#i may write a follow up about being my dads child someday

[justanothersillypoet]

Mother

Hypocritical

I think I get that from you

The hating when others do it

But not being able to help when I do the same.

I get a lot from you,

The good and the bad.

It hurts hearing all the bad you've done,

Knowing I may have done the same.

The cycles never end

And I don't think I can break this one

Maybe we're both here with the same curses.

The hug was warm

But quick

A leaving message to come back soon

It was nice wasn't it

Who were you persuading with that.

It was nice.

It was short.

I both love and hate it.

Someday you'll visit maybe,

We will go out for drinks,

You'll meet the people that make me me

The same way you make me me.

Will they look at you and say that makes sense?

Will they like you the way I think they will,

Will you like them.

I am my mother's child,

For good and for bad,

And maybe someday that guilt that comes with that understanding will go away.

[randomkposts]

Happy birthday Desmond. This is a little late, but I'm sure its still march 13 somewhere in the world. Anyways, I usually post a story for his birthday, and while there is one on fanfiction, I decided the tumblr one would be a little diffrent.

I'm using an old oc. Or the varient she could have been had she been born a guy and also never become a time travler. Red Jordan-Ryan. You can learn more about this character and the verse by checking out rk-ocs. For this story, that OC is Jasper Jordan-Ryan. They share a knack for meeting intresting people, and getting into situations and secrets they probably would be better off without. And determination.

This is a variontion of the future Clay saw for Desmond where he stayed at the Farm. So I decided, he teaches the kids as the assassin teacher.

Several things happen diffrently due to this deviation, and the Isu are trying to hijack the plot back onto the railroad by hijacking.

---

Not be at all

Not be at all, may have a sister story of sorts,  called not be Nobel  someday, from a quote by Alfred Lord Tennyson. If I ever write it, I mean.

---

In a world where Desmond did stay on the farm.

Des 1987- 25

Clay 1982- 30

—

Sometimes Desmond looks at the road leading out of the farm, and wonders what would have happened if he followed it.

Sometimes, when he was younger , he had dreamed of running away. He imagined what he would see beyond the farm, that he could be someone who didn't live in a conspiracy cult.

Maybe he would be president.

Nah, that was silly. He'd probably be a waiter or something, but at least he would be seeing the world.

It wasn't like training was all that bad. Sure he wasn't amazing at it,  though he had learned faster then most of the kids when he was younger. Maybe he could teach novices when he was older.

Mom might like that. It would allow her to go on more missions. He would have really missed mom, out there in the world. And really, leaving her alone with Dad was just mean.

So sure,  sometimes he dreamed of running away, but he was here to stay, and it wasn't a bad life.

---

It's strange sometimes, training the older ones, but with Clay it's different somehow. Clay has a very biting wit, and when it's not being used on him, the results are absolutely hilarious.

Clay is not going to be an assassinating type of assassin. He will probably end up working on the Animus, everyone seems to be interested in. Maybe he will be partners with the apparently expert Rebecca. Desmond has never met her, but apparently she is making good progress in creating one.

He doesn't really know though, because he is trying to stay well away from the internal politics.

Training people is fun. He gets to meet new people, and hear stories from all over. Some days it's almost as good as the thought of seeing new places.

And then there's this terrifying child, who appeared out of nowhere that one time.

"How the hell did you get in here!" Desmond had asked the blond child, who had just shown up one day, dressed as a novice, that he had never seen before in his life.

"I rode in the car."

"How old are you?" He asked suspiciously.

"Fifteen." The kid had said, glaring.

Desmond stared at the kid suspiciously.

"Fine, I am fourteen."

"I'll talk to you after the class."

Even if his parents' paranoia was right, and this was part of some convoluted Templar infiltration plot, a single Parkour lesson would probably not make a difference. He hoped. God, he should have searched them, first, what if the kid had a bomb or something!

Thankfully, everything went fine. After the class, Desmond had pulled the kid aside, and walked into an empty room. He started with the question that had been bugging him the most.

"Are you a boy or a girl, or what kid?"

The kid got really offended, and went  red. "My name is Jasper, and I am a boy! How the hell did you not notice that!" An accent tinged his words, and his voice broke a little.

Desmond laughed.

"Aww kiddo, it's just kind of ambiguous. "

Jasper growled, sounding alarmingly like a dog about to attack.

"Don't call me kiddo." He declared , glaring at Desmond.

Desmond began to laugh again, which seemed to infuriate the kid, and he growled again, which made Desmond laugh harder.

Finally , Desmond was able to contain his laughter, and get down to the important questions.

"Where did you come from, and why are you here?"

"I came from Bo-.... I'm from Quebec. I'm here because I followed the man."

"What man?"

"The man who killed R-" then he stopped again. "Who killed my godfather! "

"How did you follow him?"

"That's a secret. I'm just good at finding  people. No one wants me to be It ,in hide and seek!"

"Can I have his name, at least?"

"His name was a lie!" Jasper spat.

"You are a strange kid."

"I came here to either learn to either hire someone to kill him, or learn to do it myself. Then I might pay that robber who nearly killed me as a child a visit. "

"You are a terrifying child." Desmond informed him.

"My godfather was just killed. I want revenge."

"So you tracked his killer here?"

"Yes." The kid told him. "And given you are an assassin , I brought money to hire you to kill him."

"I don't kill fellow Assassins ,Kid."

Jasper did his dog growl again, and shouted "osti d'éparis de marde!" before running off.

He could not find him afterwards, no matter where he looked.

Later Desmond found out Thomas had been killed by a throwing knife.

He spent years afterwards, wondering if he was responsible for it, if it could have been prevented by pulling him out of that parkour class earlier.

"How the hell did I fail to find him?" He kept wondering.

That kid was damned terrifying.

He kept an eye out for him out of Paranoia, but 2011's February kicked off with Clay being kidnaped by Abstergo.

His father kept saying they had an in, that someone would get him out when it was time. It was a frequent argument they had, whenever Desmond and his father were alone.

Then in August, they got the news that Clay had gone crazy from the bleeding effect and killed himself.

Desmond went back home to mourn and be with his students.

A month later, his mother was kidnaped.

Desmond was determined not to leave another person in the hands of the Templars, particularly not one he loved. Screw whatever Fathers plans were!

His students were perfectly happy to help plan a rescue mission.

Besides, he'd always wanted to go to Italy.

---

The rescue mission hits an unexpected obstacle.

"SHE'S IN A COMA! "

Desmond screams at Lucy Stillman, his mothers... Keeper? Kidnapper? Guard? No, really, why the hell is she here.

"She tried to escape. She almost succeeded. It turns out Vidic really wasn't kidding. Lucy tells him distractedly ,looking upset and dazed. "The animus may be able to help her,  At least that's what Clay and William thought."

"Clays dead!" Desmond cried out, rubbing the tears off his face with his sweater. "Clays Dead, and my mother is in a coma, and it's all your fault. "

His face dryish, he signals Amalia and Rob that the cost is cleared.  Amalia guards the door, weapon ready, while Rob picks up his mother, and Desmond watches Lucy.

Lucy hums.

"You will need this, just give me a moment.

Desmond looks at Amalia, who shrugs, and holds her gun on Lucy, ready to shoot if she does something fishy.

Lucy comes back with a disk.

"It's the memory core Data. Get in contact with Rebeca,  and give this to her. Maybe it will help your mother."

She turns to leave, but hesitates. "I'm sorry Desmond." She says, before walking out of the room.

Desmond feels like he is about to break, but tells his students,  "lets go",  ordering David to look up Rebecca.

There are some injuries fighting their way out of Abstergo, but thankfully , no one is killed. Desmond is the worst. While his students are using the first aid kit , David drives them to a safe clinic.

While Desmond is being treated, a man named Shawn arrives, saying that Lucy called, and that he was here to bring his mother to Rebecca.

Desmond insisted on coming. So did Amalia. He told Rob and David to stay on standby, until he was safer.

Shawn grumbled under his breath, but sat and waited in the uncomfortable waiting room chair.

When they were finally done with him, Shawn helped carry his mother into his car, and drove them away.

-----

Rebecca and Shawn were good friends to each other, and alternated between being annoyingly kind and sympathetic to him,  which drove him a little nuts.

They were trying to help, and were getting information from his Mother's genetic memories, and keeping her alive, and stimulated in hopes she would wake up, but Desmond hated sympathy, and the sad kindness was almost worse.

Sometimes his Father visited , and when he wasn't looking down at Mother, he was arguing with Desmond.

It wasn't like it was new, Desmond and his father had always had something of a strained relationship, but... Mom would have hated this.

At least Amalia still treated him normally,  and dragged him out to spar when he looked close to snapping. Otherwise he might have lost it.

Eventually he just had his students come to Italy to train, partly to get some normal conversation. It wasn't that strange, Shawn still kept up with his work, and his father did too.

The next month went by in a strange limbo , and  out of nowhere in the middle of November, that terrifying  blond kid showed up at the gas station, growling at him.

"What the Hell are you doing here!" Desmond cried out, alarmed.

He was more confused than anything. And a bit suspicious. Perhaps dads Ideas about super convoluted Templar plots had more merit than he thought. He moved his arm, and poised for a hidden blade strike.

"I'm here to invite you to my birthday party." Jasper started sarcastically, tone dry as ice. He stopped at Desmond's glare. "Fine. I'm here to tell you to stop sending me bizarre and terrifying spam. "

What

"I don't even know your last name, let alone anything about you, beyond that you possibly committed premeditated murder at age 14. If I knew anything about you,  I would have given it to the police, not sent you 'Bizarre and terrifying spam.'How did you even find me?!"

Jasper seemed unfazed by that.

"A friend owed me a favor, and agreed to help me track down my spammer. All the evidence leads to you. So I came here to talk to you. "

There was a moment of silence, before he added.

"Also, I haven't murdered anyone. My aunt caught up to me, and told me that revenge was up to my Godmother. So we waited in the car, and left when my Godmother came back. "

"You were still willing to go far enough for revenge murder, to track him into a different country, from Quebec! How long were you following him!"

"This coming from the guy who trains Assassins. "

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again. You are a terrifying child. "

Jasper Growled, possibly at Desmond calling him a child, then his eyes began glowing white, and he began to shake.

"Nonononononoooooo!" Jasper cried, and fell over

"What the hell is happening!" Desmond shouted, grabbing at Jasper, before his head hit the concrete.

Suddenly Cortana appears. Well, not really, but there was something distinctly unreal about her. She looked almost transparent, and hard to make out, and suddenly all these images were shooting through his head. It was like walking into the last half an hour of a movie, and everything was completely out of context. He strained to hear anything he felt she was saying, but his ears were ringing, and felt like they were bleeding.

When he regained control of his senses, he realized they were in a plane, that Jasper was sitting in the pilot's seat, frozen in terror."

" Did you just kidnap me!" He demanded ,outraged.

"The voice in my head kept telling me the world would end, and that part of preventing it involved kidnapping you to go dig up something in a graveyard for her. "

"I'm already teaching my students in Italy to be with my mother while she is in a coma! I don't have time to go around desecrating graves with my kidnapper!" He shouted, not bothering to wipe away the tears.

Jasper turned to look at Desmond with a dead look on his face. "I don't know how to fly Jets." He said, calmly.

"What." Desmond said flatly, feeling a chill go down his back.

"I am not flying this jet." He turned back to face the window, and it occurred to Desmond that they were both screwed.

He walked over to Jasper and hugged him. Jasper stiffened, and awkwardly patted his back when he began to cry.

They sat there in their own world, until the Jet began to shake.

"I'd say it was nice knowing you, but I would be lying, because all of our encounters have been really bizarre."

He told Jasper, positive they were about to die. As last words went, they weren't too bad.

"Same to you, assassin teacher."

They huddled together on the floor together, as the shaking increased.

He didn't know how long they were down there, before the shaking finally stopped.

There was silence for a moment, before Desmond asked what they were both thinking.

"Are we somehow alive?"

"If this is dead, then I'm going to file a complaint."

"That seems so underwhelming."

"Yah" he mumbled,  going to open the door. Then his eyes lit up again, and he began to shake.

"DESMOND MILES! " Jasper shouted in a strange voice. "FOLLOW!"

Desmond followed the possessed Jasper, without a word. Frankly, some things are bonding experiences ,and huddling together on the floor of a possessed jet, waiting for the end, was probably one of them.

Finally, the possessed Jasper reached the spot he needed, commanded them to dig.

Jasper fell to the ground  twitching and stuttering. Much as Desmond wanted to help, he decided to dig, lest the ghost/Cortona thing come back to possess the poor kid again.

When Jasper finally seemed to come to, Desmond still hadn't found whatever the hell they were supposed to be looking for. Jasper suggested they widen the hole.

He got a rock, and began scraping the sides .

"I really wish we had a shovel." Desmond told Jasper.

"It can't be Too too deep. Right... There's probably a coffin under here."

"Lets hope."

---

As it turns out, digging holes on Connor Davenport's grave, in an old abandoned graveyard, leaves a lot of time for talking. Or awkward silence.

Desmond breaks it with a question.

"So, how did you get to the farm, all those years ago?"

Jasper turns to with a confused look, and mouths 'farm?'

"I don't know why it's called that. "

"Well, as I told you, I followed him.

I'm good at finding people."

"You tracked him down, and followed him onto the plane?"

"Yes"

"How did you avoid being seen?"

"I don't like to question it ,really. Takes all the fun out of it."

"Weren't your parents worried?"

"Why would my parents be worried?"

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Well my family probably is worried , but they've grown a tad resigned to my... Adventures I guess. My parents are probably working, and Mom probably hasn't even noticed yet. "

"Nothing about your Dad."

"He works on a submarine."

"And your mom."

"I don't know. Usually when she's home, she is busy. "

"I see. It reminds me a bit of my dad. We've had a strained relationship for, well, a long time now."

"And your mom?"

"I have a good relationship with my mom. But, she's been in a coma inside the animus for a while now, and I don't know if she's going to wake up. "

"I'm sorry about that. You must miss her."

"Yes."

Desmond didn't feel like talking anymore. Jasper didn't either, and it was kind of nice.

----

They knew they had definitely found whatever it was they were looking for, when Jasper  picked up a decent sized clump of dirt to break apart , and his eyes went white.

"IF YOU MOVE FAST AND GET THE APPLE, YOU MAY YET RESCUE YOUR FATHER WITH NO LOSSES OF LIFE." He shouted in the strange voice.

Then his eyes stopped glowing, and he collapsed.

"Jazz." Desmond tried shaking him "Jasper."

Honestly, he wasn't surprised at the collapse. They had been digging holes for hours, and who knew when the last time the kid had eaten was.

Desmond broke the clump, to find some sort of jewelry , and put it in his pocket.

He picked up Jasper, or tried to. For all he called him kid, Jasper was pretty tall, and well muscled. God this was going to be awkward.

He considered trying to fly the jet, but really did not want to be flying in a possessed vehicle ever again.

"God I hope you wake up soon." He pleaded to Jasper, before picking a direction, and walking .

----

Jasper did eventually wake up. He groggily told Desmond that whatever was possessing him, wanted Desmond to sacrifice himself to the sun gods to save the world and free her.

"What?"

" I think that translation works. It gets kind of hard to remember. Also the world is ending on my birthday."

"Happy birthday. "

"It's not tell December. December 21."

"Mine is on March 13."

"I'll be sure to buy you a present now, for when the world ends."

"Make it a survival kit. "

"And what are you getting me for mine."

"Is sacrificing myself to the sun gods to save the world not enough?"

"I would rather you come to my 16th birthday."

"Are we friends?"

"I think so. We've already had an  adventure, why not plan for more."

"Let's not have one like this again. "

"Or at least remember to bring food."

"We could try to catch something. I know how to clean fish at least. "

"That's not the same thing."

"It's something."

"Do we have any tools? Or will we have to throw rocks?"

"I have my hidden blade. And a few throwing knives."

"Can you hit anything with those?"

"Yes"

"I bet I can do better. Give me some."

"Arrogant"

"My cousin is a professional javelin thrower. We throw other things for the challenge too."

"Let's see you throw one then."

Desmond had to admit, he wasn't bad. But he was a teacher, and could think of many ways to improve Jasper's technique.

They were doing well in their track through the woods. Jasper's aim was improving, they had water and fish, and he was getting better at cleaning small animals with his hidden blade.

They were probably hopelessly lost, but it was better for morale If they focused on the positives. Like that their trap had caught a bunny.

Jasper was looking up at the sky, with a frown on his face.

"Tabarnak "

"What is it?" Desmond asked, but as he joined Jasper in looking at the sky , it was obvious. Early snow.

He looked at Jasper's black sweater, and down at his white one. Good for heavy weather, but not meant to be worn in snow. These sweaters would retain the water they soaked up, until they dried out.

"We're fucked" he announced to Jasper, who nodded.

---

"Would layers work?" He asked Jasper, who looked up confused.

"What layers?"

"Like if I gave you my sweater, would it keep yours dryish?"

Jasper frowned.

"Perhaps it might work for a little while, but Long term, everything would eventually soak through, I think. Besides, you would lose body heat when you gave it up, and it would feel colder when you put it back on. It would probably be smarter to keep the heat, and put up with the wetness."

"Got any ideas."

Jasper blushed hard.

"Sharing. But let's keep that as a last resort."

"Yah, I'm not into teenagers."

"I didn't mean it like that!"

Desmond laughed, as Jasper's face got redder and redder, the longer he laughed.

In reality, it wasn't too much of a stretch to go from huddling in fear on a jet, thinking they were going to die, to huddling together for warmth in the snow.

Eventually, salvation of sorts shows up when Jasper's eyes glow, and he grabs his hand and begins leading him  by the arm. Desmond's not sure how long they walked, long into the night, and the grey sky doesn't seem to get much lighter. His feet have gone numb, and he's walking on autopilot when Jasper drops, and Desmond looks up to see a gas station.

He doesn't have any cash on him, but thankfully he has his bank card and credit card.

He walks in, dragging Jasper behind him.

"I will pay you , if you give us a ride to the airport."

The lady at cash is staring at them bemused.

Oh right. They probably stink because the water got too cold to bathe in. And they hadn't had a change of clothes in ages. He's gotten nose blind to the smell, though he could tell it really bugged Jasper, though he never whines about it.

And they looked pretty gross.

How long had they been missing, anyways?

"Um, what day is it?"

"It's December the fifth."

"Oh. That was longer than we thought. " A lot longer than he thought.

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she looks on the verge of asking.

"Trust me. You really don't want to know how our day went. It was absolutely awful, and we were hopelessly lost. "

"I see a lot of strange things here.  Don't worry about it."

"I want to drink some Gatorade, and anything hot you have here. Then I'm going to go wash up in the bathroom."

"Tell you what, stay the night, take a shower, and I'll drive you to the airport in the morning."

"Thank you! No, really, thank you!"

Desmond could hug her. Well metaphorically. She probably wouldn't take one right now.

"No problem. Your friend there is... just sleeping, right.

"Yah, he's just pretty exhausted."

Hopefully.

----

Jasper woke up in the car, disoriented and speaking French. And although Desmond had picked up something from living with him for a few weeks in the middle of nowhere, he was speaking too fast for that to matter.

"Calm down Jasper. This nice girl named Marcy, is going to put us up  for the night, and give us a lift."

"Whaa-"

"Just think. Hot showers!"

"That sounds so nice right now."

"Doesn't it?"

"Mmm" Jasper agreed, then dozed off again.

The shower was heaven. So was the Meat pie she cooked for them, and fruit salad the next day.

Their clothes had been washed, they were clean, and fed, and even caffeinated. Desmond felt better than he had in a long time.

Desmond left her $300 for her generosity.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and slipped a paper into his pocket.

He wondered if in another life, he might have just stayed there. Kept Jasper, and Lived at Marcy's house, and settled into something domestic.

It was a nice thought. But he had other people in his life who needed him now. Students, and friends, and a possibly kidnapped Father to rescue. He was an assassin, and he was happy with that.

Jasper dosed on his shoulder on the plane, a far cry from the beginning where he had stiffened at Desmond so much as tapping him.

Desmond watched the clouds for a bit, and appreciated that this one had a living pilot, before joining his friend in sleep.

Amalia was keeping watch when they got back.

"Where did you go!" She demanded, sounding furious.

"Did you know we thought you had been kidnapped!"

"Well, you're not wrong. Only it wasn't by Templars, so much as... Well a ghost, I guess. Umm... It was way weirder than that actually. It wanted me to retrieve this." He held up the necklace, as If that would explain everything .

"Kidnapped by a ghost. Do you have any Idea how ridiculous that sounds! And who is that?" She pointed to Jasper.

"That's Jasper. Who is apparently able to be possessed by ghosts. He came here to find out why I was sending him... What was it you called it..."

"Bizarre and terrifying spam."

"Yah. Which made no sense, as I haven't been on my email in forever.

Next thing I know his eyes glowed, and we woke up on a jet, that no one was flying. We presume it was the Alien ghost lady, and thought we were going to die when it landed."

"I'm still not totally sure this isn't just your bizarre way of taking a vacation."

"Would I really do that?" Desmond asked, a bit hurt. "Also, If that was a vacation, then I never want another one for as long as I live. "

Amalia laughed at that.

"How is mom?" he asked, carefully.

Amalia got a weird look on her face.

"Well she is awake... But she isn't herself."

"Brain damage ?"

"Perhaps. But it seems that the personality of Altair is the one in charge. She only speaks Arabic now , to start with. So... Nope, nothing I could say would be funny or helpful in this context... I'm sorry Desmond."

'Mom' was incessantly interested now in finding the apple of Eden.

Which wasn't a bad thing, as it would apparently be needed to save his father sometime down the road... According to the ghost possessing Jasper, who also insisted things like the world was ending soon.

Even with all that going on, Desmond still trained his students, and even added Jasper to the group. Jasper seemed pretty confused about this, and still occasionally gave him 'why the hell are you doing this' looks, but for the most part, had gotten with the program.

Bizarrely enough ‘'Mom' had found an Apple of Eden in Italy , and had gone on a one woman rampage to free Father, despite the ransom call not even coming yet, and nobody even telling her he was missing or where he had last been seen.

"We have a theory for how we might put your mom back in the pilot seat."

Amalia told him one day.

"Really?"

"Well, the Animus explores genetic memories, right?"

"Yah..."

"So, it could be possible to let her explore her own memories?"

"That's... Not a bad theory. You would still have to get her back in the chair."

Apparently they took that as a challenge.  Mom was back in the chair.

Around the 18th , Jasper stormed in, eyes glowing again.

"MILES! EXPLAIN"

"I want my mother back."

"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN AMERICA!"

"I am right where I am supposed to be."

Whatever was possessing Jasper, threw its hands up, and turned to his father.

"PERHAPS YOU WILL BE MORE COMPLIANT" it told him, before touching him, and causing him to twitch and spasm.

If that thing thought Desmond's father was more cooperative then him, it had another thing coming.

They left the cave, and Desmond realized he still had the jewelry they had gone grave digging for.

"I thought you were kidding." Amalia confessed, staring at him. "That was way creepier than you let on."

"I think we will need to catch up with them." He told her, holding up the necklace.

Finding a place you have never been to within four days was not a realistic task.

They were together in America when it started.

"Oh. Oh my god!" She cried out looking at the sky."

"Happy birthday Jasper." Desmond called out, before they left to find shelter.

---

They survived. A lot of former cities were dead silent now, but they were alive.

"What do we do?" Amalia asked, a dead look in her eye, as she looked at the remains of a car.

"We find survivors." Desmond began, feeling determined. "It doesn't matter whether they are Assassins, Civilians, or Templars now, what matters is that we are survivors."

Amalia looked at him. It was different then the looks she normally gave him as a teacher. This was the look of a follower to a leader.  Loyalty and trust, and would die for you.

"Yes. We will."

Together they began their search.

