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suzyandthefox · 10 months ago

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Boy and the wolf

Soft safe sfw g/t m/m vore, Nervous/reluctant pred/prey!

My first vore fic let's goooo

Inspired by @stormtheskyelf2 's post about nervous pred and prey

It all started with the accident.

Everyone has got out in time, except for poor,poor Oliver.

He brought his camera, thinking he would have the chance to take a picture, but never did he, at all, think he would be the first victim of the serum.

Let's rewind, turn back a few hours ago, and see what happened.

One of the greatest inventions of all time, The Shrinking Serum, was finally revealed to the public, ready to be covered by the media.

But something…happened, The police are still investigating, still unsure if it was truly an accident, or if the experiment was sabotaged.

Either way, the laboratory exploded, and everything went into chaos, the journalists got out safely and only minor injuries occurred.

But nobody remembered to grab Oliver, or to look for him in the -now wrecked- laboratory, as if he wasn't there in the first place.

Perhaps that was his fault for pretending he was something he wasn't,a journalist is not who he is.

What happened was, when the laboratory exploded, unlucky Oliver was the one who had the serum sample flying into his face, and he remembered going down…down…down…

Everything was getting bigger, as he was getting smaller, he remembered trying to get the attention of anyone, anyone!

Screaming at the top of his lungs so that someone from the researchers, or the journalists, might hear the red headed boy.

Instead he was almost stepped on a thousand times, he then hid away where he thought was safe and cried.

Apple green eyes welled with the pain of betrayal, of insignificance, and the weight of the truth.

That was the end for him,he was sure, he was going to die here and no one will even notice it, just like no one noticed him before.

Oliver cried himself to sleep, fully believing he won't wake up again.

=============

Immortal Oo'kami, In the age of super heroes, he was one of many.

Not so great as to be worshiped by the public, with a flashy, amazing power, nor so vile and destructive as to be feared.

His superpower was simple,as his title was, Immortality.

Regenerating from anything no matter how deadly it was, never growing,never aging, but the public didn't understand how strong that power was, did they?

The person behind the mask was just as simple too, only a college student, he didn't even reach his twenties yet, a boy named Ryan.

Yet he still was trying his best, after all, what makes a hero wasn't the fame or the praise, it was the help that he gave, right?

Oo'kami shook his head and sighed as these thoughts went through his mind, and he instead focused on the mission he came for.

Restricted area? Only for the common people,not for a superhero!

Swiftly he hopped over the yellow tape,his padded ninja outfit,as silly as it was, was ensuring that not a single sound came out of him, and he was once again reminded to be grateful that he chose practicality over looks.

He stood in his place for a second, taking in the view of the wrecked laboratory, he was just here a few hours ago, not as Oo'kami, but as Ryan, with his currently missing friend, Oliver, and at least a hundred other people.

Now it was empty, desolate, not even the police stayed, and yet no one bothered to look for his lifetime friend, which yet again, reminded him of why he was doing all of this.

Deafeningly quiet, Oo'kami has focused his senses, searching for even the tiniest sound a human could pick up, and that exact sound came in the form of muffled whimpers under the rubble.

“Oliver…” he muttered, fist and teeth clenching, his heart weighing heavy with both anger and pain, but at least the boy was alive, he prayed that he wasn't hurt as well.

The hero focused his senses again on the exact place of the sound, and made sure that no one was around, it was three in the morning after all, surely no one was around, right?

He lifted a few bricks and fallen pieces of drywall, and there it was, the body of a familiar teenage boy, shrunken to the size of three inches tall, just a tiny bit bigger than a borrower, but still a painful sight for Oo'kami.

At least the injuries were minor, and he appeared to be asleep, rather than unconscious, also a great relief.

His theory proved correct when he poked the tiny boy and the latter jolted awake with a frightened yelp.

“Who-” Oliver blinked, and stared for a few moments at the giant, masked person that loomed over him.

Wait,no, he was the one who was tiny, but that person was…

“O…Oo'kami? Immortal…Oo'kami?!” Oliver blinked a few times and his eyes lit up as he realized that the hero he Idolized was truly here, in the flesh, coming to rescue him.

He stumbled in his steps and Oo'kami gently caught his form in his gloved hands, giving the boy a kind,if awkward look.

“The Oo'kami?! Is…is it really you?”

“Yes, It's me!” he gave a nervous chuckle as he collected the tiny bundle of a boy and lifted him off the ground.

“Are you alright…physically?” Oo'kami's voice was worried, he knew all too well how much of an awful situation this is, his fingertips searched carefully for any remnants of the drywall or the serum on Oliver's body.

The tiny boy nodded slowly. “I'm fine,Mr Oo'kami, thank you.”

Fortunately there were only a few scratches from where the bottle of the serum hit his face, he was, overall,unharmed and well.

The hero sighed in relief as he brought the boy to his chest.

“Please, Just “Oo'kami”, for all you know I could be as old as you are.”

“But first…What's your name?” Oo'kami asked even if he knew the truth.

“O…Oliver!” He said as he grabbed a fistful of the hero's outfit and held to it for dear life.

“Nice to meetcha,Ollie”

Getting out was difficult for Oo'kami, he had to stealth his way out with one hand, and he had to make sure Oliver wouldn't get hurt, and now that he thought about it…

“That won't do…”

He sat down with Oliver, somewhere behind the wrecked building, thinking.

The whole situation was painful, his friend was now a tiny little thing that held to him for dear life, while simultaneously viewing him as the greatest thing that ever lived.

But he wasn't what Oliver believed in, he was a confused, tired boy that just so happened to have a superpower.

He sighed heavily, unsure what to do now, he was practically trapped here with his bite sized buddy unless he wanted to risk losing him. Yes, he had secret pockets but did he really want to stuff his friend into a such a tiny space?

Wait…bite sized…

The idea was very strange at first, to the point where he wanted to completely ignore it, but it presented itself again.

It…could work, and for a temporary option…it's much much better than a tiny pocket with no room to breathe, and it's practically unreachable…unless someone decided to slice open his stomach.

He glanced at the curious Ollie, and Ollie glanced back at him, tilting his head slightly to the side.

God, he is so adorable… Oo'kami couldn't help but feel hungry…wait no, that's not right, they're both humans…

Deep breaths,Deep breaths…

“Oo'kami? Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,Ollie, I'm absolutely fine.”

“Actually…”

He looked back at the small boy.

“Could you keep a secret for me? Since you might be staying with me for a while…”

“Yes…but I don't understand ,a secret? And staying with you? What do you mean, Oo'kami?”

Oo'kami looked around warily, then took off his mask.

To his surprise, Oliver didn't look very…shocked? He gasped softly, like he realized something, but not out of shock.

“Something tells me you already knew the whole time,Ollie.”

“Yeah…You're kind of bad at keeping secrets, Ryan.” Oliver chuckled, his freckled cheeks gaining a reddish tint.

The way that the hero said “Ollie”, his voice, those few stray locks of black hair falling over his eyes, his striking electric blue eyes, they were very familiar to the shrunken boy, he already connected the dots a long time ago.

“That doesn't change anything though, you're still my best friend, and you're still my hero, you literally saved my life just now!”

Oliver threw himself into Ryan's broad chest and gave him the biggest hug his current form can get him.

Ryan smiled sadly, and returned the hug, the urge to protect his friend was getting stronger every second, and they didn't have much time.

“Do you still trust me? Even after I…lied to you?”

“Of course! You didn't lie to me, it was out of your control!”

“Good.” Ryan brought the shrunken boy to his mouth, ready to proceed, “enough hesitation” he thought.

“Uhh,Ryan, what are you doing?”

“... You're getting an inside shot!” Really? Really?! That's the best he could come up with?! The mental facepalm was so strong his face wrinkled.

“... What?” Poor Oliver just got even more confused.

“Look…I…I can't keep you in my pockets, Something will happen, I might fall, a bad guy might fight me,I might have to avoid the police, you get the jist of it…”

He tried to explain as he got the boy away from his face.

“And I need both of my hands, Okay? So I thought of an alternative_”

Oliver blinked slowly…then he realized.

“I…think I know what you're going to do,”

“Would you allow me to?” Ryan stroked the other boy's hair, his warm breath washing over him.

Oliver pondered momentarily.

“It’s safe, right?”

“Of course, otherwise I wouldn't have even thought about it!”

“I'm just…I don't know,Ryan…there's so many things that's confusing me about all of this…” His voice was cracking, barely holding the tears as he realized just how grave his situation is.

“Perhaps…Perhaps it might help me think a bit clearer…not fearing for my life and being with you,even in such an unorthodox way,”

He took a deep breath and gathered his wavering courage.

“Go ahead,I trust you with my life, just be careful about it, okay?”

Ryan felt as if he was going to cry as well, he only wanted to protect his friend, keep him safe while he is in this vulnerable state, it didn't help at all that all he could see was the instinctual fear his friend was desperately trying to hide.

“I swear on my life, it's only to help you, I will never even think of hurting you,Oliver.”

He brought the small boy to his face again, and gave him an apologetic look.

Before he could even open his mouth,Oliver put his miniscule hand on Ryan's lips.

“Wait…before you do…”

He stood up in Ryan's palm, and lifted his arms.

The hero understood his intention, and lifted him to his eyes, now able to see him better in the faint moonlight.

Oliver hugged his nose bridge,and Ryan closed his eyes and leaned into the hug.

There was a silence, both of them cherished this moment of affection, for it was the last moment they will get to be this close to each other, before layers of flesh and clothes separate them.

“I trust you.” Oliver repeated,and he meant it.

“I trust you as well.” Ryan replied, and he meant it.

Oliver sighed and let go, ready for what was coming next,and so was Ryan.

He first took away Ollie's jacket,glasses, and backpack, looking like toys in his hand, then he took his shoes and socks, the sensation no doubt a bit tickling, because Oliver let out a tiny,shy giggle.

It was cold that night, Oliver couldn't help but to shiver slightly now that Ryan took away his jacket, but not that it mattered, he was going to be somewhere warmer soon.

Ryan slightly parted his lips, just enough for the small boy to climb inside, as he didn't want to force him, he already had very little control over what's going on, it would be cruel to take away the rest from him.

For the tiny boy however, it was an invitation, the warmth that the hero's breath emitted was pleasant, gentle, different from the cold air that surrounded them, and it felt right to just get inside, where it was warm and soft, so it was exactly what he did.

Ryan -or was he Oo'kami at this moment?- was hesitant, unsure if what he was doing was even human, Ollie is already inside his mouth, so it's not like the smaller boy had any qualms with it.

But he…he was filled with dread, anxiety creeped up his spine and all sorts of fears filled his head.

What if he accidentally bit him? What if he choked on him? What if it didn't work as he imagined, and he was just dooming his best friend to a horrible, painful,slow death?

His anxious, intrusive thoughts were Interrupted by a tiny prod on his tongue, to which he responded by lightly pushing Oliver with his tongue towards his throat,and then fully closing his mouth, sealing his friend in darkness, but he wasn't ready to swallow yet.

“Ryan…I trust you,You can go ahead…” Oliver reassured, using the same words he used just a moment ago.

But they were true, he trusted Ryan with his life, he was ready to be eaten alive if it was what he believed was safe.

But the problem was,Ryan was the one who was scared, despite him being the one who suggested it in first place.

So the shrunken boy has decided to let Ryan swallow him when he deemed it necessary, and truth was, he was fascinated by the idea of being inside someone's mouth.

His curious nature made him ask himself “How do I taste like?”, but it was a question for later, when Ryan could answer him.

Could Ryan even hear him? He can hear him now, but what about when he was sent deep down to the stomach?

“Ryan, when you do swallow me…Please stay with me? I know I would be literally inside you,but…like…”

His words was failing him, but it looked like Ryan was giving him the chance to speak first, or perhaps he wanted to speak as well, but all the words will come out as a garbled mess.

“Don't forget about me,I guess?”

Oliver felt defeated, he layed down on the tongue and tried to fight the urge to cry.

He let out a yelp of surprise when the muscle underneath him shifted and moved, and he fell back towards the throat, but still he allowed it to happen.

Ryan went with it as if he was swallowing a pill, instinctively his hand was lifted to his neck, to his Adam’s apple, as he felt the small weight leave his throat.

“I would never, I promise you not a moment will pass without me thinking of you, I'm here, both in body and spirit, you aren't alone, Oliver, I won't leave you alone”

His gloved fingers followed along the small warm weight, passing behind his heart, then dropping underneath it, to which he found himself rubbing his stomach as if to feel the shrunken boy within.

“Can you hear me?” Ryan asked softly “Are you alright in there?”

For Oliver ,the journey to Ryan's center was relatively short, it was only seven seconds, but they were long seconds…

Hearing all the body functions as they work was humbling, fascinating, especially the beating heart.

But his fascination was soon interrupted with him passing through a ring of muscle, and falling face first towards the fleshy ground.

Oliver heard Ryan calling, and he prodded the stomach to tell him he arrived safely.

“I'm fine,Ryan! Can you hear me?”

The hero focused his senses towards himself,his innards, giving all attention to his inner ear.

“I hear you, Oliver!”

It was a simple statement, but it made Oliver tear up.

He wasn't forgotten,he wasn't lost inside his friend's guts, the older boy could hear him and feel him…even when they are so far away from each other.

What a paradox it was, how he was so close to Ryan…and yet so far away.

“I thought I would sizzle like bacon on a hot frying pan, but it's like…a really soft and wet bed! You have to tell me how you did that!”

As Oliver's curious hands pawed at the new environment, he slipped and fell into one of the many folds of the stomach, and he just sat there, letting himself be lovingly held and hugged by the soft organ.

Perhaps it was him craving a gentle hug, to be held and soothed after the events of today.

“You haven't eaten anything all day,have you,Ryan?”

He could tell by how the stomach was desperately trying to absorb him into it, but there were no acids, no way for him to be digested.

To think that Ryan is practically starving himself for his sake…

“Uhm…so you like it in there?” Ryan said as he put on his mask and helmet again.

“It's not bad at all…if it wasn't for your stomach trying so hard to digest me because you didn't eat anything!” Oliver grumbled and kicked lightly at one of the walls.

“For real, though, it's not that I hate it,It's more that I'm worried about you, so please, eat something when you spit me out,okay? And it better be real food and not instant ramen.”

Ryan listened and sighed.

“I tend to forget, Between college and being Oo'kami, I barely get any sleep…I often have to skip meals because of that.. Yeah, You are right, you are the only thing I've put in my belly since I woke up.”

“And you haven't fainted yet?!!”

“I'm…stubborn.”

“You definitely are!”

Ollie sat and placed both of his arms on each side of the stomach, and both of his hands barely touched the walls.

He ran some math in his head, and then laid back against the greater curve of the stomach, like a soft fleshy hammock.

“Ryan…”

“Yep?” The voice echoed around him.

“I’m scared.”

“Scared of …what?”

“Everything? I mean, how do I even begin?”

“I got shrunk to the size of a few inches tall, you ate me alive, Nobody knows I even survived except for you…”

“My parents, are they worried about me? Are they looking for me?”

“Am…Am I going to stay tiny like this forever? Where am I going to stay after that? Can I go home like this?”

“Oliver…”

“Yes?”

“You're tired,”

“Yes, Yes I am,” Oliver closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax.

“I'm also scared,Ollie, but do you know what I think?”

“We can get through this together,I won't leave you until we find a solution to all of this.” Ryan reassured once again.

“Now if you can, get some sleep, you did say it was like a bed in there,”

“I can't”

“Why?”

“It's just… New environment and all that…”

“I guess I'm going to bore you to sleep then by explaining to you how you aren't melting right now.”

They both chuckled, Oliver felt the whole place move with every laugh.

Ryan succeeded, for he kept rambling on,and on, and on, about the specifics of his power and how it's not actually ”Immortality” but a full control of his cells.

Oliver tried to be as attentive as he could, but listening to supernatural-biochemistry info dumping is sure to bore anyone to sleep, unless you were, like Ryan, passionate about the subject to the point of majoring in it.

Eventually all Ryan heard was soft breathing, poor Oliver slept ever so soundly it made him sad.

This is probably the most comfortable he had ever been in a long time.

Ryan felt both honor that he was able to provide that comfort for his friend, and shame that he had to eat his friend alive to provide him said comfort.

At least he was safe and sound, at least both of them were.

He got up, pins and needles attacking his entire lower half, but it's nothing a little walk can't fix.

He moved slowly so as to not jostle the little friend inside, then thought of his next step.

Another patrol won't hurt, before he can get to his apartment and get some shut eye as well.

“We will pass these bridges when we get to them,” he thought to himself.

“Until then,you are safe with me.”

He said, both a reassurance to himself and his sleeping friend.

#sfw vore #g/t vore #g/t #soft vore #vore writing #safe vore #vore story #g/t community #giant tiny #g/t writing #Suzywrites

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elderscrollsconceptart · 11 months ago

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Have you thought about showing off concept art from fan projects like Skyblivion/Skywind? Could be neat, and they definitely have a few concept artists. I think they'd be happy to let you show some of it off

Hello and thank you for your question!

Please everyone bear with me on this, as this will be a loooong reply, but I've got a lot to say on this matter and related matters and this ask is an opportune time to write all this 💜

I've given *a lot* of thought about this exact thing over the past few months.

Everytime I go looking on artstation, deviantart, etc. for TES artists I come across a lot of art from these and other TES community projects. The people working on these are super talented and alot of them are (IMO) on par with the in-house artists and creatives at Bethesda.

My main drive when creating this blog was to bring attention to the often ignored and overlooked artists behind TES. For years it frustrated me how comparatively little we know about the ins and out of TES games and art development. Everywhere you look online in TES and fantasy forums you see mods, fan art, fan projects etc, all worked on by brilliant and talented artists and creatives.

What is often missing however is the work and creative perspective of the official artists of TES. Take here on Tumblr for example. Follow the right tags or blogs and you'll see nothing but wonderful TES fan art from thousands of artists or fantastic mods and community passion projects.

But you know what you almost never see? Actual TES art posted by TES artists themselves, or at least their art posted by fans with the artist name attached for credit. Occasionally now and again a blog will post official TES art with proper artist credit, but there seems to never have been a blog or sub-community on here exclusively dedicated to just posting official TES art. There should be and elevating the artists of TES with proper credit is something I think we all know should be done. This blog belongs to the community and I try my best to fill this gap as I know for a fact others here feel the same as I do.

There's so much fan art online (which is a good thing!!!) but not nearly enough official TES art posted with artist credit. Thats what this blog is for.

I fear people here and elsewhere are so used to seeing fan art and trying to elevate fan artists, that when they come across this blog they will still just assume its posting fan art because thats virtually all they see on a day to day basis. This has happened numerous times. I will post a piece with full artist credit listed and someone will reblog:

"Wow! This is amazing!" #TES #Fanart

When that happens my heart aches.

It genuinely makes me feel like I'm failing my responsibility to ensure that it is clear that all art posted here is official TES art. All art seen here should be understood as the work of industry professionals working for Bethesda/Zeninax themselves.

It is really really important to stress that I *do not* personally perceive industry produced TES art as naturally superior to fan art.

Art is subjective, as is the merit of it's quality. What I'm trying to stress is that this blog is just trying to bring attention to the oft ignored or unknown artists who make TES. Fan art and projects should be praised and elevated, but I feel this blog is not the space to do so.

Almost daily I see TES fan art on here, Reddit, Twitter, etc. which gets thousands of likes.

Conversely I come across a TES artists on Artstation or elsewhere who will get literally less than a few hundred *views* let alone likes or shares.

