Ms. Rose did everything you could to stop me. I had planned to help the world and you all lied. You betrayed. You set your weapons against me and kept me from saving what parts of my Kingdom I could. Tell me again: what precisely did you do to help?"

He'd crossed the distance, one hand on his holstered gun and the other leaning against Pietro's chair, using it to leverage himself down into Maria's space. Ironwood didn't need to see her eyes to know the emotion they held.

"I," she spit, "didn't try to bomb a city."

And just like that the fight in him was gone. It had barely existed in the first place. Ironwood straightened, swaying slightly on the balls of his feet. "No. You didn't. So it's as I said, go help if you want. If you can." His gaze slid to Watts. "You were one of her men. That says it all." Pietro. "You helped them reveal Salem to the world. Will she have time to destroy the other kingdoms before the grimm do it first?" Maria. "And I don't know you, but you don't earn a prize like that without seeing combat." Ironwood lifted his metal finger, tapping it against Maria's goggles. She flinched away. "Can you honestly say you haven't made mistakes?"

"You and I are nothing alike!"

"I didn't say we were."

Ironwood turned and walked away, as steady as he could manage as the world grew a little darker, despite the sunrise. Behind him Watts' voice rang out like a shot.

"So that's it then? The captain goes down with his ship? You idiot!"

He paused. "Not quite. It turns out I'm not the only idiot around these parts. Ms. Rose left the vault open." One last turn to savor their shocked expressions. "That's where I'm going. There are still plenty of airships if you'd like to leave, but just remember: they abandoned you too."

Perhaps he should have been surprised that by the time his boots hit the snow, three more footsteps were sounding behind him. Frankly, in fourteen hours time Ironwood would barely remember their conversation, let alone everything that came after it. One of them drove back to the sinking city. Someone tested the ice before they cautiously crossed it. Someone else dispatched the stray grimm foolish enough to get in their way. Ironwood saw and heard none of it. He walked with the determination of a wind-up toy, wobbling now that he'd reached the end of his string. Cool blues, a shining gold, and then beautiful, miraculous grass. Ironwood ignored the murmurs of amazement behind him, dropping directly to his knees.

When his palms hit the ground, only one was capable of feeling how soft it was.

I need to update my arm, he thought, even as he curled into a ball and passed out.

***

When he woke they were already running out of time.

For the first two days Ironwood barely spoke to the others and thus he never quite figured out why they'd stayed. Had it been hopelessness? Spite? The all consuming thought that there was nowhere else to go? That Atlas, for all its rubble and slowly rising water, wasn't any different from what the rest of Remnant would look like soon?

Why not here then?

Especially when the vault, filled with wildflowers and an endless sun, made for such an enticing retreat.

"Soil's farmable," Maria said, running some of it through her fingers. It was a statement of fact, nothing more, and the three of them stubbornly ignored the implications of it.

"There's — " Pietro coughed, self-consciously clearing his throat. "There's plenty to salvage. Machinery to pull water from the humidity in here. First aid supplies. We could section off an area for our wa — "

Watts seethed. "If you finish that thought I will — "

"What?" Maria arched a brow. "Kill him? Like you've been saying for the last day?"

Day? Ironwood blinked. How long had he been out?

"I will!"

"Like you'd be able to. Just try it, beanpole."

They argued, and they threatened, but none raised their hands to one another again, and when they finally dispersed across the kingdom to collect what they could, none of the acknowledged what it was for.

Ironwood waded through the remnants of his home and didn't think about building another. Because the idea alone was absurd.

"Don't let the door slam shut," he'd said when they’d first left, nodding to the stone slab that had appeared after Penny had first arrived. Ironwood watched the three exchange glances, unsure if he was joking.

Fuck if he knew.

***

Those four days — or five, if Ironwood counted the one he'd lost — were conducted in a strange state of frenzy. None of them were in a position to be working on such a project, but when had the world ever cared for their needs? Pietro stayed behind in the vault, cataloguing what they'd found and making lists for what was still needed. His chair, while dynamic, wasn't meant for the sort of terrain Atlas had become and his wound was still healing.

He also seemed to appreciate the privacy, frequently mourning his daughter with an honesty that made them all uncomfortable. 

Maria went off to do the Gods only knew what, disappearing for hours at a time, then coming back wet, cold, and carrying little. Though she always had information. Which parts of the city were too grimm invested to traverse, which were now completely underwater, which were too unstable as Atlas tilted like a ship, disappearing beneath the waves. It gave them all focus and, surprisingly, something like hope. Whatever else she carried was usually small, such as the seeds filched from the bio laboratories.

"Couldn't take them all," she said, critically surveying the land, "what with so many of the labels getting lost in the crash. Don't want to eat something your lot has experimented on."

"You should. If we're lucky you'll mutate into someone bearable." Watts, taking stock of the clothing they'd gathered, didn't seem to realize that Maria was flipping him off.

He went on a deep dives (sometimes literally) for salvageable tech, most of it of a practical nature, but other pieces... not. Nothing had shifted Ironwood's world view quiet like day two, walking in on Watts looming over Pietro, assuming there was another fight brewing... only to overhear them exchanging theories, the conversation filled with as many insults as legitimate claims. Still, the seeds of camaraderie were there, and were perhaps easier to grow than originally thought. After all, Watts had once been one of them and Pietro, for all his heroics, had once entered Ironwood's office with a manic gleam in his eye, rambling about giving an aura to a machine. Defense technology at its finest!

 What was it Glynda had said? Ah yes, agreeing with young Ms. Nikos about how "wrong" it all was. But desperate times, desperate measures and all that.