---

For another AU check my other account Rk-ocs, for the fic "Burn like the sun"

[lokifantasies]

Fatherly Love

Summary: Loki and Ivy talk about what has her so upset.

Character(s): Loki & Ivy

Read the Mischievous Life series here!

Follow Jade, Loki, and Reader!

Strikethrough means I can’t tag you for some reason.

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Ivy’s sniffles started to die down when the other two kids left the room, and you and Loki sat with her on the large bed. The three of you sat in a triangle form with Ivy being at the top, in the middle of the bed, while you and Loki sat on either side.

“Ivy…,” Loki softly began - feeling concerned about the little girl that sat in front of him. “Love, talk to us.”

“I can’t,” Ivy mumbled. “I did a bad thing.”

“Sweetheart, whatever it is...we can fix it,” you stressed to her. “But we can’t fix it if we don’t know what happened.”

“Daddy...did you bring my backpack?” Ivy cautiously asked Loki.

Loki nodded and conjured up Ivy’s pink butterfly backpack. The little girl dug through the bag, and she pulled out a folded up piece of paper. With her hands shaking, she passed the paper to Loki - pulling her knees to her chest and crying again as she watched him slowly open it. Your husband sighed as his eyes scanned the paper, and you curiously looked over to see it.

It was Ivy’s most recent math test.

She had gotten an F...a 33%. Any student who receives an F on a test must get their parent or guardian to sign the paper to ensure that they know about their child’s grades.

Loki’s signature was on the paper; however, he wasn’t the one to write it.

“Ivy Sienna,” Loki spoke in a low, warning voice. “Did you forge my signature?” Ivy tearfully nodded and tried to hide from her dad. “Look at me, Ivy.” Ivy looked up to meet Loki’s eyes with her own. “Sweetheart, why did you feel the need to forge my signature on this?”

“B-Becau-se I’m s-s-stupid,” Ivy spoke - her breaths filled with hiccups from her crying.

“Ivy,” you said in a worried tone. “Sweetie, you know that’s not true.”

“Why would you ever think that?” Loki asked - his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

Ivy shrugged, and she pulled her knees tighter to her chest.

“I did bad,” she said quietly. You and Loki looked at each other with concern and sadness in your eyes. “And now daddy’s mad at me. Daddy hates me.” Hearing the words come from her mouth broke both of your hearts, but Loki knew what Ivy needed. Using the unspoken communication that the two of you had built over the years, you left the room to let Loki speak with Ivy alone. Once you closed the door, Loki turned his full attention to the younger twin - picking her up underneath her arms and plopping her on his lap.

“Talk to me,” Loki pleaded with his upset daughter. “How could you ever think I would hate you?”

Ivy shrugged and picked at Loki’s shirt. “I did something bad.”

“So, you think that means I would hate you?” Loki questioned - almost sounding offended by Ivy’s childlike reasoning. “My love,” he calmly spoke - nudging her chin up to get her to look at him. “There is nothing in all of the nine realms that you could do that would ever make me or mommy stop loving you.”

“But I made you mad!” Ivy insisted - her tears starting back up and immediately being wiped away by Loki’s hand.

“My love,” Loki soothed her - brushing her hair behind her ears and holding her cheeks, “I can never hate you, Ivy. You’re my daughter, my flesh and blood, my little princess, and just because I may get angry, that doesn’t mean that I love you any less.” Ivy’s blue eyes finally looked up to her father’s. “Am I disappointed that you felt the need to forge my signature? Yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore. I will always love you.”

Ivy tearfully threw her arms around Loki’s neck, and the god rested his chin on her shoulder - rubbing her back softly as he took in the feel of his little Ivy in his arms.

“I love you, daddy,” Ivy said into Loki’s ear.

Loki turned his head and planted a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek until he got a giggle from her. “I love you too, princess...more than you can ever know.”

[c-is-for-circinate]

Ok, Hades gameplay reaction time!

(Because I have been terrible this quarantine year about posting thoughts about stories I've been invested in, and I'm really enjoying this game, and I'm playing basically blind and I have theories, and what is tumblr for if not recording those things to look back on later.)

I love this specific kind of fantasy/speculative fiction, that straddles the line between 'allegory clearly designed to explore a real-world issue' and 'the themes of this reflect real-world issues but also everything is times one million for drama and setting's sake'. I love it so much. Because, look, this is a story about a teenager/young adult trying to gather up the skills and resources and help he needs to escape his controlling, possessive, emotionally abusive father's house. That's it. Strip away all of the trappings, and that's what the story is about. By comparison, I think about Star Wars. (I love Star Wars too.) That's also a story about a dysfunctional fucked-up family dynamic. But that family is fucked up because dad went on a magic-corruption-induced killing spree, and his twin children were separated at birth to be raised in seclusion with the intention of someday taking him down, and look, that's cool, but it's definitely not how people actually are. All of the dysfunction in that family is an outgrowth of the fantastical setting, which means it is fantastical dysfunction. It can occasionally mirror or remind us of real-life interactions, but it's a fantasy. Which is great and fun to watch and very comforting and so on, but I don't necessarily want that in every story, and I love Hades because it is not that, at all. When you extend out the basic 'kid trying to escape his toxic home environment', Hades is the story of Zagreus trying to get out with the help of his dad's estranged, complicated, wealthy and powerful family, who are absolutely part of the reason why dad is Like That in the first place, and may not be any more reliable in the long run but who he needs right now. And his stepmom and teacher, who love him enough to help him leave, unconditionally and supportively (ask me how many feelings I have about 'look, Hades can't hurt me for helping you, don't worry about me, I am going to take care of you and that means helping you get out of this house' coming from an adult authority figure, ask me). And his dad's employees, who like him but also have to fear the old man's wrath, and walk that line in different places the best they can. And stepmom's long-estranged parent, because this is a story about families and how they split apart and come back together. And all of that is so real, so grounded in actual, concrete, this-is-how-humans-work family dynamics. But it's also individual. The story works so well because Hades isn't just a silhouette of the controlling asshole father; he is clearly The Way He Is for reasons, complicated ones, good and bad alike. The Way He Is has details, particularities, paperwork, a dog he pretends not to love and rely on. He is specific. Nyx and Achilles are specific, not just generic kind stepmom here to be a trope inversion and cardboard cutout teacher. Nyx has backstory and personality of her own, Achilles has a complex history, opinions, a missing lover, and they BOTH have very particular relationships with Hades that aren't just boilerplate script. Yes, there's abstraction there, you meet these characters in brief visual novel-esque three-line conversations over the course of dozens of escape runs, of course there's abstraction--but there's the very real sense that all of these people have nuance, have good and bad days, that they've made choices to be who they are, even if we don't know what those choices are yet. And, like Star Wars, some of the ways in which this story is so specific rely entirely on the fact of the otherworldly setting! I've seen stories that go the other way, that try to use their setting entirely as window dressing, and they end up feeling so flat I can't even remember them right now because they don't let the environment lend complexity and nuance to their characters at all. The environment these characters live in matters. The absolute control Hades exerts over his surroundings is a divine power. The fact that everyone Zag runs into, for or against him, is either immortal or immortally dead, changes how the react to

one another and to the situation at hand. The shape of his attempted escapes (gauntlet combat with a variety of legendary weapons) might be an allegorical construct of the genre, true, but it doesn't work in any sort of real-world setting where there exists the possibility of authority figures above or aside from Hades and his extended fucked-up family. That's part of why the family is so fucked-up in the first place. But these changes still fit well within the realm of, 'yeah, if you took this extremely real-life dynamic and added these factors to it, I can envision people doing this thing'. I can envision these specific people doing this thing. They add to the specificity of these characters. Letting them be influenced by their unreal surroundings makes them more real. So hell yes for good storytelling!!!!

I'm still relatively early in the game (by which I mean I'm like thirty runs in but only just got past Meg for the third time, because I am not good at this game, although in my defense it's only the seventh video game and second button-mashing game I have ever played in my life so there's that), but I'm starting to develop suspicions about Persephone. Because, look, outside of Persephone's absence from the underworld, this story knows its Greek mythology, uses it, revels in it. And there is some kind of mystery still shrouding Persephone leaving in the first place. She left a goodbye to Cerberus in her letter but not to her own son. Nyx has warned Zagreus multiple times not to let the Olympians know she's his mother. He literally never even knew she existed. That's complicated! Add to that, Persephone left--the exact thing we are trying and failing to do again and again and again. She left with one note, which means either she managed a one-shot speedrun out of the entire realm or she had some other way to leave, because if she'd washed up in the Styx pool to plod back to her room and try again, she wouldn't've needed to leave the note in the first place. And, you know, she's Persephone. Really quite famous for leaving the Underworld! Also quite famous for being forced back. So. I'm wondering if Zagreus, so conspicuously absent from her goodbye, has something to do with it after all. Six pomegranate seeds condemned Persephone to six months, half a year, half her life. I wonder if a child that's half of her her constitutes a fitting trade instead. Which, of course Hades would be even more resentful and dismissive and cruel to the kid he got in place of the wife he loved (who he chased away by being cold in the first place). Of course Persephone would have difficulty saying goodbye to her son in those circumstances. It would make sense. The tricky thing here is how the Olympians fit into it, because I also suspect the rift between Hades and Zeus sprang from Persephone's departure. And yet, if the Olympians never knew Zagreus existed, let alone that he's Persephone's son--how can he count as payment into the deal in their eyes? So in that case, what does Zeus think is the justification for Persephone leaving, after the pomegranate thing? Or are we just not doing the pomegranate thing at all? It would be a shame to lose it entirely, out of a story that really seems to enjoy the myths it's playing with. And there should be something complex here, something more than simply 'mom fucked off and left because dad sucked and now I'm following her because same'. It feels more complex than that. 'Mom and dad had a baby to try and save their marriage, it didn't work, but when mom left she had to leave me behind because otherwise dad would have gotten the cops and her extended family involved' feels more right, while still just as grounded in reality as the story has been so far.

I sort of want to write some meta about how each of the six legendary weapons corresponds to their original divine wielder, but I haven't unlocked all of their codex entries yet (look I am very bad with ranged weapons in this game ok, I am working on it), and I still need to think about the details. Aside from, of course, fuck yes of course Hestia's the one with the railgun. Leave drama and elegance and traditional weaponry to her brothers and sister (Demeter, who knows how to get her hands dirty, gets a pass). Hestia is out here to get shit done. With a grenade launcher.

[sk1fanfiction]

Hello! I saw that you reblogged the "I wish you would write a fic where..." post, and I have two ideas for the Running From My Destiny verse that might make neat scenes. The first I can't really make a summary for since it's such a general idea, but I'd really like to see a Quirrellmort POV. For the second one:

Malfada Prewett meets the Weasleys. This... does not go as well as her parents thought it would, even if they didn't have particularly high hopes.

OR

Malfada absolutely does not get along with her cousins; she loves them anyways, though.

I hope the prompt(s) is(are?) fun! It's cool that you're doing this; it seems like it'd be an interesting experience. Have a nice night! :)

Thanks so much for the prompts! They were both very cool ideas! Hope you have a nice morning/afternoon/night as well!

ᑫᑌIᖇᖇEᒪᒪᗰOᖇT/TᑌᖇᑎIᑎG TO ᗩᔕᕼEᔕ

(spark)

Quirinus Quirrell surveyed his classroom, then glanced down at his attendance sheet, running a shaking finger down his list of names.

“P-Parkinson, P-Pansy?”

“Here, Professor.”

“P-Patil, P-P-Parvati?”

He’d always been ashamed of his stutter. There wasn’t a time he remembered not feeling afraid of his own voice. He expected peers, now students, to laugh at him and make him feel smaller and smaller, until he was annhilated.

“Here, sir.”

He pushed his reading glasses up his nose and focused on the next name.

His heartbeat stuttered in his ears. Something seemed to click. To focus. And when he spoke, his voice was as composed and steady as he’d always dreamed.

“Potter, Harry.”

“Present, sir.”

He could not help but look up at the speaker. But it wasn’t as if he was one looking. Rather, someone or something else had nudged their way to the front of his brain, gazing at the small first-year in the second row, scrawny, bespectacled and overall unremarkable, except for the round-rimmed glasses and bright green eyes that seemed to stir some distant memory, as if he had seen them both on another person.

Dead. And yet he felt more alive than ever.

He shuddered, and moved on, taking note of the remaining few Gryffindor and Slytherin students.

(ember)

It had been mere days since Quirinus had returned to the school; mere weeks since Voldemort’s disembodied spirit promised him everything he’d ever dreamed of.

No longer would he be the bullied, cowed Professor of Muggle Studies.

No longer would he be an afterthought.

There is no good and evil, only power, he reminded himself. Whether he vanquished Voldemort or brought him back to life, he would be great. And that was all that mattered.

And so, he had found himself standing in front of the Mirror of Erised, performing spells that he did not understand (but the other, strange new part of him did) and renewing the runes drawn around an ancient bloodstain.

But now, he was sitting in his office. And that green-eyed, unremarkable boy was sitting across from him (though the part of him that was Voldemort whispered, Quirinus, he is the one).

“Do you think I should be worried at all about the shadows?"

Harry Potter’s voice seemed to be coming through several miles of water. For his part, Quirinus felt frozen, and yet, more clever and powerful and strong than he ever had. His limbs had new life, every square centimetre of his being thrummed with magic, and he felt a strange, vast understanding of everything around him; even the boy’s mind.

"You were right to come to me, Harry Potter.” And there came the new, clear voice again, but it faded quickly. “If you are at all interested in learning to... control... to develop... your power, I may just be able to point you in the right d-d-direction."

(flame)

Halfway through the Quidditch match, something strange had come over Quirinus. That same terrible focus and perhaps not-so-mysterious power.

And every nerve in his body sang with the same fierce joy: Kill him, kill him, kill him! They’ll never trace it to you! Dumbledore is not here to see! KILL HIM!

Quirinus had not taken even a single year of Ancient Runes while he was at Hogwarts, and his affinity for the Dark Arts had always been weak. But now, he sat quite calmly in the professors’ box, muttering an Ogham chant and tainting the air with foul magic.

He saw what the others could not; Harry Potter was being consumed by his own shadows. The boy reached for his broom, hanging on with the last of his material form. His eyes were glassy and empty, and everything in Quirinus sung with the triumphant knowledge that his strange enemy was close to death. The Reaper was coming.

The two Weasley boys circled around him, trying to save him (foolish children, none can save him from Lord Death himself!).

It was the girl that snapped him out of his focus; she threw herself into the box like a wildcat let loose and despite the protests of the professors around him.

But it mattered not. Her precious brother was fast losing his grip, and soon the great Boy-Who-Lived would be nothing but a stain on the grass below; a tragic accident—

“INCENDIO!I”

The box crackled with flame, and the thing inside Quirinus howled in anger; yes, she should not know that, but fire would save the boy, sap the shadows.

Even as Snape shouted at her, it was her victory, not his, because Harry Potter had pulled himself back on the broom to safety.

How hard is it to kill an eleven-year-old child already cursed by a parasitic monster? You are just as much of a failure as they say you are!

And yet, thought Quirinus, he did not know if it was the thing, or himself howling in fury at his inability to kill the boy.

(ashes)

He did not like her. He did not like either of the Potter children at all.

Perhaps he liked Harry Potter sometimes, when he delved into his mind and forced the Obscurus to manifest, savoured his terror and the fear-filled memories of his Muggle relatives. When he entertained the idea of using him as a weapon against Dumbledore, now that he had shielded the boy from Legilimency from anyone but him and instilled within him a fear of his Headmaster.

Perhaps he liked Harry Potter when the Dark magic had burned out, and he lay helpless on the floor of Quirrell’s office.

Quirinus found that he liked to toy with the child; make him feel as helpless and utterly annihilated as he once had felt.

After all, he would one day kill Harry Potter. He would make the life bleed out of those green eyes and watch them go still and glassy (like his mother’s, he remembered now), someday soon.

Even as he Obliviated the second child who dared to intercept his search for the Stone, Quirinus knew the end was dawning.

With shaking hands, he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled death. The weak, prim Quirinus who would have balked at the very idea of polluting his body with such a thing was no longer important to him. After all, what was nicotine and tar and his disgust at the idea of a smoking habit when the spirit of the Dark Lord lived within him?

No. He had been chosen for greater things.

Tonight was the night the end begun.

Quirinus signed the bottom of his letter of resignation, put out the cigarette, and placed in it his brand-new ashtray.

And yet, he cried.

“I have given you my all, My Lord,” he said, and his voice, his own voice was steady. “And now I am nothing.”

𝙼𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚊 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚝𝚝/𝚃𝚘 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙳𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙼𝚎 𝚄𝚙 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚊𝚕𝚕

August, 1986

“Just give it a chance, will you?” asked her dad, taking her luggage out the boot. “You won’t know you hate it until you try it.”

Everyone seemed to be giving her the same stupid advice today. When they stopped to get petrol during the drive from London, some weirdo in the petrol station had told her “Cheer up love, it might not happen!” She had responded by sticking her tongue out at them.

Mafalda frowned, crossed her arms, and leaned against the car.

“I don’t see why I can’t go to Roedean.”

“Well, you’re a witch, Mafalda.” He wiped his forehead and frowned. “Bloody hot, isn’t it?”

Witch. She hated the word already. Yeah, some of the girls at school were into Ouija boards and palm-reading and whatnot, but Mafalda didn’t go in for all of that nonsense.

The kind of nonsense that got Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon killed.

“And what do they call you and Mum again?”

Her dad sighed. “Squibs.”

“Yes, Dad! It’s not very nice, is it?”

She glared at the house as if it had personally offended her. It was tall, maybe four or five stories and so crooked that there was no way it hadn’t fallen down by now. A couple of brown chickens hobbled around the yard.

And in here lived the people who had sent her father off to Muggle boarding school, as far away from them as they could possibly manage, as soon as they could.

As her dad strode towards the door, Mafalda followed, kicking a rusty cauldron as she went by.

Before Mafalda could make her great escape, her dad knocked on the door and a plump, short, red-headed someone opened it almost immediately.

“Alfred?” she asked in a squeaky, shocked voice. Then, she glanced furtively behind her as if to check that no one was listening. “Alfred, what are you doing here?”

Her dad frowned, fanned himself with the collar of his shirt, and beckoned her closer so that the rude woman could look her up and down.

“Come on, Mals,” he whispered. “In for a penny, in for a pound, eh?”

Yeah, her hair probably looked a mess and the dress Mum had forced her to wear was all creased, but Mafalda didn’t think she would look particularly nice if she’d just spent three and a half hours in a stinky, sweaty car.

“Well,” said her dad, “this is your niece, Molly, and she’s a witch just like you. Got her Hogwarts letter last week and everything; Professor McGonagall said we should come over and see you. Of course, her mum and I know next to nothing about the wizarding world and Mals just barely remembers your brothers—“

Mafalda couldn’t help herself.

“You’re my aunt? Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon’s sister? Why’d you never come to see me?”

The woman — Aunt Molly — went red in the face.

“Come in, Mafalda,” she said tiredly. And at her father’s hard look, she added: “Come on then. Both of you. In.”

Once they were inside the cramped, cluttered kitchen, she was introduced to her cousins. Mafalda kind of tuned out for most of it because most of them were younger than her, bloody annoyingly loud, and she wasn’t the World’s Biggest Fan of small children, but she did pay attention to Charlie (thirteen and Gryffindor Seeker) and Bill (fifteen and a Prefect of Gryffindor House). The youngest boy was crying his eyes out because someone turned his teddy bear into a giant spider, but Aunt Molly didn’t seem to care. A ugly-looking sweater was knitting itself on the sofa.

While she obviously knew what a Prefect was, Mafalda had no idea what a Seeker was or why everyone was making such a big deal over Gryffindor or more to the point what Gryffindor even was!

“Who’s that, Mummy?” asked the youngest, a little girl with hair the same violent red as Mafalda’s.

“Your cousin, dear,” said Aunt Molly tiredly. “She’s just come to meet us, her father’s a Squib you see—“

The little girl screwed her face up.

“I don’t wanna Squib cousin!” she yelled.

Despite herself, Mafalda flinched, and her dad did, too.

“Don’t worry, dear. She’s a witch, just like you.”

As if that made it any better.

“I don’t wanna,” the girl repeated, glowering at Mafalda.

“Look,” said Mafalda harshly. “We’ll just leave, get our Squib selves out of your way and on the three-and-a-half-hour drive back to London. Thanks for nothing.”

“You didn’t call, Alfred,” said Aunt Molly.

Her dad pinched the bridge of his nose, looking frustrated.

“There’s no way to contact you, Molly. No phone, and you don’t get our kind of mail. Where am I going to get my hands on a trained owl?”

“She can sleep with Ginny,” said Aunt Molly, nodding towards the little girl.

Mafalda gave Bill, who seemed like the most sensible one of the bunch, a look that clearly said, I am not going to bloody sleep with that demon and that’s final.

“I can sleep with Charlie, Mum, and Mafalda can have my bed.”

Aunt Molly beamed. “What an angel,” she said. And to Mafalda. “Come, dear, let me take your trunk. We’ll all go shopping in Diagon Alley tomorrow, doesn’t that sound nice? Alfred, you wouldn’t mind—”

“—Not letting the world know you have a secret Squib cousin, you have nothing to fear, I’m well practiced, Molly.”

Charlie stood up. “Can I show her around the house, Mum?”

The youngest boy looked up, too.

“And can I have a piggy-back ride from her?”

“You’re too old, Ron!” said the snootiest-looking boy, who was sitting in the middle and had the least amount of dirt in his face.

“I’m not too old!” shrieked Ginny, waving her freckled arms. “I’m only five years old, Mum! I want a piggyback-ride!”

“When your dad gets home from work,” said Aunt Molly.

“You’ll get used to us,” Bill whispered.

I don’t have to like you, thought Mafalda.

“So are you coming?” asked Charlie. “We’ve got to de-gnome the garden. You should come too, Uncle Alfred.”

Dad said he’d come with them, but would rather watch. De-gnoming apparently seemed to involve spinning the tiny, screaming, spiteful little (animals? creatures?) until they shrieked with giddiness, then tossing them as far as you possibly could, which Mafalda was very good at, and Bill and Charlie were all too happy to cheer her on, even convincing her dad to join in, too.

"Don't mind Ginny," said Bill as he flung a particularly angry gnome over the hedge. "She doesn't know anything about anything. And it was wrong of Mum to push you away, but I hope we can be friends still, and that you'll come to Hogwarts with us."

Mafalda, despite herself, thought that was an entirely reasonable proposal.

Maybe she wasn’t going to hate the wizarding world.

It turned out that unfortunately for the sake of her sanity, Charlie loved to talk while he was working.

“Have you heard about Quidditch, Mafalda — oh, good one, Uncle Alfred! That must have gone like twenty yards! Did you know the Antipodean Opaleye has no pupils? What House are you going to be in?”

And yet, she found herself (ew) getting a bit fond of them already.

[pitiless-achilles-wept]

Not dead yet!: Marking my 2-year anniversaries

On Sunday I marked my two-year “cancerversary” of my diagnosis and on Tuesday a member of the support group I co-founded (for young women who are stage 4) died. Like me, she had triple-negative breast cancer. Like me, she was diagnosed stage 4 two years ago. Like me, she had exhausted several types of treatment (because triple-negative is a beast) and was looking for the one that would work. She asked me about Saci (Sassy!) and proposed trying it to her doctor less than a week before she died. Nine days before she passed she joined our Sunday cancer yoga group from bed at the hospital to join our meditation exercises. Like me, she remained confident and positive and absolutely refused to give up hope. (Like me, she also wore her hair purple sometimes.)