That breaks my heart. Everyone's art should be fully appreciated, official art or otherwise. I can't imagine how it must feel to work your way up to becoming an official artist on a beloved series like TES only to have your work stolen or virtually ignored. Your work may be seen but no one will know your name or that *you* made it.

I cannot speak for them, but I'd imagine it is beyond frustrating for TES artists to see their portfolios going ignored or reshared without credit.

I really feel there *should* be a blog that shares TES fan projects art and concept art with full artist credit. That 100% should be a thing and I highly highly encourage someone in the community to make such a blog. Perhaps one day I may even make a side blog like that if I can find the time.

I hope this didn't come across as too long winded of a reply, but hopefully it clarifies the intentions and purpose of this blog for anyone who may not have know. I hope All artists who create art get the respect and exposure they deserve for their hard work and skill. This blog is my best attempt at helping official TES artists get at least a bit more credit and appreciation from the community.

Thank you all, and I apologize for not doing a more thorough job clarifying all art on this blog is official TES art by Bethesda/Zenimax artists.

Love you all 💜

#the elder scrolls #tes #asks

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hoghtastic · 1 year ago

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Yes she has gained thousands of followers and even stans because of him but I have to be honest, I always thought that if Alex posted a girlfriend she would immediately gain tens,- or hundreds of thousands of followers in a short space of time. She is so unappealing that most people ignore her. Alex has tagged and posted her several times. They're on gossip sites. He's mentioned her on a podcast and in interviews. His last post has over 120,000 likes, sorry I forgot the exact number. His queen has been tagged. He’s NEVER posted a couple photo as an adult man yet his comments were mostly about Vikings or Scotland. I don't know how many followers she gained that day, maybe someone can work out what percentage that is? If we now only think about the followers who have liked his post, out of 120k, at least half will have looked at her account right?

I mean clearly 6k is more than she would ever get without Alex. Or the blue ✔️. It's probably enough to get something for free and promote it😅, but I just think I expected something else. And I would like to say quite clearly that I don't see Alex as someone who has no influence. I think she is unappealing to the majority.

I mean don't you think that in the last few months at least several tens,- of thousands have looked at Jo's account after Alex posted her? I mean he literally said he loved her, tagged her over and over and for a while there's been a picture on her account of them kissing and only a few hundred followed her every time he tagged her?!

Yes of course in the future she will receive more and more followers thanks to him, his posts are guaranteed to give her more followers each time and of course ego boosting attention from random people online but I think you get the point I’m trying to make here. It took a long time and a lot of tagging to get one of her posts to 2k-likes on her page. And that’s the cringe elevator kiss, clinging or grabbing his on his arm.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts on this, anon! 😊 I think you interpreted/summarised the situation pretty well, but would just like to add that, maybe because we are Alex’s fans, we tend to overestimate his influence, or the real size of his fan base? He obviously still has a huge number of followers and still get many likes and comments under his posts, but aren’t the majority of them still about Ivar & Vikings? 😅 The fans who are really interested in his personal life (and would therefore check out and eventually follow Johanne) seem to be decreasing… judging by the last few remaining fanpages or less people interested in attending conventions (so much that they now have to sell pictures & autographs with discounted prices, when in the past they’d be long sold out by now…). So, I’m not sure if it’s really that surprising that Johanne didn’t get as many followers as it would be expected (solely based on Alex posting her). 🤷‍♀️

#anon asks

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spine-buster · 3 years ago

Text

mutual pining, pt. 3

gif credit @/denis-scorianov

A/N: One of our favourite OCs gets a major appearance in this chapter. And we're introduced to a new friend! Hope you guys enjoy! Also, I'm giving you a week to prepare for next week's chapter, which clocks in at 7322 words.

It all began when an influx of Instagram accounts followed Lusine during the holidays. She went from just above two hundred followers to around three hundred, and then it jumped drastically from around three hundred to seven hundred. After New Year’s, she was sitting at just under a thousand followers. It couldn’t have been any of the regular photos she’d uploaded of herself, because they were just her and alike to mostly all of the other pictures on her feed – posing, sure; and edited, of course; but nothing out of the ordinary for someone her age. It couldn’t have been university friends; it couldn’t have been Bianca’s friends, or long-lost relatives of Bianca’s family. It couldn’t have been people from high school who weren’t friends with her in the first place; and it couldn’t have been long-lost family members of hers, either, since she already had all of her cousins as followers anyway. Were her pictures really that hot? Did Aberdeen’s crouching down at New Year’s Eve to get a shot of her with the Toronto skyline in the background really peak people’s attention, even though it looked like so many others girls’ photos?

Then, account called ‘tmlwivesandgirlfriends’ followed her.

And another, called ‘leafswags’.

Then ‘nhlwags’. Then ‘hockeywives’. Then ‘leafsgirlfriends’.

She thought back to the stories she uploaded and tagged after Rasmus came to see her quartet performance and he made her dinner. She thought back to the stories she uploaded and tagged during New Year’s Eve (she got the clear from Auston, so it was okay). She thought back to the series of photos she uploaded onto her feed over the holidays – of her at the Family Skate, at the games with the girls, posing with Rasmus at her performance, and so many more…

…and then it clicked.

The fans had found her.

Around eight hundred of them, to be exact.

She went back and forth about it a lot. On the one hand, she wasn’t quite anonymous anymore. Almost eight hundred people now knew who she was – which, in reality, was just some boring university student from Coppin’s Corners, Ontario, who studied history and played the cello in a quartet and who also happened to be Rasmus Sandin’s girlfriend. At the same time, she felt like she had nothing to hide. Because she was so simple and because she wasn’t striving to be anything other than normal, all these new people that followed her were going to get just that: normal things. Normal uploads a nineteen-year-old would upload to her Instagram. She wasn’t an influencer and wasn’t trying to be. She wasn’t trying to make people jealous of her life. She wasn’t trying to make people feel any emotion about her.

So she left it as is, too busy being focused on her new semester of school to give it any further worry. She already had essays assigned and readings to do that were much more important than monitoring her Instagram followers, so she left it at that. If people wanted to follow her, fine. But she wasn’t going to be posting any juicy details about the Leafs. She wondered if they saw that and got the hint, they’d unfollow her.

With some games being postponed due to the attendance limits (which Lusine thought was dumb – why postpone a game for a team that regularly sells out their arena when the league lets other teams, who barely reach 10,000 spectators, continue to play without any issue), it meant that Rasmus had a bit more free time – and of course, that meant more time with Lusine. Sometimes he’d come over and they’d make out on her bed for hours, unable to keep their hands or lips off each other. Sometimes he’d come over and just lay on her bed fiddling around with his phone while she studied or wrote essays or made notes, just so he could be in the same room with her. Regardless of what he did, or what they did, there was always a moment where Lusine would look at Rasmus, and he wouldn’t be looking at her, and she’d just stare at him – just flat-out stare. And while she stared, she would think about how lucky she was to have him. She would think about how good he was, how great they got along, how well he kissed, how patient he was with her after their disastrous first time, how he always wanted to be around her, how he invited her to games, how he introduced her to his friends, how he thought she was beautiful with her scars. Her parents would always tell her it would be hard to find someone who didn’t care about them – “put up with them” was how they phrased it. But not Rasmus. And after she thought about everything, he’d finally catch her staring, and he’d smile and laugh and ask, “What are you looking at?” and she’d reply, “You, handsome.”, and they’d both bite their bottom lips and smile.

It was instant for her. And it was instant for him. It was instant in October, for heaven’s sake.

***

“I need to figure out what I’m wearing Sunday night,” Lusine mused as Rasmus lay on her bed and she looked through her closet. She was performing again with her quartet, this time in the Music Room at Hart House. And this time, she’d have a much bigger audience of friends. Rasmus wasn’t the only one showing up this time – Morgan, Bee, Aberdeen, William, Auston Matthews, Michael Bunting, and Bianca would be in the crowd watching her. Bee had even invited Frederik and Aleida, who apparently used to more or less be a concert pianist, who were also coming. She never forgot what Rasmus had told Gina when he came to pick her up at the awful party – now, Lusine was finally going to meet Aleida.

“What do you have? Put on a fashion show for me,” Rasmus smiled mischievously.

Lusine gave him a look. She began browsing through her closet, pulling some stuff out and throwing it on the bed near Rasmus’s feet. “Maybe I’ll find something in Bianca’s closet. My boobs might have a hard time fitting into one of her dresses, though.”

“Don’t diss your boobs.”

“I didn’t. I love my boobs.”

“I love them too.”

Lusine rolled her eyes. She turned back around to face her closet and looked at the end of the rack, the black dress she bought on a dare staring her right in the face. Despite buying it in early 2021 on a shopping trip with Bianca, she hadn’t worn it. The tags were even still on it. There was one very good reason why. “Can I…can I actually ask you something?”

“What’s that?”

Lusine took a deep breath. Bianca had already answered this question at length for her. She wanted to see if Rasmus had the same opinion. “Any time I’ve ever gone out and had to dress up, like for the quartet or even clubbing or whatever, I’ve always worn, like, high cut stuff,” she began, reaching out to feel the fabric of the aforementioned dress. “Like, high neck. No crop tops. Because I didn’t want people to see the scar on my clavicle or the big ugly one. Even the one on my back.”

Rasmus immediately felt the shift in the tone of their conversation. “Okay…”

“Do you…I mean, I’ve never taken the chance before. But do you think if I wore something that wasn’t high neck, someone would, like, make fun of the clavicle scar?”

“No,” Rasmus said immediately, shaking his head. “No friend would do that to you. Has Bianca ever?”

“No way.”

“Exactly. Anybody with one brain cell wouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable or ashamed about it. And if they did, they’d be an asshole,” Rasmus said.

Lusine took another deep breath. That very well may be true in La La Land, but she sometimes felt like, in the real world, people weren’t as nice as others made them out to be. It’s why she always put on makeup to cover the scars on her face. She always felt as if people would stare at them too long and lose focus on what she was actually saying, which was a big fear. Look how she reacted when Aberdeen’s eyes went up to her forehead for a split second. “Well, be honest with me. What do you think would happen if someone like Auston saw it?”

Rasmus shrugged. “He might ask you how you got it. I think that’s innocent enough. But that’s about it. That’s what happened with Bianca, right?”

Lusine nodded. It was definitely how it went with Bianca. And when Lusine told her when they first met, she was more fixated on the fact that Lusine was clinically dead for sixty-five seconds rather than her scars. “Most people have a scar somewhere, or at least something on their body they’re self-conscious about one way or another,” Lusine remembered Bianca telling her. “I don’t mean to be mean when I say this but there’s nothing special about you like that. You have to learn to wear it as a badge of honour and be confident with them. They’re as much a part of you as your personality is.”

That was what Lusine was still trying to grapple with. They’re as much a part of you as your personality. For someone who wanted them gone for as long as she could remember; for someone who thought them to be ugly reminders of not only the trauma she went through but also the life she never wanted to live afterwards…it was hard. Lusine was trying, but it was hard.

“Can I ask you a question?” Rasmus’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked at him and nodded. “Are you confident in wearing something like that out?” he nodded his head towards the dress in her closet she was still feeling the material of.

“I want to be confident in it,” she confessed. “I want to be so confident that I can throw it on without a second thought.”

“How are you going to get there if you don’t start from somewhere?” he asked.

Rasmus was right. Lusine looked back at the dress in the closet, with the tag still dangling.

She ripped it off.

***

As the Music Room at Hart House began filling with people, Bee could notice Rasmus’s eyes darting quickly around the room. He’d bite down on his bottom lip and look at his watch or his phone incessantly. Morgan was too busy talking with Bianca, Auston, and Michael to care, but she did, at least. “What’s got you so nervous?” she asked.

Rasmus tried to let out a breath, but he couldn’t. “I don’t know. Just stuff,” he wasn’t exactly forthcoming.

“Does any of that stuff have to do with all of us being here?”

Rasmus eyed her. “Maybe.”

“Why? We’re nice people.”

“It’s not—no—it’s not you,” he did something with his hands as if to explain it, but Bee just got more confused. “It’s not you guys being here. It’s not. I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want you to be here.”

“So? What is it then?”

If anybody would understand why he was nervous, it would be Bee. He just had to articulate why. And right now, he was finding that very difficult. “It’s not that I’m nervous about me, or you, or anyone coming. I’m nervous for Lusine.”

“Why?”

“This is going to sound weird, but she’s wearing something for the first time tonight, and I don’t want her to be self-conscious about it or, like, think about it too much, you know?”

Bee looked Rasmus dead in the eye. “Does this have anything to do with the scar on her forehead?”

Rasmus��s eyes went wide. “You’ve seen it?”

“Kind of? Everyone’s makeup was rubbing off on the helmets we were wearing during the family skate in December, so it just wasn’t covered up as much, I guess,” Bee explained. “I knew better than to ask about it. And I know better than to ask you about it now, because I’m sure you know why it’s there.”

Rasmus nodded. “I’m sure she’ll tell you one day, but I don’t know when that’ll be,” he expressed. “But yeah. That’s why I’m nervous. I just don’t want her to be self-conscious about it because she’s beautiful as is.”

Bee thought to when she got her first WAG jacket back in 2019 and was nervous about the sizing because her body was, and still was, different than everybody else’s body. She was so nervous to try it on in the privacy of her own home just in case it didn’t fit and she’d actually have to tell someone it didn’t fit her. She understood Lusine’s dilemma, because so much emphasis was always placed on women’s looks. As a nineteen-year-old, it was a tough thing to realize. Bee still wasn’t over it at twenty-six.

With Fred and Aleida’s arrival, along with Aberdeen and Willy’s, everything was set. They took their seats in the third row, chatting amongst themselves, before the lights lowered and the quartet came on stage. Morgan put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. Rasmus watched Lusine walk on stage and thought she looked absolutely stunning. The dress she chose fit her like a glove, but Rasmus knew she was right – it was unlike anything she’d worn before. They locked eyes through the applause, and Lusine smiled wide at him. He smiled back just as wide.

***

Aleida Casillas-Andersen loved music. Loved it. She re-discovered that love throughout her journey with post-partum depression and her recovery, and was able to realize and reconnect with the fact that music – performing, listening, composing – could be healing. Healing was the most important.

When Bee invited her to attend the concert of Rasmus’s new girlfriend’s quartet, she was hesitant at first, but eventually accepted. It would make for a nice date night with Fred, and she knew Helena would be in excellent hands with their nanny. So, she donned a chic outfit, scolded Fred for thinking he could wear track pants, and they got into his car and drove to Hart House. She was familiar with it, having gone to the University of Toronto, and being back inside the building brought back memories.

The music was divine. She was told the girlfriend – Lusine Forrester – played the cello, and she was good – very good. It was clear she was trained well, and had been performing for a while. The quartet performed a bunch of songs, all which Aleida knew given her own training, though it was clear Auston, Michael, Bee, Morgan, Willy, Aberdeen, Fred, Rasmus, and Bianca had no idea what the songs were. Aleida was more than happy she came. She liked the fact that one of Fred’s teammates was dating a girl in university who played the cello – it was so normal, and so unlike so many other hockey players.

Aleida waited patiently for her turn to speak to Lusine. She watched as Lusine hugged everyone she knew, thanking them for all their compliments on her performance – even Auston and Michael’s “Dude, that was sick” / “Yeah, that was sooooo sick” which were, even if inarticulate, truly heartfelt. Once Lusine finally hugged Bee and Morgan, she knew it was her time.

“Lusine, I want you to meet one of my best friends – this is Aleida Casillas, and her husband Fred, who’s one of our goalies,” Bee said politely. “Aleida, this is Lusine Forrester.”

“It’s really nice to finally meet you,” Lusine smiled as she extended her hand for Aleida to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Bee. I hope you enjoyed the performance.”

“It was fantastic! You were phenomenal,” Aleida smiled warmly. “I’m a pianist myself, but I’m sure Bee’s told you that.”

Lusine’s eyes widened at her words. “She didn’t!” she exclaimed, looking back at Bee. “She didn’t mention it at all!”

Aleida couldn’t help but smile. Lusine was so earnest, and it was endearing. She hadn’t been spoiled by the city yet. Aleida could only hope it never would. Aleida was so young when it happened to her. “Well then, that means we should go grab some dinner and drinks and have a chat, then,” she said.

“Did I hear dinner?” Michael Bunting piped up.

“Did I hear drinks?” Auston followed close behind.

Aleida nodded. “Follow me, Papi.”

***

Lusine left her cello in the backseat of Rasmus’s car while everybody that was at her performance filed into SoHo House, the exclusive, members-only club in downtown Toronto that Aleida belonged to. There were eleven of them at the entrance. Lusine held Rasmus’s hand as she watched Aleida interact with the person at the front. At first, they were denied. “There’s eleven of you,” the hostess stressed. “Our policy is three guests.” Aleida looked the hostess dead in the eye and said, “Call your boss Nick and tell him Aleida Casillas is here with her friends.” After less than a two-minute wait, they were all being ushered into the Club Bar, the main room, and were seated at a table big enough to accommodate them all. Lusine sat beside Rasmus to her right, naturally, and Aleida made sure to take the seat to her left. Bianca sat across from her, beside Auston. Everybody else filled out the table.

Lusine was nervous to sit beside Aleida – not because she was scared of small-talk, or because she didn’t know her, or because she knew Aleida wanted to talk about playing piano and the cello. Lusine was nervous because Aleida was impossibly beautiful. Like, impossibly beautiful. Lusine didn’t think she’d seen someone more beautiful in her life. Granted she didn’t have a lot of experience, but she went clubbing, and she went to university, and there were plenty of pretty people in those environments (especially the clubs), but none of them could hold a candle to Aleida.

They spoke about how long they had played their instruments, their teachers, where they would perform, their friends in the quartet or band, even other people on the music scene in the city. It was such a nice conversation, so calm and professional, and Lusine was proud of herself for being able to carry on a conversation with a thirty-year-old woman. The great thing was that, despite their age gap, and experience gap, and everything-else-gap, Aleida spoke to her like an equal. There was no power struggle, no pretentiousness. Just two women speaking about their experiences in music.

Aleida took a short break to call the nanny to make sure everything was okay with her eight-month-old daughter Helena. When Aleida mentioned it, Lusine was shocked. She almost laughed to herself – it was funny to her because was unfair to be that impossibly beautiful after having a child. Lusine cold only hope she was that beautiful and glamourous after giving birth and being a new mom. It was also funny that despite Aleida’s impossible beauty, Lusine didn’t feel insecure about her own (or lack thereof). There was something about the entire interaction, the entire night, the people she surrounded herself with currently, that made Lusine completely at peace and not insecure at all.

That was until Aleida came back to her seat.

“You get that playing hockey?” Auston joked suddenly, pointing to his own clavicle and running his finger across the bone but staring right at Lusine’s scar.

Lusine could physically feel Rasmus stiffen beside her. “Aus, come on,” he said accusingly.

“It’s okay,” Lusine butt in quickly, putting her hand over Rasmus’s forearm to let him know that, really, it was okay. It was now or never – in front of the most beautiful woman in the world, no less. Lusine wore the dress for a reason, and now she had to muster up the confidence within herself to be honest with everyone. “Not hockey.”

“Basketball?” Auston made a ‘thinking hard’ face.

“No,” she shook her head, laughing slightly. “Uh, it was a car accident.”

“Car accident?” Michael Bunting echoed.

Lusine nodded. “When I was ten, a car I was in got t-boned right at the backseat where I was,” she revealed to everyone.

