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booksweet · 4 years ago

Note

Could I request a Gojo fic/drabble/whatever based around Halsey’s song Colors?? I feel like it fits Gojo perfectly. Angsty. Fluffy. Whatever you’re feeling.

Hollow Purple

starring: sorcerer!Gojo x human!reader

synopsis: there was happiness when blue and red met, but they didn't know grey would claim their place in between them.

contents/warnings: ANGST, SFW, slightly mention of blood, trauma, violence (if I miss something, please warn me), both reader and Gojo are 18+

WC: + 2k

A/N: hello, anon! I swear to god I tried to make it a fluff, but I coulnd't, it screamed angst on my mind. This request reminded me I'm into writing pain stuff like my heart was broken a thousand times, and I wish I could say sorry for the pain, but I'm NOT hahaha no regrets. Enjoy!

tags @noritoshiikamo

main navi | masterlist

You were gone. You were gone and destroyed every piece of him, every inch of him were carved by you.

He knew by the first time he saw you that you'd have so much power over him, you could end him without even using words.

And that's what happened.

You with your beautiful eyes, and beautiful red dress. You broke him.

His blue eyes now devoid of bright, of color.

But he knew it was his fault.

His fault to insist bringing you to his world while you should've had stayed in yours, oblivion to everything related to jujutsu. Yet, he couldn't regret it. He would never regret meeting you, and being with you this whole time until you got apart.

There he was, above the skies, searching for cursed spirits who ran away from him, their fear reasoned since he was the strongest above all. He couldn't care less about their feelings. Within the curtain, without non-jujutsu sorceres, he just wanted to finish that spirits as fast as he could to call his day off and eat some sweets.

"Guess I'll have to go a little rough now, uh?" With a movement of his hands, he felt his cursed energy shaking inside him like an ocean of power, such powers had he overwhelmed by years until he could plenty control them.

But suddenly he felt another presence, aside cursed spirits and jujutsu sorcerers, he felt a human presence. With a frown of his browns, he took off his blindfolds, revealing beautiful blue eyes, in order to find out who or what was that feeling. His flowing energy all at once disrupted.

And then, he found you. He found you walking calmly through the lonely streets wearing a red dress he could never forget. "What an interesting..." He muttered checking out if you were truly human, six-eyes working hard to find it and, when he was certainly of it, his interest on you just grew even harder.

You were about to cross an alley between two buildings and he took the chance to teleport there by connecting his hands. You took a few steps and stopped to admire some store's window and he couldn't help but wonder how you were still there in that chaotic place so relaxed and withou fear.

"Who are you?" He came closer to you and you stepped back with surprise, staring at that tall white-haired man with suspicious eyes and a smirk on his lips.

"Who's wanna know?" Your hands ready to punch his face if he dared to try something on you. His growing interest reached alarming levels as his heart bumped hard on his chest.

"I'm Gojo Satoru," He said without approaching you, and with a bow, he added. "The strongest above all. At your service."

"The strongest?" You said while lifting your chin up to him in defiance. "Oddly of you to say that, isn't?"

And he at that right moment, he knew he was lost. He was lost to you.

- x -

He was supposed to protect you, he was supposed to take care of you ever since you met. Instead, he brought you danger, he brought you pain, he brought you despair.

What's the point of being blessed with six-eyes if he couldn't protect the only one he cared the most?

Not a bless, but a curse. A sin held upon his shoulders. A burden so heavy he couldn't breath.

A sin so harmful that had stained you. Your naive soul. Innocent. Heavenly.

And he missed you. He missed your red lips. You red clothes. He missed how your smile seemed to warm him just like the red sunset you two watched once. His blue eyes missed staring at your for hours, drowning in yours.

Blue and red.

Red and blue.

Two parts independent from each other, yet they floated against them, their souls wiling to be one.

Convergence and divergence.

Divergence and convergence.

And when both opposites reunite...

The second time you met, Gojo wasn't on a mission and you weren't in danger at all. You had an average day and stopped by a coffee shop to drink some hot coffee, eat your favorite sweet and maybe read your favorite book just to get away from craziness of your life, you wanted to relax. You were at your favorite table, alone, and the costumers were passing around you and you weren't giving them attention when the doorbell left out a "ring!".

He couldn't help but desire some sweets, it was his nature as sweet-eater. He knew he would bring attention to him, he was tall, handsome as hell and was wearing a blindfold, of course everyone would've looked at him.

But you hadn't looked at him. You didn't even take your eyes out of the pages to check what happend at the cafe. Nevertheless, once again you caught his attention and he recognized you from your first meeting. "What do we have here?" He muttered with a glimpse of a smile on the corner of his lips.

He ordered a chocolate cake and signed the waiter to take it to your table. Meanwhile, he moved his long legs on tour way, like you were a force bringing him closer and closer each step. He moved the chair loudly and had his seat in front of you. "Hello, Y/N! Long time no see, ugh?"

Surprised by his suddenly entrance, you put your book down and looked straight at him. That weird man you met months ago, still you felt different about him. "Long time no see, strongest above all" you replied playfully. "What bring your majesty up here?"

— x —

When you third met, it was your first date. That turned into a second, and then a third, a fourth... And suddenly you were about all his life, above your weird friendship. All at once you became the one he needed the most to feel himself.

Yet he chose not to tell you about jujutsu. He chose not to tell you about his powers. About why he couldn't stay a little longer with you at your place. About where he would've been travel out of city for weeks without giving any news if he was okay.

He dissapeared for weeks in a roll. And you worried about him. About his blue eyes. You worried about never going to see him again, even though you didn't figure out what you feared at all.

Once, he came back of one of those long trips, after several weeks of nothing about him, but what he gave you to remind of him — his shirt, a photograph of you two, one of his blindfolds.

And you couldn't help but cry while kissing him. You couldn't help but to say you loved him you never wanted for him to disappear. And he would retrieve, he would say he loved you so hard you had him in your hands. He was yours to be loved, to be destroyed.

The strongest on his knees at a human's mercy.

Had never his eyes sight such a colorful being, such a colorful existence. He was at your mercy, his existence, his entire being was yours to paint, to stain, to rip him apart if you wanted.