There were many things that are unlike about us too. She had two teenage children who now don’t have their mother. She was twelve years older than me and had had Hodgkin’s before she had breast cancer--even worse luck than mine, to triumph over one cancer only to get this diagnosis. Unlike me, she wasn’t strong enough for Saci, the only targeted triple-negative line of treatment, because her body had reacted badly to immunotherapy. She was in the hospital for two weeks with somewhat mysterious symptoms all of which added up to her body shutting down. On Saturday she went home with her family in hospice care. 2 days later she was gone.

It’s not usual for things to go so fast. Typically, doctors, patients, and family members all have some advance warning and patients spend a solid amount of time in hospice care. I am sure that people will ask me why it went that way for her. I’m asking myself why too, since it is so shocking and so entirely unfair. The fact that it can happen that way at all is frightening to me as a fellow patient since it’s the scenario of nightmares. That really could someday be me. No one ever wants to think that--and I cannot live my life focused on it either--but it has to be acknowledged as a possibility.

[More below the cut about memories from 2 years ago today and hopes for the future. Also, an invitation to contribute to some writing if you want.]

Today, January 28th, is the 2-year anniversary of my stage 4 diagnosis. In a way, it feels more significant than my initial cancer news. I had four days being horrified, but thinking that I would get through this as a phase in my life. It would be terrible--I’d have a double mastectomy, scorched-earth chemo, radiation, anything to get rid of the cancer--but then it would be done. On the Monday following my first set of CT scans I learned that that was not true. My lungs were full of tumors. (Later, after lots of waiting, MRIs and biopsies, I'd find that my lymph nodes, spine, and liver were affected too. I still have tumors in all those locations, but no new ones.) I wrote a description of getting that news in an email to a friend over the summer, after I had read Anne Boyer’s "The Undying”:

“The worst part about the lung tumors for me was that my dad had gotten a very early flight and I learned the news while he was in the air. My mom told me we could not text or tell him on the phone, that he would need to be with us both. So I drove to Newark straight from the doctor's office. It was in the teens outside and windy as we slogged to the baggage area where we were to meet. I saw my dad in his warmest and ugliest puffy orange down jacket, looking small in it, forlorn and horribly vulnerable. I fell into his arms, thinking at least that airports were such horrible places, so impersonal and banal, that no one would look twice. 'It's in my lungs,' I said into his shoulder so that I would not have to see his face. I was crying into the jacket that somehow smelled of winter cold even though he had been inside for hours. 'Please, Daddy. Fix it, please.' I spoke like a child because, on some very deep level, I think I really did still believe that my father could fix anything. I was embarrassed, though, and so I tried to stem my tears as he put his big hand on the back of my head and said, 'Oh sweetie, we'll get through this. We will.' I knew that really he could do nothing--and that this was his nightmare of powerlessness--and so I sniffed and blinked and I did not let myself cry again until June.”

Two years later this moment seems as if it just happened. The impact of my diagnosis on everyone dear to me, and especially my parents, is one of the worst things about it for me. We all know that there’s only so much “better” I can get, with the current science, and we’re all playing for time while the research moves forward towards something better, something that would make this a treatable chronic condition. I go back and forth, emotionally, on how likely I think that is and how good my position is for the future. Right now, comparing myself to the group member who died, I feel relatively fortunate, even as chemo exhausts me, I lose every scrap of hair that was ever on my body, and I spend half of my days being almost unable to eat from nausea and loss of taste. I feel glad that I was able to get Saci, that my body has so far stood up to the ceaseless trials I have put it through, with four treatments and surgery (and full-time work and living alone etc. etc.). I feel strong, not scared, even as I feel the emotional toll of terrible loneliness from covid isolation, winter, and carrying a sick body through my days alone.

I do not love the “fight” metaphor because so much of having an illness is completely out of your control and I never want to take myself (or anyone else) to task for “losing.” And so instead I will praise my body for enduring. I will praise myself for my enduring also, in both an emotional and physical way. I checked back in on how I was feeling as this anniversary approached last year and was pleased to see how much better I feel about it now, partly as a function of being in a treatment that is (likely) keeping me stable rather than in the midst of choosing another new one. Here is what I wrote back to my group of friends in November 2019, the run up to the one-year mark:

“I’m feeling like I can’t plan and don’t want to celebrate, like I can’t perform “fine” for the people in my life to spare them from the pain I’m causing by not doing better and feeling horrible about it. Perhaps it would help if I let them know that they didn’t need to perform “fine” for me? I understand the desire to protect me from the obligation to take care of them and appreciate it. But sometimes it can feel like I’m the only one experiencing anger or grief or pain, though I know I’m not. Feeling so isolated in my emotional response provides no catharsis for it. Compassion and sympathy function on the notion of “fellow feeling.” If you’re just out here, feeling by yourself, you can’t expect any comfort. As always, I think of the moment in the Iliad when Priam and Achilles cry together over dead Hector. Grief (and you can grieve for many things aside from a death) is something explicitly to be shared.” So I guess I’ve shared it here. I can do that. And I can do another thing, which is to tell you I love you. People don’t really say it enough and reserve it too entirely for romantic contexts. It’s weird--it’s not like we are wartime rationing love! And every time anyone says it to me it helps. It’s an affirmation that I am integral in some way to people’s lives which, in a society that so greatly valorizes marriage/partnership and children, is something I can be in doubt about.”

There are some things I like here, though, and that I would now like to reiterate and invite you, my far-flung friends, to do for my 2-year milestone. Never has the notion of “fellow feeling” in times of grief and depression hit harder or been more important than during covid. In a way, the nation (or even world) was forced into much the same position, emotionally and practically, that my cancer put me in. People are isolated, unable to perform “fine” and wondering if other people feel the same way, or even if any of us can take care of each other at all. I am here to tell you that you can. Maybe not immediately but--sooner than you think--you can. Emotional reserves may be low but reaching out to support someone else can actually replenish them. You do not have to feel alone, or to feel, alone.

And for me, for this milestone and for the cancer-related depression that I certainly do have, I’d like to invite you to help me, so that I can do the same for you. I invite you to write something about how this milestone feels for you (either about me or not), how it relates to all the other insane things going on in the world or with you (not about me at all), how you felt on the original day when I shared my stage 4 diagnosis (definitely about me)--really anything that is on your mind or in your heart.

“Oh great,” you may think, “the English PhD has asked us to do homework!”. But no! It's up to you what you do. Write in whatever form you want, however long, even anonymously. And if you do I will write you back! Not with grades or comments, but with something to connect to what you shared. It is a way to create fellow-feeling; to open up, connect, heal. With me, yes, but also as the group of extraordinary people who have gone with me so far on this hard road. It’s a very different proposition to support someone through time-limited treatment with a good outcome than it is to sign on for whatever comes next. You are all, truly, pretty extraordinary.

Anyone who wants to send a note or reflection can email me or drop a file or post in this Google drive folder. Like I said, feel free to share whatever and do it anonymously if you’d rather. You can also askbox me here (better than DMS) or submit a post to this blog. (I'm taking a chance with open DMs for now...we'll see if that needs to change.)

I am grateful for all of you every day, but especially today.

Love, Bex

p.s. The title of this post refers to the cinematic classic "Monty Python and the Holy Grail," a film my high school self and friends loved. They, along with other wonderful folks. gave me a "cancerversary" cake with "Not dead yet, motherfucker!" on it this Sunday. p.p.s. The average life expectancy for people who get this diagnosis is 18 months to 3 years. Hitting 5 years would be extraordinary. Starting Year 3 is a huge deal and I have every intention of being extraordinary. (Never been average at anything in my life...I either succeed spectacularly or fail epically!)

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze pt 20/25

Previous

Warnings: Wildfires, training scenarios involving mentions of smoke inhalation, and other general firefighter stuff? (probably not accurate)

_______________________

The last week since Parents’ Evening had been relatively peaceful considering.

Yennefer had stayed with them for the weekend in the spare room before heading back to Cidaris. Vesemir had even let Geralt swap his weekends shifts to an on-call one. He couldn’t switch off properly and he wouldn’t be paid as much for the time but it did mean he could stay home with Ciri and Yen unless the team got called out to an incident which was bad enough to require all of them, or there were multiple jobs called in at one time. The majority of their days were spent training and maintaining equipment after all. The calls were hard and somedays it felt like they spent more time in the fire engine than the station but if Geralt really broke down his day, most of the day was spent making sure they were on the top of their game, working as a team and at peak physical fitness.

The only sticky moment had been on Saturday lunchtime when Yen had been out with Istredd. Naturally that had been when Vesemir had called Geralt to assign him to a job. Ciri had spent an hour hanging out in Vesemir’s office whilst Geralt went with Renfri to a block of flats where a small child had locked his parents out of the flat. Luckily there was a window left open and Geralt had climbed up using the fire engine’s ladder and swung though the window. He’d managed to open the door from inside the flat and no permanent damage was done. The parents had been incredibly embarrassed, but Geralt could hardly blame them. Ciri was a handful at the age of seven. This kid’s parents had two children under the age of five, it was like a tornado had hit their house.

By time he’d returned to the fire station Ciri had been running around the yard with Lambert, practising some of the drills Vesemir liked to run. Geralt watched the pair of them run the drills a few times before yelling a few corrections in his best Vesemir voice. Lambert tripped and fell which made Ciri laugh excitably before she ran over to Geralt.

She proudly announced that she would be a firefighter when she was older.

Geralt had felt strangely content in that moment. He’d had a similar moment when he was a little bit older than Ciri with Vesemir. Ciri may not be his biological daughter but in the short few months that she had lived with him she had become his family, there was no denying it. She still had Calanthe’s fierce stubbornness, and Pavetta’s endless love for the world, but now there was something of Geralt and his family in her too.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out whilst stirring the pasta sauce idly. He was making a large pot load so he could freeze some to use during the week for lunch and dinner for the pair of them. Yennefer had scolded him for the lack of fresh food in Ciri’s diet, he decided that a fuck load of tomatoes in the pasta sauce counted. There was even some chopped onion and garlic in there for good luck.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling fondly when he noticed the string of emojis that Jaskier had changed his name to in Geralt’s phone.

J — Boooooooooooored xxx

Geralt rolled his eyes.

G — I haven’t had my weekly email yet.

They weren’t due out until tomorrow but Geralt knew that Jaskier had a habit of procrastinating and not writing them until the last minute. He smirked as he watched the dots wave at the bottom of the screen.

J— That doesn’t help my boredom dearest xxx

Geralt laughed, he could just picture the adorable pout on Jaskier’s lips.

G — That’s too bad.

J — Geralt!

— You’re no fun!

— We’re breaking up.

Geralt rolled his eyes and dipped a tea spoon into the pasta sauce to taste it. He grimaced. Something wasn’t right, more salt maybe?

G — Ok.

He swiped the salt from the counter and added some to the pot whilst he waited patiently as the dots appeared and disappeared at the bottom of the screen. Eventually Jaskier must have given up because his phone started ringing. He laughed as he swiped to pick up the call.

“Geralt!!” Jaskier whined.

Geralt looked around. Ciri was still upstairs in her room, he could hear the tell tale sound of things crashing about which meant she was probably trying to spar with her soft toys.

“My heart is broken, Jask.” He said sarcastically. “I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.”

“Darling, dearest of hearts, light of my life.” Jaskier cooed.

“Hmm?”

“Will you be my boyfriend?” Jaskier asked sweetly as if they’d never had this discussion before.

Geralt smirked. “I thought you wanted to break up?”

“Bollocks to that.” Jaskier stated firmly. “I am an artist Geralt! We are prone to exaggeration.”

“Hmm.”

“So?” Jaskier asked quietly.

“For the hundredth time, yes.” Geralt chuckled.

They had agreed that they were officially dating by the middle of the first week of the Beltane Holidays. Of course, Jaskier had a tendency to fake break up with him whenever there was a minor inconvenience in his life, such as being bored.

Geralt never believed him. It was hard to believe someone was seriously breaking up with you when they were curled up in your lap and sucking hickeys into your neck.

“I’ll make it up to you!” Jaskier trilled happily.

“I’ll add it to the list of IOUs.” Geralt rolled his eyes as he turned down the heat on the sauce. It was starting to boil too ferociously.

“I miss you.” Jaskier added with a sigh.

“Yeah.” Geralt agreed.

It had been difficult since school had started back. They hadn’t been able to see each since the first week of the holidays, not properly. There had been longing glances across the playground and the occasionally brushing of fingers if Geralt bought Jaskier and Triss a coffee on the way to work. The most they had interacted in person was Parents’ Evening and even then they had been on their best behaviour.

It was hard.

After a week of learning how to be in each other’s space and enjoying the freedom of being able to love each other freely, they were suddenly playing these roles of distant friends, if that.

He’d wanted to reach under the table to take Jaskier’s hand, just to be able to hold him but they were being watched. He noticed a woman at the back of the room surveying the whole event, not to mention Yennefer had been right there. Jaskier had later told him that the woman had been one Philippa Eilhart, one of the board members and one of the prime threats to Jaskier’s job should she discover their relationship.

Luckily Yennefer had sworn not to tell anyone, not even Triss or Istredd. They couldn’t risk it, not with the way rumours spread through the staffroom.

“Not long til summer now.” Jaskier sighed wistfully.

“No.” He agreed with a sigh of his own.

“It’s already half term next week.” Jaskier’s voice audibly brightened up. “I always forget how fast the last term goes. Spring term is fucking long!”

“Longer days, shorter terms.” Geralt hummed thoughtfully.

“And then you can be my boyfriend for real!” He heard a faint clap of hands. “Oh my darling, I cannot wait!”

“DAD!” Ciri bellowed from upstairs and he heard the thundering of feet as she raced from her room.

She would fall at the bottom step running like that. She always did.

“Shit! I have to go.” Geralt hung up on Jaskier and flew from the kitchen just in time to catch Ciri in his arms. Jaskier would no doubt berate him for it later but he didn’t mind, it was just another excuse to talk to Jaskier. “Cirilla, how many times have I told you not to run on the stairs?” He chided his daughter.

She huffed and crossed her arms in front of her. “I’m hungry!”

“It’s almost ready.” He assured her. “That doesn’t matter though if you break something falling down the stairs.”

“I’ll be more careful next time!” She insisted.

She wouldn’t be more careful next time. She never was.

He placed a kiss on top of her head and placed her back on the floor. “Ok, Cub. Can you help set the table?”

She nodded.

“Ten minutes, alright? Don’t forget to wash your hands.”

“Yes, Dad.” Ciri rolled her eyes.

“Watch the attitude, Ciri.” He warned gently and ruffled her hair.

She stuck her tongue out at him so naturally he stuck his tongue out right back at her.

She giggled happily and hugged him tightly before running back into the kitchen. He followed her with a fond smile and grabbed the bag of pasta from the cupboard.

___________________________________

Jaskier had rung Geralt up later that evening just as Geralt was getting ready for bed. They’d stayed on the phone for hours, eventually they had run out of things to say but it didn’t matter, they stayed on the phone just listening to each other as they did their own things. Geralt occasionally read out passages of his book that he thought was interesting, in turn Jaskier would stop scribbling in his notebook and ask Geralt what he thought of a lyric.

Eventually Jaskier had begun to snore like a pig on the other end of the line, which Geralt knew meant he was sleeping on his back. He never snored when he slept on his side, well not in the week they’d spent together.

When Geralt’s alarm went off the next day he was not ready for it. He hit snooze three times before Ciri came bundling into his room already fully dressed. Her hair was still loose around her shoulder and falling in front of her sparkling green eyes.

“Dad! Get up!” She bounced on the bed and he groaned.

“Two minutes.” He grumbled.

“I’ll call Mum!” Ciri sang happily.

“Shit, fuck. I mean. Ciri, no. Not a word to Yen.” Geralt rolled onto his back and Ciri clambered onto his chest to hug him.

“Does that mean I can’t tell her that you swore?” Ciri teased.

“Yes!” He sighed and petted Ciri’s long hair.

“Can I have extra cake for dinner?” She bargained.

“And breakfast tomorrow.” He agreed, knowing that Eskel had offered to take her to the zoo on Saturday.

“Yes!” She cheered and leapt off the bed. “Come on! We’re going to be late!”

“Alright alright. We’re stopping for coffee though.” He muttered.

If he was exhausted then Jaskier surely would be too. The teacher wasn’t good in the mornings on an ordinary day let alone when they’d been up half the night talking.

He got ready for work in record time and then help Ciri braid her hair before they bundled into the truck ready for school. They barely had time for his coffee stop but the queue was short so Geralt took the gamble and ran in to order three drinks, one black coffee for him, Jaskier’s preferred cinnamon covered caramel latte and a chai latte for Triss. Triss didn’t question her sudden inclusion on Geralt’s coffee run, but he’d agreed with Jaskier that he needed to show he wasn’t just favouring Ciri’s teacher and Triss was the best option as a cover.

He had to run with Ciri through the schoolyard, the coffee carrier in one hand and Ciri’s hand in the other. He swore under his breath when he noticed that it wasn’t Jaskier in the playground ushering everyone inside. He hurried Ciri along with the other kids and slipped through the doors to see Triss in reception.

“Geralt?” Triss asked, her hair was loose today, tumbling down past her shoulder in tight dark caramel curls. She was wearing a soft moss green sleeveless dress, and Geralt thought she looked a little like a tree fairy. Triss was undeniably beautiful, no wonder Eskel was so taken by her.

He passed her the chai latte. “Delivery, got one for Mr Pankratz too. Would you mind?”

Triss rolled her eyes. “Thanks Geralt. You’re too sweet.”

“Thought it might help get you through the last day before half term.” He lied with a shrug.

“Thank you.” Triss smiled. “I’ll make sure he gets it. He looked exhausted this morning, you must be psychic.”

Geralt hummed nonchalantly.

“I’m late. See you around Triss.” Geralt grunted before turning back towards the playground.

“Say hi to Esk for me!” She called after him.

He laughed softly. “I will.”

Eskel blushed brighter than the sun when Geralt passed on the message which delighted the wolf pack. Eskel and Triss’s budding romance was the current hot topic of conversation in the fire station which Geralt was relieved by, it meant that there were less eyes and him and Jask, and the less attention they had the better. At least until the school broke up for summer.

Another popular topic was the way Lambert had started insisting on joining the cats whenever they were called up to help or when they came in for training days, in particular he enjoyed to pair up with Aiden, a dashing blond firefighter and one of the more experienced on-call fighters. Aiden was looking to move to a full-time position, he’d quit his day job as an engineer a few months ago and was looking for a change.

Geralt frowned.

How the fuck did he know all that?

He groaned when he realised that it was like a repeat of when Ciri had just started school and all his team mates knew everything about Jaskier.

Fuck.

He should probably buy them all a round of drinks to make up for it.

“Geralt!” Vesemir snapped. “Quit your dawdling and get up the ladder, do you want the dummy to burn to death?”

He swore and checked his breathing apparatus before clambering up the ladder double time to make up for his daydreaming. The training building was filled with fake smoke to simulate a real fire so it was hard to see. He’d wasted too much time on the ground and the building was almost completely full of smoke.

He cursed and squinted around the room until he located the dummy.

He made a dash, minding the gaps in the floor and ducking under low obstacles. If he hadn’t run through this building countless times already he probably would have hit his head due to the bad visibility. He pulled the dummy up over his shoulder and ran back for the window.

But he was too late. Vesemir’s voice crackled in his ear through the radio. “Death by smoke inhalation, White Wolf. What will you tell their family?”

He cursed and made his way back down the ladder.

When his feet touched the ground with a heavy thud he found Lambert and smirking at him. He had his helmet under his arm and braces around his knees.

“Maybe next time we should call the dummy Jaskier.” Lambert teased.

Geralt threw the dummy at Lambert and pulled off his own helmet and mask. “I’ve got a better idea, let’s call him Aiden and send Lambert in.”

“Fuck off.” Lambert growled and lowered into a fighting stance. Geralt mirrored him, they hadn’t sparred in a while and he was looking forward to showing the younger man who was boss.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish, wolf.” Geralt challenged.

“Oh I can finish it!”

Lambert lunged forward and Geralt grinned. He stepped to the side and Lambert went flying to the ground. Lambert made that mistake every time, always too eager, too aggressive. Geralt pulled off his jacket and dumped it on the ground next to his helmet. It was too heavy to spar in, especially when Lambert wasn’t equally laden.

Lambert had pulled himself off the ground ready for a second attack by the time Geralt was finished. He jumped onto Geralt’s back and wrapped his arms around his neck. Geralt growled as he felt the pressure on his throat. It wasn’t enough to cut off his air supply, this was a friendly spar after all, but it was enough to surprise him.

“Get off!” He gasped and tried to shake Lambert off. “You’ve spent too much time with the cats.” He grumbled.

“It’s effective though.” Lambert laughed but his glee was short-lived as Geralt threw him to the ground. Lambert cursed as he rolled to break his fall.

“Not as much as you think.” Geralt shot back.

They tussled back and forth for a few more minutes before Geralt managed to pin Lambert to the floor. The prick refused to yield though and Geralt rolled his eyes as he counted down in his head, waiting for the inevitable holler.

“ENOUGH!” Vesemir roared and they broke apart.

“Sorry Chief.” Geralt smirked and reached out to help pull Lambert up off the floor.

“Sorry Chief.” Lambert echoed as he dusted off his trousers.

“If you want to spar, use the gym. I don’t want any injuries because you decided to wrestle on tarmac. I thought I’d trained you better than that.” Vesemir grumbled. “Geralt you’re on the lunch run. Lambert, laundry.”

Lambert yelled. “Oi! How come he gets lunch and I get laundry!”

Vesemir raised an eyebrow at Lambert and crossed his arms. “Because, wolf, you should have yielded but you are a stubborn ass. It’s your turn up the ladder. Eskel’s finished with the reset. Get your gear on and I’ll start the clock. Hopefully Aiden will have better luck than Jaskier.”

“Vesemir.” Geralt groaned with his head in his hands.

“Should name the fucking dummy Triss and see how my idiot brother likes it.” Lambert grumbled pulling on his jacket and buckling his helmet under his chin.

“Enough of your moaning, wolf.” Vesemir snapped. “Are you ready?”

Lambert wasn’t ready.

Vesemir didn’t care.

“Go!” He clicked the stopwatch and Geralt heard the whirring of the smoke machine click on.

“Fuck!” Lambert shouted and lunged for the ladder.

_________________________

Geralt’s lunch break was cut short. The alarms began to ring out in the station and the wolf pack mobilised with a collective groan. It was always just when they started lunch. Sandwiches were thrown haphazardly back into the fridge and then ran to find out what the job was and who was going.

Vesemir was waiting for them in the few minutes it took for them to get their gear on. His face was sombre which was never a good start to briefing.

“Wild fire out on the heaths.” He grumbled passing Geralt the print out of the details. “The farmland is nearby, if that lights up then it will have devastating results for everyone. Get out fast. All of you. It’s going to be a long evening, the bears will meet you there at the end of your shift and I’ve already called the cats for back up.”

“Yes, Chief.” They chorussed.

“Renfri with me in one engine. Lambert and Eskel, take the other one.” Geralt barked and they were off.

They saw the smoke from a distant and Geralt swore. The pillars of thick black smoke billowing into the sky was never a good sign.

“That’s a lot of smoke.” Renfri murmured as they pulled into the road nearest the fire.

The police were already there, cordoning off the area to keep members of public away from the fire. It always astounded Geralt how many people ran straight to the barrier to try and catch a glimpse of the raging fire. He wondered how many of them would run into the flames if the tape wasn’t there to stop them.

It was a long and tiring shift battling the flames in the heathland. He was dripping with sweat underneath his suit by the time the bears turned up. Both teams worked together for about half an hour as they managed the handover. The cats and the wolves both limped away from the fire as dusk was settling over Posada.

He pulled his helmet off as they approached the cars that the bears had arrived in.

“Geralt!” He heard a familiar voice and he turned around so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash.