She watched as everyone’s eyes went wide. Literally everyone – well, except Bianca and Rasmus. “Holy shit, are you serious?” Auston asked.

“Yeah,” Lusine nodded again, taking a sip from her drink as a crutch before continuing. “As you can imagine the impact was horrible. I had internal bleeding and glass shards sticking out of my body, hence the scar,” she pointed at the one along her clavicle – the first time she’d ever done that in front of a group of people. “According to the paramedics I died for sixty-five seconds.”

It was their eyes at first, but now everyone’s jaws dropped. “No fucking way,” Michael was gobsmacked.

“Yup,” she couldn’t help but crack a smile at his reaction. It was weird to say, because she never thought it would end up this way when she told people, but it almost gave her a unique sense of confidence to continue going. “I had internal bleeding, had to have spinal fusion surgery up here,” she brought her arm up and pointed at the back of her neck and down her back. “My—the clavicle is just one scar. I have a lot from all the glass. There’s—um, there’s a few on my face that I cover with makeup, and there’s the scar from the spinal fusion surgery, but then I have a big one on my body.”

Everybody at the table couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Lusine couldn’t believe she had the confidence to be so honest with them. She didn’t know if it was the dress, the discussion with Aleida, the way Auston approached it so jokingly and casually – realistically, it was probably a combination of all three. “Jesus Christ, Lusine,” Auston was still shocked. He looked over at Bianca. “You knew this?”

“Of course I knew. I’m her best friend, Auston,” Bianca said.

Auston looked at Rasmus. “Your girl’s got better scars than you do!” he teased, referring to the scar on his chin.

“Than all of us!” Michael piped in, pointing to his own on his face scars. “Even Mo’s! Than any guy on the team!”

“Even mine,” Aberdeen interjected too, pointing to above the end of her eyebrow. “Mine’s glass too, Lusine.”

Out of all the times she’d spoken to Aberdeen, she never noticed. She was so preoccupied with her own scars and with Aberdeen being Aberdeen Bloom that she didn’t even pick up on it. She was embarrassed that her mind was so selfish it didn’t allow her to see a commonality she had with others that she thought was an exceptionality in her alone. “Guess I fit in, then,” she joked, and it actually made everybody laugh. She could feel Rasmus squeeze her hand tightly underneath the table.

“See, here I was thinking you got into a scuffle with Gina,” Auston winked.

Aleida suddenly perked up, but not in a good way. She never wanted to hear that name again. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, looking between Auston and Lusine.

Lusine had almost forgotten Aleida was even mentioned by Rasmus that night. His comment was still a mystery to her, but Lusine thought she’d probably get a clue as to its meaning tonight. “Oh—uh—it was a while ago—uh—”

“Poor Lusine got into a little situation with Gina,” Auston nodded towards Lusine.

“Gina? A situation?” Aleida whipped her head dramatically to look at Lusine. “What happened?”

Lusine told her every detail – and now that everyone at the table was listening, everyone else knew too. While Bee and Aberdeen already knew, it didn’t stop their faces from scrunching up at certain details. It was the complete opposite of Aleida’s face, which at first kept a stoic composure; however, when Lusine got into the awful details, she watched as Aleida’s face got progressively more enraged. By the end of it, she was shaking her head in sheer disbelief. It was only when Lusine shared the detail that Rasmus said “Aleida was right about you” that she let out even the slightest of chuckles, her expression changing to amused temporarily.

“Good for you,” Aleida quipped over Lusine to Rasmus before her face got stern again and she focused her attention back on Lusine. “She reeks of desperation. She’s jealous because you’re friends with Auston and can be in the same room as him because you’re not a complete psychopath. But beyond that, I guarantee you, she’s jealous of your looks.”

Lusine had never heard a more confident voice in her life. But she didn’t understand where Aleida, of all people, was coming from with that comment. “How could she be?”

“You look like a model – believe me, I know, because I used to model. If you really wanted to, you could. Gina really wanted to, but she couldn’t, so she tried being an influencer instead, but couldn’t do that, too,” Aleida explained. “Now her main goal in life is to be in the same room as Auston for the clout. That way she can splash it all over her Instagram. It’s best you stay far, far away from her.”

“We already let her know,” Bee said, pointing to herself and Aberdeen.

Aleida nodded. “If she ever bothers you again, just remind her of the fact that Auston opens your DMs and not hers. That’ll be enough to remind her who’s at the bottom and who’s at the top.”

***

Rasmus drove Lusine and Bianca back to their apartment after SoHo House. Bianca went right to bed, taking up time in the washroom to wash all her makeup off before saying goodnight to Rasmus and shutting the door to her bedroom. Rasmus and Lusine sat on the couch in the main room, still not tired despite the events of the day. Lusine lay her head on Rasmus’s shoulder, and he was playing with her hand in his lap, tracing over her fingers with his.

“I don’t know if I believe her,” Lusine said in a quiet voice.

“Who?”

“Aleida. When she said Gina is jealous of my looks because I look like a model,” she clarified. “I don’t think I do.”

“You do,” Rasmus smiled at her humility. “Even the first time I showed a picture of you from your Instagram to Aberdeen, she was like ‘Oh my Gooood Rasmus, are you dating a model?’,” he mimicked Aberdeen’s voice.

Lusine scrunched up her face. She wondered which picture he showed Aberdeen but also didn’t want to know. “You know when I first met Bianca, she told me that too? Same with one of her friends.”

“That must tell you something, lilla fågel.”

She bit her lip. “I couldn’t believe it because I thought all people could see were the scars on my face. My parents always told me people would be grossed out by them. All my scars, I mean. They’d always tell me people would be grossed out by them and that I had to learn to live with the fact people wouldn’t at me the same way they look at others. I think I’m starting to see that was part of their fearmongering now,” she said.

“I think it was, too,” he said, supporting her thoughts.

“They didn’t want me to be happy with myself because then it meant I would rely on them for love and support,” Lusine continued. “But I get that love and support from people they said I’d never get it from. Wh—When Auston asked tonight, I wasn’t even that nervous, you know that? It felt so natural explaining it for some reason. And then it felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders.”

Rasmus smiled. He moved and kissed a trail from her shoulder and up her neck to her lips, where he pecked quickly. “I’m always going to think you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “And I’m always going to be here for you when you figure it out.”

Lusine smiled. “I’m glad I’m figuring it out with you.”

“Me too. I think we’re doing a great job of figuring it out so far,” he said.

“I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else. Is that weird? At nineteen?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I don’t want to do it with anyone else either.”

***

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lilaclavend3r · 4 years ago

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I don’t involve myself in drama or anything that goes on but… considering not only is my Twitter spammed with all this, it’s now also tumblr I needed to say a couple of thoughts…

Don’t know if it means anything.

But the tweet that said they saw them all hadn’t tweeted since like 2019. Only follows Dream and posted it an hour after Jag had posted his Instagram story already.

I mean proof people were there is there but I feel a little bit like the thread was done as a bit of a troll maybe, especially grabbing people’s attention with George and Gee like they’d see them before James Marriott and Wilbur who tower over a lot of them.

Do I agree with them for going to the party?

No. I’ve been inside since February 2020. I’m vulnerable to COVID so I’m extra cautious.

But they’re adults and they followed the countries guidelines.

The fact Jack reposted on his story and memeulous posted his means they weren’t being secretive or hiding anything from you.

Wisp, Scott and others were publicly posting about going to Gees birthday party.

George isn’t gonna ever go out again after this. Seen in public once and he’s absolutely destroyed on Twitter and singled out with Wilbur.

I get a lot of it is jokes and memes but man… the amount of spam and harassment they’re all getting regardless of this would put anyone with even the slightest anxiety on edge and make someone feel like a trash human being.

Also the people on Twitter who don’t get the jokes are literally joining in for the wrong reasons and blurring the lines. Then you have all the antis piggybacking on their “Stan” accounts trending negative threads.

Like ccs have said… ten people go unnoticed but tens of thousands of people tweeting your name when you already know you’re a little in trouble is awful and blows everything out of proportion.

People saying they haven’t heard George has been vaccinated so therefore he hasn’t?

Leave the poor guy alone maybe? The man doesn’t even share pet names. You’re not entitled to know anything about him.

Some people don’t react well to the vaccine and doesn’t take science to realise one of the times he went MIA with no content coming was the exact time his age group was open for vaccinations.

As for the damage control…

You got a Wilbur stream… with Ranboo and bits of Tubbo

You got to watch from H, Krinios and Michaels perspectives an absolutely stacked battle box.

You all got fed regardless of pandering/damage control.

The idea that the sex havers were staging an intervention to specifically scold George is also stupid. (Again I get these were started as jokes on Twitter but there are now hundreds of people who didn’t get the joke and have jumped on the bandwagon)

Imagine also if somehow that wasn’t even George and he woke up, played a game of chess and put on Wilburs live, Then saw everyone online.

Unlikely but it would be pretty funny…

Also blah blah blah Over here rules are 1000% different so try read up on countries restrictions before snapping at heels

—————

Okay wow that’s a rant and a half I’m sorry! Needed to get it out and I could say more but I’m trying to keep this as short as I could!

Please everyone just don’t stress over someone else’s life and please focus on enjoying your own

Your time is worth more than that I promise you.

—- edit——

I appreciate some of the UK people waking up now to this madness and speaking out against the “naive idiotic British” slander as well

#georgenotfound #wilbursoot #jack manifold #mcyt #mcyttwt #mcyt COVID party of the century #front page news read all about it #young people go to the pub with friends

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light-yaers · 4 years ago

Text

No Saints: Chapter One

This content is explicit and is 18+

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, violence, implied effects of PTSD, death and explicit language.

Read on Ao3 here | Fic Masterpost

A/N: Hey everyone! So, after some consideration, I’ve also decided to post each No Saints chapter on individual Tumblr posts, as well as Ao3. I know some people like reading things on Tumblr and it must just seem easier if there are actual chapters uploaded to here as well. I’ll be posting them all over the next few days and then we’ll be all caught up!

This also means that I can now have a TAG LIST, so if you’d like to be notified for when Chapter Nine comes out, then please tell me and I’ll tag you when I update next.

Once again please excuse any small spelling or grammar mistakes. No beta we die like men.

Word Count - 7.3k

Chapter One

Working as a mechanic on Nevarro didn’t often gift you the visual of friendly faces, and that was no different with the Mandalorian—he never showed his face. You wouldn’t know his smile even if he decided to wake up one day without slotting Beskar all over his body.

But you knew his stance, the broadness of his shoulders, his preference for short range blasters with the safety close enough for his index finger to reach before firing at will. You didn’t really know people on Nevarro, but you knew their weapon of choice.

It was knowledge that had ended up being valuable, both to your survival, and to that of the Mandalorian.

“I’ll pay you for this information,” He offered bluntly. He never begged, nor did he show his true emotions within his modulated voice very often. The only vague emotion you’d seen him give off was anger—seething and insatiable— the first time he’d ever approached you for a repair.

“What good will this information give you?” You asked, genuinely. “I don’t know their names, this is hunter country. No one ever gives away their identity,”

“A weapon needs someone doing the firing,” He replied simply.

You agreed to his terms, partly from the initial fear that he would harm you, think you to be working against the Guild, but also from the generous sum he was willing to give you for every piece of information you passed onto him.

And thus, began a sort-of partnership that you’d never expected.

You were no saint. You knew the damage done by the goods you willingly sold to trained killers, assassins, Guild members. You saw the bodies dragged from their ships to the Guild, you saw the bounties that went out, kicking and screaming and spitting at their captors—

You saw the blood and dirt and flakes of flesh with every weapon upgrade or repair, but now, you didn’t bat an eye. It was business, it was your livelihood, and it was good money, thanks this this agreement with the Mandalorian that you’d made a while back.

Mando arrived back on Nevarro every few weeks. His condition was always subject to review; sometimes he flowed through your doors, ready for a quick exchange; other times, he took his time with it, sitting opposite you as you went through the recent repair logs, discussing the types of people that came through your doors.

Over the months, however, he always ended up sticking around for longer periods of time. Whether it was from earlier exhaustion, or the normalcy of having a conversation that didn’t end in bloodshed, you didn’t mind. He was the only constant in your life, splitting up your weeks and months when, before, honest interaction had basically been at zero.

“Are you not worried?” He asked one evening. It was late, and your shop was technically closed. You’d awoken to the subtle clicks of your entrance being lockpicked, hoisting yourself out of bed in nothing but your nightwear and grabbing the blaster you kept by your pillow.

You’d rushed to the shop front, aiming your blaster right at his chrome covered head. He’d raised his hands immediately, not once going for his own weapon. The feeling in the pit of your stomach as you lowered your weapon hadn’t been one of anxiety, but of warmth—he trusted you enough not to grab his weapon, not to even incline that he was going to shoot you.

“Worried about what?” You replied, flicking through the logbook.

“A bounty escaping, knowing that you shared this information,” You stopped flicking through the pages, freezing slightly where you sat opposite him. You sensed his sudden unease, deciding to look up directly into his visor.

“Tell me this, Mando,” You began. “What’s my name?”

He looked at you blankly, but you liked to imagine what facial expression he pulled beneath his helmet. In this moment, you imagined he was almost panicking, trying desperately to think back at what your name could be. It’d been over six months, yet names were never properly discussed. His silence proved that he’d just realised this.

“See? You don’t know it. My face is somewhat known here, sure, but my name? I try not to share it as much as you try not to show your face,” You sent him a raised brow smirk. Innately, you felt you had a responsibility to come across stronger than you looked, which is why you shoved down those subtle flickers of anxiety that arose from his question.

Sure, you had those doubts, anyone would. But living on Nevarro, doing what you did, it was an element of the job that you simply had to expect. You suspected Mando also knew that feeling well.

“You’re single-handedly keeping me in business, Mando,” You chuffed, almost sadly, but kept up an unbothered attitude. “I wasn’t going to turn this down and all these months down the line, no matter the danger, wouldn’t change that.” You ended, and you could have sworn you heard him breathe out, almost as if he was relieved that you knew these conditions from the beginning.

You kept flicking through the logbook, until you finally stumbled across a repair. “Here it is,” You perked up, shuffling yourself round so Mando could see the book over your shoulder. Your index finger grazed the page, just underneath the line he was looking for. “Repaired his blaster pistol last month. He didn’t look like a hunter, more like a scared blurrg, from what I can recall,”

“Young? Old?” Mando questioned.

“On the young side, definitely. Looked more like a runaway than anything else,” You added, feeling a strange pang of guilt in your chest. Usually, you divulged the weapon information of other hunters gone rogue, wanted by the Guild; assassins and thieves, or whatever other dirt washed up on Nevarro and in your shop.

This, however—you remembered him. He was young, he was scared, shaking like a newly born calf when he’d bumbled into your shop.

“That fits the bill,” Mando stated, before rising from his seat. You followed suit, making your way back round your front work desk and slotting the logbook beneath it. You tried to keep your expression blunt when you turned back to him, but you couldn’t help the wave of overthinking that landed in your brain.

You stared at him, leaning against the desk until your shoulders rose to cover your neck. You couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a sigh, but evidently that was enough for you to get the Mandalorian’s attention.

“What?” He spoke harshly, in the same old modulated boom you were used to hearing. You forced yourself to stay still, trying desperately to find his eyes beneath the abyss of his dark visor, but of course it was no use.

“Don’t break into my shop next time,” You diverted your emotions. “Just knock if it’s after hours,”

Mando nodded once, the moonlight gleaming off the chrome that surrounded his face for just a second, before disappearing once more. He shuffled a leather gloved hand through his satchel for just a few seconds, before approaching you at the work desk.

Unceremoniously, he placed your pay in front of you, each credit dropping with a small ping against the metal surface.

“See you,” Mando said bluntly. You nodded in return, before the Beskar covered man left your shop swiftly, shutting your door gently on his way out. You stared at the credits disapprovingly, before going to relock the door behind him.

You forced yourself to shuffle through your pay, counting the credits so you could note them in your budget, but you furrowed your brows as you finished rounding them up. You must have counted them wrong—there were an extra five hundred credits than what you’d agreed with the Mandalorian all those months ago.

Shaking your head, you went about recounting them, only to get to the same exact outcome. Was it an honest mistake in his counting, or had he overpaid you? Tipped you, helped you, heard the way your voice had almost faltered when you’d told him he was keeping you afloat?

You were awash with a new type of conflict—somewhere between thanks and extreme anger. The thanks were certain; he’d listened, and he hadn’t needed to do that, but he’d done it anyway. The anger; this implied you owed him now. As much as you’d come to enjoy his occasional visits every few weeks, the man was still an utter mystery to you. You didn’t want him to have the option of springing up in here and asking for a favour, knowing that he’d done one for you prior.

But there was still a warmth—it came subtly and out of the blue often, when you were around him. You could have slapped yourself at how fast it came this time round, taking you by surprise and speeding your heart rate up beneath your ribs.

He’s a bounty hunter. Get over it.

You placed your usual cut in your savings bundle, in the safe by your bed, but the extra five hundred stayed out of that bag. You shuffled back into bed with no indication of tiredness flooding over you again. All you saw in the static darkness of your grimy bedroom was the outline of that damn helmet—

And the wonder of what lay beneath.

The next week and a half was long and soul-crushingly slow. You’d had about three repair requests total, completing them all in a matter of hours, not making more than a few thousand credits from the sales. Nevarro had seemed restless recently, with less hunters returning to the Guild for more pucks. Maybe it was just a slow week.

Mando arrived back in the evening again, after you closed your doors early for the weekend. The sunlight trickled over Nevarro sparsely, but that evening was particularly warm, so you decided to have some fun.

Your shop had a back courtyard, nothing major, but you’d transformed it into a mini-firing range a year or so back. You were firing a classic blaster when you heard him approach from behind you—you jumped out of your skin at the sight of him, blaster raised, defensive stance donned.

“I told you to knock, Mando,” You boomed out, clutching your heart and switching the safety on your blaster immediately. Mando raised his arms in subtle apology, but you could have sworn you saw the subtle shake of his shoulders beneath the Beskar.

“You sounded... busy,” He spoke, and you squinted at him, feeling your cheeks flushing. The bastard was laughing. He was silently giggling beneath his helmet, the only indication of his lapse of stoicism being from the tiniest movement of his chest and shoulders, almost indecipherable.

You shot him an amused scowl. “Did you—,”

“I locked it,” He replied, already knowing what you were asking. You gulped down surprise at his immediate response, turning back to your makeshift firing range and trying desperately to calm yourself down.

Now, you were a strong woman, that was no question. But the constant mystery of the last six months in Mando’s presence had provided you with more than you’d bargained for. Was it a reflex to suddenly feel invested in this guy’s life after a while? To want to know his backstory, his missions, his favourite breakfast food or blaster style?

The extra credits from your previous trade had only increased these feelings. What was it about a man in a mask? Or, more specifically, what was it about Mando?

And now, as you awkwardly struggled with the safety on a blaster you’d been firing since you were twelve fucking years old, all you could think about was the tone of his voice as he’d said I locked it.

“You shoot?” Mando questioned, moving round to stand next to you. You shot him a smirk, trying to conceal the thoughts within your head.

“I don’t just repair blasters, if that’s what you mean,” You could have cringed at how cocky you’d sounded, but it was too late.

“Show me,” He spoke. He didn’t demand it, but the way his voice arched it was as if he could make anyone do anything he said, just from the steadiness of that modulated drawl.