And then, when you two lay down together, messy sheets and pillows. Blue and red met once again, but not apart, they were together. That time blue and red turned into a beautiful tone of purple.

— x —

Someday you would find out, he knew it. Yet, he still longed for time to be with you, time to be himself without necessarily being the strongest, the head of his clan, the balance between cursed spirits and jujutsu sorcerers.

But he knew he had no time, you had no time with him. There wasn't enough time with jujutsu and curses. They would've come for you by anytime.

He masked his worries from you. He always seemed so happy in his nonchalant and playful way. Always trying to annoy you and make you laugh everytime you spent together.

You mocked the "strongest above all" out of him every opportunity you had. And this had him caring about you more and more.

But then it wasn't a joke anymore.

Jujutsu were real.

Cursed spirits were real.

And you were just a human.

Alone.

Blood. Red. Everything is red. Everything is blood. Pain. You were in pain screaming. You couldn't see what hurt you, but that ominous feeling was still there in your place. "What happened? What happened? Who are you? Who are you?" You couldn't help keep muttering it like a prayer, thinking of Gojo who was to come by and see your hurt state.

But Gojo Satoru felt the overflowed cursed energy arisen from your place. His bare eyes naked with worry and, for the first time, fear. And then he broke. Every piece of him.

He found you on the floor, muttering non-sense words — including his name in your dizzy state — blood running over you limbs, torso and head. A cut on your beautiful face. And above you, at the ceiling, that goddamn cursed spirit laughing out loud mocking you. Mocking your pain. Your despair.

He ran out of control. He released this powers untamed, uncontrolled. In a blink of an eye he exorcised that cursed spirit from existence. He was furious, feral. He could bring fire to the world if it means to keep you safe, to keep you alive. "Y/N?" He came closer to you, checking out your pulse as his hand held your wrist. It was so weak his heart almost stopped. "Don't leave me, please. You don't deserve to die."

— x —

When everything fell apart, he took you to Shoko at Jujutsu High nursery. She healed your physical wounds in silence while he stayed by your side. You kept unconscious the process, sometimes mumbling while your expression turned into a painful one.

When you woke up at his place, you said nothing. Nothing came out from your mouth, even though he tried to make you speak. He kissed your forehead, your cheeks. You could hear him say "Love, love, love, please, talk to me" in a desperate broken tone.

Yet you couldn't say a thing.

When purple turned into grey, everything faded away. Everything blurred.

Happiness overpowered by despair and pain. You were broken such as the beautiful thing you two had.

"Y/N, please, please, I'm begging," Once more his voice muffled on your ears. Why they hold such pain? "I'm on my knees, Y/N, please, come back, come back to me."

He told you the truth about him so many times expecting some reaction, something from you. Yet he received anything at all. You were numb to reality, there was nothing he could do about that.

But one day, after weeks and weeks of him trying to call you back, you spoke for the first time. Pale eyes meeting him lifeless. And he felt his world falling apart again. "I want to go" You whispered and he widened his pretty eyes full of tears.

"What, Y/N?"

"I want to leave. I wanto to go away from here. Take me out, take me out, take me out..." You kept saying repeatdly, each time a knife stabbing his heart.

"Y/N, love..." He tried to touch your hair, but you moved away from him.

"No, no," You muttered afraid. "It's your fault. The monsters. The blood. The pain..." You shrunk yourself in your bed, crying. "The nightmares. It's your fault." Your crying getting louder and louder. "I wish I could forget you."

"Y/N, I-I," He struggled his words, afraid and crying. "You know I can protect you, you know I will."

Your voice cold in his ears aside your tears. "No, you can't."

— x —

Blue bright eyes once, but not anymore. Not when the reason they shone for now It's gone. When you've chosen to forget him since your accident.

That was what you asked, to forget. To forget the pain, the blood the nightmares, him...

It was quite easy to manipulate your memories, cursed energy manipulation and then it's done. Not that it means it did not hurt him, but it had to be done.

When light came back to your eyes, Gojo's bright faded away.

When you smiled red, blue was not his color anymore.

When your life was colorful, his was grey and devoid of any color.

Red and blue turned into purple. His heart was craved by yours, when you were together.

Purple danced in front of his eyes as his memories overflowed his mind. Blue eyes crying because of red.

Blue eyes seeing grey because now red is gone forever and blue is alone.

#sofi is writing — jjks #jjk gojo #gojo satoru jjk #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo angst #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru headcanons #gojo satoru jujutsu kaisen #gojo jjk #gojo satoru angst

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burningcowboyhoagietaco · 3 years ago

Text

A Way to Learn a Lesson

written by:

@burningcowboyhoagietaco

illustrated and edited by the amazing, the one and only:

@lenle-g

Before I publish the story id like to thank @lenle-g from the bottom of my heart for being patient with me, being nice to me the whole time, and for making my story even better and more exciting. Without her I would have stayed in my normal, not that good English story. so thank you for everything!!! <3<3

And here's my part at @tagminibang submission:)

☆☆☆☆☆

Scott, no!!! No way! I am not going to give any lectures to anyone." John's voice comes out tight. "Especially not in front of a crowd. No way."

"Why not?" Scott raises a brow, his voice honeyed with ‘big brother wants something’. "It's not like you're gonna get executed by some children just for talking space at them, right? You love talking about space. It's all I've heard since you were, like, seven."

"No, that's not it." There's a sharp shake of the ginger’s head, "Scott, come on!" John knows for a fact that his oldest brother knows he's the most socially awkward person to have ever lived on Tracy Island (and maybe the entire planet). "You’ve lived with me long enough to know how much I hate social.... anything." John complains. "Why would you ever think I'd want to do this?""

"Well, yes, I know that," Scott shrugs, "I've seen that look you get on your face when there's a lot of people around." He’s well aware that his brother is an introvert who hates socializing with anyone, so he quickly changes the subject to try and make his younger brother feel a little more at ease. "But hey... everyone knows how much you like it when anyone talks about space or anything about astronomy. You'd be amazing at it."

"That's a different thing." John says flatly. Flattery, it seems, wont get Scott very far. "It's like, whenever you guys ask me anything about space, I like to answer them for you, but from random people…? And in huge crowds? I just simply can't." Surely he doesn’t have to explain himself much more than that?