Jaskier was standing by the tape with a paper bag in one hand and Geralt’s thermos in another. Geralt had forgotten that he’d given it to the teacher way back in October during their trip to the school.

“Ger-Bear?” Renfri asked with a smirk.

“You go. I’ll be alright.” He nodded and walked over to Jaskier.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Lambert cackled as he slung his arm around Aiden and headed to the cars.

Geralt rolled his eyes and flipped Lambert off. He couldn’t do much else in front of the watching public and journalists.

“Jaskier.” He greeted the teacher with a weary smile. “What are you doing here?”

Jaskier passed him the paper bag and Geralt peered inside. There was a ham and cheese pastry sat at the bottom of the bag. He looked back at Jaskier in shock. The man’s eyes were sparkling blue in the moonlight, he looked beautiful like he was the spirit of the moon that had chosen to walk the Continent.

Jaskier shrugged. “I saw the news. They said you’d been on the scene since lunchtime. I thought you might be hungry, oh and here.” Jaskier passed the thermos. “I’ve been meaning to give this back.” He added sheepishly.

“Bit late for coffee.” Geralt noted.

Jaskier laughed melodically. “Which is why it’s not coffee.” He tossed his fringe out of his eyes with a flick of his head. “Go on, have a taste.”

Geralt flicked the lid and sniffed the drink. “Chamomile?” He asked.

Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “Oh I forgot about your freakish sense of smell.”

Geralt scoffed. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Jaskier squeezed his shoulder. “I wanted to. I was worried about you.”

Geralt smiled fondly at his boyfriend before reaching into the bag and splitting the pastry in half. He handed half to Jaskier who tried to protest.

“Oh no.” He waved his hands and pushed Geralt’s offering back at him. “I bought that for you.”

“You poison it?” Geralt asked with a tired laugh.

Jaskier gaped and grasped his chest with his hand. “Geralt, how dare you insinuate such a thing?”

“How long have you been waiting for me, Jask?” Geralt raised an eyebrow at the brunet who shuffled awkwardly under his gaze.

“An hour, maybe two but that’s not the point!” Jaskier pouted.

Geralt pushed half the pastry into Jaskier’s hands, enjoying the excuse to be close to him again. “Eat, Jaskier.” He insisted.

Jaskier huffed a sigh but took the pastry. “You drive a hard bargain, Geralt.” He noted around mouthfuls of pastry. The crumbs fell over his bright red coat and Geralt rolled his eyes, Jaskier was a messier eater than Ciri.

Geralt laughed. “You have a lift home?”

Jaskier shook his head and bit his lip, looking far too guilty as Geralt watched his own lift drive away behind Jaskier. “I got the bus.”

Geralt sighed heavily. “You could have said something before I let them leave without me.”

“Hey now!” Jaskier pouted. “I never offered you a lift home.”

“No, you just lured me over with food and tea.” Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah well, couldn’t exactly lure you over with kisses and cuddles now could I.” Jaskier muttered almost unintelligibly under his breath.

Geralt was barely able to resist pulling Jaskier into a hug and resting his chin on his head but there were too many people. It probably looked strange enough if anyone here recognised them from the school. Not many teachers were friends with the parents, but Geralt calmed himself in the knowledge that Jaskier’s friendship group and his were starting to overlap pretty heavily. Geralt was friends with Yennefer, Yennefer was friends with Triss and Is, Jaskier was friends with Triss, Triss was dating Eskel and Eskel obviously worked with Geralt. There was no denying that Jaskier would now be part of his life regardless of how he felt about the teacher.

“Add them to the IOU.” Geralt murmured back.

Jaskier laughed and bumped his shoulder against Geralt’s. “Wonderful plan, my dear.”

“I’ll call Vesemir. See if I can get us a lift.” Geralt suggested.

“He wouldn’t mind?” Jaskier asked with a lick of his lips.

Geralt huffed a laugh. “I never said that but I don’t think the bus runs this late.”

“I could call a taxi?” Jaskier suggested with a twinkle in his eyes and he squeezed Geralt’s arm gently. “I got you stuck here, and I was going to call one anyway so we might as well share?”

Geralt hummed in agreement and decided it was a good time to eat his half of the pastry. His stomach rumbled appreciatively at the first bite. He hadn’t realised how fucking hungry he’d been. Maybe Jaskier was right in trying to refuse his half. He scoffed down the pastry in a couple of bites. It was cold now but the cheese had definitely been melted at some point it tasted like heaven. He’d only managed to eat a couple of energy bars since breakfast after their lunch had been interrupted by the alarms.

Jaskier noticed Geralt’s delight with a smirk and pulled out a second screwed up bag from his pockets. “See I knew it!” He laughed. “Eat up, White Wolf.”

Inside the second bag was a very squished bacon and lettuce roll, homemade by the looks of it.

“Has this been in your pocket the whole time?” Geralt asked as he sniffed the roll. It didn’t smell funny which was a good sign.

“Nope!” Jaskier grinned. “I just knew you would try to be chivalrous so I hid this when I saw you coming over.”

Geralt wanted to kiss him.

Instead he munched happily on the extra food as Jaskier set about calling them a taxi back into town.

Geralt cleared his throat when he was done eating to get the teacher’s attention. They were standing side by side watching the road but not quite touching and he longed to reach across and take Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier, who had been chattering about his day at school, went silent and looked back at him.

Geralt scowled as he tried to find away to put his feelings into words that Jaskier, and only Jaskier would understand, but he didn’t have Jaskier’s poetic talent and skill with words.

He sighed. “Three things.” He mumbled. “You, Ciri, my family.”

Jaskier gasped quietly and brushed their fingers together for barely a second. “Oh dear heart, I know.”

Geralt smiled fondly as he looked up at the stars. It had been a long and exhausting shift but suddenly the world seemed to be alright. _________

Next

[todaydreambelieversfic]

Author Spotlight : InsightfulInsomniac Day 1

Author Spotlight : InsightfulInsomniac (@zigxzag-klaine​)

How did you get into Glee and Glee fandom?

When ACS: The Assassination of Gianni Versace was released, I was really into true crime TV, and thus watched it. I was absolutely in AWE of Darren Criss’s performance in the show, but left it at that after I finished it. A few months later, my younger sister started watching Glee, got to season 2, and texted me saying “hey, that actor that you liked in Versace is in Glee! You should watch it!” I was a college student in need of a show to binge and I’ve always ADORED musical theater, so why not? I started it, got obsessed very quickly, and started writing glee fanfic about a month into my binge.

In general, what drew you into writing (and/or creating)?

Oh, wow, I honestly don’t know of a specific moment, but I’ve been writing forever. When I was seven, I had a series I would write and illustrate called “Amanda, Amy, and Bobby,” and it was about the adventures of these three that were suspiciously like myself and my younger siblings. As I grew older, I never stopped writing, even taking some creative writing classes. But writing, for me, has always been a way to practice empathy and better understand the human condition. When I watch a TV show or read a book, I latch onto the characters so tightly and get very connected to them. Writing is a space to explore the vast intricacies of human nature — a love letter and an ever-changing encyclopedia to humanity all at once.

What was it about Glee that made you decide to write fanfic for it?

My favorite character in the show was immediately Kurt, and always has been. That being said, the character I identify most with in the show is Blaine — we tend to be scarily similar at times. Thus, I grew really attached to their relationship because I adored both characters and wanted to see them happy, and at the same time, I felt like I understood both of these characters so deeply. I also felt like the show left a lot unsaid about the two of them and their relationship over time, so I had the desire to fill in areas and expand upon their world and their characters in the way that I understand them, so hopefully other people can have a more complete and satisfying storyline with Klaine. But, in short, I really just adore them both so much as characters, and think they’re really nuanced — which is fun to play with.

Have you been a part of other fandoms before? Have you written fanfiction pre-glee?

Oh, yes. I’ve been a part of many fandoms since I was probably around 12 — Harry Potter, Star Wars, a few others here and there. But as for fanfiction, I only started writing around 2017. My first major fandom involvement was in a historical fandom (Band of Brothers), where I wrote for a bit (just under 50 fics) before eventually leaving the fandom. I’ve had a few more fandoms that I’ve been a part of where I’ve written one or two fics, but nothing like my involvement in Glee!

Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Yes. 1000 times yes. I sit comfortably in canon or my own post-glee-but-still-following-canon universe. I am the WORST at writing any type of AUs... that kind of world-building is just difficult for me to complete. That being said, I’m a history major, and I would love. Love. Love. to do some historical AUs sometime. Ugh. If I can work myself up for the project, maybe someday!

Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

Hm, this may be a lame answer, but honestly, any type of Blaine hate or anti-klaine tropes. I totally respect people who are down with some anti-klaine or anti-Blaine fics, but that’s just not me. I think Blaine is a really, really misunderstood character, and I try to reinforce how I see him in my fanfics. Similarly, I’ve read a few fanfics where Burt and Kurt don’t have a healthy relationship, and if anyone’s read my fanfics, they know that I am extremely fond of writing Burt. I couldn’t change their relationship for anything, even for plot. But as for less-glee-specific tropes, I’m down for a lot... but I’m an impatient writer who can’t write slow burn to save her life.

How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Oh no, you’re exposing me!! Too. Many. I have three different lists on my phone FULL of ideas! One I’d really like to get around to writing is a bit out of my usual style — I tend to not write a lot of angst, or at least stay away from angst-based fics. I appreciate angst, but most of the ideas that excite me don’t involve a lot of it. That being said, I’ve had this fairly intricate storyline involving Kurt and Carole’s relationship as it deals with Mother’s Day — I think it would be a really tender and emotional subject to explore, considering both the death of Kurt’s mother and the death of Finn.

***

Check out InsightfulInsomniac’s Fics

Marital Affairs - When Jesse tells Kurt and Blaine an amazing off-Broadway opportunity with leading roles that are made for them, they both agree to audition. They get the parts and play romantic interests — but they forget to mention that they’re married in real life for professional reasons. That little missing detail creates some interesting questions when they’re caught in both some innocent and some compromising situations. They may even unintentionally have a few crew members convinced they’re having an affair... with each other.

Through Burt’s Eyes: The Story of Klaine - From the moment Kurt told him he had a boyfriend to the moment when Kurt and Blaine announced that they’re having a child through surrogacy, Burt’s been with them every step of the way. He watched the couple grow through each milestone, and even grew a little (a lot) himself. Burt through the Klaine ages, basically telling Klaine’s major milestones through his eyes. So much fluff and sappy dad emotions.

5 Times: Surprise, Surprise -  Because Kurt and Blaine got married so spontaneously, there are numerous people who would eventually be surprised to find out that they got married. From Elliott to the former Warblers, both husbands take joy in getting to surprise people with their big news. Not to mention those inadvertently-involved people, like the NYADA gossip chain.

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

And when you get there is a family waiting for you?

By @romeoandjulietyouwish for @theherothechampiontheinquisitor

Rating: G

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Avengers Team

Summary: On Peter's 16th birthday he receives a letter from his mother that reveals life-changing information.

Ao3 link

Surprise! I’m pinch-hitting for @friendly-neighborhood-exchange!

I used prompts 2 (Tony is Peter’s biological father) and 3 (Tony gets hurt protecting Peter)

Tag list: @justrepostandlove @gasplaughgasp @canonismybitch @shadedrose01 @baloobird @whatisawilltolive @a-liddell-alice @you-know-i-larb-you-3000 @hold-our-destiny @lyssismagical @spideygirl2003 @make-the-stars-stay

Peter’s birthday was never a big deal. Ben and May never had much money to spend on presents, and Peter never had enough friends to warrant a big birthday party. More often than not Peter’s birthdays always ended up with a movie night with either Ned or May (sometimes both) and Ben when he was alive. But this year Peter wants something different, he wants to celebrate with Tony as well.

When he proposed the casual dinner to Tony, he had been expecting a rejection, that Tony would have something better to do than celebrate his intern’s birthday. But Tony had just smiled and asked what time he should be over. Peter grinned and gave Tony a big hug.

That’s something they do now, hug. Peter was nervous about it at first, not wanting to pressure the man into affection when he clearly didn’t want it. But something changed after the building fell on him, Tony started inviting him around to the lab more and actually mentoring him. And Peter almost feels that Tony has taken on a parental role in his life, not that he would ever tell Tony that. Nonetheless, Peter has grown to care for the man, and he knows Tony feels the same about him.

The doorbell rings promptly at six. Peter bounds from the kitchen where he had been supervising May’s cooking. He flings the door open with a wide smile, Tony has a similar one when he sees Peter. Tony is wearing a worn t-shirt and scuffed up jeans, looking nothing at all like the man Peter sees in the press.

Tony pulls Peter into a quick hug, “Happy birthday, kid.”

Peter smiles, “Thank you!”  He looks down at the bag of presents next to the man’s feet and sees it overflowing with brightly wrapped boxes and bags. “You didn’t have to…”

Tony waves him off and walks into the apartment, “Nonsense. It’s not every day you turn sixteen.” After dropping the presents on the coffee table, Tony walks into the kitchen, Peter following behind him, hopping up to sit on the counter while May finishes cooking. Tony kisses May’s cheek and tells her that dinner smells wonderful earning a smile from her.

After dinner, more edible than Peter had been expecting, May leads the boys into the living room, sitting Peter before the pile of presents on the coffee table. Peter blushes, bashful at the attention and the amount of money spent on him.

“You guys really didn’t have to,” Peter tries to say, but once again the adults wave him off, Tony pushing a present into his hands.

“Open that one first.”

Peter gives his mentor a questioning look but tears open the blue wrapping around a small box. The paper discarded, he carefully opens the box revealing a watch, a very fancy watch, or so Peter assumes.

“This needs a little explanation,” Tony says. “This watch is more of a gift for May and me than for you. It will tell us your vitals at any given moment and connects directly to our phones and it has a built-in tracker.”

“I like the sound of that,” May laughs, leaning over Peter’s shoulder to see the watch.

Peter glares at them, “I don’t like you two being friends, you keep ganging up against me.”

Tony chuckles, “It’s because we care about you, Spider-baby.” Peter rolls his eyes at the nickname, batting Tony’s hand away when he tries to ruffle it.

“Here,” May hands him a bigger box. “This is from me.” Peter curiously tears open the wrapping paper. His mouth drops wide open when he sees what’s inside.

“May, how did you find this?” He looks up at his aunt, eyes wide with excitement.

“I have my sources,” May says mysteriously.

Tony looks over, “Uh, what is it exactly?”

Peter gapes at Tony, “One of the rarest Star Wars Lego sets in existence! They only made like fifty of these! Oh my gosh, I can’t wait to tell Ned!” Tony and May share a fond smile over the boy’s head.

Half an hour later all of the presents are unwrapped and the living room is covered with wrapping and tissue paper. As Tony and Peter shove the paper into garbage bags, May disappears into her bedroom, only to return with an envelope in her hands.

May takes a deep breath, holding a letter to her chest, “Peter. I have something else for you.”

Peter frowns, sitting back on the couch, “You already gave me my gifts.”

She shakes her head, “No, Peter, this isn’t from me. It’s from your mother.”

“Really?” Peter’s eyes bug out.

May nods and hands him the letter, “I have no idea what it says, but it was part of her will that I was supposed to give it to you when you turned sixteen.”

Peter runs his fingers over the back, feeling the soft parchment. His name is printed neatly on the back with a small smiley face. Peter smiles softly. He takes a deep breath and breaks the seal, pulling out a letter in his mother’s handwriting.

Dear Peter,

Happy sixteenth birthday! If you are receiving this letter, that means your father and I didn’t make it to your sixteenth birthday. I’m sorry, Peter. Know that your father and I love you very very much and even though we are gone we are still with you, looking out for you.

At the time I am writing this, you have just passed your third birthday. You are such a curious child and you look at the world as if it is one big question you don’t understand. I hope you never lose that spark. You’re going to be a great leader someday, I can tell. But no matter what you choose to do with your life, your father and I will always be so proud of you.

I wanted to write this letter years in advance, just in case something happened to me or your father before we could tell you in person. Peter, no one knows what I am about to tell you, the only people who know are your dad and I.

Peter, Richard Parker is not your biological father. Anthony Stark is.

I know you’re probably upset by this news and rightfully so. I kept this secret from you your entire life. But I want you to know that Tony is a good man, despite what the media wants you to believe. He doesn’t know you exist, I didn’t tell him. I wanted this to be up to you, whether or not you want to include him in your life.

I love you, Peter. Don’t ever forget that.

With all the love in the world,

Mom

By the time Peter is done reading, his vision is obscured by tears. He gasps for breath, holding the letter tight to his chest. Could it really be true?

“Peter?” Tony squeezes his leg and Peter whips to look at him. “What’s going on, buddy?” Peter finds it impossible to look Tony in the eyes. Tony is his...father. Peter just shakes his head and pushes Tony away from him, pretending not to see the hurt look in the man’s eyes.

“Oh my god,” Peter says to himself. The two adults watch him nervously as he cries, reading over the letter again, maybe he read it wrong. He didn’t. Tony is his father.

“Peter, honey?” May kneels in front of him. “Are you okay?”

Peter shakily offers May the letter, she bypasses it and gives Peter a tight hug, letting him cry into her shoulder for a few seconds. May pulls back just enough to kiss Peter’s forehead. Peter pushes out of her embrace.

“Read this...please,” Peter forces the letter into her hand. She frowns at him, but nods, looking down at the page.

Peter stands slowly as May sits down on the couch. “I’m sorry,” he tells Tony before he bolts out of the living room and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Peter throws himself onto his bed, sobbing heavily into his pillows. Tony is his father.

Does that mean his mother cheated on his- Richard? Did May really not know? Did Tony really not know? Did Richard even love him? Or was Peter just a child he was forced into loving?

What is Tony going to think?

Does Tony want to be a dad? Is this going to destroy their relationship?

Questions keep rolling into Peter’s mind, he can’t seem to stop them. Nothing makes sense anymore. He feels as though his whole life has been knocked over with a gust of wind. Peter doesn’t know how long he sobs into his pillows, but eventually, the tears subside, and Peter curls into a ball, pulling his blankets over his head.

“Peter?” May knocks her knuckles lightly on the door. “Can I come in, sweetie?”

“It’s open,” Peter tells her.

He hears the door creak open and May’s feet padding across the carpet. May sits on the edge of his bed, “Tony’s gone. He thought it would be best to let us talk.”

“Did you tell him what’s going on?” Peter asks, his voice muffled from under his blankets.

“I didn’t,” May rubs his arm. “I figured that decision should be up to you when you’re ready.”

May lets silence fall between then, waiting for Peter to talk. Peter takes a deep breath and sits up, the blankets falling around his waist.

“Did my dad, Richard, love me?” Peter asks, his voice small.

“Oh, sweetheart,” May lifts Peter into her arms, letting herself bear his weight. “He loved you so much. He used to carry a picture of you in his wallet and whenever he felt stressed or anxious he would take it out and look at it for a few seconds, it always made him smile. I asked him about it once and he just smiled and said that he could never be sad or anxious or stressed when he saw your face. He loved you more than anything in the world, Peter.”

“Really?” Peter sniffs, looking up at his aunt with teary eyes.

May touches his cheek and nods, “If there was ever a man destined to be a father, it was Richard Parker.”

Peter hugs his aunt tightly then pulls back and looks at his aunt, struck with a sudden realization, “Wait...does that mean we’re not related? Because if Ben and my dad were brothers but Tony is my dad, then we’re not-”

May pulls him into a tight hug, “Shh… That doesn’t matter, Peter. You should know by now that family is so much more than blood. We make our own families. And if our family is a teenage boy and his weirdo aunt,” Peter laughs, “that’s okay. It doesn’t matter if we’re related, sweetheart, because I love you no matter what. Okay?”

Peter nods, “Is it okay...if I want Tony to be part of our family?”

May smiles and cups his cheeks, “Of course it is. Is that what you want?” Peter nods. “Then why don’t you call him and ask him to come back over tomorrow so we can tell him everything okay? You and me together.”

Peter nods again, giving May one more tight hug before she kisses his head, “Get some sleep, honey,” and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. Peter takes a deep breath and grabs his phone. He quickly mops up his tears before pressing the button to call Tony.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony answers on the first ring. “You okay?”

“Um, I think so. I’m sorry about tonight, I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Peter tugs at a string on his pillowcase.

“It’s okay,” Tony says easily. “I still had a nice time tonight.”

“Would you be able to come by the apartment tomorrow? I-I need to talk to you.” Peter asks.

“Sure thing, is everything alright? You seemed kind of upset.”

Peter looks down, “I, uh, I got some really really big news in the letter my mom wrote me.”

“Okay, kid. I- shit!” Tony exclaims. All of a sudden Peter hears running feet. “How soon can you swing to Brooklyn?”

“I can be there in like...eight minutes. What’s going on?” Peter is already tugging on his suit.

“We don’t know, but it’s something big. We need all hands on deck.” Peter knows he means it. There is no chance in hell that Tony would let him tackle an Avengers level threat, especially after he broke down in front of the man, unless it was serious.

“I’m on my way,” Peter says quickly. “See you soon.” He hangs up and tugs on his mask, having Karen message his aunt as he leaps out the window. He swings to Brooklyn quickly, seeing flashes of yellow and green light in the distance.

“Hey, guys!” Peter lands on a rooftop, watching as the Avengers jump into action against what seems to be three wizards. “Where can I help?”

“Stay up high,” Steve commands. “Get any civilians out if you can, keep the area clear for us. Got it?”

“Got it!” Peter swings into action.

“If you feel too over your head, you tap out, okay?” Tony asks. “No one will judge you if you do.”

“Okay,” Peter agrees, though he knows he won’t. Tony asked him to be here, so here he’s going to be. Peter imagines himself tucking all of his feelings into a box, he doesn’t need to be distracted by his family drama right now. He then closes the box, wraps it in duct tape, and locks it in a vault in the back corner of his mind.

Peter swings through the streets, shouting down to civilians that they need to clear the streets. The wizards above him drag cars and signs and trash cans from the street, hurling them at the Avengers. It’s only Peter’s spider-sense that keeps him from getting hit by falling debris as he rushes to get people inside.

Peter snags a little girl around her waist and quickly shoves her into her mother’s waiting arms as a truck falls right where she had just been standing. “Get inside!” Peter tells her as he rushes to save someone else.

“Peter!” Tony shouts. “Watch your six!”

Peter turns around just in time to see the building behind him starting to collapse. He’s going to get crushed if he doesn’t get out of the way. He knows he can run fast, but probably not fast enough to be unscathed by the building. Peter is just about to try to run for it, when something slams into his side, shoving him clear out of the way by several feet. Peter jumps to his feet and looks to see who saved him. But all he can see is a flash of red and gold as the build collapses down.

“Tony!” Peter shrieks. He runs toward the fallen building, scrambling up the rubble. All he can see are bricks and dust. Panicked, Peter starts clawing at the bricks. He has to save Tony. Then someone grabs him around the waist, pulling him away. “No!” Peter tries to fight the person holding him, but they just hold tighter. He needs to help Tony.

“Calm down,” Steve tells him. “I’ve got you.” He crushes Peter to his chest, holding the boy in place as he tries to claw out of his grip.

“I need to get Tony!” Peter shouts.

“We’re going to get him out,” Steve promises. “Let us handle it.”

“No! I didn’t tell him yet!” Peter doesn’t know if his vision is clouded from the dust of the tears building in his eyes. “He doesn’t-” Peter gasps for air, but it comes out as a tight wheeze, “-He doesn’t know yet. I have to tell him. He needs to know! He can’t die!”

“Peter,” Steve says calmly. “I need you to take a deep breath or you’re going to pass out, okay? Can you take a deep breath?” Peter shakes his head, he is honestly trying, but he can’t get his lungs to move any slower and take in any air. He clutches Steve’s uniform and falls into the soldier’s arms, his vision starts to go spotty. Distantly, Peter can hear someone telling him to breathe, but Peter just snaps into the blackness.