They'd had that discussion, of course. Soon after Ironwood awoke, talk of Amity began again, this time about whether it was possible to send another message. With enough time and effort, not to mention luck... a short one, perhaps, and only sent to an individual scroll.  But what was the point? Who would they call? When no one could — or would — answer that question, the idea was dropped.

In the days since, Ironwood had fantasized about messaging Glynda. One of the few who'd ever been a true friend, perhaps the only one left alive who might care that he was still among the living... if Ms. Rose's message hadn't killed that too. Not that it mattered. Even if Amity wasn't a hunk of metal gathering ice, Ironwood hadn't a clue what he might say to her.

Dear Glynda,

Thank you. Sorry. Good luck.

Sincerely,

General James Ironwood

P.S. If things had ended differently, I would have asked for a second dance.

How ridiculous.

So he walked the broken streets of Mantle and climbed the streets of Atlas, more and more of it disappearing every day. Their hoard grew though, born of not just military property, but personal belongings as well. It wasn't as if anyone was coming to claim them. Unless more magic was at work, both cities would be miles beneath the ice before anyone crossed the border again. Still, Ironwood would always pause before packing away what he found in the hastily abandoned houses. Bedding. Utensils. The literal shirt off someone's back. He'd changed into jeans and a thick sweater the second day, taken from a collection of civilian clothes he'd placed into a locker years ago and promptly forgot about. The uniform felt... obsolete now, no matter that his goals remained the same.

He'd encountered Maria on one of those trips, admiring a basket of yarn in some nameless Atlesian's living room. Her shoulders had tensed at his approach, but she just snorted at the sight of him.

"You knit?" he asked, unsure of what else to say.

"No."

"Crochet?"

"No."

Ironwood didn't know any other crafts that involved yarn. "Then why are you taking it?"

Maria hummed. "Just a thought. That I might, someday, try to learn." She shook a book she’d pulled from the basket: Knitting For Beginners.

A stray thought indeed. The thing they still didn't talk about. The closest they got was on the fifth night when an explosion sounded outside, massive enough to unsteady them even deep within the vault. By the time all four of them had made it out and onto one of the roofs, the sky had turned a sickly yellow, followed by black tendrils that raced, turning, back and around on each other until everything went dark. The only light came from what little electricity they had running on generators and a red aura, pulsing from the West.

From Vacuo.

Realistically, it might have meant that they'd won. It wasn't as if Ironwood had any idea what the death of an immortal witch looked like. But the night wore on and they had no idea because that unnatural, starless black never receded. In time, Pietro wandered off and returned with two bottles he'd pilfered from somewhere, cracking the tops off on the side of his chair and passing them around.

They still didn't say it aloud, though the sky and the alcohol said enough already. Ironwood kept his eyes on the watch his mother gave him, hours ticking by until sunrise was long overdue. Atlas felt even colder now and that red, seeming to inch closer, sent a different kind of chill down his spine. The grimm that still prowled below had taken off hours ago, summoned by some unheard call.

Ironwood downed the dregs of his bottle and threw it into the city.

"Come on," he said. Ordered maybe, or asked. He wasn't sure he knew the difference anymore.

Blankets. Glasses. As many non-perishables as they could find. Generators. Tool kits. The building blocks of renewable energy. Clothing. Decorations. Wood to build small, individual dwellings.

Watts hoarded laptops and a small mountain of batteries, never showing them what he was working on, intensely protective.

Maria grew obsessed with entertainment, snagging every book, game, and video until there was a veritable library piled on the grass. She kept muttering about deserving a real retirement.

Pietro built a shrine to Penny, a simple stone monument to the left of the doorway. He tended to organize their supplies there, occasionally reaching out a hand to brush the code he'd inscribed with a laser. Whatever meaning it held, Ironwood couldn't read it within the ones and zeros.

And he... he found a cat. His last day, picking his way across dwindling islands until his eyes found the small, electrical fire just out of the water's reach. The cat had wedged herself into the rubble above it, trying desperately to keep warm.

She was as black as the sky above them and Ironwood was sure, when he reached out, that she'd run, terrified of his prosthetic hands. They certainly weren't any warmer, but she weakly crawled into them nonetheless. Ironwood held her securely against his left side, where his heart and flesh were, and thought with an absurd, internal laugh that he'd at least saved one.

There was so much left to do still, but their time was gone. That evening, eating what little they had the stomach for, water began to pour from the vault's elevator. First a trickle, then a deluge, until there was a sizable waterfall to admire. Ironwood sat on the steps with his unnamed cat on his shoulder, watching inevitability creep towards him.

He could still lie though.

"There's still time," he said, addressing the three behind him. "If you head up the elevator shaft and down the west hall, you can still break the surface. Find one of the remaining airships. Fly away."

Watts scowled, avoiding his gaze. He remained leaning against the doorway though. 

Maria and Pietro exchanged glances.

"I'd carry you," Ironwood offered to Pietro. They both knew it would be a death sentence with their combined deadweight, but he'd do it anyway.

"No," he said softly. "I did all I could already."

Maria. She was harder to read with those goggles, but it wasn't peace on her face. Guilt, more likely, but that had never stopped any of them before.

"It's damn cold out here," she muttered and marched back to the grass. Pietro followed her, Watts trailing not far behind. He turned back though.

"You coming?"

Ironwood didn't answer and eventually Watts left, heading into the meadow that stretched until you lost sight of where you'd been — and then reappeared there. A tiny pocket dimension, born of a magic now lost to this world. Ironwood figured that a bit of water and ice couldn't break it.

Probably.

He watched the flood cover the floor of the vault, then lap upwards, one stair at a time. There was a part of him, a part unimaginably tired, that thought he might just sit there. Keep rooted until the water was so high it was too late to do anything. That would be easy. Fitting, even. Shouldn't he go with his kingdom?