"Oh trust me, everything is going to be fine." Scott was a flippant hand around, talking without really thinking, because all he wants is for his brother to get out of Thunderbird 5, to visit Earth for a little bit, to mingle with people a little. It can't be that bad. "If anything happens, Gordon and Alan'll be in Thunderbird Five doing Space Monitor duty, me and Virgil are gonna keep an eye on everything, and you’re in safe hands with Lady Penelope and Parker. It's all set up, so please go have some fun for once and teach the children something cool."

"My answer is still no." John says persistently, without hesitation. He's pretty sure it'd be worse than being in the middle of a hurricane, or testing one of his Grandma's new cooking experiments. It’s lucky Scott misses his involuntary shudder.

Scott, though, is so done with him at this point, that he's pretty sure there's no choice but to use plan b and hope that that works instead on his unwilling, stubborn, red haired brother. They've got to get him down from orbit and to that lecture somehow. Scott's just not going to stand for anything else.

"Are you sure that's your last answer?" Scott asks, with a heavy sigh, already planning the best way to call in the big guns.

"Yes," John scowls, arms folded. "Yes, it is."

They'll see about that.

...

"Is everything ready?" John adjusts his sleeves, smoothing down his vest and putting the last touches on his collar. Neat, simple, formal. Can't go wrong. "My presentation papers, laptop, and my mini simple dimple?”

"Yes, all in the bag." Scott calls back, rapidly checking everything, "But do you really need that little fidget thing of yours?" He picks his younger brother's old toy up between forefinger and thumb to examine it, remembering the day John made their Mom buy it for when he gets stressed.

"What fidge- oh, yes I need it." The look on John's face leaves no doubt about that. "I've used it ever since Mom bought it for me."

"Hey… Mom would've been proud of you, you know?” Scott tells him, in a quick flash of brotherly pride. “For, you know, going out of your safe zone for a little while and teaching the children and all that."

"Yeah, I know…" John finds him a nervous smile, "But I'm not doing this voluntarily, you've forced me with that plan b of yours."

The second John says that Scott's cheeks dimple, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and he grins victoriously, his teeth a bright white in the earliest rays of morning sun.

“All I had to do was make a call." He shrugs, "Lady Penelope did all the talking and somehow convinced you to go." Scott got a little more excited. He took a couple of steps forward, slightly standing on his toes reaching John's level asking"How did she convince you?" Clearly waiting teasingly for an answer to come out of John's lips

"Huhhhh." John exhales loudly, a little despairing. "She promised me we'd go to the Pagasa Astronomical Observatory after I finish the lecture with the children." He shrugs, keeping his eyes down, embarrassed.

"The what now?" Scott stares at him, thoroughly confused.

"The Pagasa Astronomical Observatory in the Philippines.” John says, like that was obvious, “It's equipped with a 45-cm computer-based telescope. It's so powerful that astronomers and astronomy enthusiasts can now conduct effective observations of stellar bodies and other distant space objects! Scott, it’s been my dream to go since I was, like, 17."

Scott always knew how much of an astrophile his younger brother is; he never cared about his physical appearance, nor his poor eating habits and he always used to make excuses to read his books alone, yet no one has ever interfered in his personal life.

"Okay okay space lover boy,” Scott grins at him. He'd expected Penny to be persuasive, but resigning herself to hours stuck with John in full excited-about-space mode would hardly be in his top ten. Either he's gonna owe her one, or Penny's more resilient than him. “You can go, no one is holding you back."

The short silence between them was broken by a ringing sound from a nearby table, which John answers.

“...Mhm, yes? Oh, the lecture." It must be Penelope calling, "Yeah, I'm ready, I'll head out now." John grabs his bag, wandering toward where the FAB1 must already be idling on the Tracy runway. "Time to go."

"Mhm,” Scott makes an agreeable noise, watching him go. “Please stay safe and please don't make an idiot of yourself." He's teasing… mostly.

"Yeah yeah," John waves at him over his shoulder, not even looking back. "I won't."

…

"Are we there yet?" Despite the consistently amazing views out of FAB1’s windows during the flight, John’s found himself mostly looking down, fidgeting with his fingers. He’s worrying, just a little, about what awaits him in the Philippines - a whole different tropical island to his own, though still in the South of the Pacific Ocean.

"Just give Parker ten more minutes, darling,” Her Ladyship smiles at him, “We'll arrive in no time."

There’s a moment of silence before, unexpectedly, it’s broken by a call flashing up from, of all places, Thunderbird Five. There’s a prickly sense of discomfort as John realises that, of course, it’s not him calling. Gordon must be trying to reach them.

"Heeeeey Lady Penelope,” The kid greets, as Penny flicks it on, seemingly a lot less bothered by the change than he is. “Oh, and Mr. Tracy.” There’s a huge smirk on his face. “How's our newest teacher holding up?"

"Firstly, my name is John.” John points out, flatly, “Second, I'm not your teacher so please don’t call me Mr. Tracy ever again. Thirdly…” He concedes, quirking an eyebrow, “Yeah, I'm good for now, but fourth… How are you holding up, up there in my Thunderbird? She’s not much like Four, is she?"

"Ooooooooo that's a good question,” Gordon looks half like he’s considering it, half like he’s really missing his own ‘bird. “I'm holding up pretty well thanks to Alan. He’s taken all the Monitor duty stuff, so all I gotta do is keep an eye on you guys." He sounds a bit… sarcastic about that. “It’s pretty boring, honestly. How do you survive up here without a pool?”

"Young Master Gordon, are you quite done talking?" Parker glances, unimpressed, at the little floating hologram of John’s brother in his rearview mirror, "Because we're about to arrive at our destination."

"Huh… oh yeah,” Gordon doesn’t seem too bothered about that, but he waves merrily at them all the same, “Okay bye and John, please have fun, you too Lady Penelope, okay bye guys."

It’s only a few moments later that Parker opens his mouth to tell them that they’ve arrived at Chino Roque Theater, pulling up out front to let them both climb out.