---

Peter wakes to fluorescent lights above him. He blinks slowly, adjusting to the harsh light. A soft noise comes from his throat as he digs his fingers into the bed under him, trying to adjust to his surroundings.

“Take it easy,” someone puts a hand on his chest and gently pushes him back into the bed as he tries to sit up. Peter looks to his left and finds Steve sitting in a chair beside him. That’s when it all comes crashing back down on Peter.

The letter, the battle, the building falling and crushing Tony.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Steve says quickly, realizing that Peter is starting to panic again. He sits down on the edge of Peter’s bed and takes Peter’s hands in his. “Everything is okay. We’re in the tower, Tony is alive.”

Peter searches Steve’s face for any trace of a lie, he saw the building crush Tony.

“Tony’s alive?” Peter asks slowly.

Steve nods, “We can go see him if you want. Bruce already cleared you.”

Peter nods and lets Steve help him out of bed. Once standing he finds he is no longer wearing his Spiderman suit, someone has dressed him in soft grey sweatpants and one of Tony’s old t-shirts that Peter had long since stolen from him.

Steve keeps an arm around Peter’s shoulders as they walk down the hallway. When they arrive at a door that Peter assumes is Tony’s, Steve asks him, “Do you want me to go in with you?”

“Can I be alone with him?” Peter asks, his voice small.

Steve nods, “Call if you need anything okay?”

Opening the door, Peter finds Bruce checking over Tony, making notes on his clipboard. At the sound of the door opening and shutting behind him, Bruce turns, smiling when he sees Peter. “How are you feeling?” Bruce asks.

Peter shrugs, “I feel fine. Is Tony okay?”

“Yeah,” Bruce smiles.  “Thankfully the suit managed to protect most of him so there’s not as much damage as we were anticipating, a few cracked ribs, a broken ankle, and a concussion. He’ll be fine in a week or so.”

Peter lets out a sigh of relief. Tony really is okay. He’s going to be able to tell Tony that he is his son. He hasn’t lost another father figure. But before he tells Tony there's something he needs.

“Bruce?” The scientist looks up at Peter. “Um, you have my and Tony’s DNA on file right?” Bruce frowns in confusion, but nods. “Do you think you could run a paternity test before he wakes up?”

“You think that he…” Bruce’s eyes are wide as he comprehends what Peter is asking.

“Please, don’t tell anyone,” Peter begs. “I don’t want to tell Tony unless it’s absolutely true.”

Bruce nods and smiles at him, “It’ll be done as soon as possible.” As Bruce leaves he squeezes Peter’s shoulder reassuringly. It makes Peter feel a tiny bit better.

The slow beep of a heart monitor fills the room, ordinarily, it would hurt Peter’s head, but now it serves as a needed reminder that Tony is alive. Tony himself looks far worse for the wear. His face is bruised and cut all over and based on what Peter can see of the man’s body, the rest of him is the same.

Peter sinks into the chair beside the bed and takes Tony’s hand in his own. He doesn’t say anything, he just fights the building tears. He almost lost Tony, Tony would have died protecting him. Peter would never have been able to forgive himself if Tony died. Why does Peter deserve to live any more than Tony?

He doesn’t know the answer to the question.

Peter just sits there thinking. In his mind he imagines himself telling Tony that he’s his son. Tony reacts a different way every time, sometimes he shoves Peter away and tells him to go away, sometimes he smiles and hugs him, sometimes Tony freezes and Peter watches Tony’s hardened mask pull over his face.

Of all of them, that’s the one Peter hates the most, that he could become a stranger to Tony, someone he feels the need to wear a fake smile and false cockiness around. As Peter thinks, he feels his eyes grow heavy. Peter lays his head down on the soft bed and lets his eyes slip closed.

Peter wakes up to someone running their hand through his hair. Peter nudges the hand, trying to get closer, eliciting a deep chuckle from someone above him. Peter slowly lifts his head, Tony is awake. Before the man can say anything, Peter hugs him tightly, pressing his head into Tony’s chest.

Tony grunts in pain at the impact of the hug. “I’m sorry!” Peter tries to pull away but Tony won’t let him move.

“Just a little bit longer, kid,” Tony says into his hair. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”

Peter nods into Tony’s chest, “I’m fine.” He sits up, pulling out of the hug and looks at Tony with sad eyes. “Why did you do that? Why did you push me out of the way? You knew there wouldn’t be enough time for you to get out.”

Tony smiles sadly, “Did you really think I would have stood by and let you be crushed by a building again?”

“Why do you think that my life is more important than yours?” Peter asks.

“Because you’re sixteen, you still have so much life left, I wasn’t about to let you die when I had the ability to save you.” Before Peter knows it, he’s crying. Tony wipes away Peter’s tears, “Hey, what are the tears for? I’m okay, Pete.”

Peter shakes his head, “I-I thought you were dead and you would have died saving me and I can’t-” Peter sobs. “I can’t let you die when you don’t know that you’re my dad and I didn’t tell you and if you had died before I could then I would have already lost my third father and I don’t think I could live through that again.”

Tony is frozen, staring at Peter with a stunned expression, “I-I’m your dad? What do you mean?”

Peter, still shaking, looks down at his hands, “In the letter from-from my mom she told me that you’re my biological dad.” Peter can’t stomach the thought of looking up at Tony’s face, seeing the disgust he must be feeling clear on his face. “I was going to tell you tomorrow. Bruce is running a paternity test right now,” Peter says softly. “I-I’m sorry, I know you don’t want kids and that I’m-”

“Peter,” Tony takes Peter’s hands in his own. “Can you look at me, bud?” Peter slowly brings his gaze up to meet Tony’s eyes. To his surprise, Tony smiles. “I didn’t want kids, but then I met you. You changed everything for me, kid. You made me realize that I can love people without hurting them and that I can be trusted to take care of a child.” Tony reaches up and cups Peter’s cheek, “I would be honored to be your father.”

Peter smiles warmly and leans into the touch as the door opens and Bruce walks in, “Peter, the results are back for the paternity test.” Peter and Tony exchange a hopeful glance and Tony nods to Bruce.

Bruce looks at the weepy pair in front of him and smiles, “It’s a match.” Tony gasps and crushes Peter into a hug, one hand tangled in his hair. Peter feels Tony’s warm tears fall onto his head, he smiles. Tony loves him. Tony wants to be his father. “Congratulations,” Bruce smiles. “I’ll give you boys another moment, and Tony I’ll check on you in a few, okay?”

“Thank you, Bruce,” Tony says over Peter’s head. Peter feels Tony press a kiss to the top of his head and he looks up with a smile. The way Tony looks at him is so... reverent it's almost painful.

"I have a kid," Tony says dreamily. "Oh my god."

"I have a dad," Peter smiles back. He lays his head back down on Tony's shoulder.

"And I'm not going anywhere," Tony promises. "You're going to be stuck with me for a long long time, kiddo."

Peter can't help the smile at the words and nuzzles closer to Tony as the man traps Peter’s head with his hand and kisses the top of his head. “I love you, kid,” Tony whispers.

“I love you too,” Peter responds, his voice just as low. Peter takes a deep breath. Everything is going to be fine.

[besidemethewholedamntime]

now that i see you

I couldn’t help myself and ending up writing another fic. I hope you don’t mind, and i hope you enjoy! 

Summary:

'“I know you,” Jemma says, her voice a soft whisper. “Isn’t that strange? As soon as I saw you I knew you. It feels like I’ve known you my whole life.”'

A moment between Jemma and her baby.

{Read on Ao3}

or read below!

The thing about space is that there is no time, so Jemma has no idea whether it is early or late as she lays in their bed, holding their newborn baby girl in her arms. She doesn’t know if it’s been hours or minutes since she was placed there, and honestly, she doesn’t care. Right now, she would be perfectly happy to take this moment and live in it forever.

“Hello, you,” Jemma says softly as her daughter snuffles a little and opens her eyes. “It’s so very good to meet you.”

She’s not accustomed to holding children, and during these seemingly never-ending months of pregnancy, it had become one of many irrational fears. What if I don’t know how to hold them, Fitz? she had cried into his shoulder once, voice full of terror. What if I drop them?

You have never failed at one thing in your life, he’d said quite firmly, though he’d been rubbing her back in slow, comforting circles. There is no way you will fail at holding a baby.

Looking back on that moment now feels so silly with her daughter now safely in her arms as though she’s always belonged there. Jemma knows all about intuition and instinct in parenting, but she just never imagined how it would feel. Their daughter hasn’t been in the world a full day yet, and already the time before her arrival is growing fuzzy, fading away into irrelevance. In this moment she cares very little of all that has come before.

She runs a gentle finger over their daughter’s forehead, her nose, her chin. Impossibly small and incredibly perfect. Their daughter’s blue eyes follow her movement, but she doesn’t cry or give any other indication of upset. She watches her mother, just as her mother watches her.

“I know you,” Jemma says, her voice a soft whisper. “Isn’t that strange? As soon as I saw you I knew you. It feels like I’ve known you my whole life.”

Ever since they have known they were going to become parents, Jemma has loved her daughter, and what has surprised her is how it is so different from the way she loves Fitz. He is her best-friend, her partner, her soulmate, he always will be, and she loves him endlessly. Or she thought she did. Looking down now into this tiny face, each detail already committed to memory, she knows that it’s not quite true. As much as she loves Fitz, she will forever love their daughter more, and there’s nothing within her that makes her sorry for that.

He feels the same way, she knows he does. In those precious few moments just after their daughter was born, Jemma had caught him looking at her with an indescribable look in his face. It’s a look that Jemma’s only caught in flashes over the years, a moment seen out of the corner of her eye before it disappeared. When they were standing in front of the sunrise. When he told her she was something magnificent. When she found him in space, and then again the second time. When she married him. That look that does such funny things to her heart but that she’s never caught more than a glimpse of in all the years she’s known him.

When he had held their daughter for the first time she had seen it clearly for what it was. A thousand other things, but the greatest of these was love. Pure and simple love that asked of nothing in return. That look that she’s felt on her skin all these years in flashes was now being given completely unreservedly to their child, and Fitz’s heart, which once had its home with Jemma, now fully belonged to their daughter.

“You are so perfect,” she says now. “So beautiful.” The baby looks up at her, slowly blinking. “Magnificent.”

How fitting it is that she was born in space, all of the majesty of the cosmos lying before them. All those years ago when she hoped of finding something magnificent, she never could have dreamed it would be their daughter. But it makes sense now, it all completely makes sense. There is nothing more magnificent than her.

Jemma looks to Fitz, who sits in the floor next to the bed, back against the wall. Giving them space, but also unable to be parted from them even just into the other room, he’d sat there and tried his hardest to stay awake. It had been in vain, however, and his eyes had shut not long after. His breathing is deep and even, but she knows even the slightest noise would wake him and he’d be by her side in an instant. He deserves a rest, and Jemma, who up until now has had the most intimate bond with her daughter, would just like a moment before she has to let that go.

“It might be a little strange around here at first. Well, not for you I suppose. This is all you’ll have known. But for us it might take some adjusting, so if you could just bear with us until we do, that would be great.”

It’s not how she wanted to do it. She wanted to be retired from SHIELD first and be free from the danger and uncertainty that had followed her and Fitz for so long. She wanted to have a house first, and a big garden that her child could run around and play in. It would have been nice to have her parents there. She hasn’t seen or even spoken to them in so long. It feels cruel to have kept this away from them, even though she knows there was no other way. Her mum and dad, who have always given her so much and encouraged her to chase every opportunity she had. What would they make of all this?

She understands them more now than she ever has before. To love your child is to want them to have the things you never did, and for them to find the world in a better place than before. This may not be how she would have chosen it, but it’s the way it’s happened and Fitz is right – they do deserve to take some time and just be. Of course they will save their friends and the world, but their daughter now comes before all that. She deserves some time to just grow, and they deserve that time with her. In case the worst does happen when they have to return to their mission, Jemma wants to ensure that their daughter knows them. She won’t let them become a ghost in a photograph or a voice in a half-faded memory. Unable to give their daughter everything she would like to at this moment, she will damn well give her that.

“I’m afraid I don’t have very much practice with babies,” she says. “Neither of us do. But we’ll figure it out, alright? You don’t ever have to worry about a thing because we’ll fix it together. Just like always.”

She glances over at Fitz. Dear, sweet Fitz who has always been by her side. They have been torn apart so many times, but just one more and then that’s it. They’re done.

“We’ll love you forever,” Jemma says, needing it to be said. “You never have to keep secrets from us, and we’ll never keep them from you. You can always tell us anything.” She laughs a little.  “I promise you there’s not a lot that can shock us anymore.”

Shock, no, but surprise? She is surprised every time she wakes up and finds Fitz still next to her, one arm curled around her so he can feel if she moves in the night. She was constantly surprised all the way through her pregnancy, from the little kicks and lazy somersaults she felt. She is surprised now every time her heart beats, because it beats with so much love for this tiny being whose very existence in this world is nothing short of a miracle.

“There’s so much I want to share with you and tell you about how we got here.” Jemma sniffs, but a tear falls on their daughter’s forehead anyway. Gently she wipes it away with her thumb, and their baby just keeps on looking upwards, completely enchanted.

“It took us such a long time, but we made it. I’ll tell you all about it someday, about how once upon a time there were two young scientists who embarked on the biggest adventure, and how it changed their whole lives forever.”

Sixteen and achingly shy, to having a daughter in the sky. Is the ride worth it? she once asked. Oh yes it is, she wants to tell her younger self. It’s worth everything you’ve ever done or had done to you. You will get there one day. Just hold on, and keep holding on tight.

“The important bit, though, the only part you need to know right now, is that they loved each other. They loved each other more than there are words or stars, and their love was so big it could overcome anything that was in their way. And a love like that, stronger than any curse, brought them you.”

Their baby shifts and Jemma feels her heart flip over on itself. She holds her closer, knowing that she is living in a moment that is already a memory.

“You are extraordinary. No matter what you do or who you become, know you always will be.”

She’s crying now, but from the sheer happiness she feels inside her heart. The complete and utter joy that this small being who is half her and half Fitz and just wholly herself exists. Softly she kisses her on the forehead, looking down into those eyes that already seem wise beyond their years, as if they hold the secrets to the entire universe.

“You’re our everything,” she says thickly, trying so very hard not to sob and wake up Fitz. She doesn’t want to worry him. “The biggest star in star in all of the skies. We’ll make it all better for you. Just you wait and see.”

Once upon a time she said that the answer was in the stars, and only now does she realise just how right she was. Their daughter is the answer to every question she could ever have, the reason for every decision ever made. She is the beat in their hearts and the breath in their lungs. She is the promise of a brighter, better future to be made, where they can all go on despite their losses.

The brightest star in all of their skies, she is what they are fighting for.

[dbzebra]

Surpassing the Strongest

Im back on Marten bs lol

This is something Ive wanted to do for a while now. A 28th World Tournament / End of Z retelling, which focuses on Goten’s plans to follow in his fathers footsteps like Goku originally planned back in the Buu Saga. Ignores DBS obviously.  Anyway this is just a oneshot for now but may possibly make it into a longfic.

Enjoy!!

May, Age 784.

Ten years of peace had passed since Majin Buu's defeat.

The cool spring air blew in from an open window of Orange Star High School. Son Goten was lost in thought as the lecture droned on from in front of him. He couldn't hear what the teacher was saying. Rather, he didn't really care. He wanted to be outside and enjoying the day. Flying around or out on a date.

Ya know, something that was actually fun.

Something, anything but being cooped up in a stuffy building all day on such a nice afternoon. If Goten closed his eyes, he could feel himself soaring through the clouds on the Flying Nimbus, the wind in his hair and the whole world below him. Ever since he learned to fly, it's been his absolute favorite thing to do.

"Man, I wanna go to the beach!" Goten whined to himself and continued daydreaming about the endless possibilities of summer fun when he heard two kids whispering from the back of the classroom that piqued his attention. Super sensitive hearing really came in handy sometimes!

"Did you hear? Mr. Satan won't be participating in the World Martial Arts Tournament next week. He announced his retirement yesterday."

"What, really?! Maybe I should enter then. Now I'll actually stand a chance."

"Noooo! Mr. Satan can't retire!" Another kid chimed in, slamming his fists down on his desk in despair. "He's my hero! The strongest guy in the whole universe!"

"It's true man. I saw it on TV. He's all bald now too. Mr. Buu is gonna sweep with him gone. He's unbeatable next to Mr. Satan!"

"Awww… Yeah, you're right. Buu is unstoppable! He's never even been touched in a fight once!"

Goten snickered to himself. If only they knew the truth. "Speak for yourself. Me and Trunks almost beat him when we were fused together!"

The more Goten thought about it, the more it intrigued him.

He always loved the World Tournament, ever since he was a kid. Growing up, Goten loved hearing stories from his dad, Yamcha and Krillin about their fights from the old days. He collected all tons of World Tournament merchandise over the years, most notably of which were figures of every finalist leading back to the very first Tournament. The premium edition figurine of his father as a teenager during the 23rd Tournament was his most prized possession. He had to send in like one hundred postcards to a sweepstakes to win. The day he got the letter in the mail saying that he won, he almost flipped.

The news of the upcoming Tournament re-ignited a fire in the young Saiyan.

"Maybe I should enter! I'll run it by Mar later..."

__________________________________________________________

The final bell rang as class was let out for the day.

Goten stretched his arms out wide upon walking out the front doors of Orange Star High with an extra pip in his step. It was finally the weekend!

He spotted his girlfriend leaning against one of the pillars at the front gate, sporting her signature twintails. She was waiting for him! He grinned and picked up his pace a little bit. Marron twirled a strand of blonde hair in her fingers as she absent-mindedly watched a capsule-plane go by from above. 

Being a sophomore, sixteen yer old Marron was on the cheer squad and wrote for the school newspaper. Like most girls her age, Marron loved shopping, but her true passion was writing. It all started when she used to read fantasy books and write in her diary as a little girl. She hoped to work for a big fashion designer as a writer when she got older.

"Hey there, gorgeous." Goten said while he snuck up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

Marron flinched in surprise, but lit up when she heard her boyfriend's voice. She swung around and jumped into his arms, planting a kiss on her boyfriend's face. "Goten! It's great to see you!" Marron said and kissed him again, just for good measure. He definitely wasn't going to object.

“You too! So how was class?

“Boring. I’m starting to see why you and Trunks skip all the time.” Marron huffed, and then playfully poked his chest. “I guess being a delinquent like you has its perks~!”

“Told ya!” He said with a cheeky grin, eager to tell her about what happened today. “Anyway, ready to go?”

Marron smiled and grabbed his hand affectionately. A date was just what she needed right now. "Sure! Where are we going~?"

"There's an ice cream stand near the park about three blocks that way." He replied, gesturing over his shoulder with this thumb. "I'm friends with the guy who runs it!"

"Sounds great! It's such a nice day out! And I don't have to be home anytime soon anyway, so we have the whole afternoon to ourselves!" Marron chirped and playfully pulled him along.

After a bit of walking, they reached their destination . It was one of the more popular spots, so there wasn't a surprise there was a line.

"If I don't get something in my stomach soon, I might just eat my own hand!" Goten whined, his stomach growled almost as if it was agreeing.

"I'd pay to see that." Marron laughed.

Soon enough, it was their turn.

"Well well, look who it is! My number one customer!" The man at the stand said. He was an older man, about Goku's height. He had a kind face with short grayish hair. "Welcome back, Goten!"

"Hey Mr. Sherbert!"

"On a hot date?!" Mr. Sherbert said as he winked at the two teens. "You'd better treat her right, you hear?"

"Yeah! I'd never do anything bad. Right Mar?" Goten grinned. Marron blushed a bit from next to him.

"So what can I get for you two kids today?"

Goten already knew what he wanted; he had thought about it on the way over. "You first."

"Hmm..." Marron scanned the options until she found just the right one. I'll take a medium sized scoop of mint on a waffle cone, please." Marron said, eyeing the green-colored ice cream in the picture.

"Comin right up, miss! And how 'bout for you, big guy? The usual?"

"You bet!"

The older man laughed out loud. "I'd expect no less! A triple deluxe cone of vanilla, strawberry and chocolate with rainbow sprinkles, comin' right up!"

"How much do I owe ya?" Goten said, digging into his pocket for his wallet.

"This one's on the house, kid." Mr. Sherbert said, waving off Goten's attempt to hand him money.

Goten and Marron both looked shocked.

"What, really?"

"Yep. Don't worry 'bout it."

"Wow! Thanks a lot!"

"Just make sure you show this nice young lady a fun time on your date, okay?" Mr. Sherbert said with a kind smile, as he and Goten shared a laugh.

"I promise!"

After that, Goten and Marron got their food then took a seat on the grass in the park across the street and ate their snacks together.

"So, tell me. What's the big news?" Marron asked as she finished off her food, feeding off his anticipation. She could tell it was something big- whatever it was. "You've been antsy all afternoon!"

Goten fell backwards onto the grass and put his hands behind his head. "Well, I heard something interesting in class today!"

"You mean you actually paid attention?"

"Nope!" Goten declared without hesitating one bit. 

Marron rolled her eyes with a giggle. She expected that response. 

"It's about the World Martial Arts Tournament."

"Oh yeah!!” Marron exclaimed. “That’s next week, right? What happened?"

"Mr. Satan retired. And I'm considering entering. I’m sure Trunks and my dad will too.”

Marron gasped and clasped her hands together joyfully. "Oh my God, Goten, you totally should!" Marron exclaimed, putting her hands on his knee. "It would be so cool! Plus, it'll be like a little vacation for us!"

"You really think so?"

"Of course! You'll do great!" Marron declared happily. She gently took his large hand in her smaller ones and stared deep into his eyes. "You've been training so hard these past few years. I know that better than anyone. You said you wanted to surpass Goku someday, right? Well this is your biggest chance. I’ll be your cheerleader the whole way!” Marron declared that as if it were a love declaration.  But it didn’t matter what place he came in. To her, Son Goten was already number one. 

Goten liked the sound of that. He sat up and stole a quick kiss from Marron's lips when she wasn't paying attention. He pulled back and saw that the blonde was staring down at her dress, a scarlet-red hue covering her cheeks from ear-to-ear.

“You're the best, Mar. And you're right. I'm entering. And I'm going to win!"

"W-W-Warn me before you do that! I-I-I wasn't ready!" She stammered out, fixing her hair to distract herself from the sudden kiss. It was only a moment, but she felt the love and appreciation he had for her in it.

A sly grin made it's way onto the half-Saiyan's lips. "Okay then. I'm warning you now."

Marron didn't have time to react as she screamed with laughter when he pounced on her a moment later. They fell back onto the grass together and started making out, not caring who saw them.

_____________________________________________________________

It was almost dusk when Goten and Marron parted ways for the night. As the young Saiyan approached his home in the mountains from above, the sky had become a brilliant orange and red hue. It was like a wild flame slowly dying out into the calm darkness of the night. Sunsets were always soothing for him. When he was still a small child, Goten used to watch the sunset and think of his dad, wondering if he saw the same sunset from Other World. 

Goten dropped down onto the grass in front of his house; smoke coming from the chimney. Goten smiled widely. He could smell dinner from here! "Oh boy! My favorite! Nothing beats Mom's cooking!"

“I’m home!” Goten called upon walking in.

“Hey kiddo! Grab a seat, it’s chow time!” Goku waved to his son, already seated at the table.

Chi-Chi placed the last plate on the table and then sat down herself. “Welcome home, honey!”

Goten sat down and together the family of three started eating. Chi-Chi paced herself while the boys ate in typical Son fashion-- as if it were their last meal ever (and seemingly never even came up to breathe). Chi-Chi sighed with a smile. She was used to it by now. 

“Man Chi-Chi, you outdid yourself! This is really great!!” Goku exclaimed and went back for a fifth helping. “Your food is the best in the whole world!”