You did as you were told. You shook off your limbs subtly, before flicking off the safety and aiming at the targets you’d made. In flashes of green, you hit one, two, three targets with ease, right in the centre of their bullseye.

You changed it up, feeling a surge of confidence, or perhaps the want to impress this stoic man. Skilfully, you flipped the blaster in your hands until it had transferred to your other hand, firing another three times on the same targets and hitting them dead centre once more.

Your index finger clicked the safety on, before you stood in place, admiring the shots you’d fired.

“Try this one,” He said beside you, before he plucked the blaster from your hand and replaced it with this own weapon. You looked it over as it slotted into your grasp. It was heavier than yours, bigger, with a more distanced safety, probably because of the hand width that the Mandalorian possessed.

You furrowed your brows at his blaster, smiling at the way the steel glinted. It was well cared for, polished and gleaming, but slightly worn away around the trigger. Well-used. His own personalised weapon.

You raised the blaster towards the targets, all too aware of the way that chrome helmet was tilted towards you. You steadied your arm, applying just the right amount of pressure against the trigger, before it fired in quick succession—

You analysed the blast fire, the weight, the wind, fixing your trajectory upon impact with the trigger in a matter of milliseconds. When you stopped firing, overseeing the new collection of burning holes in the targets, you realised you’d hit them all dead centre again.

To your delight, or to your utter amazement, Mando let out a low, long whistle from beneath his Beskar.

“That’s a custom weapon,” He spoke afterwards, moving to stand before you. “Not many people could change their shooting style like that to fit the blast radius,” It was the closest thing to a compliment that you’d ever heard him offer.

You stayed silent as he replaced his blaster with your own once more, sheathing his weapon before his visor looked straight into your soul. It was shameful, how you realised you could probably stand there and analyse the chiselled and curved edges of his helmet for hours, how if you focused strongly, you could see him breathing beneath his heavy armour.

You forced yourself to step back, looking back towards the shop. “Right—business,” You said, heading inside immediately with Mando following on your tail.

You dropped your blaster on your work desk, grabbing the logbook and getting ready to flick through it once more, before Mando spoke up.

“I seek no information today,” He revealed. You froze, before slotting the logbook back beneath the desk slowly, trying to wrap your mind around his reason for visiting you.

“Okay,” You said, upon rising from beneath the desk once more. All of a sudden, you remembered his money—burning a hole in the safe in your room. You perked up, slapping your hands on the desk for lack of what the fuck to even do before getting round to almost scolding this man. “Then, I have a bone to pick with you,”

Mando dropped himself onto his usual stool, flicking his cape behind him and leaning back in subtle comfort. You swallowed, trying not to interpret anything from his clearly at ease behaviour, before heading to your bedroom quickly.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” He spoke up from the shop floor, and your heart skipped. Was that an attempt at a joke? At some comedy? You had to stop yourself, as you got to the floor and riffled through your safe for his overpaid credits, from allowing a warmth to spread through your gut.

You wanted to curse, as loud as you could. Had it really been that long that you were getting flustered over words from a Mandalorian? Undoubtedly the most hostile and unwelcoming people the galaxy had?

Or, was it just Mando himself that had you overthinking every sentence, every visit?

Credits secured in your fist, you made your way back out to the shop, dropping yourself opposite him and grabbing his arm suddenly, not stopping to think that this man could probably break you in half with his bare hands.

You dropped the credits in his gloved hand, sitting back as he stared at the pellets he now cradled in his palm.

“Not what we agreed,” Is all you said in explanation, picking up a tankard of water and sipping some down your throat, for lack of knowing how to cover up your neon cheeks after the exchange. The weather. It’s just the heat.

“I upped your pay,” He retorted.

“Bullshit, Mando,” You retaliated, allowing a few chuckles to escape your lips. Your face softened then, as you looked over to him, sitting awkwardly, still not knowing what to do with the returned credits. “Your money is your money, Mando. I’m fine with what we agreed,”

His fingers finally clasped around the credits, as his body went back to relax against the wall once more.

“Your shop,” Mando began. “You said I keep you in business,”

“That doesn’t mean I want more of your credits. Owning a washed-up weapons repair shop on kriffing Nevarro isn’t ideal, but neither is being a bounty hunter,”

“You’d earn more as a hunter with the way you shoot,” Mando replied instantly. You perked your brow, sending him a small smile.

“Are you saying I’m not a good weapons mechanic?”

You almost burst out laughing with the way Mando straightened himself, immediately being on edge. His fists tightened, almost as if he was suddenly overthinking if he’d insulted you or not.

“N-no,” He partially stuttered out, but you couldn’t keep your laughter contained. You burst out in giggles, overseeing his complete lack of sarcastic understanding. It was endearing; it made him appear more human.

“Joke, Mando. It was a joke,”

He relaxed after that once more, albeit more hesitantly. He went to slot the credits back in his bag placed on the floor, and as he did so, you allowed yourself to indulge. Beskar gleamed as he leant down, showing the twist of his torso and outlining strong triceps on the small amount of him that was unarmoured.

His neck was slender, compared to the size of his helmet. You wondered how the hell he wore that thing constantly. It didn’t look light, nor did you expect it to be all that comfortable.

If he saw you gawking when he rose once more, he didn’t make any indication of noticing. To avoid revealing what you’d been doing, you moved to cross your legs as a save. “So, why’re you here?” You finally asked, remembering that he had no reason to have visited you.

Mando tensed up slightly at your question, but not enough to come across as surprised. He’d already admitted to not needing information from you today.

“Habit,” He replied honestly. His one-word answer cut through you like a knife, striking your core and filling it with that warmth one again. It wasn’t often that you felt exposed, but sat opposite him, in your home, hearing him be so unapologetically honest had simply made those thoughts rise to the forefront of your mind once more.

You wanted to know him, but you also knew that asking him these things would result in nothing good.

You forced yourself to swallow down these rising wants, to push them away completely, before putting on a small smile. “That’s a funny way of saying that I’m your only friend,”

All effort to force those feelings away dissolved, as soon as you heard the low, modulated chuckles from beneath his helmet. They floated through the room, along with the image of his shaking shoulders and tight chest as his laughter tumbled to the floor.

You felt your cheeks flush immediately, knowing that it would be a noticeable blush. You grabbed your tankard, bringing it to your lips as you continued to indulge in looking at him, as he calmed down from the small burst of laughter that he allowed himself to show you.

There was something pulsing within you that you simply couldn’t contain; that want; that desire, after so long without knowing anyone on this godforsaken planet. Before you could stop yourself, words were already tumbling from your mouth.

“I don’t see many people on this planet, besides you,” You admitted. Mando slowly turned his visor to you, making it known that you had his full attention.

You immediately felt too vulnerable, resulting in you standing from your seat and heading round to your work desk, slamming the tankard down on the top. “It’s... well, it’s nice. I hope that, even if you don’t need information, you continue to come by,”

You held your breath as soon as you stopped talking, too afraid that you’d overstepped a line. Not that this transaction with him had ever been professional, but you knew Mandalorian’s were inherently focused on their job, and their job only.

When he didn’t reply, or move, or do anything, you started to panic. You played it off as best as you could, by downing the rest of the water in your tankard and averting your gaze to beneath your work desk, like you had the immediate need to start taking inventory.

Mando rose a few moments later, grabbing his satchel and placing it over his shoulder. The breath caught in your throat as he approached your desk. You almost gasped as a gloved hand reached for your forearm, dragging it out to hover in front of him.

He dropped the five hundred credits into your palm as your eyes flicked over his helmet at light speed. He stepped back, removing his grip from you and placing his visor upon your face one last time, before turning on his heels and heading for the door.

He unlocked it, but didn’t open it. You felt your pounding heartbeat as he cleared his throat.

“It is,” He let out lowly. “Nice.”

The door swooped open and shut behind him gently before you could say anything in return.

He didn’t come back the next week. You wondered if you’d scared him off, if your tiny confession of enjoying his company was too much.

You thought back to the way he’d said the word— Nice— as if it wasn’t something that was often spoken in his vocabulary. For a man of little words, you were increasingly amazed at how he managed to convey things with his body alone, being weighed down and covered up by Beskar at all times.

The credits still weighed on you. You’d given them back to him, you’d made yourself clear, but then he’d given them back and left without a trace.

You prayed to some god out there that it wasn’t a Mandalorian way of saying goodbye. From what you knew of Mandalore, which was very little, you knew they weren’t the gift giving types, but it still made you think.

Yet all that he’d done, despite the deal, the trade of information and the abrupt middle of the night awakenings, those small attempts at light-hearted banter and void visits had given you just a shred of hope.

People on Nevarro were cut-throat, you knew that better than most after making your home there for so long. That’s why this shook you to your core, sparking this unlikely partnership with someone such as Mando.

Stars, you missed him. It sounded ridiculous when you said it in your head, but you did. Contact was little to none on this planet.

You didn’t speak more than a sentence to people needing repairs. You didn’t sit down and talk, and fuck, the loneliness was something you were used to— yet six months of regular meetings, even just to trade information, had offered you a warmth you hadn’t realised you’d missed—

Until he was gone.

It wasn’t until three weeks later that you ventured out of the shop, certain that you were going mad. You hardly frequented the bar at the entrance of the city, choosing to stay safe and locked away in your small isolation inside the shop, but the absence of people was sucking you dry.

You entered the bar, making sure not to seem out of place. It was still an odd feeling, seeing people sitting around and drinking. You knew a lot of the locals— returning customers for repairs, all of which were hunters.

Perhaps there was some unspoken understanding that you weren’t to be touched, as the small nods of hunters hit you when you accidentally met their eyes. It almost made you feel known, but at the same time you hadn’t felt much since that last conversation with the Beskar clad hunter.

You were heading towards the bar when a voice rang out behind you. “Miss!” You swivelled on your heels, hitting his eyes.

It was Greef Karga. You knew him, everyone on Nevarro did. He was the Guild contact here, the one that most hunters got their pucks from for the next job.

“Karga, hello,” You replied, not politely, but not harshly. Being polite got you nowhere on Nevarro, and you knew that despite his smiles and willingness to be friendly, Karga was a snake in the grass.

“Drink?” He questioned, and you found yourself accepting his offer. You made your way to his booth, slotting yourself in opposite him. He grabbed a bottle of blue liquor from the floor by his feet, clicking at the droid behind the bar for glasses. “What brings you here? You don’t usually venture from your establishment,”

You regarded him, all too aware of the blaster on your hip for safety.

“Slow few weeks. Fancied a change of scenery,” You replied bluntly.

“Ah yes, business is slower than usual currently,” He admitted. A droid placed two shot glasses on your table, scuttling back to the bar. Karga swiped them towards him, uncorking the bottle and filling up both glasses. “But your repairs are stellar, and I hear your custom blasters are best sellers,”

He dragged a glass towards you, which you took once he’d taken his hand away. You swilled the liquid around, trying not to look too despondent.

“Parts are sparse,” You admitted. “Fewer hunters need new gear. I’m starting to think there’s someone better than me on Nevarro,”

Karga let out a coarse laugh, which you first mistook for a chesty cough. His smile was indication enough, however, of the funniness he obviously though that required.

“No, my dear, there’s no one better,” He replied. You chose to ignore him calling you dear. Opposite you he raised his glass to the sky, prompting you to do the same. “To good business in future,”

You nodded at him in response, before downing the blue liquor in one gulp. It burned as it slinked down your throat, hitting your stomach and causing a warmth to spread through your gut. Nothing like the small conversations the Mandalorian gave you, but it made you feel something— and that was in short supply around here.

Karga sighed in refreshment after slamming his glass back on the table, but his gaze fixed on something behind you as you deposited your glass back down. “Ah, Mando!” He exclaimed.

Your heart stopped.

You stayed utterly frozen in place, feeling a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline surge through you.

“That was fast. I wasn’t expecting you back for another few days at least,” Karga continued.

You tried not to let the hurt surge through you. So, he had been back since your last meeting. He’d been back, and he hadn’t come to visit. You tried to rationalise your hurt— he held no obligation to stop by the shop, he held no responsibility, yet— you wished—

You wished he would have.

“I trust you know our resident weapons mechanic,” Karga continued, gesturing to you. You forced yourself to turn round and look at him— face to face. His helmet stared at you blankly in response, and you wondered what expression he held beneath.

Maybe it was annoyance, thinking he was finally rid of a nobody mechanic from the inner city.

Maybe it was surprise, or hurt, or pain. You knew that despite the immense effort you were putting in to keep your stare blunt, he’d see right through you.

“Yes,” Mando replied after what seemed like hours. You turned back to Karga, pushing your glass to the middle of the table in dismissal.

“Thanks for the drink. I’ll be going,” You got up swiftly, standing in front of Mando after leaving the booth. He looked down at you, chrome visor focusing on your eyeline. You found yourself flicking your eyes from the left and right, as if you could see the placement of his eyes beneath the helmet—

Then you looked away.

You sauntered out of the bar, ignoring exclaimed farewells from Karga as you booked it out of the bar, heading straight back to the shop. Your strides were fierce, your heart pounded painfully beneath your ribs and you couldn’t stop yourself from balling your fists.

You felt like screaming, but you kept your mouth shut and your jaw tense. You felt like punching, kicking, pounding something, but you didn’t, instead opting to breathe it out as you entered your shop and slammed the door shut behind you.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

You yelled at yourself to calm down, to accept that it was nothing. God forbid, you’d gotten worked up over the smallest indication of human interaction, from a man whose face you’d never fucking seen, no less.

It was stupid. You’d long grown out of enjoying fairy tales, and this wasn’t one. You were a grown woman, hyper-fixating over a six-month long dodgy deal with a bounty hunter that you didn’t fucking know— not really, anyway.

In a frenzy, you unsheathed your blaster, heading out to your courtyard. You fired at will, not stopping to aim your blaster or even try to hit the targets. When that got dull, you actually started to try—you positioned your feet parallel to your shoulders, straightening your spine and extending your neck—

You fired, hitting the targets dead centre every time, just like normal.

You fired until your trigger finger began to ache, until the incessant anger and hurt in your chest had dissipated to a low roar that you could manage in other ways—with the bottle of Coruscant whiskey that you only saved for special occasions; big deals, good months, and, evidently, to feel something other than red, hot and seething anger.

You went to sheath your blaster, when the hairs on the back of your neck pricked up—

You turned swiftly, raising your gun and keeping your eyes wide open. You faltered when you saw the familiar glint of moon rays on chrome. Mando stood in the courtyard doorway, just as he’d done the last time you’d seen him.

Your elbow buckled, dropping the blaster to your side as you kept yourself composed. You stared him down like you were unbothered to see him. You had a feeling he knew that wasn’t the case, though, and if he’d been there for a few minutes before then your incessant firing would have proven otherwise.

“Mando,” You spoke first, keeping your voice steady. “What information do you need this time?” You kept it professional, not wanting to think back about the way you’d been so blatantly vulnerable to him before. He probably thought you to be childish, over-emotional, idiotic.

You’d rather he thought you to be that, than weak.

“What were you doing with Karga?” He demanded it this time. His voice was low, lower than usual, despite the modulator. You sheathed your pistol, stepping towards him once. He didn’t move aside.

“Drinking,” You stated the obvious. You made a move to try and get past him, but a Beskar covered forearm leant up against the doorframe, stopping you even more so.

“He’s bad news,” He continued. You let out an annoyed scoff.

“I know who Karga is. Kriff—I live here,” You accidentally let your annoyance travel through your words, making it exceptionally clear that you were pissed, if it hadn’t been obvious before.

You grabbed his forearm, tugging it away from the doorframe and pushing your way inside. He let you pass eventually, watching as you grabbed a bottle of whiskey from beneath your work desk. You jumped up onto the desk, letting your legs droop over the side as you uncorked the bottle.

It was silent. You could tell he was trying to find something to say, to bring up the obvious tension, but you also got the sense that Mando didn’t often apologise.

Why should he? He didn’t promise to come back.

He hadn’t promised. You had no idea why you were so ticked off, yet there you were—seething, angry, hurt, perhaps on the brink of tears, but possibly relishing in the fact he’d come to the shop after your little encounter. You felt sick at your own feelings.

“Are you... mad at me?” He spoke finally. The breath caught in the back of your throat. His hesitation made it clear; he didn’t often delve into the workings of others. He was being kind by even asking you about this.

You felt like a dick. All of a sudden, you could see even more so that you were being incredibly irrational. Weeks of zero contact had turned you into a moron. A lonely, overthinking moron.

You glanced up at him, holding the whiskey between your thighs. You let out a sigh.

“No,” You let out. “I’m sorry. It’s been... a strange, few weeks,” You chuckled slightly after speaking, bringing the bottle to your lips and taking a small gulp. “Loneliness is a disease, Mandalorian,” You added, taking another sip and slotting the bottle back between your thighs.

Mando moved from the doorway, striding towards you slowly. You stayed in place, focusing on the warmth that the whiskey provided you with. You finally looked up when he stood before you, not close enough to slot between your hips, but close enough for your knees to graze against Beskar.

He reached out for the bottle, grabbing it from between your thighs and making his way around to the main shop. You went to turn, but the leather of his gloved hand slotted itself between your jaw and your neck, pushing your gaze to the back of the shop.

“Don’t look,” He told you, warningly.

You did as you were told, all the while counting your shallow breaths as they quietly shook from within your body. You heard the subtle glug of the bottle, the drip as the liquid sloshed around within the glass, and then the bottle was being slotted back between your thighs from behind.

Mando’s arm wrapped itself around you as he made sure it was back in place, his glove grazing over the top of your thigh and skimming your waist as he retracted his arm back. You’d be lying if you didn’t relish in those small touches.

They set your skin alight, despite there being no skin-to-skin contact involved. It was the closest he’d ever come to you, allowing the gentler side of himself to appear. You’d never see him this way; guard down, a softness to his voice and his unknowing gaze.

You knew that he’d just raised his helmet to take a sip of whiskey—that was enough to make you gulp back the desires within your gut. You couldn’t believe he’d felt comfortable enough to do that around you. You hesitantly turned, waiting to see if it was allowed, but fully turned to him when he didn’t push your gaze away like before.

You swivelled on the top of the desk, bringing your legs round to droop over the other side, while Mando grabbed his usual stool and dragged it closer to you.

He sat, sighing slightly as he did so, before looking up at you sat before him.

“Solitude,” He spoke. “I prefer that word,” His voice was soft. You knew he was tired just from the way he spoke; he was exhausted.

“Solitude implies a sense of peace,” You replied, stepping carefully over your words. “Do you feel peace in your ship, all alone?”

“Do you feel peace in this shop?” He hit back with, avoiding your question completely. You were about to say no, but you stopped yourself. This shop was all you had, all you knew. Your choice of loneliness, over solitude, was an obvious indication of the way it made you feel, and you wanted to bet that Mando knew that, but—

Without this life, you didn’t know where you’d be.

“It’s all I have,” You admitted, finally. He nodded subtly, not moving his visor from your face.

“And this,” He said, gesturing to the Beskar he donned. “Is all I know. This is the Way,”

You looked down, swinging your legs back and forth for lack of what to do. You wanted to know more—you always wanted to know more about Mando, that was a given. But right now, you wanted to ask him everything.

“Is that why you stopped coming here?” The words trickled from your lips pitifully, but you had no choice but to accept that you’d spoken them.

Mando was silent for a few moments, but he made no indication of looking away from you. You wondered if, beneath the helmet, he was actually looking at you. Maybe he was zoning out, or was focused on the wall behind your head instead.