But then the cat — his cat — dug nails into his shoulder and Watts said something that made Maria screech. Ironwood sighed.

There were still things to protect, simple as that had become.

He turned his back on Remnant, now encased in an eternal night, and walked to the three who remained, cowering in an eternal day.

Ironwood allowed them one last choice and when they all nodded, he kicked the vault door shut.

[amukmuk]

6,15,21,24!

Eek! Thank you for the ask! <333

6) something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now

Oh the one thing I really wanted to change I was actually able to fix! In my outline for Undercover everything is the same except the Twilight doesn’t break down. But then I was like, whyy would two people run for a hotel and not their ship? So in chapter three, I added a wee tid bit about how the unreliable hunk of junk finally died lol so that way they have a longer time of and-there-was-only-one-bed! and spend a couple days together pining :3 

15) why did you start writing?

I started writing, in general, in middle school because my best friend did. We would trade stories, though mine were apparently too painful to read, and she eventually quit reading mine altogether XD When I moved away for my graduate program for a while, I felt terribly lonely and dove head first into fandom, the SVU fandom, which is where I published my first ever fanfic <33 Not to be too mushy, but now, I am so grateful for the little corner of community I have found <33 

21) what do you think when you read over your older work?

Personally, I hate reading it. But I’m still really proud of it. I wouldn’t be half the writer I am today if I had never taken that first step of putting those words on paper. At the time, it made me happy and every once and a while a kudos will pop up for it, so I know it is making someone else a little happy too and that is all that matters :3 

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

YES. For Intertwined I became an expert on heart surgeries and replacements XD the injury is wildly fictional, but the surgeries, treatments and therapies are all very real things that I spent way too much time researching XD 

From this ask list

[honestsycrets]

Way Too Close || [AHA x Reader]

“Where is my gift?” “It’s a secret…” (Ivar or Ubbe Alex Hoegh Andersen for @ivarsrideordie)

⇁ Pairing | AHA x Reader (god rest my soul)

⇁ tw | RPF (please know I don’t write RPF usually, so please don’t request me), crazy fan ladies, general floof, and angst.

⇁ summary | you really hate overreacting this– even if you know its someone he’ll likely never see again.

⇁ sy notes | I don’t write AHA. I don’t. But @ivarsrideordie has been really down this christmas season so I wanted to make something for her that would make her feel better. that being said, please don’t request AHA. 

He’s that sort of boy.

You know that Alex has a lot of fans. Some crazier than others, and so when it happened, you tried to understand. But there was something about it that wouldn’t sit well with you. No matter how many times you played it over in your mind, the sight of the Brazilian girl’s arms thrown over his broad shoulders under the magic of a deep green mistletoe, lips against lips, it just-- it was what it was. Maybe he could deal with this geniality but at some point, you had to leave and get some air.

Getting some air led to strutting down the street, and with your heels hooked around your fingers, your blackened feet made their way to the rented apartment through the chilly park. The wind whistles through the high trees, singing softly with the memory of the moment only a few minutes ago during the Christmas exchange at an event.

“Where is my gift?” Annoying Bitch said. You crane your head, catching Alex in an awkward laugh, followed by an equally stunted response. “...it’s a secret,” Alex said, a hint of flirt at the end of that statement. Though, if you’re being honest, that’s simply how he always sounded.

“Oh really,” Standing Way Too Close said, and the moment that followed was something you had seen one too many times. A forced kiss he bowed out of, catching you standing there with eyes otherwise unamused. Alex apologized. So did Not at All Remorseful. “I didn’t-- I never knew you were together.”

“Not together,” you said with a cock of your head. “I’ll catch you later, Alex.”

Still Touching Alex Way Too Much cracks a smile, clearly not fooled and yet-- as he peels her hands from his neck, bending his head as if in an apology, you’re out the front door and down the street.

He clearly had work left to do there. And maybe you had a few too many drinks stumbling through that park because you were so sure he would be busy for the night. Christmas Eve night-- not a usual thing. No, not really. He’s open with communication on these important little dates knowing how you love, and hate, and love them.

This holiday would definitely be a hate.

0914 BEEP BEEP

0824 BEEP BEEP

Your fingers curl at the keypad. Somehow, you made it here, and the keypad has never been more aggravating than it was in that second. And that wasn’t fair, because with dirty feet, a broken heart, and a boozy head-- the last thing you wanted to do was fight with a hunk of junk screen!

“Here,” someone slips beside you and tacks at the metal numbers. “0894.”

A softer beep follows this time, and you all but slump inside toward the elevator-- heading up toward the stupid apartment where you could collapse into sleep and find out how you would explain storming out so unreasonably.

Perhaps you would say that your stomach was upset. That the booze wasn’t treating you well. Or maybe-- maybe you could lie. That was it. You would tell him that… you needed to make a phone call in private. Where you wouldn’t see like that overbearing girl who wouldn’t let her man do his job.

“Thank you,” you say once you both get into the elevator-- because manners are manners. God, the elevator is hot. You slip off the coverall from your shoulders, watching as the hazy numbers definitely begin to change. Even with the fact that you’d not hit anything at all. There’s a pause, then the doors open, and you walk to the shared apartment fumbling with your purse the whole way.

Once inside, you abandon your heels by the door. Your head thumps with the repetitive beat of the music from that afterparty, and when you drop onto the couch, your eyes are glowering at the ceiling. It’s cold-- you light the fireplace, bending down in your mid-thigh length dress. The fire crackles softly in front of you. A pleasant distraction from the mess of an evening when you’re curled up on fluffy blankets, stroking the faux fur on the ground. A notepad sits in front of you. The words all jumble in your mind like a good jigsaw puzzle that needs just a hint of unraveling for the new song you meant to be working on for a client overseas.

Can’t make him change his mind.