Chi-Chi touched her cheeks, bashfully smiling. She was even blushing a bit. “Oh, stop teasing, Goku. You're embarrassing me!”

“I’m serious!” Goku continued.

“Um, Mom…” Goten started hesitantly. He scratched the side of his cheek, thinking how to word his next question. “Sorry to ask this so suddenly, but… can I take a week off from school?” He said and then braced himself for the ‘no.’

Without flinching, Chi-Chi put down the tea she was sipping and smiled. “Planning a romantic getaway with your girlfriend~? I don’t mind, but if something happens are you prepared to take responsibility? A girl’s virginity is a special thing, Goten!” 

Goten instantly did a spit take. He hacked and coughed and Goku patted him on the back. Once the teen caught his breath, he went pure red from embarrassment. Or was it from shock? Probably both. 

“What I do with Mar is none of--- W-Wait! There’s no romantic getaway!” Goten practically shouted. 

Talking about that type of stuff with Trunks was one thing, but it was the absolute LAST topic of conversation Son Goten ever in a million years wanted to have with his mother. 

“Oh honey, stop being so dramatic. I’m no fool. I know how much you two love each other, it’s only natural!”

“Mom! Enough! I’m not talking about this with you!”

In the years since Buu, most things didn’t bother the Son matriarch anymore. Chi-Chi let things slide. She even started wearing her hair down or in a ponytail more often than not. And became brazent with her playful teasing. Too brazent for Goten’s own good. First Gohan, now him. Goku almost felt bad for them. Almost. He found it amusing. 

Goten slapped his cheeks and quickly shook off the image before his mind could wander any further to any thoughts that might make him not able to ride the Flying Nimbus anymore. 

“Besides, 18 would kill me, revive me with the Dragon Balls, and then kill me again!!” Goten said, getting a laugh from his parents. They were laughing because they knew he was right. 

“Of course, honey. Now what’s the real reason?” She knew Goten would likely skip anyway. Goten didn’t think she knew, but she did. She was smarter than she looked. But still, she appreciated that he came to them first, whatever the reason was.

“I want to enter the World Tournament.” Goten declared, surprising both of his parents. 

“I’m in too!!” Goku replied with the same confident grin his son had. Goku had a feeling Goten would. “There’s this guy I’ve been keeping an eye on lately. He’s got some insane power within him, more than he realizes. I have a hunch he’ll be entering the Tournament next week.”

Though he didn’t say this aloud, Son Goku had another reason he wanted to enter the Tournament. A lesson that his master had taught him long ago. 

“A hunch?” Chi-Chi asked, somewhat worried. She had gotten used to the peace again. They all had. The last thing she wanted was another creep with an inflated ego dragging her boys into another universal death battle. “Sounds like bad news to me.”

“No need to worry. This guy’s totally pure of heart.” Goku replied, easing his wife’s fears.

“So who is he then?” Goten said, in between heaps of food. “Do we know him?”

Goku flashed his signature wide grin. “Sorry! Not telling. You’ll have to wait and see for yourself!”

Goten slouched back in his seat and frowned. “That’s lame. You’re no fun.”

“We’ll have to train for the Tournament just to be sure! I have a feeling this is gonna be a fun one!”

“Yeah!” 

“I had a feeling this day would come sooner or later.” Chi-Chi said, sighing slightly. It was tough for her seeing her baby boy growing up into a man. He was almost done highschool, in a loving committed relationship, and now following in his father’s footsteps as a fighter. Soon he’d be out of the house and out on his own. The thought almost made her tear up, but she supported him nonetheless. The Son matriarch excused herself from the dinner table to hurry into the hall closet and pulled out a large white box with a bow on it. 

Upon returning, Chi-Chi glanced to Goku for a moment and then handed her son the box. “I know your eighteenth birthday isn’t for a while, but I… we wanted you to have this before your big day. I made it myself.”

Goten raised an eyebrow at the box, shaking it slightly. It didn’t sound like a game or anything like that was inside. Now he was really curious. He carefully lifted the lid off of the box to see a brand new gi. His current one was fine and all, but it was getting a little too small and worn out over the past months of consistent training. 

“Whoa! This is…” He gasped.

It was an orange gi, much like his father had worn for decades. But what made it different from Goku’s was instead of blue, Goten’s new gi had a black undershirt, and matching black belt, wristbands and boots. 

Goten smiled as wide as could be as he lifted the gi out of the box to get a better look at it. “This is great! Thank you so much! I’m gonna go try it on!!” He said and ran to his bedroom to change. 

Goku and Chi-Chi idled about in the meantime, cleaning up from dinner when the teenaged Saiyan returned shortly after. 

Chi-Chi’s eyes lit up like stars while Goku proudly beamed from beside her. 

“Oh, look at you! You look so handsome!” Chi-Chi gushed, fussing all over her son despite his protests. “You look just like your father did when he and I reunited at the Tournament all those years ago! Ahh, those were the days~!”

“Yup! Lookin’ just like his old man!” Goku said. “Except for the hair!”

“Hey! Don’t hate!” Goten whined. “This hairstyle is stylish!”

Goten had recently changed his hairstyle to stand out from his father. Instead of his father’s signature palm-tree hairstyle, Son Goten let his hair grow out. It still shot out in most directions, but was now much longer and shaggier, reached the back of his neck. He liked it a lot more. Even better, Marron said it made him look super cute. So he decided to stick with it!

“Training begins tomorrow!” 

Goten smirked. He couldn’t wait. 

The next day, Son Goku came into Goten’s room bright and early, ready to start. They didn’t have much time to prepare! He found the teen was curled up in a ball, clutching his pillow for dear life. 

“Rise and shine, kiddo!” Goku swung open the curtains, bringing the hot bright rays of sunlight right onto Goten’s face. 

Goten winced and half-opened one eye. “...Dad? It’s ...7 AM! On a Saturday. Come back in like three hours.” Goten grimaced and then pulled the covers over his head, hoping his father would go away. It was too early for this! He was in the middle of an awesome dream too! 

“No way. We’ve only got six days till the tournament! We’re gonna train for three days, and then rest for three days.” Goku said and yanked the covers off the bed entirely. “We’re getting breakfast out on the road, so get up or you’ll miss it!” 

Goten groaned even louder than before, finally sitting up. The teen rubbed his eyes and yawned loudly. His hair shot out in every direction even more so than normal. Under most circumstances he wouldn’t mind early morning training, but his bed was too comfy to leave it right now! If he went back to sleep now, maybe he could continue the dream he was having! “Can’t today be a rest day?”

“Nope. Now be outside in ten minutes or your mother said no dinner for you!” Goku grinned teasingly, knowing that was his son’s weakness.

“Oh come onnn! That’s--. Ugh. Fiiine!” Goten whined. “Cheater.”

After brushing his teeth (still half asleep) Goten threw on his new gi. Knowing how their sparring sessions usually went, he hoped it wouldn’t get destroyed after not even having it a full day. 

He tiredly dragged his feet out to the kitchen where his mother was waiting for him. 

“Never shoulda entered this stupid Tournament…” He mumbled to himself and yawned again. 

Chi-Chi shook her head, laughing. “Oh hush. It’s not that bad. You know how your father gets in times like this.”

“Yeah, yeah. He could’ve at least waited another hour though!” Goten said and then went outside to see his father talking with Gohan as little Pan ran around at their feet.

“Oh, hey Gohan!” Goten said happily. 

“I see Dad’s puttin’ you through the ringer, huh?” Gohan chuckled when he saw his brother drag his feet out onto the grass. “I was down that road plenty of times growing up.” 

Goku had traded his signature orange gi for a blue gi with dark bluish-green pants, black shoes and orange wristbands. He still dearly treasured the Turtle School colors, but wanted something different for a change. 

“Uncle Goten!!” Pan cried happily. The toddler wore a little red gi, a present she got from Goku and Chi-Chi for Christmas the previous winter. Pan jumped into the air and came flying at him like a football player trying to take down the quarterback. 

Goten braced himself for the hug just as Pan slammed into him, laughing. “Hey, squirt!”

“I’m not a squirt, I grew two inches!” 

Pan giggled. She loved her uncle so much. He was like a big kid, but also an adult! Pan didn’t really get how that was possible, but she just wanted to be just like him. He showed her all the funnest games, and always knew all the coolest places to go! Plus whenever he visited he always snuck her candy when Gohan wasn’t looking. 

“Guess what Uncle Goten? Daddy says I can enter the World Toonament!” 

Goten couldn’t help but laugh at her pronunciation of the word tournament. “Wait, what? You’re sure it’s okay if she enters, Gohan?”

Gohan nodded. “When she heard Mr. Satan used to be the Champ, it’s all she wanted to do. Videl and I agreed that since there’s no threats anymore, it wouldn’t be a big deal. There’s no Junior division this time, but we’ll all be there anyway. So no harm done.”

“You’re right about that! Besides, I think she can give Goten a challenge!” Goku said, winking up at Pan. 

Pan tugged on Goten’s pant leg. “Is it true you’re comin’ fishin’ with us?” 

“Sure is, Pan! Come on! You can ride on my shoulders!” Goten said and picked the little one up. She felt so tall!

“Alright, we’re heading off!” Goku said. Pan cheered while Goten smirked and pumped his fists. Now that he was fully awake, he was ready for action.

Gohan trusted his father more than anyone else in the world. He went over to affectionately pat his daughter’s head. “Bye, Panny. Be good for Grandpa and Uncle Goten!”

“Okay Daddy!” 

And with that, the three were off. Gohan watched them go and then went back inside for his morning coffee.

The three followed the dirt path to a pretty meadow nearby. Dew glistened on the blades of grass, as the sun continued making its way over the mountain horizon. A river gently flowed into a waterfall that spilled into a sprawling crystal clear lake.. It brought back a wave of nostalgia for Goku as he could remember the countless times he went here to fish with Grandpa Gohan growing up. 

Goten placed Pan down and stretched as the toddler immediately ran over to the river’s edge and stared in awe. 

"Alright before we start training, whaddya say we get some breakfast? I’m starving!" Goku said, already prepping. 

"Sure! I got it covered! I’ll get us some fish!”

"My favorite!” Goku said. No matter how many times he ate Paozu tuna, it didn’t get old.

In the meantime, Goku gathered firewood and then fired a tiny ki blast to start a fire. Pan helped by throwing sticks to make it bigger. He placed three large wooden stakes over the fire, one for each of them to roast their breakfast on. 

Goten got down to his boxers and dove into the river. It was cold, yet refreshing. If he wasn't fully awake yet, he was now. The teen swam around a bit until some huge fish caught his eye. Common for this area, the Paozu fish were at least five times his size, and normally blue and white in color (but there were other colorations as well). Four of them spotted Goten at once and rushed towards their prey, each with the intent to swallow him whole. 

Goten became motionless, waiting for the right moment. As the first approached, he swam down and kicked it in the side, killing it instantly. The teen then disposed of the other three aquatic attackers in a similar fashion.

Goten swam around and gathered his food. One for each of them and one extra! They could split the last one. 

With their breakfast caught, the three generations of Sons sat around the fire, enjoying the morning together while they ate their breakfast in typical Saiyan fashion. 

Goku burped and rubbed his stomach upon finishing. “Man, that hit the spot! Now it’s time for training!” 

“I wanna train too, Grandpa!” Pan exclaimed. 

Goku ruffled Pan’s hair, making her giggle. “You like flying, right?” He asked, knowing the answer already. 

“Mhmm!” The four-year old gleefully said, raising her little hands into fists. 

“Alright, well how about this? I want you to fly around the world as fast as you can!”

Pan’s little eyes lit up. “Really? Okay! Can Uncle Goten come with me??!”

Goten laughed and knelt down to be on eye level with the toddler. “I’d love to, Panny, but I gotta train! Next time I’ll go with you! And I’ll show you something real cool!” 

“Pinky promise?” She said, holding up her little finger.

“Of course.” Goten grinned and they shook on it.

“Alright, bye Grandpa! Bye Uncle Goten!! I’ll be back soon!!” Pan waved and took off to the east. 

Once Pan was out of sight, the Son boys could truly focus on their training.

“So, what’s on the agenda??” 

"Okay, Goten. First, I need you to power up as high as you can possibly go." Goku folded his arms and smiled confidently. "I know things have been easy in these peace times, but I wanna see the progress you've made. You've been training primarily with Trunks, right?"

Goten nodded. "Yeah. At first it was pretty casual but these past two years or so we've really gotten serious."

Goku had full faith in his son. Though Goten was suppressing his energy, Goku could feel the sheer amount of power he had within him. In his fight with Buu, even as a child, Goten showed glimpses having more potential than even Gohan. At only seven years old, he became a Super Saiyan just by sparring for fun. And when fused together, Gotenks was one of the strongest fighters in the entire universe.

"...Alright, then. Here goes!" Goten smirked. He then took a deep breath and let out a mighty roar as his power skyrocketed. "HRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

A wild golden aura erupted around the teenager's body while lighting violently sparked around him. Goten's muscles bulged somewhat while his shaggy hair stood completely upright, becoming sharp and jagged. First, Goten's eyes turned to an emerald green. Then, his dark black hair became the signature golden-yellow. The lightning increased in intensity as Goten didn't stop there and kept powering up until a burst of light shot from the teens body.

There stood Son Goten in a fully-powered Super Saiyan 2 state. The splitting image of his father. His facial features were relaxed and he was in complete control of his energy; a far cry from ten years ago when he had gotten carried away at the Tournament.

"How's this?" Goten asked, smirking slightly. “At first, it took a lot of rage to transform, like I had to picture Majin Buu hurting Mar or Mom again. But it’s easy now!”

"Amazing, Goten! Wow! I'm so proud of you!" Goku beamed with pride at how far his son has come. At only seventeen years old, Son Goten had mastered Super Saiyan 2. Goku wouldn't be surprised if he was on the edge of unlocking Super Saiyan 3!

"Me and Trunks are just about equals."

Equals?! They were equals? If that really was the case, Goku could truly put his worries about leaving the earth to the next generation to rest. "No wonder You got so strong so fast!"

"How would you compare us to Majin Buu? Like a ballpark."

"You mean the evil one? Hard to say exactly, but you're definitely stronger than Vegeta and I were at the time. If both of you attacked together at full power, you could have possibly beaten him before he split good from evil and lost most of his power. But you know more than anyone how unpredictable Buu can be. Even though he's good now, you have to be careful. If you get matched up against him, you can't afford many mistakes against a guy like that.”

Goten pumped his fists happily. "Right! Thanks, Dad! So, what now?"

"Power down to normal. Goku said and slipped into a fighting stance. "Let's have a quick spar. This time, no transforming.”

"Huh? Are you sure? But you'll kick my ass!"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. I'm gettin' old ya know! Now come on.” 

Goten nodded and after a deep breath, his hair and eyes returned to their normal black color. He clenched his fists and then slipped into a fighting stance. “Just watch the gi, okay? It’s brand new, and I was hopin’ to surprise Mar with it.”

Goku smirked. “Sure. I’ll let you have the first move.”

“You’ll regret that!!” Goten instantly burst forward, appearing as only a blur. He swung a volley of powerful kicks directly at his father's face.

Goku smirked as dodged with ease but Goten was relentless. Kick after kick he didn't stop. That continued until Goku grabbed Goten by the leg, and prepared to counter. "Got ya."

"Not so fast!" With his other leg, Goten swung but that too was caught. Goten squirmed and fought to break loose, but Goku’s grip only tightened. Growling, Goten spread his arms wide, unleashing an Explosive Wave at point blank range. 

Goku was hit dead on and lost his grip, staggering back somewhat as Goten landed. "OWW! Good one! That actually hurt! But I'm not even getting started yet!" 

Goku vanished from sight and reappeared behind his son. Goten swerved around just in time to see his father pulling his fist back, ready to strike. 

However the blow went right through his son as if it were an illusion. 

“An afterimage...” Goku said, smirking.

Two copies of Goten reappeared to Goku’s side. Then, the real Goten appeared from above and swung a ferocious kick at Goku, but that too was nothing but an illusion. 

“W-What?!” Goten exclaimed and jumped backwards, searching around for his father’s energy.

“I invented that move! Ya gotta be better than that!!” Goku said from a few yards away, smiling mischievously with his arms crossed. 

Goten ran towards Goku again, but this time Goku vanished completely. The teen flipped backwards just as Goku came into sight, narrowly dodging the counter. Goten burst forward and immediately slammed Goku in the back of  the head, this time hitting finally it’s mark. 

Goku was sent careening down towards the ground, but he caught himself and safely landed on his own two feet. He winced, rubbing his head where Goten hit him. “He’s tougher than I remember!”

Goten continued his assault, flying down towards his father and firing multiple energy waves at Goku.

Goku deflected the blasts away from himself, sending the blasts far away from the fight to explode in the distance. Goten charged a bigger blast in his left hand, firing it directly forward. Goku stayed absolutely still, waiting for Goten's blast. At the last moment, Goten curved the blast up and it exploded into multiple blasts that shot in every direction, wildly zig-zagging around without any sense of direction or course. 

Goku watched each blast intensely, waiting for the right moment. 

“He’s distracted!” Goten blasted forwards, head first, at full force, slamming directly into Goku’s back. 

Pulling his arms back into the signature pose, Goten his hands together. “KAAAAA… MEEEEE…” The blue energy began to build as Goten’s ki spiked. “HAAAAA… MEEEEE…”

Goku recovered and came to a sliding halt on the grassy terrain. The Saiyan hadn’t felt this excited in years. Goku smirked and raised his power level to match Goten’s. Just then, Goten vanished. 

Goku’s eyes widened and crossed his arms over his face, just as Goten appeared in front of him.

“HAAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

The blast hit Goku dead on, creating a super massive explosion that could be felt all the way at the Son house from far away. 

Goten jumped backwards to gain distance. The teen hovered there, his senses on full awareness, waiting for his father to emerge from the smoke. A palm-tree hairstyle and bluish-green gi appeared through the smoke soon enough, completely unharmed. He was smiling! 

“I see you’ve finally mastered the Instant Transmission. Great work!” Goku grinned, folding his arms. 

The Instant Transmission technique. Goten had asked his father to teach him the attack about two years ago when he started his training. Right around the time he started dating Marron. Goten motives were as clear as day.

“Yeah! Thanks again!” Goten said.

“You won’t fool me twice with that move though. Come on, let’s keep going!”

“You bet.”

They rushed each other at the same time and collided. A powerful yet invisible tremor shook the area as their fists met. The father and son duo crashed blow for blow as they rose higher in the air. Their attacks grew more intense the higher they went.

Eventually they disappeared, and could only be seen by the tremors echoing throughout the grassy training grounds. 

At first, Goten traded blows evenly with his dad, countering each blow with ease. But as their struggle continued, Goku slowly raised his power and started overwhelming his father. He managed to land a crushing blow to the gut, making Goten falter. Goku went to punch him but Goten phased out of the way, reappearing some significant distance away and hid his energy singal. 

“Now’s my chance!”

Goten got into position and powered up to full. In an instant he pulled his hands back, charged two blue blasts of ki in his hands and fired. The beam exploded in a marvelous blue light, hitting its target dead on. “Gotcha.”

Goten waited for movement. But when the smoke cleared and Goku was gone! The teen growled when he saw his father simply dusting off his gi on the grass below. 

“Dammit! He’s not even hurt!” 

To Goku’s own surprise, he was just a bit out of breath.  ”If I’m not careful, he actually may get the advantage. He’s even further along in his training than I originally thought.” He smirked and then raised his hands close to the center of his face with his fingers spread out toward his eyes. “This was fun, Goten, but you’re not winning this fight.”

Goten braced himself and shut his eyes. “Oh crap!”

“SOLAR FLARE!”

A blinding white light exploded from the Saiyan father’s body as if a second sun was right there on the battlefield with them, covering everything in sight. 

Despite being temporarily blind, Goten’s other senses kicked into high gear. He felt where Goku was going to appear and attempted to counter, but missed every attack. Goku simply side-stepped or caught everything Goten threw at him. 

Goku smirked, reappearing right behind his son. "Come on! Focus! You're better than that, Goten!" He said right before flipping behind Goten and kneeing his son right in the back.

Goten was flown forward as he grunted from the impact of the hard hit, trying to regain control of his body as his sight finally began returning to him. 

Goku pursued his son, pounding him into the ground causing cracks and the ground itself to rise up from the impact. Goku then grabbed his son by the legs and threw him into the air. Goku flew straight up, stopping above Goten. He threw a punch at Goten but Goten managed to duck, countering with a jab to the gut.

Goku vanished and kicked his son upwards, and with a flare his energy unleashed a monstrous kiai that had Goten flying backwards, unable to recover. 

A boot connected with the boy’s face and he was sent shooting towards the ground yet again. 

“Try and stop this one!!” Goku cried and unleashed a volley of rapid-fire blasts. Goten’s head was still spinning from the kick, so he didn’t have time to block the dozens of golden Ki spheres that crashed into his body one after another seemingly without end. 

Finally, Goku built up one last, super-large energy ball for the final attack. 

Goten had just enough time to land on his feet and catch the ball of ki. He grunted as he felt himself being pushed back, but with a flare of his aura--almost turning Super Saiyan until he remebered the rule, managed to send it flying away. A massive explosion echoed from afar where the impact was. 

Goku floated above him with his hands on his hips, smiling proudly. 

Goten heaved and huffed, now feeling exhausted as if he sweat from his brow.  He really could have kept going, but decided against it and shook his head. “I’m done for now. You win....” He said and plopped down on the grass.

The fight was over. Goku grinned and flashed dual victory signs. “You did amazing, Goten. Really had me there!” 

“One of these days, I swear, the shoe is gonna be on the other foot!” Goten declared in between heavy breaths. At least his gi didn’t get ruined. 

“And I think that day will be sooner rather than later.” Goku smiled and sat down next to Goten on the grass as they waited for Panny to come back. 

Only six days remain until the 28th World Martial Arts Tournament begins!

[benlaksana]

Coming Home

If there is one constant emotional response that my mind and body has conjured since coming back to Indonesia, it is anger. The reasons are plentiful. Chronic social and economic injustice, growing government oppression, sheer incompetency of many government officials, religious conservatism, as the proverbial saying goes, the list goes on.

And now with the coronavirus devastatingly consuming Indonesia and my government’s response has not only been weak and slow, lacking in coordination, but also simply at many times blatantly incompetent, anti-science and anti-expertise, resulting in the deaths of many including doctors and nurses, and with no full lockdowns initiated, no mass testing, just some half-baked government encouragement to physical distancing and good hygiene. I’ve observed that this time not only am I consumed with fervent anger but at many times deep sadness and crippling fear. An unholy trinity. In the name of anger, sadness and lingering fear.

Here’s some trivia and personal info for you folks. Did you know that Tuberculosis (TB) usually leaves scars on lungs it once infected and even though it’s been decades since my bout with TB, my lungs today, as you might expect, are not in tip-top shape. So that’s my pre-existing condition that at times, at many times, throws me into a panic and into a sudden cleaning spree. Wipe here, wipe there, disinfect door knobs, drowning recently handled money in warm soapy water. Irrational fear? On the contrary my beautiful friends. Indonesia has one of the highest Covid death rates in the world and with Covid patients on the rise but not at its peak, our already sparse healthcare system is already showing its cracks. Again, just to remind you, Indonesia is not even near the peak and we’re not even doing massive tests but everything is already hanging on a thread. Adding to this misery, the lack of some kind of social safety net has this climate of dread creeping up on me, this I acknowledge and I am trying as much as I can in keeping this at bay. Dread induced paralysis is not something I can to endure at the moment.  

That’s some personal (slightly existential) rant right there.

But I understand that I’m lucky and painfully privileged to be able to work from home unlike so many others. So since at this moment my productivity rate is reaching zero and I’m basically pushing away work and other responsibilities as much as I can (which will probably come back and haunt me soon), let me just first reflect on life at the moment, updates on other things aside from this feeling of impending doom.