John's eyes widen: it’s nothing like what he saw on the internet. It was more enormous, more luminous, more spectacular than anything he’d seen or read online. All he remembers reading is that it's a sphere shaped building located in the Philippines, in Anilao Hill, but the pictures on the webpage didn’t do it justice like being there in person does.

The building was smooth and round; the auditorium shaped like a massive egg nestled in amongst the other buildings. They were early enough that the sun was just cresting the horizon, colouring the sky with reds and oranges, visible through the geometric front of the building - where giant triangles of glass intersect together to give the people inside an amazing view of the sky at night.

"M'lady, you and John can go ahead. I'll park FAB 1." Parker said, before going to the parking lot - unaware just how tiring and long his journey to find a place to park is going to be.

They both head inside the building, admiring the sweeping glass fractals of the roof high above them. It’s incredibly beautiful, really a feat of engineering. So much so, that John almost forgets why he’s even there, until he spots a couple of buses arriving on the other side of the building, and the panic sets in. He was expecting to be a little bit anxious, but this feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. He presses a hand hard against it, trying to calm his racing pulse and stop the sudden shake of his fingers, and Penny must notice, because a little hand settles, ever so lightly, on his shoulder, drawing his attention to her.

"Hey John," Lady Penelope looks him steadily in the eye, projecting warmth and reassurance. "They're just a small, mixed group of children and teens. They can’t possibly hurt you, now can they? They just came to have a small lecture because all of them like space and astronomy just like you. Imagine yourself at their age, meeting a real life astronaut.” John tries very hard not to remind her who, exactly, his Father was, as she goes on - trying to visualise being a kid that didn’t get ‘take your son to work days’ at NASA’. It’s a pretty horrifying concept. “Most importantly,” Penny adds, “it's only for an hour or so, so you don't need to worry so much." She had to smile just to reassure him. “You’ll have filled their heads with space facts and be out before you know it.”

"O-okay,” John takes a deep, steadying breath, “I don't know if I'm supposed to trust you on this, or whatever, but I really don't have any other choice." He also wants to add that they forced him to go, but at the last second he remembers that they never forced him - he agreed to go because Lady Penelope promised him a trip to the observatory.

It seems like a pretty weak reason, now that he’s outside the stage door, knees shaking.

"Mhm, I think it's time to go inside.” She nudges him callously in the right direction, and John’s palms meeting the solid metal of the double doors is the only thing that keeps him from following gravity’s call and landing on his face. “Again, if anything happens, I'll be at the back of the room and I have a plan b if things get too much." John, pretty shocked by just how many plan b's the Lady Penelope might have prepared for the day, can only shake his head, bemused. “So stop worrying and get out there!”

She vanishes off into the atrium, and John can’t help the loud exhale that escapes his mouth before he musters up all the courage he can, and enters the room.

Bright lights startle him for a moment, and he’s pretty sure he does an awful, awkward impression of a blind baby giraffe as he stumbles out onto the stage and freezes as he notices the first smatterings of audience are already taking their seats.

The moment he placed his foot on the smooth wooden floor, his heart had started to beat faster, his hands began to sweat, the more steps he took forward the more he felt anxious. It was, he’ll think later, one of the toughest moments of his life, and he’s been to space. Multiple times.

Come on John. He tries to straighten up, shake off his anxiety, This can’t go worse than your first EVA.

Taking another deep breath, John waits patiently for all the attendees to take a seat inside the room. Waiting doesn’t help his anxiety levels at all, and he can feel them increasing by the second, but, determined, John doesn’t let it stop him from starting his lecture.

"H-Hello everybody,” He starts, incredibly conscious of the hushed silence that falls across his audience. “I'm John Tracy, M.Sci, PgDip, B.Lang Hons,” he rattles off his credentials, his nerves almost blurring them together, “I worked with NASA as an astronaut for three years before going… uh… solo in my astronomical studies, and I'll be your guest lecturer for the day.” He swallows around the lump in his throat, as a ripple of hushed oohhhs and ahhhs goes through the crowd. John’s pretty sure his face has gone bright red. “Thank you for having me at the Chino Roque Theater,” He goes on, before his embarrassment can bet the better of him, “I hope everyone’s had an amazing day so far. We'll be spending the next hour or so talking about astronomy and space physics, so shall we get started?" John thought it was a good opening, and yet his back was really wet from all the people's eyes on him. Glancing offstage, Penelope throws him a thumbs up, and he feels a little better.

"Um,” He blinks. “So does anyone here know how old the universe is?" John ventures, only to be surprised as almost everyone answers at once;

"Almost 13.8 billion years!"

"Yes,” The edge of a smile works its way onto John’s face. Clearly this was going to be a shout out the answer kind of lecture. He can work with that. “That's correct, now does anyone know how the universe started?"

"The Big Bang!" Most of them answer, and John feels a surge of relief. These guys really are into space.

"Okay, okay, not bad at all." He nods affirmatively at them, and the screen behind him lights up with an artist’s rendition of the Big Bang happening. "Now if I were to go and search ‘how old is the universe’ in, say, Google, the answer would be 13,772 billion years. It’d be the same thing if we looked at NASA, or even Wikipedia - so how did people get to know the age of the universe? How do you even start calculating something that old? Well I'm going to explain it for you in two ways: the good, nice way, and the kinda not that good and not that scientific way." There’s a bit of an awkward pause as John wonders whether or not he’s explained that well. When only silence greets him, he very quickly realises he needs to press on.

"So, uh, the good way.” He folds his fingers together behind his back, trying to resist the urge to fidget. “Well, in the middle of the previous century, as telescopes developed, we noticed something strange. We found that stars in very distant galaxies tend to look red… Umm, which is something that’s not supposed to happen.” A chuckle escapes John and, to his relief, the audience laughs with him. Scott never gets his space jokes. “So why’s that?” He asks, “See, if a chemical element gains or loses energy it’ll emit light in certain frequencies, thereby creating certain colors.” A small movement of his hand signals the slide to change, and a picture of the visible section of the electromagnetic spectrum appears, colouring the room with rainbow light. “For example,” John goes on, bathed in blue and violet, “Consider something like… a desk lamp, as like an element. If you give a lamp electrical energy, it’ll release that energy in the form of heat and light, yeah?" There’s a murmur of uncertain understanding in the room. “Electricity goes in, the bulb gets hot, and it gives off light. Well, we know stars do pretty much the same thing - only powered by nuclear fusion rather than a nine volt plug.”