Which, right, you think-- that was the hope you had, anyway. The more reasonable side of you says that its impossible to hold him up to the standards you were holding him up to. For most men, that situation would have been a great, big no. He’s spoken for, you could have said, and smacked Bitch Be Touching Too Much so hard that her eyeliner would fly off. But the more reasonable part of you said: Breathe. Relax. Stop-- which is exactly what you end up not doing.

Keys jingle at the front door sometime later. You figure you should go ahead and go to bed, change out of this stupid dress. You find yourself instead laying there, staring at the crackling fire, and replaying the night over and over again. If anything, he looked oddly exhausted with the throwing off the arms and kisses and-- god, what man would be tired of that?

He would. You knew he would. Anyone would. A hundred, a thousand fake smiles-- all those expectations and nowhere to go from them? It would have to be exhaustive. And though that songwriting resulted in a hundred drafts, you knew you couldn’t send any one of those to your clients. Well, maybe. But you should probably leave the bat part out of it. Then again, some artists went for that shit. Psychotic fucks.

“Love,” he says-- and it causes you to turn over, because you’re a sucker for that, as much as you shouldn’t be. The keys settle on the small wooden table just to the right of the door. “Are you awake?”

“Nope,” you answer, flicking the page. “Pretty sure I’m dead.”

There’s a small sound of him slipping out of his silvery shoes behind you. His steps become softer when he slides behind you, running his hand over the small notebook you worked on. You nip him with the tip of your pen.

“I saw you run out. Not so discreet, by the way.” He teases, and you puff out your lips, musing him even further.

“Looks like I won’t be a spy anytime soon.”

“Stick to songwriting,” Alex pauses, flicking through the pages long enough for you to know that he’s reading, and maybe not so amused with what he’s finding on the pages he’s working on.

“I have a song due before Christmas,” you lean over to snatch the journal. Despite the fact that the haze of anger has fizzled out, you’re fixated upon the pad. Because maybe-- just maybe, you could think of something in the mood you were in.

“That doesn’t seem like a Christmas song.”

“I never would have guessed,” you mumble, finding yourself stubbornly pushing up. Alex stops you with his hand upon your shoulder. “Let’s talk about it.”

“What is there to talk about?” You say. “Brazilians have the culo. You like culo. No problem.”

“Brazilians don’t speak Spanish.”

“It’s in South America. Close enough,” you say, sitting right side up. This manner of speaking, well, it’s deflection. There’s no if, ands, or butts-- (heh, see what you did there), about it.

“What is this really about?” Alex’s voice strains when he speaks again, and you’re more on edge by this point. Your shoulders, tense. Your eyes, to the ground. Yeah, jokes aside, your head hurt about as much as your heart.

“It’s probably just this new song.”

“Are you going to keep lying?” He’s probably tired, and though cuddling by the fireplace would have been preferable, Alex knows that there’s something eating at you that you just can’t make into words. A stab of self-loathing churns in your stomach, and you know you have to do something to stop this avoidance. You relax against him, staring at the brightest part of the fireplace until your eyes give away.

“The kisses,” you respond, failing in your smile. “They’re tiring.”

And he knows-- he knows how tiring it is. On-screen, that was one thing. Off the screen, well, those kisses should have been yours. Well, and his insane friends. You couldn’t forget them either.

“You know I can’t help that.”

“I know. They’re like flies,” you say. Your eyes close, and you try your best to shut out the heartbreak like you usually do. “Why don’t you age already?”

“Might make it worse,” he grins, cheesily so. “Could be a silver fox.”

“You’re impossible,” you muse, pushing his shoulder tersely. “How am I to do anything with you?”

He scoffs a little, eyes flitting down over your shoulder, and tightens his hold around your waist. There was nothing to be done or said, but you’re within confidence that he didn’t really mean to do what he did. Things like this-- they just… happened.

“You don’t,” he muses. “You love me and forget the rest.”

It sounds like the headliner for the next song. Your fingers tingle, reaching toward your notes. He stops you, bringing his hands back around to cradle yours around your waist. “Forget work for a minute,” he says. “Maybe for a whole night.”

“What do I get instead, hm?”

“Christmas cuddles.”

“Yeah,” You recline back, shifting into him when he kisses you upon on your cheek. The silence of the night is outlined by the soft heave and drop of his chest. At the end of the day, he’s here. WIth you-- and that’s what matters. “Yeah, I guess that works too.”

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound​ @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys​  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage

[blueskyheadleft010]

A few stray thoughts [Wrapping up watching Voltron S7]

But okay, first off I want to say this is obviously spoilery so don’t like, don’t read.

Also, my opinion will probs be a bit contradictory to most of the tumblr voltron fans, but bare with me here, I just wanted to point out some interesting things...

Okay so first, I just wanted to say the the ‘Family Feud’ rip off ep made me want to gag, and the only thing I liked about it was Pidge being smart enough to fool ‘Bob the host’ into letting his guard down so she could attack him.

Also, why? was it even needed? at all???? Honestly, the whole ep was like an animated bad work of fiction, and I seriously cannot believe the writers would pull this kinda crap so late in the series.

Moving on, there were points in the show that had me excited but there was also low points were I just wanted the story to move on and I felt like they were trying too hard to connect crucial moments and ended up adding in random junk because they had no idea what to fill in.

For example, the druid fight and finding Kolivan could’ve been shortened way down and honestly nothing would’ve changed.

Also, can we just talk about how Kolivan was being held? And (possibly) waterboarded?!? When I first saw that I was like, ‘woah, holy shit guys. That’s not okay. That’s not an okay thing to do/show’. That was fucking terrifying to watch, and even if he wasn’t being treated that way, the fact alone that he was being held in the air by rope in a very painful position is very scary and if Kolivan was real I would’ve been seriously concerned how tf he lasted so long without losing circulation to at least his extremities.