“I feared continuing to visit you would become a habit I could no longer break,”

There it was—that warmth. It erupted within your gut, winding its way up your spine and neck, circling down your limbs and to the spot between your legs that you always chose to ignore. You tensed up immediately, forgetting about the whiskey bottle between your thighs as the sensation only increased the wobble of your upper thighs.

“Like you said,” Mando continued, and you could have sworn that his voice sounded strained. Like he was holding back, like his body was almost forcing him to stay quiet. He stood suddenly, causing a small gasp to leave your lips involuntarily, as he strode forward to slot himself partially between your legs. “Loneliness is a disease,”

You went jelloid when a hesitant hand was placed on your thigh—

Stars, it’s been a while.

You were slowly beginning to unwind, as Mando placed his other hand on the opposing thigh, slotting himself further between your legs. As much as you wanted to speed this up, to feel skin touch skin, you didn’t know if that was actually possible for the Mandalorian.

“M-Mando,” You stuttered out, but it only made his grip tighten around your plump skin. You instinctively raised your hands to his chest, feeling the smoothness of his Beskar. “Just— wait,” You managed out, despite all of your senses not wanting him to stop what he was doing. His visor shot to your face quickly and his hands fluttered away from your thighs.

You wanted to cry— that’s not what you’d meant—

You swiped your hands across his Beskar chest plate, reaching down for his large forearms. You heard the breath hitch in the back of his throat, as a small moan escaped his modulator.

You placed his arms back on your legs slowly, but he still looked on his guard, wondering what you had to say.

“Loneliness is a disease,” You spluttered out. Your cheeks were flushed a neon red, and you could feel the rapid heartbeat erupting from beneath your ribs. “It’s— overwhelming,”

When he didn’t move or speak, you wanted to kick yourself. Had you done it again? Revealed something that was too much and reduced yourself to a vulnerable mess? For a moment, you thought Mando could smell the weakness within you, but even you didn’t realise you’d unwind this fast at the most subtle of touches from the Mandalorian.

You froze when he raised a gloved hand to pinch your chin. His thumb was firm but gentle, his other fingers curled just beneath your jaw, and his stare was unwavering.

Stars, your whole body throbbed at his touch. You wanted more, but you also didn’t want it to end as quickly as it had started, and you’d meant what you’d said— overwhelming. It was a red, hot heat that you hadn’t felt in years, it was something that you’d have to get used to again, and from the fumbling touches that Mando gave you, you felt he might be in the same boat.

His thumb slowly made its way to your mouth, gliding back and forth over your bottom lip. You were positively glowing, feeling the intimate touch of the hunter for the first time after what seemed like months of fantasy—

You’d had dreams of him, falling asleep to the image of his helmet or the way he slumped on your stool every so often, so desperate to see what lay beneath his armour.

“You’re overwhelmed?” He needlessly questioned. The way his voice trickled all over you was enough to make your body surge towards his once more. You had to stop yourself from reaching for his waistband, overcome with a hunger that you hadn’t been expecting. “It’s okay. We have time,”

With five simple words you could have collapsed to the floor right there. All too soon, his touch vanished from your skin. You leant forward has he removed himself from you, stepping back while you tried desperately to get his touch back.

The whiskey bottle between your legs slipped suddenly, toppling from its place between your thighs as you realised you’d started to open your legs wider where he’d stood between your hips. You grappled at air to try and stop it falling, but it fell from the desk—

Right into a skilful gloved hand. Mando gripped the bottle with a ferocity that you knew he’d wanted to grip you with, before stepping forward once more. He slotted the bottle between your thighs once more, but right in the nook of your upper thighs—

You shivered uncontrollably as both hands came to cradle your thighs, pushing them together to keep the bottle in place.

You watched, defeated, as he picked up his satchel from the floor and slung it over his shoulder, staring at you atop the desk when he was ready to leave.

“If I see you drinking with Karga again, I won’t be as gentle,” Despite his efforts to keep his voice strong, you heard the breathy way he spoke.

It filled you with a confidence that had disappeared as soon as he’d first placed the bottle back between your legs.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” You challenged. You couldn’t stop yourself from sending a smirk his way, and it had the desired effect—

Mando dropped his helmet to the floor as the most subtle of groans escaped his lips. He swivelled and turned, heading for the door immediately afterwards.

He opened it, letting in the cold Nevarro air. You watched as he slinked out of the door, pulling it shut from the outside—

And then there was silence. You breathed out a shaky breath that you didn’t realise you’d been holding, grabbing the whiskey and taking a large gulp as you tried to regain your composure fully.

You went to bed that night utterly elated, his chrome visor appearing behind your eyes all the same.

Feel free to send things to my ask box or message me!

#din djarin x reader #no saints #no saints fic #din djarin #pedro pascal #star wars #star wars fic #star wars fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #smut and fluff #smut and angst #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian smut #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad

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moregaythanyourealized · 4 years ago

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The Mayor

Part 3

“We start this evenings broadcast with shocking news from town hall. This morning at roughly 8:30 our dear Mayor was killed by none other than Doc Ock. Luckily for us though he is behind bars thanks to the efforts of Y/n L/n, who is now being sworn into office.” The camera showed the procedure and Y/n in a new outfit. A blue dress that fir her quite well. Otto couldn’t stand it. He had only been in prison for a few hours and he already hated his life more than before. He was drugged up and his machine felt much heavier than it used to, he had next to no control of his body. His only way to see the world was through a small grainy TV that was posted in the corner of his cell.

His cell was incomprehensibly unfitting for a man such as himself. An old bed that left a crick in his neck. A toilet which he thankfully hadn’t needed to use yet. And a small table in the corner with the even smaller TV. The walls of his cell were unbreakable. Some material he didn’t know the name of surrounded the outside of it. He could chip at the concrete but the outside wouldn’t budge. Somehow he was sure you had funded the building of this cell. Just to spite him. The TV showed you suddenly and his attention was drawn back,

“It was terrifying to be in the clutches of such a lunatic. I did what anyone would do, if only I could’ve done more to save our dear Mr Thomas. May he rest in peace.” What a load of shit, he thought. You had fooled the people just like you had fooled him,

“What will happen to Doc Ock?” Y/n brushed her hair out of her face and looked directly into the camera,

“After I visit him tomorrow, he’ll be getting what he deserves. I demand justice for the death of Mayor Thomas.” People clapped in the background and Otto shut off the TV trying to get some sleep. He dreamed of you and this morning. He dreamed of how he wished it went.

The rain pouring down over the both of you as he held you close. You’d look up at him and pull him in close kissing him softly and thanking him for saving the city. For saving you. His hands would wrap around your waist and he’d carry you back to your apartment and you two would dry off and have a romantic dinner together. Sharing your plans for the future of New York....

He awoke with a start. Some guard yelling at him to get up. Groaning he lifted himself from the bed and walked sluggishly towards the door. A series of clicks and other strange noises come from the other side of the wall before the door swung open. Being handcuffed yet again he was led to a glass enclosure. This is miserable, he thought. They’re treating me like an animal. He was sealed inside the glass and felt cool air conditioning by his feet. A large vent blowing freezing air and making the space breathable. It woke him up a bit. The effects of whatever they injected slowly wearing off. One of his claws knocked on the glass, no damage. He couldn’t just break out either, there were guards all over the entire prison. When the door opened again he scowled. You looked tiny compared to the metal door and waltzed in as if you were an old friend. You wore a long pale pink coat and black gloves finished off with a black ascot. You looked unbearably cute but knew what you really were,

“What do you want L/n?”

“I listen to the people, and they demanded I see you to know you’re reasoning for killing a public figure.” Slamming his fist against the glass he stared you down,

“I did it because you told me to, you crazy bitch.” You nodded in agreement pulling off your gloves gingerly and setting them in your pocket,

“And I did it because you made it easy, if you had been smarter I might’ve avoided you and picked someone else to help me.” His appendages moved like protective snakes behind him.

“Did you come here just to mock me?” You got closer to the glass tilting your head to see his expression he looked distant. It made you a little sad,

“I don’t want you to rot here in prison. Because despite all that I’ve said...” You cleared your throat,

“The greatest thrill and joy I’ve had so far was the short time I worked alongside you.” He met your eyes and did nothing for awhile. Then he just sighed and turned away from you,

“I can’t deal with this right now.” You frowned and stepped back,

“Fine. I understand you don’t exactly like or trust me. But if there’s anything I can do...just let me know.” God! You really were confusing. One minutes you’re kissing, then you have him thrown in jail and now you’re asking about doing him favors? What are you trying to do to this poor mans head?

“Tell the guards to give me some time before they take me back to my cell.”

—————POV CHANGE—————

He hears the door close and looks around before using one of his metal arms to pry the top off the air vent. He wasn’t going to fit through it but he could tear up the floor around it to make him fit. And that’s exactly what he did. While you told the guards to give him time and to treat him better than other prisoners the doctor was wondering through the giant vents. His brain felt sharp and alert again. So did his tentacles, a flicker of red warned him to stop but he wouldn’t, not when he’s gotten this far. Finally he found a vent to a control room. He burst through the ceiling and killed both the guards. He sat at the computer and began typing. Y/n was going to regret this. With a few clicks and the push of a button all cell doors, outside doors, and gates were unlocked. He’ll had been released and so had New York’s greatest super villains. The city would be chaos and with the record for shortest office time ever, Y/n would be kicked out and replaced. Maybe the new shmuck in charge would know how to handle the city. Leaving the room he flew down the halls. His tentacles taking him to the personal belongings room. Searching the drawers he found what he was looking for. Grabbing his jacket and glasses he exited the building (cue epic music). Walking over crowds of anyone from petty thefts to fellow evil doers he stepped into the freshly fallen snow. It was around noon, by nightfall this place would be a wreck. He saw your car leave the parking lot. His tentacles took over, the flashing red now bright and constant. One grabbed the car while another ripped the door off. He heard your screaming from inside and did nothing to hide the joy spreading across his face. Your face paled when you saw who had wrecked your car and you pushed yourself as far away as you could. He got closer to the car and looked in the gaping hole on the side. You were shaking against the door on the opposite side. A limb reached in and wrapped around her neck. She closed her eyes expecting the worst. But the machine only untied her ascot from her neck and tied it around her mouth. She tried to scream again but it was muffled by the gag. Then ripping leather from the interior of the car it was tied tightly around her wrists and ankles. Pulling her into the cold air she shook her head,

“I think it’s time Brooklyn sees the type of leader you really are. Let’s have some fun.” His voice was different now. Dark and clever. The wreckage of downtown broke your heart. Historical buildings destroyed or burned down. Hundreds of not thousands of criminals on the streets. Between the speed you were going at and the ice in your eyes they all looked like blurs. The wind stopped whipping at your face, you couldn’t see what was behind you but you could tell where you were. The bank, of course. It was hard to process everything. Eventually you stopped trying and just laid across his shoulder. Setting you down he demanded the bank teller open all the safes,

“If you don’t, I’ll break every bone in her body. One by one. When I’m done she’ll be so deformed her own mother won’t recognize her.” The teller scrambled with the keys and began unlocking everything. He laughed and began bagging what looked the most valuable,

“I hope you know this is very much your fault.” He smiled at you. The sinking in your stomach only went deeper. When he finished he picked you up once more like a rag doll and exited the building. Crushing the ceiling on the way out,

“Where shall we go? The city is ours.” He said nothing but got a devious glint in his eyes before taking you back through downtown. He stopped in front of your apartment. How did he know where you lived? When you entered the building it was like a ghost town. No employees or lobby boys. Only the distant sounds of chaos and the ding of the elevator as you ride it up to the top floor. Thankfully he didn’t know which exact apartment belonged to you. He set you down and you pointed to a door near the end of the hall. He didn’t bother to pick you back up or untie your feet so you could walk. He just dragged you behind him along the carpet while he talked about the design of the building. He stopped in front of your door. His human hands found their way to your waist. You tried to wiggle away from him but he reached down. You sighed when you realized he was only getting the keycard from your pocket.

You apartment was cold. He set you on the couch and began trying to light a fire in your fireplace,

“You have a lovely place, sure know how to use the tax payers money huh?” He let his jacket fall to the floor, revealing his bare chest. He must’ve been cold outside without a shirt on. He was out of sight and into your kitchen. He came back with a bottle of wine and a large glass. He left your hands tied but undid the restraints around your ankles and mouth. Taking a deep breath in you went to yell at him. Before you could you were pulled into his lap. Switching the TV on he shushed you and ran a hand down your back making you shiver,

“Is it the end times? Citizens of New York are wondering what is happening? Mere hours after Mayor L/n is elected the city falls into destruction. On her trip to visit Doc Ock it’s believed he escaped and freed the other prisoners. Riots, fires, building destroyed and collapsed in what’s possibly New York’s worst day yet.” The camera switched to different people getting interviewed,

“It’s terrible! I’m afraid to leave my home!”

“I knew we shouldn’t have elected a woman.”

“I heard she was working with the Doctor the entire time!” Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t reach the remote, and if you tried to get up he’d just pull you right back down. Guilt was the main emotion, but you felt some resentment as well. These people knew nothing! You were tricked... kinda, not really. But you never intended for this mess to happen. Karma had finally caught up with you. The people on the news kept taking and talking. You couldn’t take it anymore,

“Turn it off! Please!” Otto shrugged and changed the channel to a hockey game,

“Is all the pressure getting to you, Mayor?” His hand was resting on your thigh while the other held his wine glass. You wanted desperately to shower and go to bed. To wake up in a different dimension where nothing ever happened. The room became unbearably hot. You weren’t sure wether it was the fireplace or the guilt (or maybe something else),

“Could you untie my hands please? I’d like to get out of my coat.” You got off his lap and stuck your hands out for him to untie,

“Last time I trusted you, you and me thrown in jail. I’m not making that mistake again.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me, I’m asking you to untie my hands.” He stood up and began slowly uniting them. He watched you intensely as you took your coat off. Turning away from his gaze you walked into your bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. You were a strong powerful leader who was going to get out of this mess....somehow.

#doc ock x reader #doc ock #mcu x reader #mcu phase 4 #spiderman #alfred molina #fanfic #tw violence

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ofbloodandbullets · 4 years ago

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So it’s recently come to my attention that not everyone in the world has actually watched The Old Guard (WHO KNEW?!) so I’m going to try and do some info dumps about the world, the general canon and Andy’s history, personality, powers etc. This will ... probably get kinda lengthy.

Also: MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS FOR COMICS & MOVIE.

The first thing you need to know is that for the main part, the history and the world that TOG takes place in is the exact same one as the real history of the world. It’s set in modern day, though the plot points stretch back to 7k+ years ago. It’s also important to note that there is a lot of historical inaccuracies and some things in canon that conflict themselves so it’s best to just take it all with a grain of salt and just go with what works best for your particular preferences etc.

The main difference between reality and TOG is that in TOG there are a very minute like .00000000002% of the population that are immortals. Now, it’s important to note that these people can die but they resurrect pretty close to immediately after they die no matter the amount of damage done. Now it can take some time to fully heal or reform, depending on how extensive the trauma (being blown to bits or burned etc. will take longer to fix but there’s no amount of damage that we know of that can actually keep them dead).

There are times when, for reasons unknown to the characters in character (or to us as readers of the comics / viewers of the movie etc) that the immortality just stops. There’ll just be a time that they suffer injuries that just don’t heal, and they die. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to this, be it age, number of times they’ve died, whatever. Now, I have my own entirely headcanon and personal preference based theory which you can find HERE but it’s totally just a random idea that I had that I liked to explain the loss of Andy’s immortality in the movie (that doesn’t happen in the comics) and lets me say that she regains her immortality post canon so that I can nudge things back in the direction of the comics for post movie plots and so on.

Andy is, as far as we know, and as far as she knows, the oldest (human) immortal, coming in at around 7,000 years old. She was born into a tribe, the Scythia (hence what she’s generally called: Andromache the Scythian). A nomadic warrior tribe that I headcanon to be a matriarchy, Andy was betrayed by the ‘queen mother’ when she was sixteen and killed in battle because the leader feared that Andy posed a danger to her continuing rule. This person was practically a mother to Andy and it was a horrific betrayal. What was almost as shocking to Andy was the fact that she got back up again after being literally stabbed in the back and killed.

In the vein of trying to thwart prophecies making them happen, Andy killed the matriarch and took her placce ruling the tribe, eventually becoming a God King to her people and ruling over them for hundreds of years until her loneliness absolutely overwhelmed her and one day she just vanished.

At some point after this, she began to dream of a woman, feeling a pull towards this stranger that she couldn’t begin to explain. After dozens, maybe hundreds of years, she managed to track down the woman in question (Noriko in the comics, Quynh in the movie) and realized that they’d been dreaming of each other. (In the comics she meets Lykon before Quynh/Noriko, whom she had also been dreaming of).

Now, the connection between these immortals isn’t explained in canon, and for a long time, Andy, Lykon, Noriko (and eventually Joe, Nicky, Book) thought they were the only ones but there is a scene in the second set of comics that implies that there are other ‘packs’ of immortals. I headcanon that it’s a ‘like calls to like’ / kind of Sense8 simpatico type thing - like minded souls drawn to each other, which is why Andy and the others didn’t know about the other immortals, but again, that’s just entirely my thoughts on the matter.

Lykon is the first to succumb to the loss of immortality, a short couple hundreds years after he and Andy find each other. He dies on a battlefield, one that he and Quynh/Noriko and Andy fought on like a hundred/thousand before, champions for the abused etc. Skip forward a couple hundred years again and enter Joe & Nicky, a Knight and a Muslim warrior who kill each other on the battlefield only to both wake up and spend (an unspecified amount of time) hunting and killing each other before eventually Andy & Quynh/Noriko find them. In time, Joe & Nicky realize that they love each other. (Important to note that Quynh/Noriko and Andy were also lovers). In the movie, when the first major surge of witch hunts began, Quynh/Noriko and Andy go to help the women that stood accused, only to be captured and accused of witchcraft themselves. After being hung, drowned, burned at the stake and coming back to life every time, the witch hunters settled on locking Quynh into an iron coffin and dropping her into the ocean. (In the comics, Noriko is lost at sea during a massive storm that had thrown their ship entirely off course with Andy having no clue where they actually were at the time.)

Joe & Nicky arrive in time to rescue Andy, but Noriko is already gone and despite spending decades tracking down every person even remotely involved in the so called ‘investigation’ into the women’s inquisition and punishment, Andy wasn’t able to find anything about where Quynh could be.

Cue angst & depression & guilt for ages after.

The trio still steps in over the following decades, trying to help prevent the worst of atrocities, but Andy quickly begins to spiral into an, at best apathetic, at worst, entirely distant and withdrawn mindset and steadily begins to lose hope that they’re actually making any difference at all.

Skip ahead a century or two and enter Book; a Russian conscript who had been forced into the fight after being convicted of forgery. Hung for desertion, Book spend days dying over and over again as he hung there, unable to attempt an escape until the troops finally packed up and moved on. He and Andy, Nicky and Joe meet up and Book kinda reluctantly joins their little group. It’s revealed that Book dreams, still, of Noriko/Quynh and while he can’t tell where hse is, dreams of her still dying, drowning on the floor of the ocean over and over and over like she had been for the last hundred or two years.

Book returns at some point to his mortal family which ended in disaster when his last remaining son was dying of cancer, cursing and screaming at Book for ‘choosing not to save him’ by making him immortal too, even though it’s something Book had no ability to transfer or make happen. Between his nightmares, losing his son and a number of other factors, Book decides he wants to end it all but no matter what he tries, doesn’t die and stay dead.