"From studies of the sun and stars that are near Earth, we know that they’re made of helium and hydrogen, yes?” There’s another murmur of agreement in John’s crowd, “Well, hydrogen and helium can create red light, but they don't have the ability to create these shades of red that we see in deep space." The slide behind John clicks to a comparison of the two shades, on two different stars - making the difference clear.

"So, if stars are made of helium and hydrogen then why do distant stars have different colours? Are their compositions different?uh, well It’s possible, but not likely. The strongest explanation is that the color difference is due to the movement of the stars." The room gives a soft gasp at this news, and John knows he’s onto something good.

"So there's something called the redshift and blueshift phenomenon that says that if an object radiates light and approaches you, the color of the light begins to turn blue, and if the object is moving away from you, the color will turn red. This happens because the wavelength of light contracts and expands with movement meaning that something stretching equals red and contraction equals blue."

"And the strange thing is,” John adds, his audience listening raptly, “That most, if not all, stars show the same behavior, so, if we think about it, if all stars are moving away from us, that means that they were close to us at some point, and if we follow their path, we find that everything in space meets at a point named ‘singularity’."

"It was believed, in the past, that everything in the universe, or at least in the visible part that we have observed, that is to say,” John flicks to a graphic on his next slide. “All the galaxies, planets and stars, were all gathered at one point - the singularity. The theory is that this point exploded in what we call the ‘Big Bang’, and from that time onward, the universe has been in constant expansion.”

"So it’s with data from this knowledge that we can calculate the age of the universe:” With a wave of his hand, John puts a series of bullet points up on the screen behind him, then reads them aloud.

“One, the universe began as a very small, single point.” He reaffirms, “Two, the universe is constantly expanding outward from that point, and three, from these we have the ability to calculate the expansion rate of the universe, by calculating the speed of the stars that are moving away from us. If we take the furthest accelerations and enter them into this equation,” John’s board merrily does it’s thing behind him, “Then, we get the age of the universe."

"And, so we don't forget, all this talking was about the good way. There is another way to calculate the age of the universe, the, uh, not as good way, or, more specifically, the less scientific way.” A ripple of laughter goes through John’s audience - and he relaxes a little more. Maybe Scott was right. Maybe these are his kind of people. Scott’s never laughed at a space joke for sure. “There's no problem with it,” He quietens them again with a gentle gesture, “and it does support our theory and calculations, so I guess we should talk about it."

"Since ancient times, humans have been looking at the sky, watching the stars, and giving them names like Cygnus, Canis Major, Orion.” All names any young astronomer in the Southern Hemisphere would recognise, and be able to enthusiastically point out in the night sky. “In those days, there wasn't the internet so they were looking up at the stars instead.” Much like John himself, when he’d been a boy.

“As a way of calculating the age of the universe, astronomers set out to search for the oldest celestial bodies in space.” He goes on to explain, “The idea was that if we find a star whose age equals X, then the age of the universe must be greater than the number X. So we pointed our telescopes up there and started trying to find out their ages from birth, to youth, to their old age until their end."

"Can anyone guess the age of the oldest star we've found?" A lot of answers were guessed, some of them were pretty close, but some, amusingly, were way too far. "Ok, ok…” John puts his hands up to pacify his excited crowd, “Umm I see there are a lot of answers, but the oldest star people discovered was actually estimated to be 13.5 billion years old. The HD-140283, or as you might know it, the Methuselah Star. That number is very close, you’ll notice, to our estimation of the age of the universe."

"But if we found a star that is 13.5 billion years old today, then we could find an even older star next week and that would ruin all of that,” He chuckles, mostly to himself, “We also should note that this method alone isn't suitable for determining the universe’s age, but as long as we have two methods with corroborative results, we can be reassured that the estimate is correct.” He pauses for a second, “So, does anyone have questions?" A couple of hands raised, and John found himself suddenly answering a lot of questions - but he managed all of them despite his fear of the huge crowd.

He’s starting to feel more than a little overwhelmed.

"Umm… W-well that was a lot of questions,” John tries to pull it back in, his allotted lecture time ticking away on the big clock at the back of the hall. He feels a little panicky from the bombardment, and his palms have gone sweaty. “We’d better move on.” To distract himself from the people, as much as anything, “Our next topic is the theory of relativity, so l-let's get started on that."

Lady Penelope, from her fold-out seat at the back of the room, frowns. It’s clear John’s terrified and she wants to use plan b, but as long as he’s still standing on his feet, and giving the lecture, he's probably fine for now. If anything, it’d cause more of a disruption to drag him away now.

"Umm,” John takes a breath, trying to centre himself in the science of it all. “Let's start with a supposition, a hypothesis if you like, and consider it together. Okay, you’ll have to bear with me on this one, but let us suppose that we were all asleep, and the universe suddenly inflated by a thousand times.” There’s a murmur in the crowd at how odd everything abruptly getting that much bigger sounds, “Your bed, your pillow, your desk,” John extrapolates, “even the meter we measure stuff with. If humans became a thousand times bigger, when we woke up would we feel something strange? Would we even notice anything had changed? You’d think so, but no.” John’s settling back into his rhythm now, “So why is that? Because the bed and everything became a thousand times more inflated and our bodies also inflated a thousand times, with everything scaling in parallel relation to each other so that this percentage, this scale, was preserved throughout the room. You’d never know the difference."

"Henri Poincaré, the well known mathematician and theoretical physicist, says that we will never be able to discover that something like this has happened, even if we use all the mathematics and calculations ever invented.” John drives the point home with another illustrated slide, “This hypothesis is called the Poincaré hypothesis, and simply, because the meter with which we measure things will have also expanded a thousand times, there’s never going to be any equation or calculation or any analysis possible that could lead us to the truth, because the ratio is preserved in all parts."