I’ve realized that I do not update this blog of mine as often as I would like to. Desires are kept as desires, and slowly wither away as desires. Yet as 2020 dawned on me and ages with uncertainty I spent my time re-reading old books that I have read many years ago and some of my old blog posts as well. Beginning with my first blog post which is now the ripe old age of 10 years old. One decade old. With the breakneck speed of change of today’s internet, 10 years is perhaps close to immortality in internet years. That being said, I still use Hotmail for my main email which I’ve had since 1998, the year I was introduced to the internet...and politics.

It was 13th of May 1998. I was at home with my dad as schools and offices were closed. The day before that soldiers opened fire at a student demonstration in front the University of Trisakti, Jakarta. Four students were killed, riots and demonstrations were happening everywhere the following day. So most people decided to stay home.

I remember my dad narrating the 1998 May protests as we attentively watched the event unravel through our old school CRT TV. My dad was thankfully percipient enough to refuse to go to his office during that week, but he did have friends in high places so it wasn’t much of a surprise if he received some kind of insiders info. I was about 12 years young at that time, on the cusp of teen hood. Puberty was on my mind, but that moment of watching a historical event unfold (which of course I did not understand it as something momentous) with my dad explaining with excitement of what was going on, even though I sure as hell did not understand the most of it, was illuminating. A father and son bonding session as result of reformasi. That sounded like a thesis topic: Family Relations and Social Change: Exploring Familial Relations through the 1998 Reformasi. (Hah!)

It did however shape my values and ideas that I still hold on to this day not only on politics per se but what I wanted or expected from this thing called the nation-state. I have to say that the May 1998 riots and demonstrations, the visualization of the riots on TV and my dad narrating in the background constantly interrupting the reporter, was the reason why I remember that day so clear. It made an indelible mark on me. I can’t even begin to imagine the impact to those who were physically effected by the riots, houses and stores burned down, people being raped and/or murdered..

About a week after the riots, on the 21st of May 1998 President Soeharto resigned after 32 years in power. I saw my dad cheering, again not fully grasping the reasons why, although he did try his best to explain. But it piqued my interest in politics, and being told that this this new thing (really new for me at that time) called the internet had much to offer about what was happening then, a few weeks after that, using my mom’s 36.6 kbps dial-up modem that I was awfully proud of, I registered for a shiny new Hotmail account. In hopes of joining mailing lists.

Wasantara-net, owned by Indonesia’s postal service, was my family’s choice for the internet service provider. I hated them as they were first-class in unreliability, but they were the only providers to be able to connect my house, on the edge of bogor, to the world wide web. My first few emails, if again I remember correctly, were chain mails about the May riots that I subscribed through questionable mIRC chats. Chats that start with A/S/L, age, sex, location, and either ends in hook ups, or being involved in something you’re too young or ignorant to fully understand.

Being young(er) and wanting to be part of something important is such a motivating factor in us actually doing and becoming something. With Carl Gustav Jung in mind, being young or old, we are but “modern man in search of meaning” and being part of something greater than ourselves does still give me meaning.

Fast forward a few decades, I’ve noticed that you get a raised eyebrow when you tell people that you’ve been using the same email for more than 20 years now, and you get double raised eyebrows and an instance of wincing, once they find out that said email is a Hotmail account. I am coming up with less and less excuses of why I haven’t migrated fully to other emails. But hey, you know what they say, habit brings comfort, repetition brings comfort, knowledge that arises from experience, from personal history, brings comfort. Although not always, the past brings comfort, while the future which is riddled with unpredictability is lamented and brings worry if not angst. Comfort though, I have come to understand, brings laziness and at many times dullness.

It is however always interesting looking at one’s own past and how it is intertwined with the past of others. I think I’ve written about this a number of times, and most of my writings are born from the act of retrospect. I often assume that I would not be able to talk about my future if I never look at my past, but what also happens is that I also end up talking more about my past or at the very most my present rather than talking/thinking about my future. Is that bad? Is that good? Am I shying away from discussions about my particular future? Maybe, I don’t have an answer to that now. But I know it’s there, tucked away in the back of my mind so I’ll probably talk more about that someday. And with Covid-19 destroying all of my plans in the near future that someday will probably come sooner.

Coming home to Indonesia, after a number of years abroad, I have also come to realize, sadly, that many of my social activities here in this space which I reluctantly call home, are more often than not, performative acts that I do not like performing for. I am basically faking it and I am doing this by fulfilling a cultural and social role that I necessarily do not have strong feelings for, or even just feelings for, but I have adapted myself into it. Somewhat. The reason why I do this is simply out of respect of others. Things that do not give meaning for me, has often been deeply meaningful for others and expressing it verbally does not bode well for maintaining relationships. I am happy to say that I have Rara to remind me when I have become too logical (I am happy to say that I have Rara to remind about many things in life) in understanding the meaning of culture for many. But it is, simply put, not without its personal struggles.

Being a son, being a son-in-law, being a younger and the youngest child in a family oriented, confuscianist-style, hierarchical, the-individual-is-constantly-attached-to-the-social kind of society. And then being a husband in a patriarchal society, where I am expected to fill a kind of leadership role that tires, bores and disinterests me.

(On a side note: for some reason, I have often come across this odd discussion of alpha/beta male/female amongst my peers here. Which I find interesting as it denotes a fixation to hierarchy and also the assumption of fixed temperaments/personalities of an individual across space and time. Are they basically saying that agency of one’s self perceived to be rarely possible? Is change and adapting to a situation impossible? )

Then without doubt as a citizen of a nation that I superficially identify with. How can I ever identify with a nation that happily and openly oppresses others for the sake of unity? And not only rarely admits it but even more rare tries to amend it. It is a simple rhetorical question.

In sum, I have to be honest with myself here, coming back home to Indonesia is not home for me and I don’t think it will ever be one. It is more of a burden than something that brings joy.

The food is great here and I have my family here which is also nice but life of course is much, much more than just culinary preferences or familial ties. I am losing my sense of self here, and it is destructive for me. I am losing myself.

Fully realizing this I was looking for a sense of direction when I reread some of my old already read books that once inspired and also my old blog posts these past few weeks. At the crux of it, this blog has always been for me. It is shared publicly in hopes of others sharing what they have learned through life and what I have done wrong in my life. And I have done many wrongs that have not been righted, some no longer even have the possibility of being righted.

Rereading my blog, I realize much like others, that our attempts in finding meaning, and our meanings when they are found are frail and delicate. It is constantly assailed and it is easily lost, and at times harder to find when lost. Life it seems always tries its best to rob you of meaning. Not because it is intent in doing so, but because the very nature of life is in its impermanence. Everything is impermanent including meaning itself.

Intellectually and experientially I understand this. But again like many, I’ve still tried to find meaning in others, and much like many I’ve lost these people in which I have found meaning in. This is the constant dillema as naturally social creatures.

It is perhaps in our nature to be contradictory, or to live in denial, to assume that meaning and the people or objects that give meaning is eternal.

Some of these people that I have acquired meaning from I have forever lost through death, much like so many people out there. I have also lost some rather unintentionally, such as due to spoken words that are not carefully thought out. Some by design, on purpose, with deep intent and thoroughly planned with precision execution, slowly letting go. At other times, a harsh break, a rude awakening on both ends, yet ending in a sigh of relief. As some relationships, although lush with wonderful memories, are never meant to last and can never be let to live in the future. Memories that remain as memories, stories of the past, that do not become worries of the present nor burdens of the future. Our understanding of meaning is often forced to change and to morph and at many times, to end. People and things that once provided meaning no longer do, as people and the things around us change. People including me.

I’ve changed, I know I’ve changed, I’m quieter yet more angry of the world, hopefully a bit more thoughtful of my words and actions. But one thing that hasn’t changed is how I am not done with grief, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be done with it. I’m not even sure if it’s actually grief. Because we all know that the tragedy of growing old, is the tragedy of unwillingly filling your life with regrets and maybe my grief is but a thin veil for my regrets.

One of my plants in my garden died today. A lush rosella bush that I was hoping to make some tea out of its beautiful red flowers. The days are drawing long, and hope is few and far in between.

Be well everyone.

[hopetofantasy]

Wandering Romance

- A future with child fic -

Square Filled: Future, Family, Past lovers Ship: Sander Driesen/Robbe Ijzermans   Trigger Warnings (if applicable): none applied.   Created for @skamevents Summary: “A perfect, tight little family. But happy. Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six.”  

In the future, Robbe and Sander have a son named David. The only tie they have left with each other, actually. Because our lovers split up years ago, due to mistakes that were made in the past.  

So is their love strong enough to sustain a healthy friendship? Will they find their way to each other again or break all connections for good?

Also available on AO3

—————————————————————

CHAPTER 2: 'No one sees what I see in you’

—————————————————————

“So this is it then?”

A beautiful boy with mesmerizing eyes lying in arms. The warmth of love. It felt like puzzle pieces finally fitting together, after months of frustration and searching for anything that might look like it. Something that had been missing for quite some time. It just didn’t add up? Long sighs, hurtful eyes, loaded silences that made them more sad than happy. Their love wasn’t strong enough to deal with this...

No, he didn’t believe that.

They were strong enough.

Just not now...

He was caressing the cheek of his lover, his best friend, his partner in crime. Another part of the pair, the amazing family they had. Fathers. Their boy. All tossed away, like it was nothing. A paper crumbled in the trash. Like they never even were. And because of what? Why? Why now? Why this? This wasn’t right. They both knew it wasn’t.

He sighed to stop the spiraling.

His hands started to clench into a fist. He was so angry at first, he was so angry and sad at the world. He was promised forever, they both promised each other that their love would survive anything. The perfect man in a beautiful white suit and him wearing the black one. Ying and yang. Always complimenting each other, begging for a deeper connection, receiving it and now cutting it away.

Like his heart.

“Is this it? Can’t we keep trying? Please?”

His eyes were staring inside those deep ones. His tanned skinned hand slightly caressing his lover’s arm. Mindlessly. They were used to pillow talk until the early morning, the sunrise. The night sky turning from dark blue to light orange hues, exactly the color he once made by accident, trying out the paint samples on his palette. A beautiful coincidence. Just like the night they met.

As if faith knew.

When the other boy didn’t answer, he just went for it. His lips trying to convey everything he felt inside the troubled mind, his hands feeling every hitched breath taken away from his other half, the softness of a wanted caress, but also the sting from nails digging in his back, the bite of pleasure, the strained movement of legs  - as if love couldn’t be felt without some pain. It suited them, he thought. Every day could be a high. Every day could be a low.

His fingers gripped the sheets of their shared bed. Sharing it for the last time.  

“Oh my god, schat”, exclaimed the one.

“I love you”, answered the other.

“I love you too”, was moaned.

“Don’t leave me, please”, was said.

A tear rolling off a heated cheek.

Kissed by soft eyelashes.

The silence that followed wasn’t wounding. It was passion, it was love, it was a high that never experienced a low. A white light behind the eyes. Stars for their lights. Something shared only between them. And never would be again.

“Let us go... please”

The whisper.

And that’s when Sander woke up from his dream.

When he started to cry.

-^-

“Papa, can I ask you something?”

“Yes, darling, always. What is it?”

“How did you and paps meet?”

Oof, that was such a loaded question for a Monday morning. And he didn’t even have his first coffee yet. His eyes instantly analyzed David’s face, which was just a pure reflection of playfulness and wonder. The tiny boy seemed to concoct something on his breakfast croissant. It looked like choco spread, decorated with speculaas cookies.

What is this? Where the hell did he get that idea? This can’t be healthy right?

“Sweetie, did you eat a hearty sandwich before shoving this in your mouth? You can’t live on sweets, you know that. You won’t grow to be a big boy, then!”

“But, papa, I like it. Can I have this, like... one time?”

Oh no, not the puppy eyes.

He was a real manipulator with those big brown orbs. The kid was 9 years old, for God’s sake, how could he be this smart? He knew exactly how to play the game to convince them of mischievous things, things that were bad for him and stuff they needed to say ‘no’ to. But it was sooo rewarding to just say ‘yes’. Just to see the beautiful grin creep up onto the face he loved so much.

Something Sander wanted to collect in a jar and pull out whenever he had his ‘cloudy days’. David didn’t understand the concept of bipolarity yet, so once he was old enough to notice something, they had sat him down to explain. “David, sweetie. You know how papa is sometimes a bit different?”, Robbe tried to approach the subject, while their son stared with unsung tears in his eyes.

“Yeah, he lies on the bed and sleeps and don’t eat and is very, very sad. I don’t understand. Does papa hate me? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry...”

If the room was a stethoscope, the family would’ve heard a heart breaking. It was one thing that Robbe had to deal with his mania and depression. Now another innocent soul was being corrupted by his stupid brain and Sander just couldn’t deal with that. The pain he might induce, the worry in his soul almost growing too much. But as always, his other half seemed to know what to do. While holding his hand, to anchor him back to this world, Robbe explained.

“No, darling. Papa will always love you. Even if you did bad things. But now you didn’t do anything wrong, okay? You see, people have a bright sun inside them. And sometimes that happy, beautiful sun will have clouds blocking their light. Clouds who bring in bad weather, like being tired, not being hungry, not wanting to talk, have sad thoughts, just wanting to sleep all the time. And that’s okay. Because after a few days of rain, comes the sunshine, right?”

“And sometimes a rainbow!”, their beautiful boy exclaimed.

A couple of teeth missing in the front, but his smile was beaming nonetheless. It melted their hearts. “Yes,” Sander whispered softly. If he wasn’t sure about how much he loved his curly angels before, he knew now. When did he become so lucky to have such beautiful love? Him and his loving partner hugging their soft boy, giggling all together, without a care in the world. A fulfilling life.

Perfection.

“Papa, are you there?”

Sander blinked back some tears, while trying to focus on the situation at hand. David was glaring at him, already halfway through the disgustingly sweet croissant in his hands. Some crumbs were falling down the plate. And the choco paste tainting his pink cheeks. The look in his face was peculiar, like he tried to figure out what his dad was thinking. If he was going ‘cloudy’.

“David... I do remember that I never told you ‘yes’, right?”

The answer was a simple shrug.

“You didn’t answer my question about paps, either. C’est la vie.”

To say that Sander was perplexed, is an serious understatement.

-^-

When Sander was thirteen, he knew.

He wasn’t normal.

This was way before he was diagnosed with bipolarity, but that wasn’t the only thing not fitting the ‘standard normal’. He knew the boys in his class and he simply didn’t like them. They were all talking about video games, Call Of Duty: Black Ops, while eating their weight in greasy snacks and referring to girls like pieces of meat. Making jokes about what they learned from their older siblings or watching too much nighttime television.

And he didn’t.

He liked to write, he wanted to be a writer someday. And paint. Drawing was amazing. Sander loved walking around with cut jeans, graphic band t-shirts and a bleached buzzcut. One day, he’d love to have a pierced eyebrow. That was considered cool in his book. Maybe his career would be ‘rock-and-roll’ artist, since he played the drums too. Something to get his energy out.

Because he had ADHD.

At least, that’s what his doctor said. He just wanted different things than others and sometimes all at once. Was that weird? Apparently so. But he wasn’t entirely convinced about having the disorder. It sounded ill-fitting. Like a shrunken skinny jeans in the dryer, the broken mug in his room where he put his discarded pencils. It didn’t make sense.

Because he was who he was.

He liked who he was.

But who was he exactly?

He knew the day he changed schools. His mom somehow knew, the way only mothers do, that the previous school wasn’t the right fit for him. His course orientation was ‘sciences’ and he almost failed everyone of his classes. Sander was struggling to keep afloat. Almost drowning at the formulas and facts and figures. Those were more abstract to him than art. Art made sense, somehow?

And that’s why his mom send him to an art school.

There he saw people with asymmetric hair, nose rings and cut t-shirts. Girls with alluring auras, rainbow shoes and paint covered arms. Boys with mesmerizing eyes, fresh make-up and decorated backpacks. Beautiful souls who talked about art like breathing. Who understood things like writer’s block, portrait frustration and tunnel vision.

And he fell in love with them, all of them.

His people.

It took him a few years to understand what else made him special. Because he did fall in love with people’s souls, their auras, instead of a specific gender. It was a highlight in his life when he figured that one out. He finally knew another piece of the puzzle. Life was complicated, but knowing something more about yourself, made it so much easier.

His first crush was on a dark skinned boy from his drawing class. He didn’t reciprocate feelings, but liked Sander as a friend. Ekon appreciated the way Sander caught him in his art pieces. Complimented him on how he perfectly attained his off-beat smile, when someone made a joke at his expense. He was a quiet boy. But a boy, nonetheless.

And then there was Saartje. An unconventional girl, even for an art school. She seemed to walk around like an ice queen surrounded by raging fires. Hated every thing he suggested to lift her sculptures to a new level, always answering his comments with a cold stare. Such a soft girly name for such a raging bitch.

And Sander couldn’t help but fall.

Hard.

Without parachute.

But she used that to her advantage.

His love was treated as an exchange. If Sander would shut up about his newest passion called David Bowie, she’d give him a kiss. When he asked her on a date, she would think about it. Maybe if Sander could persuade the teacher to give her a better grade? And if he paid? Being the hormonal teenager he was, he obliged. And he believed. He was tricked into uncertain love.

Something he carried with him.

Especially after his eventual diagnosis. He dated Britt. He thought he deserved this kind of love. The uncertainty, the doubt, the hardships. It was all his brain’s fault, for being the way he was. Love? Love was something to be earned, not to be given. And nobody would give that up so easily for someone as broken as him.

Until that one boy,

in the moonlight.

He never saw true beauty ‘til this night.

And his heart,

did love as true again.

-^-

“Do you want any help with that?”

“Papa, I know how to make myself look like Bowie, you know.”

Sander snorted. He was truly a son of his, wasn’t he? This tiny boy was sitting on a high chair, right in front of a mirror, attempting to put on the make-up in a dramatic way. The tip of his tongue spilling out his lips, trying very hard to focus. He couldn’t stop staring at this sight, which filled him with pride. He must have taught him well.

The next generation was secured.

“Dad, stop staring at me and go find my other dad.”, David said sternly.

Ok, but who was the parent in this relationship exactly? Sometimes Sander didn't know. Yet, catching the eye of the supervisor right behind him, he was sure that everything was going to be a-okay. Maybe he did needed to find Robbe and the boys. It’ll do him some good. It had been ages since they had some real interaction that wasn’t through a phone.

It wasn’t difficult to spot them through the crowd of curious adults. The exaggerated screaming at each other was enough. Robbe had been pulled into the biggest hug by Milan, flanked by a jumping Moyo, giggling Aaron and a serious Jens. It sounded like the weirdest end of the world. But the feeling that coursed through his heart wasn’t unusual.

Pride.

For what they all achieved.

How they all stayed together.

Through hell and back.

Moyo had, somehow, become a successful club owner of a couple of nightlife establishments all around the city. From an only-known-by-initiates speakeasy to a high paid, high-end sky club, he knew what he wanted to do with his life and brought it to the table. Jens, on the other hand, went on a totally different route. After failing to start a few start-ups, he became g a video editing/sound mix freelancer and stay-at-home dad to help his lawyer-wife.

Aaron was still on the grind as a social worker, working until late at night to fight for the hardest cases. “These people deserve a happy ending”, he’d always say. And Sander couldn’t agree more.

Last but not least, Milan. The interior designer with an ecological mind. He had helped them out with the decoration of their home, which was totally picture perfect. And still cheap as f.

After the whole ordeal of greeting, Robbe seemed to have a huge smile plastered on his face. That was good, Sander though. Lately he looked so lost, certainly in Sander’s neighborhood. And he didn’t know why. As far as he knew, he didn’t say or do anything wrong. On the contrary. He’d encouraged Robbe to bring Wouter along, saying it was totally okay to find love again.

Where was that bastard, anyways?

“Heeeeeey, Jack Frost!”, the entire group turned towards him and engulfed him into an instant hug. Causing a lot of high pitched giggling, ‘omg, your hand is on my butt’-s and eye rolls. The warmth next to him was familiar, though. As was the scent. Which made his heart drum a little harder, like it wasn’t stating the obvious already. Pulling away, the electrified gaze lingered.

“How are you?”, the one asked.

“I’m good.”, the other answered.

He wanted to know more. Sander always wanted to know more. His heart never stopped beating for this boy, so everything he would say, would be engraved in his soul. His broken mind. His eternal love. That would never change. Even through the pain, he knew that they belonged together. That it was neither fault. Life just happened.

Like always.

But before he could ask anything else, a woman approached the brown haired man. Some colorful glasses, a beautiful classic dress and an intrigued smile on her face. Robbe immediately greeted her as ‘Mrs. Raymaeckers’. “I saw David backstage. Are you ready to see the performance, Mr. Ijzermans?”, she politely asked. Robbe slowly nodded his head with a careful smile.

“Ofcourse, David is going to be amazing, he was bouncing off the walls about this. I’m interested in what he’s going to play...”

“Ah yes. The David Bowie thing. He’s truly special, isn’t he? Unique in some ways.”, she giggled, while wrapping her hand around his arm. Causing a lot of heads unsubtly turning towards the gesture.

“I love how he has such a playful spirit. Does he have that from his father or his mother?”. She blinked rapidly. Auburn hair tossed over her shoulder. A beaming smile.

Wait...

Was she...

Trying to flirt with him?

A potential married man?

Sander saw how the other boys desperately held in their laughs. Some of them failed. Robbe’s cheeks reddened slightly, like he didn’t know how to answer this delicate question.

She just assumed he was straight?

That was such heteronormativity.

It irked the beach blonde man, that people could still think this way, like a child couldn’t have two fathers or mothers?

“He has that from me, actually.”

Six pairs of eyes bore into his. Most of them applauding the ballsy move on his part, one of them grateful for this way out. The last one, however, went through a whole process.

Confusion, calculation, realization and shame.

“Oh... I’m sorry.”, Mrs. Raymaeckers sheepishly stated. "I didn’t know. I just assumed... Ahem. Well, I’m gonna check the rest. Bye, Mr Ijzermans. Bye, Mr-”

“Driesen.”, he answered coldly.

“Bye, Mr. Driesen.” And with that, she was gone. As fast as the wind.

He didn’t like it.

He just didn’t.

How people could still think the way they did, how they would just come up to potential married men and flirt with them? How was that okay?

He knew he was clenching his fist, because of the pain. Fingernails making tiny half moons. It stung. Jealousy and anger tasting like poison in his mouth. His stare trying to find a fixated spot to calm his breathing.

He found it in some deep brown eyes.

A cautious smile coming towards him. He knew. Robbe always knew what Sander needed, even when he didn’t know himself. He was intuitive that way. His beautiful man, such a perfect human. The father of his child. And he couldn’t help, but sigh. Breathing slowly, heart thumping. A small caress around his fist, trying to soften the harsh ache. Only making the ache in his heart greater.

“Robbe”, he whispered silently.

“Yeah, Sander?”

He didn’t say anything more. He couldn’t. Robbe needed to live his own life, making his own mistakes, battle his own prejudices. Feeling his own real love. So Sander just stood there. Looking at the face he adored the most and he started to notice something. It almost looked like Robbe was anticipating this, was waiting for some kind of answer, some kind of truth.

And that's when they heard it.

A David Bowie lookalike coming onto the stage.

Childlike coughing in the microphone.

The first notes of a guitar riff.

The scratchy start of ‘doodoodoo''.

The song.

David Bowie.

The sign.

“You've got your mother in a whirl She's not sure if you're a boy or a girl Hey babe, your hair's alright Hey babe, let's go out tonight You like me, and I like it all We like dancing and we look divine You love bands when they're playing hard You want more and you want it fast They put you down, they say I'm wrong You tacky thing, you put them on.