‘The Last Stand’ was where I began regaining my interest in the story as finally we got to see Sam back on Earth, and hot damn did he ever deliver the justice that the Garrison deserved. 

I also liked Iverson not ending up being a jerk, and was honestly just trying to keep the peace and do the right thing. It was a huge improvement, and whether or not he deserved this change in character, he reminded the audience that people can change and become better, which is something I can get behind 100%. :)

(Lol, tho I totally predicted the lady commander being evil. She had her head too far up her butt to see the light of day. Doesn’t mean I agree with her dying tho :U)

Anyways, I love how Sam just ends up taking the reigns, being an overall wonderful/kind man, and laying down the law just flat out instead of trying to play nice and let Earth be mowed over by the Galra. (Would’ve liked to have heard from other global powers about what their thoughts were on this whole plan, but meh I guess that would’ve been too crazy to write with everything else going on.)

What I didn’t expect was how long they were going to focus on the Garrison arc, and like, all the people inside. Like, that’s fine I guess? but it made me worry that we were going to be seeing something like Go!Lion or have another voltron team or something, and really the only 2 people on the fighter team we knew were Keith’s rival? and Lance’s sister, but the other people might as well have just been random civilians because idk what their background was other than they were good pilots. 

(also was the blond chick autistic or something? idk she just seemed a little less socially adept and more like a calculating computer, and god would I have loved it if they said she was and showed more about her and the other people because I can just sense a story behind them...)

It was cool seeing Earth tech and Altean tech work to make the Atlas, but seriously? SERIOUSLY?!?!? You just HAD to make another voltron toy to sell didn’t you Dreamworks? V_V

Why did you make Shiro be the pilot? Why did the Atlas have to become the new Castle of the Lions? How come Coran couldn’t help with anything aboard it? HOW COME THE SHIP DIDN’T FREAKING BLOW UP AFTER THAT FIRST SPACE SHOT?!?

All of this felt weird and odd, and like now that it is the new CotL, idk what to think. It’s just odd to have a bunch of military/space cadets running about on a ship and listening to young adults/teenaged voltron pilots tell them what to do to help in a war.

Also, how come we didn’t see anything about the humans as slaves in Galra encampments? Like, is humanity screwed now? The galara did blow up their satellites, how will Earth work the same?

This was literally 9/11-WWIV to them. Which is so bizarre.

The paladins literally came back to an Earth that, for all they knew, was completely obliterated, and they were just walking over corpses. (There had to be some. There was no way every human on that planet evacuated in time.) That thought alone is weird to think about in a Y7 kids production.

Not to mention the fact that this even happened at all?? Like, I get the fear of Earth being destroyed is a terrifying thing, but the writers just kept dangling it over our heads so much that for a bit I genuinely believed that the amount of bs going on against the heroes would just pile up and the Earth was just going to be fucking obliterated by how many holes were in their plans. The only thing keeping me from that was the fact that there would be no show if they did that, but that’s not a very comforting thought, nor does it make me want to root for everyone. What’s the point when you know how it’s going to end?

Idk, it was so out of place I felt like I was watching an entirely different show. Since when did the paladins ever fight like military pilots? Why and how were there random pockets of human resistance that could somehow communicate to each other? How tf did the Garrison come up with tech to stop the drones from sending out signals to each other? Why didn’t they use that to stop Sendak’s ships???

Granted, there was some solid planning (mostly from Sam) that was genuinely smart (like the mini satellites they used that were too tiny and so many that the Galra couldn’t shoot at them); but most of everything after ‘The Last Stand’ episodes became a giant martyr after giant martyr of the team defying the odds but not having time to catch their breath. And that last robeast? I get why they needed to show off where the Altean colony went to, but the fight was lackluster compared to fighting Sendak’s whole fucking army and winning. (Even Allura complains about this, showing how self aware this show actually is when they put their thinking hats on).

The fact that the robeast was even that fucking powerful in the first place was insanity and why would you even have an impossible to beat villain take down the most hard to kill heroic team anyways? Aren’t we trying to show how friendship saves the day? Why give Shiro that credit? What the hell does he have that the paladins don't?

Apparently a big fucking ship named Atlas. That’s what.

And now we move onto my biggest grievance: The deaths and near-deaths of characters.

Why. Just why?

It was so poorly done, and kinda random. Adam didn’t get the screen time the writers were building up for him. All of Shiro’s problems, his degenerative disease, his near death again after the clone body tried to reject him (which ‘thank you Shiro’ we ‘totally’ need to be reminded how much shit you went through when you were talking with Lance about it. Not cool), and then his new arm trying to kill him? Dealt with in like 5 seconds. False alarm! Shiro’s totally not gonna die this time! ( ͡ಠ ͜ʖ ͡ಠ)

But I think the worst one was at the end when Shiro is giving that speech to the  humans with the lions standing behind him not online after we’d just seen them crash land on Earth in a fiery blaze, and honestly??? I thought they were dead.

Goodbye my sweet precious babies, you died protecting Earth and now the fucking Garrison is gonna end up showing those knock-off paladin cadets into the lions and things are gonna be okay again~!

No joke, that’s what I thought. 

But then suddenly they’re fine? In a hospital??? Why???? WHAT?!?!?!?

Cue music overture with a montage of everyone’s families and friends coming to say hello to them (instead of explaining wtf happened to all of them) and lots of hugging and oh yeah we forgot about Matt so here’s two frames of him with his weird android girlfriend? thing and long ponytailed head.

Cute, real heartwarmer with Shay suddenly having an entire fucking Balmeran transport her to Hunk. (omg think of how that’s affecting Earth’s gravity atm, the ocean tides r gonna b so screwed over).