"Now, this is important, because the same thing also happens with time. If everything suddenly got a thousand times faster, we’d still never feel anything different. Why’s that?” He asks, rhetorically, “Because time is also a thousand times faster, your heartbeat is also a thousand times faster, your body would function a thousand times faster to keep up with it all. As long as everything is increased by the same amount, the ratio is preserved, and none of us will be able to detect any change."

"So Poincaré asked the scientific community; is there no way to know that time increased or that things inflated?" John tells the room, "Well, it was Albert Einstein who answered him, deciding that the one and only way to tell, would be to have someone observing what happened to the world from another galaxy, from another world, lightyears away. For someone to point a telescope in our direction, and look through it at us, and say what happened to the Earth? Why are humans walking a thousand times faster than in the past? But this person who realized the situation,” The astronaut waves a flippant hand, starting to feel much more confident again, “would have to be a person standing on a fixed external platform in a different world, so that what happened to us was not also happening to him."

"But, as Einstein commented, this hypothesis is impossible for a simple reason and it's that there is no fixed platform in the universe - the entirety of it is in constant, turbulent motion. For example, the Earth rotates at a speed of 460 meters per second, revolving around the sun at 30 kilometers per second, and at the same time, the sun and it’s planets and dwarf planets and moons and asteroids, all revolve around our galaxy, The Milky Way, at a speed of 300 kilometres per second, and so the whole universe revolves. That's,” John takes a deep breath, finding himself out of air after so much explaining, “why it's impossible for us humans to completely accurately judge the motion of any astral body."

"Because there is no fixed berth, we can only offer relativity. This is the first part of the theory that Einstein came up with, in summary; it cannot be said that the monotony of a body is absolute motion."

"Another thing he said was that, because of the vastness of the universe, it’s impossible to synchronize, what does that mean? Well, I will give you an example.” He flicks his slide, “Say I’m a person in the Philippines, and I'm talking to someone from the United States. We synchronize, and hear each other in real time, because we have a method of fast communication. I can hold my device and say; hello, how are you?” John holds up the slim, sliver slice of his phone to show the audience, “How’s the weather there? And they’d answer me with something like; I’m fine thank you, it's night here so it’s a bit hard to tell what the weather’s doing! What’s the weather like there? And I’d answer them; it's daytime, and maybe ask them something like, what are you eating? They’d answer me; a burger, and then I’d tell them that I'm eating kaldereta, and it’s much better than a burger."

In the audience Penny quietly hopes that Gordon, who's probably listening in with the rest of his brother’s, missed the fact John was making jokes on stage. The poor little bugger’ll never live it down otherwise.

"These two events, each person talking to the other, are compatible.” John goes on, absolutely oblivious, “It’s possible because the two wireless devices, be they mobile phones or more sophisticated comms systems, are on the same globe, creating a fast means of communication.”

"But,” John postulates, “If I was talking to someone from another galaxy and I used the same means of communication to make a call, do you know how long it would take to get to them? It would be about five to six thousand years until my signal reaches the phone of our friend, and they’ll have married, had children and died, and their children would have married and had children and died, and so on, for thousands of years before then."

"And that's why it's impossible to synchronize between the ends of the universe,” John balances his palms like he’s weighing two invisible ends, “It rather puts a damper on our chances of finding and communicating with extraterrestrial life, for sure, but at least it’s possible to synchronize within one system, like the system of the Earth. "

"This is a thing that also applies to light, for example: any star you could look up and see now, the light emanating from it may be coming from thousands of years ago. This means that it’s possible that the star you see shining could have exploded and disappeared, and hasn't existed for a long time. Why? Because it takes a couple of thousand years for the light from that explosion to reach us."

"There isn’t any proof for the hypothesis that the universe is linked by time, but the thing that happens that we’re sure of is that the universe is made up of, sort of, separate islands of different times that have no connection between them. The connection between movement and time in space is something we all know about, for example, a day on Earth equals twenty-four hours, yes?” There’s a chorus of agreement from the audience, “But on Saturn, a day is ten hours because it rotates faster. Astonishingly, a day on Mercury is the same as fifty-eight whole Earth days, which, infact, is also a Mercurian year, because the planet revolves around the sun for the exact same period as it revolves around itself."

"Okay, so, to what extent is movement related to time?” John asks, well and truly into this whole teaching thing now, “Well, Einstein was the first person to discover the connection between them and suggested that; suppose you’re on board a very fast rocket, 100,000 miles per hour for example. The mechanical watch on your wrist would be delayed over the flight, but you wouldn’t feel like time is being delayed. Why’s that? It’s because the rhythm of your heart would slow down - all of the vital processes in your body that are inside the rocket will slow down."

"As you move more, something called the dilation of time will happen.” He steps to the side, as if to illustrate the point, only to find himself stumbling a little, like if the ground beneath his feet had moved. “T-Time slows down,” John tries to recover it smoothly, but everything’s starting to feel, weirdly, like it’s shaking, and he doesn’t think it’s the anxiety anymore, “and that's-"

John doesn’t get to finish his sentence because there’s an abrupt shift and a loud cracking from under him, and getting off the stage suddenly seems like a good idea. Someone screams outside, and the volume in the room skyrockets as the children start panicking. John’s one hundred percent sure this wasn't anything planned.

He knew he shouldn't have come.

Earthquake? He wonders first, then; Tsunami? Ground slip? Hurricane? Whichever it is, John has to prioritise calming the people and evacuating them out of the building. The giant glass panels above them are trembling with the force of the shaking, and, as a professional at this sort of thing, Thunderbird Five’s Space Monitor doesn’t like the look of it one bit.

"Everyone calm down,” He has to shout to make himself heard over the roar of people, even with the microphones pointed his way, “This is a normal thing. All we have to do is evacuate immediately, as calmly. as. possible. I don't want anyone crowding the exits, do you all understand what I just said?" The front rows, white faced with fear, nod encouragingly at him, and he watches as they begin to lead the way toward the glowing green signs that signal the emergency exits. Immediately after making sure the crowd is moving, John pulls up his comm to contact Gordon.

"Gordon, are you on the line?” John’s a little breathless and he climbs down from the precarious stage, into the throng of terrified bodies, “We have a situation in here."

"Let me guess, you caused it?" Gordon seems so excited to hear something other than his brother's boring lecture that humour has outweighed his professionalism.