Eventually he’s approached by a pharmaceutical company that has figured out what he is and wants to run tests on him to see if they can unlock his healing / immortality for other people. Merrick’s company works in league with an ex CIA agent whose wife died of a horrific terminal disease who hopes that they can find a way to keep anyone else from dying if they don’t have to. Initially it was just supposed to be him, but he’d set up a display to stream for proof of what he was / they were and the corp decided they wanted all of the immortals. Book ends up betraying the team, and he and the others end up locked up and tested on / killed / experimented on etc.

There’s another character introduced in the meantime, the first new immortals in centuries, an American soldier named Niles. There’s a lot more that goes on here, but the main point is that in the movie, Andy stops healing from her wounds shortly after she tracks down Nile and is put into incredible amounts of danger when Merrick (the leader of the pharmaceutical company) captures Andy, Joe, Book, Nicky. Book is devastated, Nicky and Joe are furious, Andy’s just tired.

Eventually, Andy and the others break free with Niles’ help, destroy the lab they were originally held in etc and set out to try and hunt down any other proof, lab results, anything that Merrick got his hands on during the tests.

The group meets and settles on a hundred year exile for Booker (which I think is one of the stupidest things - like, the man’s clearly desperate and depressed and lonely and mentally unstable so by all means let’s isolate him for a fully century) and at the end of the movie we see him stumbling home to his apartment six months later to find Quynh standing in his apartment, pouring and drinking a glass of water which is a whole power move considering how many millions of times she died by drowning.

In the comics, Quynh/Noriko was driven entirely mad and to the point of wanting vengeance against Andy for abandoning her and spends a while gaslighting Andy and torturing her physically and emotionally and what not until she manages to isolate Andy from the other immortals and scoops in to ‘rescue’ Andy. IDK what they’re going to adapt this to in the second movie,

Again, via the link posted above, my Andy slowly begins to regain her immortality (again, IDK what they’re going to do with the next movie).

Uhhhh yeah. So I .. think that’s the majority of what you need to know for canon info about Andy. THIS is also an important PSA regarding my Andy’s history & her longest lasting relationship that has nothing to do with canon at all but that is part of Andy’s bg in every verse, even if it never comes into play.

#CHARACTER INFO.#BIO.#HEADCANON. ( do not reblog. )

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realityshiftingjourney · 4 years ago

Note

Reality shifting is literally just dreaming/lucid dreaming

https://youtu.be/q1mLq0QCkPk

Woohoo, first ask! Too bad it’s a hater lmao. Anyways anon, I watched the video by TheOdd1sOut. He posted it about, what, 3 or 4 hours ago? And you’re telling me your first thought was to go on tumblr and harass people because of a youtuber’s opinion? Alright then. I have no doubt that you’ve sent this exact same ask to dozens of other reality shifting blogs.

This is just going to be a quick post about my initial thoughts, and why I don’t agree with James’s opinion. His main opinion seems to be that reality shifting is fake and that it’s just dreaming/lucid dreaming. Reality shifting is not lucid dreaming! (By the way, do let me know if there’s any false info or anything in my response, I’m trying to be accurate, but things always slip by)

More under cut:

Now, for starters, I haven’t watched really any of TheOdd1sOut/James’s videos before, but I know he’s pretty popular and all, so in no way am I hating on him, I just disagree with his opinion on reality shifting and am going to point out some of my problems with his video.

It seems to be like he was first introduced to reality shifting through TikTok, which already isn’t a very good start, and he also got some information from Amino, but not nearly as much as from TikTok. TikTok is infamous for having a lot of misinfo and fake shifters, so it is not a very good place to get information about reality shifting without having to parse through the thousands upon thousands of untrue content just to find a couple hundred good creators.

James’s main problem with reality shifting is that if reality shifting is real, then what happens to the consciousness of the body you are shifting to? He did some research and found out about clones, but doesn’t really seem to believe in them or parallel universes in general, which when making a video about reality shifting, especially when he has 16 million subscribers, is kind of closed minded. Some people believe in clones, others don’t. I’ll just be explaining my personal view. To me, shifting isn’t just putting your consciousness from one universe to another, kicking out other consciousnesses, but rather expanding your awareness. You exist in other universes as literally anything, and shifting just allows you to be aware of this and experience life in your DR. The consciousness of the body you’re shifting to, and your body, are the same. Reality shifting just allows you to be aware of other universes. (Sorry if this is hard to understand, I’m not entirely happy with the wording of this)

James’s understanding of reality shifting is that somebody could shift to the same reality as the same person as someone else is, and essentially they would both be in the same person. However, there are infinite realities, so this is impossible. Same argument with fictional villains like Voldemort shifting here. There are infinite realities, so while Voldemort could shift to a reality exactly like this one, it would not be this one.

One good point he brought up was that the laws of physics should still be the same in other realities, meaning things like magic shouldn’t be possible. I..... don’t really have a good explanation for this, as I don’t know much about physics, but if anyone else could help shed some light on this, it would be much appreciated! So far it’s clear James doesn’t have a very high view of spiritual things like reality shifting or witchcraft. He thinks that reality shifting is just dreaming/lucid dreaming because people shift while asleep, but I have to stress this: This is not true! Lucid dreaming and shifting are two very different things! Plenty of people have shifted while awake, and falling asleep to shift is simply just a popular method, not the only one.

Looking through TikTok, James’s impression was that mainly all of the reality shifters are kids, which while accurate to a certain degree, isn’t completely true. On TikTok, the majority of the user base are indeed kids, so it makes sense that mainly kids on there would be reality shifters. However, there are people of all ages who are reality shifters, and just because a lot of teenagers are shifters doesn’t mean that shifting is fake.

James likens reality shifting to conspiracy theories a lot, and often compares reality shifters to anti-vaxxers and flat earthers a lot, mainly because he doesn’t think that there’s any proof about shifting. But there is proof! A lot! James has just been looking in the wrong places. There are all those CIA documents! The Gateway Experience! Anything by Robert A. Monroe! And there’s so many credible books out there! After watching the video, it just seems like he didn’t do much research beyond looking at Tiktoks and some Amino posts.

Going back to reality shifters being compared to anti-vaxxers and flat earthers, James seems to be perpetuating the idea that reality shifting is harmful, when it’s not! The shifting communities I’m in have honestly had some of the most positive people I’ve known, and we’ve all built a really nice, loving community together.

Overall, I think this video is harmful to the shifting community, and just brings a lot of bad attention to reality shifters. It doesn’t seem like James did a lot of research, and he also seems to have a low view of spirituality in general, meaning that this video is just going to tell the public that reality shifters of delusional and cringy, and that shifting is lucid dreaming. Reality shifting is not lucid dreaming! At all! So, thank you anon, for allowing me the opportunity to explain why reality shifting is real.

If anyone wants to add onto this, please do!

#shifting #reality shifting #desired reality #shiftblr

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buckyswinterbaby · 4 years ago

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Always By My Side — Chapter 1

Click here to read the Prologue.

Synopsis: The fates have spent millenniums correcting the daily mishaps that interfere with soulmates ever meeting. Will they find a way to bring together Bucky and Zara, two people separated by time and circumstance, just as they’ve done a thousand times before?

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Black!OFC Ziarah Heartwell

Warnings (will change with each chapter): flashbacks, PTSD, mentions of past sexual assault, angst, bits of fluff

Word Count: 3,791

Acknowledgement: I’ve created this AU alongside my best friend Taylor in roleplays, along with many of the plots and scenes that will be featured. I’m posting this with his expressed permission as we both continue to work on the story in our chat. Credit for its creation goes to both of us.

Please like, comment, and reblog (I love that shit). The divider was created by me, please credit me if you use it. The gifs are not mine. Click here to fill out the form to be added to my tag list!

Note: Here’s chapter one of my new series “Always By My Side”. It takes place in a soulmate AU where a bond is triggered when one or both halves experience a life threatening level of distress. The bond allows them to see imaginary versions of their soulmates to help support them while they wait to meet their other half. Just a warning, up until we reach the current time in the story, there will be significant time skips for plot progression’s sake. The time changes will always be labeled.

Addition: I said I’d tag you when I posted my WOC OFC story so here’s chapter one, @bucky-the-thigh-slayer !

[Bucharest, Romania -- 2016]

The Romanian streets were bustling with early morning energy as Bucky took the final steps outside of the clearly worn apartment complex that he had been calling home for sometime. He seemed unfazed by the sixteen year old girl practically jogging to keep up in step with his longer strides. He had grown rather accustomed to her presence and her commentary since she first appeared to him in 2014. It had been during his final brainwashing session with Hydra before they fell. He couldn’t help but view her as a banshee of sorts, harkening the end of what remained of his mental stability. He couldn’t fathom another reason as to why he would hallucinate an opinionated teenage girl.

Even so, he found comfort in their conversations and how at ease she seemed around him. Almost as if she had always been with him, a piece of himself that still saw the good that was left. Never addressing him with fear or apprehension, never as the monster and killer he was forced to become.

Her features were young and innocent, seemingly unscarred by life despite the bruises that graced her skin--which he was never sure why they existed. At first, he feared that she had been one of his countless victims who had returned to haunt him in her afterlife, though the theory became less likely to him as more time passed.

The defined coils of her hair were pushed up into a messy bun, edges laid smoothly to her forehead in defined loops. When she first started showing up, Bucky had attempted to make sense of the witty phrases and references that so frequently adorned her clothes but he had long since given up on ever understanding them. He had to admit that the shirt she wore that day, a middle finger painted with pink, yellow, and blue, was quite the fashion choice. Not that he could particularly judge with his similar pieces of clothing that were practically identical besides in color.

The pair made their way down the familiar stretch of pavement on their way to the outdoor market that Bucky had made a habit of visiting. He had found that a reliable schedule throughout his week helped him better grasp the passing of time, a fact that his companion had been informing him of for weeks before it finally seemed to click.

The girl’s nose clinked as they neared the fresh fish stand, just as it did every week. Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle at her childish antics as they were so few and far between for someone who seemed quite mature despite her appearance.

“It smells like cat food,” she whined, making a clear act of breathing primarily through her mouth as she jogged to keep up. “How are you not gagging?”

“Not all of us have the luxury of being a figment of someone’s imagination, Zara. If I start gagging, I have a feeling a few people will start to notice.” The man gave her a knowing look. Drawing attention to himself was the exact opposite of what he wanted during his brief outings. “Besides, I can’t say I’ve smelt cat food or have any intention to. So I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

Zara rolled her eyes as the smell began to dissipate the further they moved past the stand, her trademark smile working its way onto her features. “Could’ve had me fooled, I thought that was your guilty pleasure. I can’t say I’ve ever intentionally gotten a whiff, but when I feed the outdoor cats at my house, it’s kinda unavoidable.” She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly as if it was the most natural thing in the world for an imaginary person to have their own home and animals.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed as he narrowed his eyes down to her smaller form beside him. “You don��t have a cat because you aren’t even real,” he retorted. Somehow the idea that she could be real made her presence in his life even harder. The idea that she was just some girl he had passed by in the street or on a mission and his brain decided she’d make the ideal emotional support apparition.

“Who are you to declare that?”

“The creepy hundred year old man who hallucinates a sixteen year old girl, occasionally in her pajamas, for one.” His voice raised a bit louder than he intended, drawing the attention of a few nearby pedestrians. Bucky offered them an awkward smile before ducking back down under the bill of his hat and picking up his pace a bit. She couldn’t argue with his logic so she focused on keeping up until they reached their destination, the produce stand that had the best plums in the city, or so Bucky described.

Zara watched as he spoke Romanian with the merchant, only catching a few words she had learnt over the past few months from their conversations. She couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly Bucky seemed to interact with the man and how it contrasted so starkly to how he acted when he first arrived in the city. Decades of next to no positive human interaction left the soldier awkward and clunky in his exchanges, often stumbling through questions and requests, or simply forgetting them altogether. It had taken a great deal of patience and metaphorical hand holding to build up his confidence and ease his anxiety on the matter.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to blend in, in fact he was almost too good at it at times. Over their conversations, she had managed to show him that yes, blending in made him go through the motions of life, which was better than nothing. Yet, the beauty of his life now and the freedom that came with it was that he no longer had to settle for simply surviving and he could instead use it as a chance to learn to live again. It started small, like convincing him to get a pillow and blanket for the mattress on the floor, to which they compromised with a sleeping bag. Soon came two pillows for the couch and a lone floor lamp that he shoved in the corner near his bed for the late nights when night terrors had him scribbling away in his journals. They were minor improvements, in truth, but the progress spoke volumes as Bucky worked on building a place that felt a bit more permanent than his last few hideouts.

Zara had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t even registered that Bucky completed his purchase and had moved to stand at the edge of the sidewalk. She approached him curiously, watching the way he hesitantly analyzed the seemingly anxious newspaper peddler from across the street. It was very clear something was wrong from the way his demeanor had changed.

“Buchanan?” Her voice raised a bit at the end of his name, concern now replacing her curiosity as he began to make his way to the stand. He either didn’t hear her--which she found unlikely--or he simply opted to ignore her as he picked up the paper, ocean blue eyes scanning over the headline. The color seemed to drain from both of their faces as they took the accusation in, not having to speak to know what it meant.

Bucky would have to pick up his life, yet again, and run. Find a new country, new home, and start the process all over again. The ex-assassin hardly seemed surprised at the realization, as there is no rest for the wicked.

[Boston, Massachusetts -- 2016]

Zara made her way down the hallway to her bedroom, an imaginary version of Bucky trailing along behind her. She let her book bag drop to the floor once she entered the room, stepping out of her shoes before flopping down onto the soft, sunflower themed duvet of her bed. A look of weightlessness overtook her features as she let the events of the day settle in. Today she would graduate with a PhD in Biomedical Engineering from MIT, top of her class. It was the culmination of years of pouring herself over every textbook her parent’s provided, testing out and early graduations. At only sixteen, Zara would join the ranks of some of the youngest individuals to ever receive a doctoral degree. It truly seemed unreal to her.

Emerald eyes drifted to where Bucky sat at her desk, his arms crossed loosely in front of his chest.

“I wish you could be there tomorrow,” Zara commented, propping herself up on her elbows as her fingers pulled at the frayed threads on the yellow quilt folded at the end of her bed.

A smile teased the corner of Bucky’s lips as he leaned back against her swivel chair, long hair swaying as he tilted his head to the left to look at her. “I will be there, maybe not in person, but I’ll be there cheering right along with everyone else,’ he assured.

“It’s not the same and you know it, Buchanan.”

“I know. Just try to focus on the positives. Tomorrow is your day, you’ve more than earned it.”

Zara nodded, though her disappointment was still evident. On the average day, Bucky’s seemingly invisible presence to everyone else but her came in handy. As she was willing to bet her parents wouldn’t be too keen on the amount of time she spent alone with the grown man, let alone if they knew who he was. The public’s perception of James Buchanan Barnes, who she had quickly identified him as, was low to say the very least. Though it was days like this that she found herself wishing the most that he could truly exist in her life outside of her mind.

She could never quite pinpoint why she began hallucinating him two years prior. Though, the time before and after her fourteenth birthday had flown by in a post traumatic daze so it was even more difficult to analyze. The aftermath of four older boys assaulting her in her own bedroom left her wishing to repress that portion of her life altogether. Zara squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the ghost of their hands on her body. Grabbing, groping, pulling and tearing at clothes. She had hardly seen them since their attack but her mind was still trapped in the room with them.The feeling took her back to meeting Bucky that night, or more so the Winter Soldier, as he appeared at that time.

Upon entering her room, Zara failed to notice the masked man sitting silently in the corner of the room, illuminated only by the small lamp on her bedside stand. When she caught a glimpse of the figure, her body jumped to it’s fight response, just as it had an hour or so before. The young girl grabbed the closest thing she could find, a textbook on advanced chemistry, and held onto it tightly before turning to face the intruder.

“You need to leave,” she ordered, her voice wavering at the end of the demand. Her green eyes only met a pair of dark glasses securely strapped to his face. She couldn’t make out any facial features to identify him by, as all but his forehead and hair was covered.

It wasn’t just his silence that sent an unnerved shiver down her spine. It was his demeanor, cold and nearly unresponsive to her presence and defensive stance. Had his head not briefly turned her way when she started to speak, she’d question if he even heard her at all.

A large gun, likely a rifle from what she could tell, was resting across his lap. His hands weren’t actively gripping it, but something told her he could take aim in the time it took her to breathe her next breath. A variety of handguns and knives were also visible from the holsters adorning his thighs. If he had this many weapons visible, Zara could only imagine how many he had stashed under his tactical vest and heavy boots.

Her green eyes followed where she believed his gaze had drifted. He seemed laser focused on the strip of light just barely visible from under her door as a roar of laughter could be heard from just outside. His hand moved to rest just over the barrel of his gun. The young girl analyzed him for another moment before lowering the textbook, while still keeping it tightly in her hands.

“Will you at least tell me why you’re here?” There was a hint of desperation in her voice, one that vocalized all of the fear she had been trying to hide. She was met with more silence, which quickly became deafening to her. She was afraid to make a move to get his attention again, naturally unsure of how he would react. Yet, at the same time she couldn’t relax, not with him in her space.

After another few moments of no response, she allowed herself to consider the possibility that he wasn’t actually there. She had just been through something horribly traumatic and it was entirely possible that this was her brain's way of coping with the stress and fear. That it had conjured some masked figure to sit at her bedroom door and keep all the bad away.

She knew how best to test her theory, but she recognized the risk that came with it as she picked up a neon pink highlighter that she had been using earlier that night. She gripped it for a moment while weighing her options, throwing it across the room only seconds later. She didn’t put too much force behind it, hoping that if it gently came into contact, he’d be less likely to be angry. The consideration meant very little as the marker passed straight through the man and knocked against the wall before falling to the floor. She watched as it rolled across the floor and disappeared underneath her nearby dresser, a bittersweet feeling washing over her. On one hand, he wasn’t real and couldn’t hurt her. On the other, she was truly alone and definitely going crazy.

“This is fine,” Zara tried to reassure herself with very little luck.

She was pulled back from her thoughts as Bucky called her name for the third time, snapping her back to reality. Their eyes connected for a moment as she attempted to ground herself again, focusing on the small changes between how he was now versus then.

He had since lost the mask and goggles, she remembered him removing them a month or so after he first appeared. His current casual attire contrasted starkly with the hard kevlar of the tactical vest she first met him in. His features were more at ease now, no longer reflecting the fear that she could only compare to an animal in captivity. While she wasn’t fond of the comparison, following what she had learned of the real James Barnes, it wasn’t entirely far off.

As if the world was reading her mind, she faintly heard the voice of the local news anchor from the living room directly below her bedroom. Her features scrunched as she focused in on hearing the report, only catching snippets here and there. The words explosion and Sokovia Accords were most of what she could make out along with what she could’ve sworn was the suspect’s name, James Buchanan Barnes.

Before Zara could even question it further, she found herself racing down the main staircase of their suburban home, sock clad feet skidding to a halt on the polished dark oak flooring. Her eyes widened as she took in the security camera footage that was believed to place Bucky near the scene of the crime. Despite having no real proof, something deep within her gut screamed that it wasn’t true. She knew him, maybe not the real version, but he’d never do that.

Imaginary Bucky followed her into the living room a minute later, his pace slow and relaxed in comparison as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Being held responsible for the most recent atrocity was honestly just beginning to feel like the average Tuesday to him. More than anything, it was Zara’s reaction that took him the most by surprise. Her unwavering faith and loyalty was unexpected and as he believed, undeserved.