Anyways, I did begrudgingly like the new season; but only barely, and I was nowhere near as excited watching this one as I was with previous seasons. There was too much testing my suspension of disbelief, not enough breathers during the last bit, and just overall confusion from all the devastation and chaos caused by Sendak. (Where the hell is Haggar?????)

Overall the story seemed to be trying too hard, and I’m not happy with that. I want Season 8 to smooth over some of this, but I don’t have the highest of hopes. I honestly just want to see my paladin children happy and not fighting a war, and I don’t want to focus on random secondary characters anymore. I want fulfillment, I want the paladins to come to some sense of self satisfaction and growth, regardless of the shipping.

Season 7 took two steps forwards and two steps back with the character development. They progressed Hunk and Sam, but regressed Lance and the others a bit. Coran has officially become the doorstop, with Shiro getting a whole army to command, and random secondary cadets acting like their the lead characters of the show.

I don’t want that. I want the normalcy the show has had up till now. I just want back regular Voltron.

[reality-imagined]

Schematics

Part X

SWU Poe x Female!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Flirting, Cursing?

Word Count: 1378

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Star Wars characters or plots mentioned. All rights reserved to Lucasfilm and the writers/creators of The Last Jedi.

Masterlist

           If evacuating the base felt like pandemonium, then there were no words to describe what was happening now on Crait. You and the people around you were all that was left of the Resistance, and you didn’t even want to think about counting out that number. The significance and weight of that thought weighed heavily on everyone’s mind as they fought for survival. You couldn’t help but wish for the security and hominess of D’Qar once more, but the thought of the old base only left you with more grievance rather than a sense of security.

           You had to physically shake those thoughts from your head as you set do to the task in front of you. You stood, staring at the wiring and main panel to one of the speeders left behind on the deserted base. It was the only option your few pilots had and, despite your lack of expertise when it came to air crafts, Poe still stood behind you - insisting you look at it. Even though you weren’t quite sure what you were looking at…

           “You know more about these things than I do…” You murmured, trying to at least find somewhere to plug in your data pad to try and run a diagnostic report. Was this thing so outdated it didn’t have an electronic diagnostic output? You blanched at that thought.

           “I’ve never piloted a speeder like this, Y/N. Is there anything you can tell me?” You could tell he was trying desperately to keep his tone cool and neutral, but anyone could tell that even the best pilot in the, what was left, of the Resistance was on edge about the odds. You were frustrated, not at him, but the fact that despite all of your studies and work towards being the best at your many jobs – this one you were utterly failing at. And this was not a time to be failing.

           “All I know is that it looks like it uses a… thingy to stabilize it as it moves.”

           Poe deadpanned, “A thingy.”

           “I told you I don’t know about these hunks of junk, Dameron.” 

           “It’s called a mono-ski.” 

           You and Poe both turned around to see Rose, looking at you a bit concerned. So your terminology was a bit off, at least you were able to find the main control panel amongst the rust and panels that were barely hanging on.

           “Perfect. Teach him. I’m gonna… go do something else.” You gave a Poe a pat on the shoulder and Rose a smile before b-lining it out of there. You hated not being the best at whatever task was set before you and now was not the time to let that little bug eat away at your thoughts.

           As soon as you reached the control room, you didn’t hesitate to start helping Connix with sending out distress signals to allies. Suna and Raena looked at each other, hope in their eyes that their own planets would come to the rescue. You tried to drone out the announcement of the ski-speeders being deployed, as well as the subsequent sound of blaster rounds. You couldn’t ignore the worried tone in Rose’s voice and the fact that the blaster sounds were getting increasingly closer until a loud crash was heard from, where you imagined, the ground forces lay. You couldn’t bear to look out the large windows to see the ski speeders racing towards the ginormous machinery that the Force Order had or the destruction that was already taking place.

           There was a commotion that you couldn’t make out because of multitasking and sensory overload, not to mention a level of anxiety that you had never experienced before. Your limits were constantly being tested and driven, and just when you thought you’ve bared all that you could – something else goes terribly wrong. Whatever had happed sounded hopeful, like back-up had arrived, and you held on to that hopefulness as you continued working. Leia would pace, then pause to really listen to what was happening outside, then pace once more. 

           “We’re taking on a lot of loses.” 

           All eye turned to the main monitor in the middle of the room then, doubtfulness and worry clouding everyone’s eyes. 

           “Please don’t do anything heroic.” You whispered to yourself, joining Suna and Raena at the main monitor. Poe’s static voice mentioned something about what they had planned being a suicide mission and you felt your heart drop. It wasn’t unlike your pilot do something stupidly valiant in an effort to save the day. But Finn was the one not listening this time, and you felt absolutely no relief - sure, you had only known and spoken with him briefly. But Finn was important to Poe and that meant something to you. The vulptices shook with unease as the dust began to fall from the ceiling due to the laser cannon slowing melting away the thick metal door keeping the First Order out. 

           Communication was shut between Rose and Finn’s speeders at nearly the same time, you were unsure what that entirely meant and didn’t have time to think much more of it. The red circle continuously growing on the metal door meant that whatever Finn had intended either didn’t happen or didn’t work. Before you could finish that thought, the door exploded under the magnitude of the laser, shattering the glass windows of the control room. A large gaping hole was left amidst a blazing fire - giving the First Order an easy entry. 

           Connix and D’Acy gave the worst news that could’ve happened in that moment. 

           No one, in the entire galaxy, was coming to aid in what was left of the Resistance. You all were alone. No hope. No salvation. Nothing. There were no words to describe what you felt. Of all the emotions that had passed through your systems in past hours, a feeling of nothings flowed through your veins. And you almost felt appreciative, maybe it would make seeing the end easier. Suna and Raena exchanged horrified looks. Their families, from two entirely separate planets – in two different rims of the galaxy, didn’t even send support or respond. You felt for them as they realized the magnitude of their family’s silence and lack of support.