"Gordon,” John grits his teeth, “I'm being serious right now, there was a huge movement in the ground beneath the Chino Roque Theater, and it's still ongoing. Tell Alan to do a check on what's happening beneath us using the Ground Penetrating Radar." He orders.

"F.A.B." Comes the far more serious response, before Gordon clicks off the line to do just that. Squashing down any fear he’d about the now swelling, shuffling crowd, John opens his arms wide and walks toward them, the motion sort of like he’s trying to herd sheep, as he tries to evacuate the people safely out of the building.

He’s not exactly an expert at being on the scene during rescues.

"John, there's a landslide going on right now,” Alan’s worried little voice comes ringing out of his comm speakers, “Right next to the theatre. You’d better get out of there. I’m monitoring the situation, but it’s looking like you’re going to need International Rescue to get you and the people out of there. The debris field is spreading fast." John would do almost anything to be up there instead, at his own screens. “I've contacted Virgil and Scott, I’m patching them through now.” Alan clicks Scott and Virgil, both clearly just finishing their suit up sequences, into the conversation. It seems important to keep them up to date with John's developing situation.

"Hey Mr. Tracy, how are you holding up?" Scott jokes over the roar of his launching Thunderbird, the sound filling the background of the call with white-noise, "Oh, and how was your lecture?" John thinks he sounds far too casual in contrast to the impending danger all around him.

"Oh my God, Scott, is now really the time?” John groans, and a kid with mousey blond hair not dissimilar to Alan’s looks up at him, very confused, before the astronaut waves him on, “You are an adult person,” He reminds his big brother, “Please don't be like Gordon right now. He’s practically still a child."

"Hey!” Gordon had clearly overheard the conversation between his brothers, and springs up to defend himself. “I'm only two or three years younger than you!" He complains, not about to do the math.

"Gordon, we don't have time for arguing about that now,” John frowns, “and Scott, I'm holding up alright at the moment. Please don't ask me anything about the lecture until I get back home." If his voice cracks a little on that last bit, he’ll never admit it.

"Okay, okay I won't ask anything about that,” Scott reassures him, his amused, big brother grin very much in place, “Keep on evacuating the people safely until we arrive John, you’re doing great. It won’t take us that long. ETA at 15,000 mph is sixteen minutes.” He reassures, “We’ll be there before you know it."

"F.A.B. Scott." He reluctantly signs off. Now that he’s finished talking with Scott, John’s pleased to see that a lot of people have already made their way out of the atrium’s three sets of double doors, evacuating the building to get as far away from the landslide as possible. His fingers itch to pull up the schematics from Thunderbird Five on his comm, no matter what the people around him might think. He quickly caves, and it feels worth it to be able to see the incoming tide of slipping land.

They don’t have much time.

“Let’s go!” He shouts, chivvying. He’s a little breathless with the tension, so he keeps things short. “Come on! Let’s move guys!”

From his vantage near the crumbling stage, John can make out Lady Penelope and Parker by the main doors, ushering people through, and the sight of them fills him instantly with immense relief.

“Okay, that's a good amount of people out.” John has to jog to catch up with them, skirting around a little old lady with a zimmer frame and taking a second to correct her course, “Lady Penelope, Parker, I think you should go and check on the people who’re out. They could have minor injuries from the stampede, and International Rescue are still ten minutes out. I'll make sure the last few stragglers exit safely."

Penelope just nods, pale and worried. Her blond brows are all pinched in together, nervous and Parker looks practically haggard as he claps a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder, her faithful old companion following her pink shape dutifully out the doors. Hopefully they’ll go make sure that no one was badly injured in any way.

Turning back to the slow cascade of cracking rubble behind him, John finds the stage area has been all but obliterated, and his heart aches for the patrons of the Chino Roque Theater who’ll have to rebuild from scratch when this is over. He imagines the Tracy fund can contribute a significant amount toward that though. They often do for worthy causes.

John pushes the damp curl of his slightly sweaty bangs out of his eyes and climbs over what looks like a twisted piece of ceiling girder toward the sound of people, possibly trapped stragglers, who are calling for help.

"I miss Thunderbird 5 so much,” John mutters, keeping it under his breath so that no one hears him, as his palms are scraped raw against the concrete he’s trying to clamber around. There’s a rippp of fabric on a jagged piece of metal and the knee of his previous pristine brown jeans meets much the same fate as his poor, scuffed hands. “Oh, come on!” He’s having no luck today, “I'd so rather be assisting the situation from space. I can’t believe I’m stuck here." John grumbles, to no one in particular. He’s just not built for this kind of thing. Heavy labour and getting sweaty pulling people out of scrap heaps is what his other brothers do. At least rescues in space don’t have all this… gravity to contend with.

"John?” The crackle of a comm cut’s across his complaints, “What’re you still doing in there?” Gordon’s voice breaks him from his thoughts, little brother’s tone heavy with concern. “The building could fall any moment! You're so lucky the landslide isn't moving very fast, but it’s not gonna stay that way forever." Gordon was really worried about the fact that his older brother was still inside. “It could engulf the building! You need to hurry it up, bro.”

"I'm evacuating the people as fast as I can,” John gets both hands under the armpits of a boy who couldn’t be older than seven, and swings him above a pile of rubble toward safety, “I'll be out in no ti- Ah!"

John’s voice gets cut off with a startled cry, and it takes Gordon a second or two, time John might not have, to remember how to breathe so that he can yell in any way coherently into his comm. His eyes are wide, his anxiety levels through the roof as he tries, and fails, to rouse his brother on the other end.

"SCOTT! You need to get there now.” Gordon’s aware that he’s totally losing his cool, panic creeping in over his weak layer of professionalism, “I just lost contact with John.” He gasps, “He was evacuating people and I heard him yell and now he’s not responding! And- and it's not just him. There were other people he was trying to get out."

"Hey Gordon,” Scott tries to keep his voice steady to inject some kind of stability into the conversation, “Don't lose your cool yet. I'm sure nothing that bad happened to John. Just stay your positive self, okay? I’m arriving right now and Virgil isn’t far behind me."