Rebel rebel, you've torn your dress Rebel rebel, your face is a mess Rebel rebel, how could they know? Hot tramp, I love you so!”

[katherinewilliams221b]

Hello and thank you for the ask, obvi I have my own curiosities abt Kat's future life... 😏 If you don't mind, questions 3, 8, 6 and 12 are what came to mind first, though I'm also curious abt 15! I don't want to touch anything that may result in your series spoilers bc it's soo good - but her broader family life after all this I'm very curious about :D

Hi! This took soo long I'm so sorry lmao- Long post ahead From this ask

3. What is MC’s family like now?

I’m leaving here Kate’s direct family. I didn’t include Kate and Charlie’s daughter because I don’t have a name or a back story for her.

Here we have the Williams part of the family Nicholas (Obliviator) and Aurora (arithmancer and the actual brain behind the family's finances), Kate's grandparents, had 3 children: Evira (professor), Erick (auror), Joseph (dtp of International Magical cooperation). Joseph is Kate's dad.

The Walsh side of the family starts with Bernard (potioneer) and Julie (muggle nurse), Kate's grandparents, who had 2 children: Natalia (journalist) and Cornelia (apparition examiner). Natalia is Kate's mom.

This is the Walsh side of the family. Bernard's parents were Taidgh (broom maker) and Fiona (owl trainer). They had 10 children (see below).

Julie was the only child of muggles Ronan (fisherman) and Ciara Flannigan (fish seller)

The 10 Walsh siblings in order are: Imogen(farmer), Muireann (tutor), Paddy(broom maker), Adeline (aurologist), Collin (saleswizard in quidditch games), Cornelia (alchemist, Bernard's daughter was named after her), Brian (magizoologist), Jane (muggle relations), Bernard (potioneer), Seán (squib)

Details of these characters will be on another post about the Ireland fic character list that Im working on. (I might change a few names)

6. How has MC’s style changed?

The first year at Hogwarts was very child-like. She was still that little girl that came from a wealthy and sinister family, always in the shadows and behind doors because she wasn’t allowed to enter most of the rooms. She carried a small charm that Jacob gave her and it was the year she adopted Grimoire in Diagon Alley, first rebellious act since the Williams manor only allowed owls and Aurora Williams’ spider. In her defense, she went to Diagon Alley all alone.  Her style reflected innocence.

There was a huge leap between 1st and 2nd-3rd year. Mom went to Beirut, dad was busy in the ministry, and her brother was still missing. She opted for the same 3 outfits all the time.

The next big change occurred in fourth year. She started hanging out with Tonks and she absorbed a little bit of her dark style. All-black outfits were daily and she started experimenting with skirts. That dark look in addition with her winning every single game of gobstones, being fearless in duel and her original bad reputation, reflected confidence. Also, mama gifts her a nice bag.

From 7th year and onwards she shifts to more ‘badass looks’. She still favours dark colours like blacks and browns, but her go-to outfits include leather jackets and boots. Before the war, she became an animagus, which is a black cat form. An important accessory is the dragon necklace that Charlie gives her before going to Romania, and she wears it until the war, where she loses it. Another detail that I’m not going to explain now (still figuring it out and I don’t want to give away too much about the next fic) is that she gets a matching tattoo with Charlie: a serch bythol (with some magic properties)

In her 30s and 40s she is a respectable mediwizard now and she starts dressing a little bit more classy. She is not giving up her leather jacket yet but more blouses and dress pants are added to her closet.

Kate went full witch mode when she passed her fifties. Loving the aesthetic of it all, she shamelessly wears her witch hats to every party, reunion or gathering. Long dresses with pockets are a favourite. 

In reality, she is a softie, and you know that when talking to her. If you are lucky enough to be her apprentice you will find her elegant, intimidating and very very wise. After a while, you will discover that she has an enormous heart.

8. How is MC’s and Jacob’s relationship now? (If your Jacob is alive)

My Jacob is very much dead. I don’t plan on changing that. If he was alive (let’s imagine that au) I think their relationship will be problematic. He loved her little sister, but she was more of a burden than anything else. Growing up in the Williams manor was the first curse he encountered in his life: his grandfather pressured him to follow every Williams man’s steps and become a Ministry employee, dad did the same, mom was never home, and he had to take care of his little sister because leaving her alone in that house wasn't an option.

When they reunited, he would still see her as the toddler that sniffled every leaf and flower, that collected pretty rocks and buried her little fingers in the soil just to experiment, all while he tried to read his book under a tree.

There would be a slow and long process of getting to know each other again.

In fact, now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t think Kate would have moved in with Charlie so soon if Jacob was still alive. The two years that they were apart, maintaining a long-distance relationship, she was grieving and living alone in a flat in London that the Williams family provided. If Jacob had survived, they would have moved out of the manor together and it would have taken longer for Kate to go to Charlie.

12. What was MC’s reaction learning Bill and Charlie’s little sister went missing her First Year?

Well, she couldn't do much about it, it's not like she would go to Hogwarts and look for her herself. But she was worried. Some old fears came back, the similarities with her own experience with her brother made her uneasy, but after confirming it didn't have anything to do with the vaults she could think a little bit better. At that time she was a healer trainee at St Mungo’s and Charlie was already in Romania so there was a lot of letter-exchanging just with updates of the situation. 

15. MC’s experience at Bill’s wedding? (Did they attend Bill’s wedding? What did they wear? Did they play a role in it? Were they the bride? =p)

Kate and Charlie attended Bill’s wedding but they weren't happy about it. They love Fleur, and Bill too but with everything that was happening then it didn't seem like a good idea. They were vigilant the whole evening, especially Kate.

Reuniting with Tonks and other Hogwarts friends made her relax a bit and actually enjoy herself. We'll leave the details for a fic I'll write someday.

I shamelessly say that they matched outfits. Kate wanted to wear a pointy hat that Charlie gave her one Christmas with a dark blue dress that matched the inside of the hat.

She noticed the disappointment on his face when he saw it and later found out that he had chosen a shirt to go with the previous dress she had shown him. She changed outfits and with some gold accessories, they went to the Burrow thinking they were the best looking couple there.

I couldn't find a picture of what I had in mind for him because I took the idea from this fanart from cursebreakerglenetive .

That’s the exact outfit. I fell in love when I saw the concept. No tie, of course, the burgundy undershirt and inside of the jacket, the belt with golden dragon details is everything.

For her, a simple but elegant dress, with her golden dragon necklace and long earrings.

Nice experience overall until everything went to hell, we all know that part.

Thanks for the ask! This was fun to make 🖤

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Lucky Charm

Am I jumping on the “I heart Mandalorian” train? Yes indeed, absolutely. This is going to be a three part Drabble (unless I lose control and write more idk I can't seem to ever control whether or not that happens 🤷🏻‍♀️)

Summary: For someone who used to be called a lucky charm, you found that trouble seemed to find you fairly easily. This time trouble came in the form of a beskar plated warrior and tiny green bean, adorable baby. The first rule of being on the run was do not make connections, but you were quickly learning that this rule was the most difficult of all to follow.

PART ONE

Mandalorian x Female!Reader

Warnings: cursing, non-descriptive violence

2,713 words

The town was cheerful. That was the only word you could really think of to fit it well. It was one of those small towns where people just enjoyed their day to day life. It didn’t matter that it seemed repetitive. The same people walked the same path greeting the same vendors, but every day you watched them do so without ever getting tired of it. You admired that. You admired that they could live their life so happily and not pay time or worry to any stress they may have. And, you knew they had stress. This was a rural town on a rural world in the middle of absolute nowhere. Ships didn’t come in or out very often which left their minimal economics limited to just them. You could see they didn’t have much to work with. Most people didn’t pay for items on main street with credits, but rather with favors and goods.

This was the only reason you had managed to survive so long out here though. All you had to your name at the moment were the clothes on your back and a few knick knacks from an past life you couldn’t return to. Everything else you had spent on getting a ride out to this itty, bitty ball of dirt. The fact that it was in the middle of nowhere with no trade routes meant that the only people stumbling across it were those who knew it was there or those who were actively seeking the safe haven it provided.

You were the latter of those two.

There was a number of people who were out for your head, and it was hardly fair because it wasn’t even your fault. Your dearest, beloved father had been a crook and con man who made more enemies than friends during his long life. He gambled poorly, borrowed money from the sketchiest this universe could offer, and straight up tricked some real shady characters out of their wealth entirely. Honestly, it was a little impressive how much damage he could cause, and somehow, he had managed to weasel his way out of it all.

That’s what forced you into this unpleasant journey. A message had come into your workplace and told you that your father had passed away in his sleep. It saddened you, but it didn’t crush you. It had been years since you had spoken to him. He kept his distance after you gave up and told him his life was shit and you wanted no part with it. Hell, the last time you saw him he had stolen a decent amount of your credits before slipping away in to the black of space again.

So, seeing his death hadn’t exactly broken you. The second message to come though, from a rather famous, crooked politician, had stilled you to your very core. You knew your dad had dealings with him. He had bragged about how much money he managed to take from the man, but you didn’t know exactly how much it had been until said man told you he planned to take it all from you.

With your father’s death, you now owed all the people he faulted.

Again, you didn’t see how this was fair at all, but life tended to suck like that. Since you had no real way to actually pay back that loan you did the one thing that made sense. You packed up your bags and fucking ran. It was one of the skills you got from your father ironically enough. It was almost fitting that you had to use the skillset he taught you to deal with the mess he put you in.

See, as a kid who never knew her mom, you were forced to live that kind of life with him in your early years. In fact, for many of his cons he used you as a prop or partner. He taught you how to lie, to cheat, to trick, and he used to make you feel proud of it. “My little lucky charm” is the phrase he’d coo at you when you were young and naïve enough to want to make him happy. Your father always joked that no con could go south when he had you with him. It warmed your little criminal heart until you got old enough to figure out that this wasn’t a normal life. More than anything, your dad wanted you to go into the family business with him as an adult. A true partner now. Calling you his lucky charm wouldn’t work anymore though and you left him. You burned that past life and built something new from the ashes. You learned how to manually work with your hands. Became a mechanic, a damn good one if you said so yourself, but not good enough to be earning the kind of credits you now needed.

Especially, since last you heard other con men and criminals were now seeking you out as well to pay for your father’s sins. If you could visit your father’s grave without getting caught, you’d spit on it. Conning, greedy asshole.

So, all of that left you here. Trapped on a planet with nothing to your name, but you were safe. At least you were safe.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” Brandy, a middle-aged woman who had taken pity on you real early on, dropped a plate of food in front of you with a broad smile. You offered her one in return, but before you could speak, she was whisked away by another customer. She owned a small little restaurant in town, and she was the reason you hadn’t starved to death yet. Brandy was adamant about this not being an issue once you described your problems to her, but you still planned on paying her back someday. For now, all you could do was fix some of her older machines anytime they broke down and keep her one serving drone in tip top shape, which was fairly difficult since he was made mostly of repair tape and sheer willpower at this point.

You dug into your food, enjoying the warm breeze in the air carrying the smell of the pine trees and the soft, cheery prattle of the street around you. The sun was beating down today, but your table was half hidden by the shade of an awning.

You were halfway through your meal when you spotted someone new. It was easy enough to do since everything here was always the same, but this stranger was even easier to spot. He was Mandalorian. Your heart stopped and it felt like someone had filled your stomach with lead. Mandalorians were terrifying war machines who lived for the hunt. That’s what all the stories you had heard lead you to believe at least. They were skilled bounty hunters, and you were someone with a big ass bounty on your head.

The urge to jump up and run was strong, but for some miraculous reason, this silver, beskar plated beast hadn’t spotted you yet. That said something about their reputation. If they were as good of a bounty hunter as people said then how come this one was marching down main street without even spotting you.

Maybe he wasn’t here for you? Your luck was good, but never that good.

As your mind raced, the Mandalorian began to pass you and your eyes landed on the small creature toddling after him. It was tiny and comically covered in a burlap sack looking cloak. He wasn’t very fast, but the Mandalorian was walking slow enough that the green, long eared creature could follow.

What the fuck?

Suddenly, the green thing turned and caught your gaze. It was cute, that couldn’t be denied, but all you could think was that this thing was about to blow your cover. It stopped walking and you cursed under your breath. The green thing just stared and stared, and you did the only thing your panicking brain could think of.

You waved at it.

Just a small wave. A little twitch of your hand. The creature tilted its head, thinking, then lifted its hands and closed and opened his fist. The smallest baby wave you’ve ever seen. Despite the fear of being dragged in by a helmeted bounty hunter you couldn’t help but crack a smile. Shit, this thing was adorable.

The Mandalorian was back in sight. Shit, the panic in you returned. He didn’t even glance in your direction though. He just scooped up the creature and continued on his way. You turned in your seat to watch him quickly move down main street. That was odd. Really odd. Slowly, you turned back to your food relief settling over you.

Maybe the universe was finally smiling down on you.

++++

Honestly, this was your own fault. You had jinxed yourself. Gunfire and screaming filled the street of this pleasant little town and it made you sick to your stomach. This hadn’t been about you, you don’t think. The fighting started separate from you, but you felt guilty all the same. These people were peacefully living their lives and someone like you, on the run or trying to catch someone on the run, had ruined it. You assumed that there was some other bounty hiding in this town you didn’t know about and the Mandalorian had found them. That was the only explanation you could think of for the war going down on main street. It must have been a pack of runaways though and these pack were putting up a hell of a fight.

The pillar you were hiding behind was fired upon again with a stray shot and you ducked down with your arms around your knees. You cursed your father one more time before taking in a sharp breath and peeking around the corner. Two men in leather armored clothes were firing their blasters down the street at their target. You hadn’t spotted the Mandalorian in this fire fight yet, and you wondered if he was in the cloud of smoke that these two guys were firing into.

Their distracted gaze gave you the perfect opportunity to slip away though. As you took a step back your eyes landed on a familiar green baby. This had to be a fucking joke. The child was standing alone by a smoldering cart, and his eyes were trained on you. He didn’t seem all too concerned with his location, but you were plenty concerned for him. Where the hell was that damned Mandalorian? Wasn’t it his buddy or something?

The kid lifted his hand, giving you another small baby wave, and then a pair of arms scooped him up. The green baby let out a small cry at that, and you realized the arms that held him were not covered in Mandalorian armor. It was the last guy of the pack of three that was causing all this trouble. Why did he have the kid all of a sudden?

Without thinking, because if you had spared this any thought you’d realize how stupid of a plan this was, you rushed past a few more of the pillars on the side until you came out into the street behind the goon. He whipped around, blaster raised, and leveled a deadly glare on you.

You lifted your hands with a cheeky smile, “Uh, hi there.”

“Get the fuck out of the way!” He barked. There was an accent in his voice, a rural one, but you couldn’t place the planet it came from. He paused then narrowed his eyes at you, “Wait a minute, I know that face. You’re John’s little girl.”

Of course, this low life knew your father. You don’t know why you expected anything else. You nodded, “Yeah. That I am. So, you were friends with my dad?”

“Fuck John! Do you know how many bounty rewards he stole from us??” The guy barked. Probably a lot, you would imagine. You glanced at the kid in his arms who was staring at you again with a small smile that showed his tiny teeth. How was this kid not terrified? The blaster was nudged toward you and you realized he had been talking this entire time. Oops. “Now we can turn you in and get back all the money we lost. How perfect.”

You slowly began to lower your hands, “I really don’t think you wanna do that.”

“And why no-” You were quick with your hands. The kind of quick that made you think most of it was probably just sheer luck like your dad said. You grabbed the blaster with one hand, slapping his hand off it with the other and turned the blaster on him without batting an eye.

You held out your other hand while the goon cursed at you, “Kid please.” He snapped at you and you fired at his feet once making him jump back. You took a step toward and more firmly this time spoke, “Kid, please.”

“You bitch.” He threw the child at you, the child that cooed as you barely managed to catch him. You were off balance doing so and the thug had ample opportunity to steal back the blaster or just straight hit you, but instead he cried out in pain and crumpled to the ground with a blaster burn in his back.

You clutched the cooing child to your chest and held the blaster up, trying to keep your hand from shaking, as the Mandalorian himself marched up to you with his own blaster in hand. Your hands were quick, and you were relatively lucky, but you knew that you didn’t have enough of either to go head to head with him.

“Stay back.” You barked at him. “I will shoot.”

That was a blatant lie. Skills you gained while running with your father in that past, past life included brawling and stealing and being able to do cool tricks like you had just done with the asshole who was now dead in front of you, but shooting had not been one of those skills. You didn’t think you’d be able to actually fire at a person. Firing at the person’s feet to spook them was one thing, and something told you the Mandalorian wasn’t going to even blink if you shot at his feet.

“I don’t think you will.” The Mandalorian spoke. His voice was deep and hearing it through his helmet’s modulator added an unusual tone to it. He closed the space between you, stepping over the body, but then he did something you didn’t expect. He put his blaster away and held his own hands up. “I just want the kid.”

Hearing his words, the child began to squirm in your arms and babble loudly. You glanced down at him and he turned to look up at you with his large eyes. His ears twitched. Carefully, you held him out, keeping your blaster up, and the Mandalorian took him from you.

“You were never here for me. They came for you.” You said aloud in thought while watching as the child continually waved at you from the armored grip that held him.

“Why would I be here for you?” The Mandalorian asked, your eyes darted to his helmet, but he took this as an answer alone. “You have a bounty on you.” The grip around your blaster tightened and you clenched your jaw. So, he hadn’t known before. Did him knowing now change things? Apparently, the thick silver helmet didn’t mar his vision any because he noticed your tense shoulders, “I have no quarrel with you. I won’t be going after your bounty.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take you at your word.” You slowly backed away and was pleased that he remained where he was. “Maybe next time don’t bring your kid to a firefight.”

The Mandalorian didn’t reply. You glanced at the kid who had stopped babbling and waving when you walked away. With a small smile, you offered the green child a wave like before then ducked into the alley to your right to run away.

If your luck really was as good as you thought it was, then you’d never see that beskar plated helmet again.

[treenahasthaal]

Seeing your opinion on dark!luke, do you also have any opinion on Luke if he had been raised on Alderaan in Leia’s stead.

Luke Raised on Alderaan

To be honest I haven’t given much thought to Prince Luke Organa. I’ve had no idea’s or any sudden impulses to write that particular trope. That’s not to say that I never will – especially now that I have been asked about it and have been forced (in a good way) into thinking about it.

In my line of work I have studied and learned a lot about child development; nature vs nurture, attachment theory and the related disorders, childhood trauma and how adverse childhood experiences (ACES) affect the developing brain of a child (and physical health of the individual) and how, as a care giver, to counteract these trauma and experiences – which can lead to better outcomes for these kids.

I say this because I can see how Luke’s upbringing in a supportive family unit has shaped him. However, simply because he is raised on Tatooine; a world of a harsh life, Tusken attacks, daily deaths, bullied by peers etc will have had some adverse effects on him – for example, as I mentioned in my answer to my Luke headcanon. Luke kills… Luke can be callous/ruthless.

So, life on Alderaan, in palatial comfort.

Where do I start?

I cannot see Bail Organa being a father who spoils. (Just like Owen, I imagine, although less rough around the edges). Nor can I see Breha being a pushover – Royalty is duty, after all. I also wonder if there were nannies and tutors, all of whom will have helped shape the little prince. Or, like the modern UK Royal family is Luke sent to Posh Schools? (I haven’t fully decided or thought this through).

(Actually, can you Imagine a series of “Luke Organa and his Royal Adventures at Eetoon* School”).

Anyhoo, as we say here, I see this Luke as having a posh English accent – simply because he is raised by adults who all speak “properly.” He may also have had elocution lessons – after all he may have to give public speeches as an adult, he needs to be understood.

I don’t see him dressing in white as Prince Luke is often depicted. Bail Organa wasn’t, and although his clothes may be of rich fabrics, and well cut, I see him in dark, plain, unadorned, clothes – just like Bail. Perhaps wearing fancier clothes for special events.

So, what would this Luke be like?

Well, and this where nature vs nurture comes in and where I can draw on my own life experiences (I was a foster kid, raised in a family away from my birth-parents). This Luke will have a strong sense of duty – just as Leia does. However, I still cannot see Luke having an affinity for politics, so in that sense very different from Leia. Luke will still be like Anakin Skywalker and have “too much of his father in him,” that dreaming of another life and an unquenchable wanderlust. Luke will still crave adventure.

Bail and Breha will despair about this need for adventure and the scrapes that Luke gets himself in.

Prince Luke may do better in school and lessons than Luke Skywalker may have done as there is perhaps higher aspirations for him – but, despite a high intellect, his is still that dreamer.

What he will excel at is his piloting lessons, his self defence lessons, and he will take to both with gusto! He will want to know about machines and how they work, he will spend time in garages with the mechanics of the palace watching and learning how the speeders, and ships are maintained and repaired. He will LOVE this and track oil through the palace on his boots.

He will absolutely hate having a security entourage – and will give them the slip as often as he can.

He will be raised with the same social conscience as Leia. He will be taught about and will see first-hand the injustices of Imperial society. Bail will take him on more and more trips to Corcuscant and teach who everyone is from the Imperial Senate right up to the Emperor and his Enforcer, Darth Vader – although Luke will not be presented to either. Luke finds this curious as he realises that his father fears this – not necessarily because he fears Vader or Palpatine, but he fears for Luke.

Luke will also travel with Bail to other worlds on humanitarian missions delivering relief to those who need it. Then there is that one time he was arrested, and Bail had to pull some strings with the Local Governor to have Luke released. Prince Luke at that point was glad to have those lessons on how to resist questioning/interrogation.

Luke will still be impulsive, but it will be tempered by a maturity that Luke Skywalker perhaps didn’t quite have at 19.

Prince Luke will be a little haughty, just like Leia was. He is, after all, a Prince. However, underneath it all, he is a down to earth (Alderaan) likable lad.

This Luke will be more confident, more articulate. He will be kind, he will be tough. He is a defender, a fighter and a natural leader. He can handle himself. Which – Luke Skywalker can do, too. But here his skills will more honed, taught, rather than skills just picked up by living on Tatooine. He is still a natural.

However, he is frustrated by Palace life, by school. (Dreamer, remember). He. Just. Wants. To Get. Out. There. You know?

He just wants to live his life; one not under constant scrutiny by the holo-net news channels where his every move is analysed and gossiped about. Where his background is mentioned every. Single. time there is a news piece about it.

Newscaster 1: “Prince Luke, adopted son of Alderaan’s Queen Breha and Senator Organa, was today visiting an orphanage on Sullust which has been struck by the sullusti Flu Virus. He refused to wear protective clothing and met the ill children with hugs and handshakes. As we all know the virus is, thus far, not communicable to humans, but why take the chance?”

Newscaster 2: “Could it be that there is something within his biological make up that makes him immune to diseases like this? You know, this isn’t the first time that he’s been seen taking these chances.”

Adopted son.

Biological make up.

Yep, and don’t you know this isolated him as a child with peers? “Hey, Organa, you just to got to where you are because you were adopted. Bet your real parents are gutter drunks.”

“You’re not one of us.”

“If anything happens to the Organa’s you’ll be back where you belong; in the gutter.” This from an adult!

It followed him everywhere and did have a profound impact on him and on his sense of identity. Just as it did on Luke Skywalker.

I can see him, knocking on his father’s office door, being welcomed in and throwing himself into a chair. He’s down, hands in pockets, maybe got scuffs on his face from fighting, dirt on his clothes. Bail puts his work to the said and watches and waits. It comes…

“Dad, did you know them? My… real parents.”

Oh boy, and that hurts Bail. That one word “real,” for hasn’t he been Luke’s real father?

  Not sure I answered this fully. Got distracted by scene ideas. Maybe I will write a Prince Luke Organa story someday!

  *Eton, geddit?