           Leia gently sat back on the table behind her in defeat. There was nothing you could do or say to console her, but you felt that the least you could do was place a hand on hers to let her know that - despite this being the end, she wasn’t alone. 

           “The spark… is out.” she sighed, just as a figure approached from the back of the room. Your nerves stood on edge as you weren’t sure who this person was. If they were friendly or from the First Order, but you didn’t move from beside Leia as they approached. “Luke.” she finally breathed. 

           Oh. oh. You instantly took few steps back then. That was Luke freaking Skywalker. You knew now was not the time to fangirl, or mention how cool you thought the Force was or the stories that Leia had shared with you, so you just stood there. Probably looking a bit lost and shell-shocked, but you couldn’t look away from their exchange. Leia made a joke about her hair and you moved to stand with C3-PO as they started talking about the General’s son - Kylo. 

           Their exchange was short and Luke walked by C3-PO and you. The droid acknowledged him, to which Luke gave a wink. You wish you could’ve thought of something more meaningful to say but all you could manage was a weak and nervous:

           “Hi.”

           He gave a nod and continued his way and you couldn’t help but compare your embarrassment from this exchange to nearly all your exchanges with Poe.

On the embarrassment scale, this was worse. Way worse. 

           You returned to stand beside Leia, who was now looking out at the bay-like windows. The First Order had approached quickly, but that wasn’t what surprised you. Luke was walking out alone, facing the military force of the First Order. You looked to Leia with apprehension in your eyes but she didn’t look at you, her own eyes were glued to her brother who facing an entire army alone.

A/N: I have an idea for a sequel... which wasn’t what I wasn't intended but given that I have some freedom with how TLJ ended... idk I’m gonna mull over that a bit and actually see how you guys like the final part (which is only two posts away!) before I start really thinking about it lol As always, thanks for reading! ❤️

Tags: @introvertedmouse @i-said-goddameron @ttawny @xfirewolfx74 @theladyofmanyfandomsofficial @imaginecrushes @empathiccally @emily-vole @xenwayy @yourwonderbelle @omgikwangminwoo @fortheloveoflamp @zestygingergirl @unstoppableforcce

[boredstudent-blog]

July Fluff Friday: Rusted

Rated: For all, sort of hints at nonspecific childhood trauma/abuse. Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Itachi wants to get closer to his brother, who rejects him. Itachi’s wife, Sakura, helps him in the aftermath. 

And yes, I did get the idea for the Impala due to Supernatural... I’m a big fan, lol

“Look, I understand why you want to fix your relationship between you and your brother, but I don’t think buying a hunk of junk and fixing it together is going to fix anything,” Sakura said, leaning against the counter as she glared at her husband. “What will you do when the car is fixed? You won’t have anything to maintain the bond, Itachi. Why spend so much time and money on fixing a car, when it’s only going to be a band-aid solution?”

Itachi sighed. “My father re-bonded with my brother over a golf game. Why couldn’t I do so while fixing a car with him? It’s a classic car, and he likes classic cars. It also wasn’t that expensive, love.”

His wife stared at him. “Sasuke did not reestablish his relationship with your father via golf game. They fought the whole time, according to Naruto, who was there. He joined them, remember? He said they argued through the entire game. And that car may not have cost much buying it originally, but it’s all rusted out and half the engine is missing, and what is there is broken! It’s going to cost you more in the long run. You would do better scheduling a family therapy group and getting down to the root of the problem.”

“I don’t disagree with the need for a therapist’s intervention, but how can we talk Sasuke into it without getting him to talk to one of us first?” Itachi inquired, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“He talks to your mom and he talks to Naruto. Talk to them and see if they can talk him into a therapy session.”

“They wouldn’t be able to,” Itachi said dismissively. “Why are you so upset about this, anyway? Is it that I spent money or something?”

“I’m not upset. I am concerned. You keep talking about wanting kids and a house, but then you go spend money on a junker as a long shot to re-bonding with your brother. I know you miss Sasuke and the relationship you guys had, but it’s not going to just be healed over fixing a car. Sasuke needs to get into a room with a therapist and talk about what happened in middle school between himself and your uncle’s friend, or he’ll never heal from it in the first place. I am not an expert, but—“

“If you’re not an expert in figuring out what’s wrong with me, shut up,” Sasuke suddenly said from the doorway to the tiny apartment, glaring at Sakura. He had used the spare key the couple had given him to get into the apartment. “I don’t see what your attraction is to such a bossy know-it-all, brother.”

Itachi stood and approached Sasuke. When he was a couple of feet from the younger Uchiha, he stopped and smiled.

“It’s good to see you, little brother. We’ve not seen each other for over a year. How have you been?”

“Fine. I assume you’ve been fine, based on what Mother told me. Did you really get married via justice of the peace? Father must have been livid.”

“We did,” Itachi said calmly. “And no, Father wasn’t pleased. Come on, I have something to show you.”

The brothers left the apartment, leaving Sakura alone. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her forehead tiredly. She loved Sasuke as much as Itachi did, but his continued disrespect to his family and to her was difficult to handle. She wanted to smack him, sometimes. Then again, she also knew that he hadn’t started to act so cruelly to his family until his uncle’s business associate, Orochimaru, was alone with him. No one knew exactly what happened in those two hours, but Sasuke was never the same.