He had committed unspeakable acts over the years and this was likely far from the worst he was accused of. Sure, they had grown close in the two years since he first appeared and he imagined that made it easier for her to block out the rest of the stories, since she knew at least some version of the person in question.

Zara was good, in every sense of the word. Of course she had flaws, but who didn’t, especially at sixteen. But he saw the way that she looked at the world with love and curiosity despite the violence and violations she had experienced. It was a strength of character that he truly wished he could grow to embody. Bucky couldn’t help but find it funny that he was left looking up to a teenager who hadn’t even passed her driver’s test yet; but she honestly had more morals and heart than most of the adults he had met in his life. All of those facts being true is what made her belief in his innocence all the more confusing.

His eyes fell to her father, Gabriel, as he sat on the couch to take in the evening news. The man’s head shook in what seemed to be disappointment, or maybe it was anger, Bucky honestly couldn’t be sure anymore. They had never spoken, as Bucky’s intangible form made communication with anyone other than Zara impossible, but he knew Gabriel was a black and white kind of person. He couldn’t help but accept that to anyone who didn’t know him, the evidence would be damning.

“They need to just put him down while they have the chance,” Gabriel scoffed, speaking to no one in particular while switching the flatscreen off before they could finish the broadcast.

“He’s not a wild animal to be euthanized.” Zara’s expression twisted in disgust at her father’s casual nature. “He’s a human being. If he's guilty, and that’s a really big if with how blurry that security footage is, he deserves a trial just like anyone else!”

Gabe turned to look over the back of the couch, clearly displeased that she would defend the man. “I’m in no mood to debate with you, Ziarah.” He rose from his seat and dropped the remote onto the foot stool before leaving towards his study.

Zara watched him leave, her eye practically twitching with each step he took. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, to make him see that there were likely more sides to the story than they were seeing but she knew that it was useless. Her father rarely took her opinions or beliefs to heart on things that actually mattered to him, a topic like this would truly be a lost cause.

She looked up at Bucky as he shook his head lightly, letting her tension fade away as she accepted that it was pointless. “It’s okay, Zar,” Bucky assured, his small smile wiping away any lingering doubts she had. “There are more important battles to pick with him. This isn’t a hill worth dying on.”

Zara would’ve liked to argue that defending her friend was more than a worthy cause but she nodded nonetheless.

“How about we go find your mom. I bet she’s already working on the cake for your graduation and knowing you, you can convince her to let you lick the spoon.” His tone was playful as he coaxed her into motion, the promise of sweets and a friendly face luring her into the kitchen behind him.

Hanna was busy mixing away the different batters she would need for the next tier, the sweet aroma of baked goods filling the air. She hummed lightly as she worked, creating her own personal mix of her favorite 80’s songs together in a unique medley. Her green eyes moved to the doorway as she heard Zara walk in, a bright smile overtook her features as she set down her mixing bowl.

“There’s my little scholar,” she praised, moving around the kitchen island to take her daughter into her arms. Her warm embrace was a welcomed escape as Zara melted.

“Momma,” Zara grumbled as her mother placed a series of kisses on her forehead. “I thought you stopped doing that since I was a baby.” While Zara whined, deep down she always loved her mother’s open displays of affection. Not that she was willing to admit it.

“That’s the beauty of you always being my baby. You’re never too old for me to embarrass you. Just be grateful that I’ve opted to do it now instead of at your party.” The woman grinned away as she moved back to her work.

Zara honestly couldn’t argue with the logic as she found a seat on one of the tall bar stools. She quickly lost herself in the pleasant conversion with her mother, happily opting to clean the excess batter and frosting off of the bowls and mixing spoons like the helpful child she was. Imaginary Bucky sat quietly at the kitchen table, watching the women as they fell into the usual banter and discussion. After they finished her conversation she quickly grabbed a snack and made her way towards the door.

“I believe you’re forgetting something,” Hanna reminded, sending Zara a knowing look.

She huffed lightly before turning on her heels to grab her blood testing and insulin kit, waving it at her mother knowingly. She quickly turned back around and left the kitchen, making her way back upstairs.

Bucky didn’t hesitate to follow after her, stopping only when he saw Zara staring in her old room, which now housed her older brother Daniel. He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind as she ran over the events that more often than not had her scurrying past said room without acknowledging it. It was easier to just pretend it didn’t exist.

A few more moments passed before Zara pulled herself back from the darker parts of her mind, focusing in on everything else in her life that was good and worth celebrating. She had known pain and a time in her life where she often considered if it would’ve been easier to just fade away, but she had made it through to the other side. She had a lot going for her now and that was enough to push her feet forward again.

Chapter 2

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phenomenalcosmicpowers · 4 years ago

Text

Post-Trailer Generation 5 Thoughts

So, a trailer for the beginning of G5 has now been released. And as promised, I am having a supplementary post to my preliminary thoughts and concerns heading into G5. Though I do first want to answer something I’m sure some might be curious about and that’s if G5 will have any bearing on I Dream of Twilight Sparkle. Given the thing about it being supposedly being the same Equestria at least according to mentions of the Mane 6 as the ancient times and by execs.

G5’S EFFECT ON I DREAM OF TWILIGHT SPARKLE

I will go ahead and say that no, other then if there’s maybe a part of the movie and/or upcoming series I want to make some sort of reference to for any reason that G5 will not happen in the IDOTS universe. The thing about the premise of G5 contradicts a huge thing that’s part of Secrets of the Dragon’s Tear in that Life itself is Magic. With presumably years and years of no magic, G5’s world wouldn’t exist. It’d be the lifeless wasteland that was seen in the Season 5 finale. I will stay firmly on G4 characters as I still have plenty I want to do with them. I’ve once thought about ending I Dream of Twilight Sparkle on the 10th anniversary of the blog next year. But that might not be enough time to fully explore everything I want to do post-Secrets of the Dragon’s Tear. So rest assured I have lots of plans still without having to dive into G5 material.

Another huge difference in IDOTS case that I will point out is that thousands of years by now as I imagine is implied by G4 being Ancient Equestria in G5. Is that Twilight (and Spike too, who will probably be full size at that point) will still be around. And even the others of the Mane 6 and other characters of the G4 generation will likely be able to guide the living as summonable spirits. I doubt under that context that the world of Equestria deteriorates to G5’s situation with this all in mind.

(More after the break)

REITERATING THE CONCERNS ABOUT THE G4-G5 CONNECTION

But now to actually get the trailer itself, it generally shows what we know already but this is the first time we see a little bit in how they’re executing it in motion and acting. They are going to continue mentioning that G4 is the ancient times of this world with the only reason Pony relations that seems to have deteriorated is the long passage of time. Which seems like a terrible interpretation of time. Division still happens in our world especially in the politics side of things but thousands of years ago (or even just a few hundred years ago) it was far worse then it is now with authoritarian empires, monarchies, and enslavement of people everywhere. There’s not a period of history from thousands of years ago that most of us look to have again like Sunny will for Twilight’s reign.

If we are to take it at face value that G5 happened after G4, the peaceful world we saw in The Last Problem where not just all 3 pony types but even non-pony species popullate many areas of Equestria and live in harmony. Even if perhaps you’re not a fan of one or both of the final two seasons of the show, The Last Problem showed that Twilight’s friendship school accomplished it’s goal in helping Equestria reach out to other places in the world. It’s hard to see from that point how things can deteriorate where things seem to be far worse then Celestia’s sole rule of 1,000 years. Or to go even further, it seems to have gotten just as bad if not worse then the Hearth’s Warming story of the founding of Equestria. It’s arguably worse then even the Hearth’s Warming story since even if it was obvious the three types of ponies hated each other, they tolerated each other enough to bargain the necessities at that point. The earth ponies would make the food if the Unicorns move the sun and moon and the Pegasi help with the weather. But as seen in the trailer even one sighting of a unicorn in an Earth pony town puts the whole place in a panic.

Speaking of the Hearth’s Warming story they’re going to have explain why the Windigoes aren’t currently ravaging the planet in Ice and Snow like in the story if we’re to truly believe this is the G4 world we know. Somehow I feel they’re not going to for that deep cut in terms of the lore of G4. I think any connection to G4 is going to be treated more as an afterthought. References to Twilight and her friends, the toys in Sunny’s house, and murals to the past the only huge indications that G4 was the ancient past and never explaining how things got where they are now. I believe this is an attempt of Hasbro to bake it’s cake and eat it too. They want to try to retain G4’s popularity heading into G5 so they try to say G5 is the same exact world even when so much of the evidence we’ve seen so far is too different to be world we knew. (I know there’s a map that shows the Pegasi have what might have once been Canterlot. But there still needs to be more) I feel like most fans going into this should go into this thinking this is a totally new world despite the references to G4. Or even perhaps the ancient G4 isn’t the same G4 we saw in the show. Maybe the Friendship school never happened in this timeline for example. An alternate universe G4 where they never developed the school might make this at least somewhat more palatable. Though even then there’d still be questions.

Another note in the story is as a sort of flipped from G4. Where Canterlot had Unicorns seem to make up most of the rich upper-class ponies. The pegasi seem to be the upper-class and/or royals this time while the Unicorns are actually the poorest of the three and Earth Ponies are middle-class. I slightly joked after hearing that maybe this is a universe where Cozy Glow actually got what she wanted given she was a Pegasus heh. Not that makes any sense either, as there’s probably no honoring of the Mane 6 if they got defeated by a Pegasus filly.

BOOK LEAK

On the same day of the trailer we also got something of a leak of book that comes out next week that recaps the movie in a children’s book style (Don’t worry I won’t spoil anything from it, but yes I did see the scans). Now naturally not all details of an entire movie is probably going to get in a picture book with small excerpts of text on a 32 page book. But it does generally give an outline of how the movie goes. The scans give enough of an outline of how the movie will go. I just have too much concern about G5 to resist knowing how the movie will go to wait until the movie releases. I still intend to see the movie itself but it’ll sort of give me an idea of what we’re in for. For a spoiler-free review of what I know, I think under it’s own merits if we ignore the G4 elephant in the room it’ll probably be a decent way to start things.

FANDOM REACTION

I think if the context was G5 was it’s own separate universe with no connection to G4 it could potentially have some standing on it’s own and will probably have young kids enjoy the movie that see G5 before they see Friendship is Magic. For older fans of G4 though, heading into this generation there’s going to be a lot of things preoccupying the mind before we even start watching the movie. Having G4 as the ancient past has something of a pro of at least getting some fans who liked FiM to at least give this a chance, but at the cost of leaving certain expectations and putting some of the creative freedom in a bind because to tell us this is the same world means you will have fans pointing out contradictions where as there would be no concern if this world was allowed to be it’s own thing The writers and staff of G5 are going to have fans that criticize them for any choice they make that doesn’t fit with G4 in some way. I’m not going to be one of them of course, as that’s annoying behavior even if I agree with the fan who’s criticizing them. And fans have plenty to already raise an eyebrow at, such as normal animals oddly having wings and/or horns when normal animals tended to be just normal animals in G4 (Albeit alot more sentient then real life animals).

LACK OF NON-PONIES?

There also doesn’t seem to be any sign of the other species that became more prominent in late G4. There’s not even a Spike from what we can see thus far. Unless maybe there’s a 6th main character that gets introduced in the beginning of the series that has a little dragon companion this would be the first time since maybe My Little Pony Tales that there was no Spike. I imagine we will get the return of some non-pony species.but it’s still going to be an elephant in the room because the end of G4 showed that basically all other species became allies to the ponies. Did relations to the non-ponies also deteriorate terribly? And there’s also the possibility that many of the Dragons have long enough lives that they remember Twilight’s reign. Maybe even a possibility of full-grown Spike making an appearance in the series. But then there’s still griffins, hippogriffs/seaponies, yaks, kirins, changelings, and more. You keep the world of G4 you have to keep in mind all the species that played a role at some point. If you ignore them for too long it’s another point to those who might feel that this isn’t truly G4’s world.

ALICORNS

I won’t say much on subject of Alicorns since I already mentioned that in the preliminary thoughts, though I will reiterate things like even if say we overestimated the immortality of Alicorns they may still need to point out that Twilight, Celestia, Luna, Cadence, and probably Flurry Heart too are all gone. There doesn’t seem to be any signs of Alicorns at all. To be honest it might be that the only real Alicorn reference is the possibility during the scene where Izzy disguises everyone as unicorns. Someone manages to see either Zipp’s or Pipp’s wings and thus they get a lot of unwanted attention. (And in contrast probably one of the non-Izzy main characters horn disguise falling off)

CONFLICT AND HAPPY ENDING OVERRIDES

I get that the main response to concerns of G4 fans is there has to be some sort of conflict for this series to be interesting as otherwise you go back to the too saccharine days of G3 where the conflicts leave almost no danger to the world at large. But we can still point out that if this was presented as it’s own world separate from G4 this would be ok. But not the same world where Sunny’s goal had been more then already achieved. It doesn’t lay the blame at the Mane 6 for failing at the very least but it certainly looks down at all their descendants generations later of being unable to withhold the Mane 6’s lessons and keep the peace. They had the solutions for divisions mostly solved, yet it’s somehow squandered. It won’t be easy to swallow for anyone who loved the conclusive happy ending FiM got. And even for fans who weren’t as into the ending as others they’re only being vindictive if they say it makes their criticism of the ending valid.

The point is the series ended as happily as it could of gotten, and you will bug fans no matter what you do if you attempt a happy ending override. Just look at how for example the Last Jedi bothered some Star Wars fans with Luke’s characterization after the joyful end to the original trilogy.

HARD ACT TO FOLLOW & DIVISIVE FANDOM MOMENTS

Now, even if G5 had none of the pre-conditioned concerns it would have a lot to live up to. G4 is the absolute highest peak MLP has ever gotten to. Hasbro’s going to try to repeat the same success but it’s a lot more likely G4 remains a lightning in a bottle that can’t be repeated. And any attempt to recapture that lightning such as applying G4 as the ancient past is looking to backfire. It’s very likely that even if G5 is generally a success, Hasbro will not reap the same benefits that it got from G4. The cost of a big success is the pursuit of attempting to repeat that success but ultimately not working out quite the same way. I don’t wish any ill will of Generation 5, I want it to have an audience and the staff to enjoy themselves working on the show. I don’t think it will quite capture the same attention I gave to G4 but that’s ok. This is how Hasbro’s operated for decades, as I’m sure Transformers fans have gone through the same feeling.

There are shows that have maintained fandoms for years despite the show having ended more then 10 years ago. I don’t think Friendship is Magic is going to be forgotten anytime soon. There are sure to be clashes about G5 in the coming years as it’s impossible to control an entire fandom that will have it’s vocal parts at eachother’s throats. But I don’t plan on looking down on anyone who ends up enjoying G5, I hope in some way there are those who may enjoy G5 as much as we did G4. And also for said G5 fans to respect those who continue to do mainly G4 content. I plan to give G5 a chance to grow on me, I just know the G4 is the past concept is going to somewhat bother me in a similar way to how for a long while Starlight’s lack of a full-fledged backstory prevented me from looking at her character with nothing but lukewarm feelings (Until I expanded on her myself in a story after the show’s ending). But just like with Starlight I don’t plan to rain on the parade of those who did end up liking Starlight. Especially considering I’m probably among the fans that were on the other side of those arguments as someone who liked the idea of Alicorn Twilight despite how divisive it was. I’ve been somewhat on both sides of different controversies in G4’s time itself. As G4 itself had it’s own divisive parts in it’s own history. Arguably, G5 being the distant future makes it just another part of those fandom controversies.

Though even with everything that happened a positive side of all of those is there were many fans invested one way or another to get heated about the show. Not saying it’s a good thing to have fans at each other’s throats but it’s part of G4’s legacy that people cared when something disappointed them. I think while there were certainly a good number of fans that left the fandom over certain stuff especially in regards to Season 3 and the first Equestria Girls. Those who stayed generally still had good things to look forward to. I myself kind of feel like Starlight’s reformation was the closest to a jump the shark moment where Season 6 failed to capitalize on nearly all it’s opportunity of what Season 5 laid up for the show’s future. But there were still good episodes in Season 6, Season 7 had some pretty great episodes, Season 8 is a bit of a mixed bag but even that had it’s fun parts, and I’m on the side that I’m happy with how the final episodes of Season 9 finished off the show. I don’t think Starlight’s reformation was a point where the show never reached another high point and I’m happy it was successful enough to get a conclusive ending rather then either getting canceled after a finale that didn’t leave things off with a proper goodbye or ending too early. As if the show had not been as popular as it did, Magical Mystery Cure would of been the series finale. I’m actually one of those who loved MMC, but for the show not to get things like the CMC’s cutie marks and just leave things that Twilight is a princess and that’s it certainly would of been way too soon of an ending.

CONCLUSION

Obviously, the staff seemed to plan for more then 9 seasons as no doubt they probably had more plans for the Student 6 and/or Cozy Glow had they gotten the green light for Season 10 or more. But for what it’s worth, it still got an conclusion that not all cartoons like this get. For all it’s ups and downs, MLP retained my interest for the entire run that I started watching and I still intend to do fan content about it’s characters a few years after it ended, so G4 MLP continues to be retained in a special place in my heart. Perhaps that’s a big reason I have the concerns about G5 that I do that I’m attached to that universe and for it to say things go downhill even if it’s not really the fault of the Mane 6 or anything makes it hard to accept very easily. I do think my concerns about the G4-G5 connection have merit either way, but I will repeat that I don’t wish any ill will on G5. Whether fair or not, G5 has a lot to live up to after the success of G4 and the consequences will be there for fan expectations. I hope it finds a decent enough audience regardless, and I hope that if I try to ignore the baggage of the implications of an Ancient G4 Equestria being part of this that maybe there’s something there for me too. I never thought I’d be invested so much in a cartoon about magical talking horses to this point a long time ago, but gosh darn it G4 managed to do so. And the staff behind G5 will have a lot on their shoulders to try to maintain that interest. Even if that task is impossible, I hope they try their hardest. Even if I’m not as invested into this generation, I want to be able to respect a good try.