Itachi watched his brother’s face as they moved to the carport, where the car that was once a 1967 Chevy Impala sat. It was missing two doors, all the upholstery was holey or rotted, and any glass that remained was cracked or scratched so badly, it was impossible to see through the glass. The tires were worn to the point of baldness, and one of them had many large nails embedded deeply in the rubber. The engine was broken and had been picked through for parts that worked, and anything left had water damage, rust issues, or was just too old. The body of the car was nearly all rust as well. Itachi had to admit that Sakura was right: the poor old thing was a junker… but maybe Sasuke would see it as a project that was worthy of his time. Maybe he would be willing to work on it with Itachi, and open up to his brother for the first time in years.

“What is it?” Sasuke said derisively, wrinkling his nose as they stopped in front of the rusted-out car.

“It’s an old Impala. A 1967 Impala. I know how much you like classic cars.”

“That is a piece of crap, brother. Someone screwed you over.”

“No,” Itachi said. “I bought it as a project car. I thought perhaps you’d like to join me in fixing it up? You know more about cars than I do.”

“Really, Itachi?” Sasuke’s tone was a mix of boredom and irritation… and maybe a hint of fear? “First, Father invites me to a game of golf, which is the most boring sport of all time. Now you come along with some trite and pointless brotherly bonding activity? Pathetic.” As Sasuke turned to leave, Itachi grabbed his wrist.

“Please.” The word came out low, but passionate, full of desperation and fear. Full of longing.” Please stay. If you don’t want to work on the car, we don’t have to. We can go up and have a cup of tea in the apartment. We can go for a walk, maybe get a drink or something. Just, don’t go.”

Sasuke pulled his wrist away from his older brother, inadvertently turning his body so they faced one another. When their eyes met, he sneered.

“Wow, brother. You’ve changed. You’ve gotten so starved for attention from me, you beg for it. How sad.” Sasuke’s face relaxed until he showed no emotion. “Lose my number. Don’t contact me again.”

Itachi stared in shock as his brother walked away, getting into his own car. After Sasuke drove off, he sat down on the concrete next to the rusted-out Impala. He had failed.

Sakura yawned and stretched, blinking in the evening light spilling into the living room, a medical journal left open on her lap. She must have drifted off reading one of the articles again. She looked around for Itachi or Sasuke and called out for her husband, but there was no response. Were they still working on the car? It was almost dusk.

After visiting the bathroom, Sakura decided she would make the brothers some drinks and snacks. She knew Itachi had not eaten much that morning, and wasn’t sure about Sasuke’s appetite, but if they had done so much work on the project, they must be hungry by this point.

Several minutes later, Sakura made her way down to the carport with a couple plastic containers filled with veggies and fruits, and two tall glasses of lemonade. She was curious about how much work they had managed on the old car, after so much time had been taken to work on it.

“Itachi? Sasuke? Are you guys hungry? I’ve got some lemonade, fruits, and veggies.”

Sakura entered the carport, but was surprised to see the car, unaltered and as terrible-looking as it had been when Itachi first showed it to her.

As she came around the front bumper of the car, her husband came into view. He was sitting on the ground with his legs slightly bent at the knees and his elbows resting upon them. He was staring into an empty space on the other side of the apartment parking lot.

“He left. He called it pathetic and he left. I failed him.”

Sakura stared at her husband for a moment, willing herself not to cry. He had been so excited leading up to this day, and she had a feeling this might happen, had been trying to warn him that very morning… and his heart was still broken. Sasuke had broken his brother’s heart.

Sakura sat down, setting the drinks and snacks on a nearby crate. She turned to Itachi and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“It’s not your failure. It’s not your fault. He’s hurt, and has been hurting since Orochimaru messed him up. Your uncle didn’t help him right away, and didn’t even tell your parents something had happened. You were in college a hundred miles away when all this started, Itachi. You’ve reached out to him over and over, and so have your parents. You’ve all done all you can. Your parents might still be able to pull some strings, given that he works in your dad’s law firm, but it’s a long shot. If he doesn’t cooperate, no one can help him. He needs to be able to trust in those who want to help him, and Sasuke doesn’t want to trust anyone yet. The only way he can heal is to trust in someone who wants to help him.”

“He used to trust me. What did I do wrong?” Itachi said as Sakura pulled him close.

“Nothing. You did everything you should have done, everything you could have done. It’s not your fault. You love him, and he knows it. Sasuke must know that. He also has other people who love him, like Naruto and me and your parents. I think Sasuke needs to relearn how to trust all of us on his own time. When he’s ready, he’ll come back. And I’ll wait with you. I’ll stay for as long as you need me, and if you want me. I love you.”

The couple sat for a while on the carport floor, Sakura holding onto her husband unwaveringly. Eventually, his shoulders relaxed, and Itachi turned his body to his wife’s, and hugged her back tightly. Long after the sun was down and the apartment complex’s security lights were up, Itachi kissed her cheek and pulled away, smiling slightly.

“Thank you, Sakura. I love you, too. You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Only for you,” she responded, smiling. “You make me want to be amazing.”

They stood together and she picked up the drinks and snacks. Sakura looked back at the rusted car.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“I had intended to give it to Sasuke once we were done restoring it. I’ll just keep it for myself instead, I suppose.”

“You did invest in the thing. I bet you’ll make it look like new,” Sakura said, smiling at the fact that her husband finally seemed to want to do something for himself. “You always do great at the projects you take part in.”

“Hmm… it’s going to take me a while,” Itachi said, looking at his Impala. “I should conduct research on how to get started. I’ve never done more than fix a flat before. I think I’ll do some research and start in the morning.”

He turned and took one of the glasses of lemonade and one of the plastic containers, then followed his wife back to their apartment. It was true that Itachi was disappointed in the fact that his brother had turned away from him, but his wife hadn’t. Itachi wasn’t alone, and he was grateful for being so fortunate in his life. He felt lucky to have a woman like Sakura to stand with him.