#mlp #my little pony #my little pony the next generation #g4 #g5 #mlp g5 #mlp g4 #netflix #my little pony movie #generation 5 #generation 4

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sapphia · 4 years ago

Text

unpopular opinion but content creators blocking people who criticise them or not replying to aggressive messages calling them out is not a black mark to their name

youtubers, streamers, even the big tumblr blogs, can get hundreds or thousands of messages daily, not to mention replies and tags and reblogs/tweets, all with people trying to yell a variety of things at them. often these messages have issues with tone - they're joking but come off mean, they're supposed to be friendly but sound like they're critical - never mind the actual messages that are hateful or bigoted or just cold or unpleasant.

if you send them a message saying "hey you did something problematic" and they ignore you, this is not equivalent to you turning-mid conversation to your friend and saying "Actually that thing you just said has these bad connotations". It's equivalent to them walking along a red carpet being yelled at by hundreds of people saying everything from "I love you" to "Check out my video, I copied your style" to "You're a fucking asshole go kill yourself". And you, dear reader, stand there and call out, "You're a horrible person because you did this thing once" and then, when they don't turn all their attention to you directly, you condemn them for it.

and like, it doesn't matter that you're right, because they can't hear you over the din. they can't listen to everyone for the sake of their own mental health and professional good, so they have to block out most, if not all, criticism that comes from random strangers on the internet.

i don't think people on here really understand how overwhelming it can be to receive that sort of attention daily. like, there's a bit of empathy on this site for people who get thrown into the spotlight and end up with thousands of mentions or discourse happening over an innocuous post. because yeah it sucks to have one thing you've said thrown into the limelight.

now imagine that for everything you say. imagine that you post a joke about how your cereal looks like a man drowning and then you have to pause and be like, is this offensive to people who've drowned? has someone famous drowned recently and this could be misread as a crack at them? what if someone drowns tomorrow and people see this tweet on their timeline and thinks i'm joking about that, even though i posted it first? is drowning a taboo topic? is it a new alt-right dog whistle? what about cereal, am I making light of it's colonialist roots?

because any of that can happen. stupid things get blown out of proportion all the time - and it doesn't need to "go viral" for it to have an impact on the person it's directed at. people with large followings are constantly getting messaged about that exact sort of stuff, sometimes from trolls, sometimes from people who genuinely think this is an issue they need to address. some of it reads like nonsense. some of it's too pointless to bother with. some of it's hateful and sets you on edge. some of it's critical, but you wonder if they don't have a point, and then you're second guessing everything you say because it's impossible to be perfect if you're under constant scrutiny.

so yeah. when you @ someone with 100,000 followers to tell them that maybe they said something problematic, them ignoring you isn't them not caring about that issue, or knowing that they did the thing and not wanting to deal with it, or an admission that they are racist/sexist/homophobic/etc. if they didn't reply or deleted it without reading or even blocked you - they probably saw the tone of the message and filtered you out along with the rest of the people who, in their experience, send them critical messages for no good reason.

and frankly, that's their right, because bloggers and YouTubers don't have entire PR teams like celebrities do - they have to see all the hateful shit themselves and have no one's advice to fall back on if they get in an argument with someone and say something the wrong way, or get taken out of content, or even just say something ignorant or stupid that they wouldn't have said if they'd kept their mouth shut.

#tumblr culture #cancel culture #i know i post about this a bit but every time i talk I've got someone knew in mind who this has happened to #because it just happens fucking everywhere

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crobby · 5 years ago

Text

mistakes were made

word count: 1285

pairing: peter parker/johnny storm

summary: spidey makes an onlyfans account. it doesn’t go well for him.

for the spideytorch gc bwahaha

___

Peter’s not a charity case, he’s just… making a financial choice that may involve getting practically free money from strangers.

Things are a bit tight right now, is all. JJJ is paying him even less than usual, rent got bumped up, and he needs to pay for a repair on the spidey suit after an especially gnarly battle.

So, yeah, he could use some extra cash, which is why he’s up at ten-at-night slouched over his computer and creating an OnlyFans account.

It’s a perfectly respectable thing to do in his situation. He’s not going to be posting spider-porn or anything like that. He doesn’t know what he’ll post, actually. People would probably pay to see Spider-Man do anything, even just read a book. Oh! He could do little biology lessons. That’s a great idea because he’s literally a biology teacher. Big brain boy.

After putting the final touches on his account, he gets set up to start filming. He’s not going to splurge on fancy equimptment, so his phone camera and a lamp are going to have to do.

He feels weird talking to an inanimate object as if it was a real person but he makes it work. Adding in his usual brand of bad jokes to help ease the awkwardness of it all, he goes over a (not-so) simple biology concept and posts it. An hour later, he checks his phone to see hundreds of notifications. That was quick, he thinks.

Peter gets on a posting schedule, releasing a few videos each week. He quickly amasses hundreds of thousands of followers after Tweeting about it on his Spider-Man account. It’s not verified, but people generally accept that it’s actually him.

He was right about the whole ‘I can post about literally anything and people will eat it up’ thing. He doubts anyone actually cares about biology; they just want to see his face--well, Spider-Man’s face.

Peter’s never been more liquid in his life; he’s got cash flowing out the wazoo. It’s nice, which is why something has to go wrong. The infamous Parker Luck never lets him catch a break.

The day in question starts out fine; he catches his train, doesn’t get mugged, and there’s no villainry for him to stop.

It’s when he walks into the school that things begin to take a turn for the worse. His students are whispering, which is normally fine because they’re asshole kids but today they seem like they’re all whispering about the same thing: him. On top of that, several students whoop and whistle at him in the halls.

Something’s up.

He makes his way into his classroom, trying his best to avoid anyone and everyone. After a bit, the students start filing in.

A boy shouts, “Get it Mr. Parker!”

Peter’s head shoots up from where it was bent over various papers. “Excuse me?”

“We saw what your husband tweeted,” a girl pipes up, blushing.

“I--what?” Peter scrambles to find his phone in his messy bag.

The girl places a hand over her mouth. “You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know,” Peter snaps. Oops, he really shouldn’t snap at his students. He finally finds his phone and opens up Twitter to see an alarming amount of missed notifications. Yikes. Going directly to Johnny’s Tweet, he nearly bursts a blood vessel.

Johnny Storm

@thehumantorch

Yeah, me, my husband, and Spider-Man had a threesome. What about it?

Why on Earth did he post that?!

“Give me a second,” he tells his students, angrily dialing Johnny’s number and stepping out into the hall.

It rings once before Johnny answers, “Hey babe.”

“Hey? That’s all you have to say? Hey?”

“Oh. You saw the Tweet.”

“Yeah I saw the Tweet! What the fuck, Johnny?”

“Hear me out! It was necessary! Okay so basically I accidentally walked into the background of one of your videos in my underwear and everyone thought that I cheated on you with Spider-Man and people were getting really mad about it so I had to do some damage control!”

“Your idea of ‘damage control’ was to tell the entire world that we had a threesome?!”

A startled student looks up at him from the water fountain. Sorry, he mouths to her, pointing at his phone.

“It was the best I could come up with! People believed it and nobody thinks you’re Spider-Man! I think I did alright!”

“I have an entire class of teenagers making fun of me right now! Nothing about this is alright!”

Johnny pauses. “I, ah, didn’t think about that.”

Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. “What are we gonna do about this?”

“I don’t think we can do anything, hon. People will stop talking about it eventually.”

Sighing, Peter resigns himself to his fate. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. Sorry I got so mad.”

“Lol it’s okay, sorry for making some teenagers make fun of you.”

“Did you just… say ‘lol’ out loud?”

“Yes.”

“I--okay. I’ve got to go. Bye, love you.”

“Love you too!”

Peter hangs up, pocketing his phone and heading back into the classroom. “Sorry about that, I had to… talk to someone. Let’s do some biology, yeah?”

Getting into the lesson, he can almost forget the shitshow on the internet. Almost.

A boy raises his hand.

“Go ahead,” Peter says.

“Is it true?”

Peter plays dumb. “What, that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell? Yeah, that’s true.”

“No, the thing about Spider-Man.”

Peter sighs. They’re all looking at him expectantly and he can’t really deny it at this point without raising a whole horde of other questions.

“Yep,” he lies, “It’s true. No more questions about it, though.”

The statement is met with a chorus of disappointed groans.

“Come on, biology is better than gossip,” he tries.

“No, it’s not.”

“Regardless, we’re not talking about this anymore. Get your textbooks out and turn to page three-hundred and ninety-four.”

___

Peter was graced with three lovely, peaceful weeks before shit hits the fan. Again.

He’s teaching, just like last time--why do bad things always happen when he’s teaching?--and he’s just told a hilarious joke when he notices a student acting weirdly.

It’s not the ‘I have a vape pen hidden in my sleeve and I really hope you don’t notice’ type of weird. Peter’s not sure what type of weird this is, just that he doesn’t like it.

He tries to ignore it--he really does--but the kid’s barely hiding the fact that he’s doing something, which is gathering the attention of a handful of other kids.

He peeks over the boy’s shoulder as he hands out worksheets to find him watching one of his OnlyFans videos. That’s not good.

“Care to tell me why you’re on your phone in the middle of class?”

The kid jumps. “Sorry, Mr. Parker! I wasn’t doing anything--just, uh…”

“Watching Spider-Man’s OnlyFans videos?”

“...Yeah. Do you steal his jokes?”

Peter frowns. “What?”

“It’s just--a minute ago, you said the same joke he did in this video.” The boy turns up the volume and rewinds the video to the point where Spider-Man does, in fact, say the exact same joke Peter said not even five minutes ago.

“Why does his voice sound like yours?” a girl asks innocently, not knowing that she just ruined Peter’s whole life.

“It, uh... doesn’t?” he stammers.

“No, it definitely does,” a boy says, “Wait! Oh my gosh, you didn’t have a threesome with your husband and Spider-Man, you are Spider-Man!”

The students break out into a roar of chatter, all asking questions and sharing their own theories.

“Nope,” Peter decides, walking out of the classroom--nay, out of the country. This is it. He’s done for.

He never should’ve made that OnlyFans account.

#my fic #peter parker #johnny storm #spideytorch #spider man fanfiction #fanfic #marvel #marvel comics #spider man #spider-man #spiderman #human torch #peter's a teacher in this one #and he and johnny are married #my writing #mine

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queenbirbs · 5 years ago

Text

the way home | Ch. 1 | Edward x MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x MC

Word count: 2,048

Summary: In which traveling to the past is only half the battle; or: Elena finds her way back.

Warnings: language

Notes: This series is complete. I’ll be posting chapters on here and over on AO3. Title taken from Tony Anderson’s The Way Home. Continue on to chapter two.

Inspired by @choicesmonthlychallenge day 16 prompt “tick tock / time.”

------

“You heard what my colleague said.” Robert’s voice sounds from the backseat, pulling her from her study of the countryside. “If this doesn’t work, then we may get stuck somewhere else with no--”

“Fuck that,” Elena cuts him off. “It’s going to work.”

He rolls his eyes at her in the rearview mirror, but says nothing more. They’ve spent enough time together over the last two years that he’s learned when to stop bothering with trying to change her mind.

“Damn straight it better work,” her sister Gabby says around a mouthful of sour gummy worms. “I didn’t put two-thousand miles on my car for you all to get skunked.”

Robert makes a face at the unusual term. “Are you forgetting that if we get caught then you’re an accessory before the fact?” he points out.

“Yeah, but that won’t really affect my trade-in value, now, will it?”

Up ahead along the highway, a yellow sign reads: Welcome to New Mexico; Land of Enchantment. With Colorado in the rearview now, Elena pushes out a breath, trying to calm her racing heart as the pockmarked landscape passes in a blur.

She’s tired of having her fate sealed, printed onto expensive cardstock, and ogled by museum-goers. What a life she led! How tragic, though, about Captain Mortemer spending all that time searching for her! the people at the museum tut and shake their heads before moving on to the next room. Elena’s tired of coming back home, of staring at that portrait of him and wondering if it’s the last she would ever see of him.

During their four trips to the past, she’d managed to find Edward only twice. Though she was glad to be leaving it behind, there was something to be said about the ease of communication in the twenty-first century. After their last return, Elena and Robert didn’t bother with the faulty compass or time anomalies. Every deadend, every long night of research, and every weekend trip to scope out a lead was for the assurance that this would be their final voyage to the past. There would be no more time-hopping, no more disappearing for months at a time. With each stone they overturned, there was hope that it would bring them here. Here, she bemuses, to the long stretch of empty highway between southern Colorado and northern New Mexico.

The trip to South Dakota had been a last-ditch effort. Robert’s old colleague from Oxford let him know about a warehouse hidden away in the Badlands, rumored to house hundreds of artifacts -- including the one they were after. Convincing Gabby to be their getaway driver was the hardest part; putting on a show of being a damsel in distress with a broken-down car and incapacitating the guards was much easier, in Elena’s opinion.

Under her touch, the artifact in her hand glows the same eerie shade of blue as the compass. The whistle is a tarnished gold, engraved with the initials of a sailor who escaped H.M.S. Fletcher after its sinking off Cape Horn in 1890. News articles about the event were vague. The sailor’s diary, however, detailed his two days trapped in an air pocket, blowing his whistle desperately for help, and suddenly appearing on the shore eight years in the past. The only corroboration was the event log of a fisherman who watched the man “step out of thin air.” By all accounts, the tale was nothing more than a fantastical story.

They reach Urraca Mesa with plenty of light left -- surprising, given that they were forced to hike around the scout ranch that owns the property. The mesa glows crimson in the afternoon sun, towering above them as they make their way up the trail. Elena’s duffel bag smacks against her thigh with every step. Along the next rise, Robert stops and consults his map with a scowl.

“The lodestone minerals makes navigating this place a pain in the arse,” he grumbles as his compass refuses to cooperate. The needle jerks back and forth, never settling on a clear direction.

“Does it have to be exactly on the ley line?” Elena asks, fidgeting with her bag’s strap to move it to a less sweat-drenched part of her back.

“Of course it does. That’s why we drove all the way down here in the first place. The electromagnetic energy is at its peak along--”

“Okay, okay!” Gabby interrupts. “How about we try something else: do you have the exact coordinates?”

“Yes, but a compass doesn’t work like that.”

“Yeah, but a phone does,” she snaps back, tugging her phone from her backpack. “Lemme have ‘em.”

“We’re too far out of range for cell service.”

“Maybe, but it’s worth a shot.”

Robert sighs, then flips his map over for the coordinates scribbled on the back. Gabby’s fingers fly across her screen. Within a minute, the automated voice is telling them to continue south for 256 feet.

“Verizon,” she offers at his look of surprise.

You have arrived at your destination! the phone announces as they come to a copse of trees underneath the mesa’s shadow. Elena isn’t sure she really believes in all of Robert’s theories about magnetic fields, but there’s something different here. An odd sensation tingles down her spine and through her fingers, as if she’s touching a live wire. The smell of ozone is heavy, as if a tremendous rain fell moments ago, though the desert is bone-dry.

“Well?” Robert motions to the whistle in her hand.

She lifts the whistle to her lips and blows. Its shrill cry pierces the air, the mesa’s steep walls echoing the noise. At first, nothing. Then, as if ripping a seam through the fabric of reality, a portal cleaves the open air before them. That blinding blue-and-white color shimmers before them.

“Holy fuck.” Gabby grabs her arm and squeezes. “You-- you weren’t making this shit up.”

At that, Robert turns and lifts an eyebrow at her, a smirk stretching across his face.

“You think we’d make you drive two-thousand miles for a practical joke?”

“I mean, we used to play them on each other growing up,” she says. “But this would be one hell of a trick.”

“No trick,” Elena tells her, turning her attention away from the portal and back to her sister. “But it does mean…” she trails off, her throat too tight to finish the sentence.

With tears welling in her eyes, Gabby throws her arms around her and hauls her in for a tight hug. The portal sparkles against Elena’s closed eyes; tears drip steadily down her face.

“You’re really sweaty,” Gabby complains against her hair, prompting a laugh from her sister. “I hope you didn’t forget to bring anything, because there’s no CVS on the other side.”

“I’ll be okay. I have everything I need. And there’s always the local market.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re stock-full of tampons and condoms.”

Robert clears his throat, gesturing to the portal when both sisters glance over at him.

“I’m sorry, but we really need to go, sooner rather than later. I’m not sure how long the portal will stay open. If it closes, we may not get another chance.”

Elena nods, crushing her sister against her one last time before letting go.

“I know you’ll have a badass sword or whatever, but make sure you use those moves I taught you,” Gabby tells her. “I didn’t close up shop at the gym for a whole day just for you to rely on weapons only.”

“Okay,” Elena nods. “I will.”

“And try to get a message to me. I’ll keep an eye out for any new pirate documents and artifacts. There’s a subreddit I follow that keeps me up-to-date.”

“Okay, I will.”

“And tell that little boy of yours, whenever he comes along, that he has a really cool aunt.”

“Okay,” Elena promises, her voice breaking around the words, “I will.”

Nodding at Robert, she walks with him to the portal’s edge. This close, she can smell the salty wind and feel the humidity of the Caribbean. Glancing back at her sister, she gives her a watery smile.

“Love you,” they say in tandem, prompting the other to chuckle.

After a final wave, Elena turns and links her arm through Robert’s.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Together, they step into the portal, and the world closes up behind them. For the briefest moment, she glimpses that swirling mass of colors that surrounded the Intrepid during the chase with the Admiral. Then: white sand; a blazing, blue sky; palm trees swaying along the curve of a coastline. The salty wind that she caught the scent of earlier rushes past, a cool balm against her sweaty skin. Across the blue stretch in front of them, ships cruise toward the shore, their sails trimmed for an easy docking. Through the trees to the west, a bustling town sits above a busy port.

“Where are we?” Elena asks, squinting at the buildings to see if she can recognize where they’ve landed.

“Santo Domingo -- though you’d know it as the Dominican Republic,” Robert explains. “That white flag with the odd-looking red ex is a symbol of the Spanish empire. The ships out there are flying the same colors.”

“Okay. Now, more importantly, when are we?” she asks.

“The Spanish ruled this half of Hispaniola between 1697 and 1795.”

“Oh, yeah, you know,” she scoffs, “just a hundred-year span of time.”

“Quiet, I’m not finished. Do you notice something off about the buildings? Extensive damage like that isn’t caused by a tropical storm. That would be hurricane-force winds.” As he lectures, he swings the bag on his shoulder round and starts to dig through it. “In 1754, Santo Domingo was hit with what would’ve been a category three hurricane. Twelve ships were lost.”

“That history degree of yours is coming in clutch,” she says, grinning when he scowls at the slang term.

“Our only real way of knowing, of course, is to go into town and find out.”

Pulling a tube from his bag, Robert bends to set it down in front of the portal. She forgot it was there at all, too excited at the prospect of returning home. “I’d advise you to retreat,” he tells her as he backs away, a pistol in his other hand.

Elena heeds his warning and follows him several paces away. She claps her hands over her ears just as Robert pulls the trigger. The gunpowder explodes into a ball of fire, eating away at the portal until it collapses in on itself, blinking from existence.

“So.” Her words sound muffled to her, still ringing from the blast. “That’s why you didn’t want to fly to South Dakota.”

“Not really. I just hate flying.”

“Convenient that you picked a century when airplanes haven’t been invented yet.”

Robert grins at her and shrugs, though the jovial expression drops from his face as he gestures to the whistle, still clutched in her hand.

“For the next item on the agenda, you need to get rid of that.”

“What? No!” Elena takes a step back and holds it against her chest.

“Elena--”

“Not until I find Edward. If we went too far in time, then this was all for nothing.”

He settles his hands on his hips and shakes his head at her.

“If you hold onto that, you’ll be drawing unwanted attention to yourself. There are those that can… sense power in objects. You’d be wise to toss that thing into the sea.”

“Later,” she snaps, then hesitates, trying to reign in the irritation at his lack of understanding. “Look, I know that for you, your goal is complete: you’re back. But mine isn’t.”

Robert grimaces, glancing away and towards the ocean beyond. Finally, the set of his shoulders loosens and his breath escapes him in a sigh. He digs through the bag at his side for a moment, before pulling out a long, gold chain.

“Here.” He takes the whistle from her and loops it through the chain. “So you don’t lose it in the meantime.”

Elena settles the necklace across her chest; the whistle disappears into the top of her shirt, hidden from view.

“Thanks.”

“Now,” Robert gestures towards the town, “let’s bury these bags and go see about this pirate of yours.”

------

References:

The warehouse full of artifacts in the Badlands is a reference to Warehouse 13, a show about a warehouse full of artifacts in the Badlands.

#edward x mc #edward mortemer #distant shores #distant shores fic #august choices challenge #Kaila writes things #f: the way home

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