Thunderbird One is panning over the city, low enough to ruffle the hair of people looking up, but it’s not a problem until the usually so sure and steady pilot finds his hands nearly slipping off her controls as Scott catches his first, horrific glimpse of the building that he knows his younger brother is inside.

“What the…?”

The Chino Roque Theater is almost flat.

"Virgil,” Scott swallows hard to try and remove any of the tremor from his voice, “A-Are you seeing what I'm seeing right now?" He almost succeeds.

"Scott this isn't a joke, it looks like half of the building has come down with the landslide! John’s in there!" Virgil sounds more terrified than Scott thinks he’s ever heard him. What scares him the most is that the exit was on the side that has fallen in, which means that a lot of people are trapped under it, their John included. "Scott, we need to help them right now.

"Okay, here's the plan,” Scott’s hands tighten white-knuckled on the steering yoke, “You wear your exo-suit and go clear the debris out of the way so that we can save them, and I'll get rid of that roof with Thunderbird One and check for life signs. Remember that saving lives is our top priority, got it? No matter what’s happened to John."

"F.A.B." Virgil sounds incredibly tense. He lands Thunderbird Two as fast as he can in the crowded, limited space. Local people are beginning to make their way out of their houses to see what all the commotion is about, and the cramped city streets aren’t ideal for International Rescue’s four hundred and six ton workhorse.

Two’s pilot struggles into his exo-suit, rushing to get the Jaws of Life prepared despite Scott’s insistence that he focus and take things slow and sensible. It’s not long until he finds himself digging among the debris looking for buried people and, in the white rush of it all, Virgil’s not even sure how he got there.

"Scott,” he presses on his comm, “Please tell me you’ve got something?"

"Fortunately and thankfully yes,” It’s hard to find the hopefulness in big brother’s clipped Mobile Control voice, but it’s there to Virgil’s expert ear, drizzled in nervous relief. “I've got a whole cluster of life signs,” Scott reports, “BPM signalling in the green. "I think they’re just trapped under the debris." Alan’s echolocation report came back suggesting that there’s a big space under what could be folded sheet metal from the ceiling, that they’ve huddled in. I'm really sure there's nothing that bad, but still we have to continue otherwise it will take a bad turn for us and the people in there."

“I can use the grappling cables in Thunderbird One to take the strain off the roof,” Scott adds, “But I need you in there to get those people out.”

“Already on my way,” Virgil ducks under some rebar, skirting around the rubble and pulling away loose debris as he goes. His heart is loud in his own ears, and Virgil hopes the creak and groan of metal and concrete above him is Scott lifting the weight off the roof, keeping it from collapsing any further onto the people below, and not anything more sinister. Virgil gets peppered by a slide of small stones, but the roof holds steady.

He presses on until he catches sight of the cluster of around forty people, all huddled together around a tall, central figure with a shocking amount of rubble dust smeared over his face, and powdered through his ginger hair.

“John!” Two’s pilot makes a beeline for his brother, despite the fact three of the people are stuck under rubble. Clearly John’s in control of the situation here, and he’s never wanted a mission update from their Space Monitor so much in his life. He can’t help but hone in on the fact John's left arm is crudely wrapped in a piece of cloth from his sleeve, which he must’ve ripped off in order to tie it.

"You have to tell me exactly what happened,” Virgil drops the controls for the Jaws of Life, and grasps his brother’s biceps in both hands instead, resisting the very strong temptation to pull the spaceman in for a hug. “And what happened to your arm?!?" There’s a river of blood seeping from beneath the make-shift bandage, but John, it seems, isn’t bothered by it in the slightest.

"Not now Virgil.” His concerns get thoroughly dismissed, “We’ve got to get these people out of here, and then I'll tell you everything." Virgil didn't like the idea that something happened to his brother and he's silent about it, but after all John was right about saving the people first since his arm is under control for now.

John crouches by the nearest injured person; a pale, skinny teen with a sizable piece of rebar keeping him pinned.

“You’re gonna be out of there in just a second, Lito.” Virgil watches him reassuring the young man for a long moment, “Uh, Virgil?” John prompts. “Any time?”

“What?” He blinks, “Oh, yeah!” His brother is clearly waiting expectantly for him to use the Jaws of Life to get the poor kid out. "I’m on it, but you better tell me everything after we're done saving them." Virgil demands. “But, uh, Scott’s kind of holding the roof up right now, so you’re probably right.”

"Okay,” John literally rolls his eyes, busy stealing a pair of blue rubber gloves from the Med Kit Virgil brought with him, and snapping them on to protect his hands and the fine cuts he’d gotten from climbing over rubble. “I promise I'll tell you everything, but can we start actually rescuing them now?" Rolling his eyes right back, the bigger man uses his exosuit to heft the rubble off Lito, before John swoops in to apply pressure to his injuries.

“Give me the fold out stretcher from your sash.” He orders, hands bloodied “Then go get the next person out. Efifania, Sergio?” John beckons a pair of nearby dad’s in closer, clearly having singled them out as capable stretcher bearers. “Think you can manage Lito here for me?”

As Virgil starts removing the rubble from above the other two trapped people, a middle aged man and a younger woman, it becomes immediately obvious that both of them have more severe wounds than young Lito. They both need medical treatment immediately.

“I’ll carry one of them.” Without the three extra sets of hands he’d need, Virgil has to leave a couple of crowd members applying pressure to their wounds, as he moves back to where John is helping Lito unsteadily to his feet. “Think you can walk, young man? We’re gonna need that stretcher for the big guy.”

“I won’t let you fall.” John promises, and Virgil feels a real swell of pride at how well his brother is handling the situation whilst being outside of both his space station and his comfort zone. It looks like having a rescue and a job to do really gives him no time for anxiety. "I agree that that's our best plan.” He adds, nodding, short and sharp, to confirm it, then John turns, an arm around Lito’s waist and the kid’s arm slung over his shoulder, to address the crowd.

“Anyone not so severely hurt needs to help get the injured out of here.” John instructs, the small crowd listening raptly. The look on the faces of these scared people is one Virgil is all too familiar with, but he knows John has far less experience of in person. They’re really looking to him as their saviour. “Virgil here is going to lead us through the path he just made.” Which is news to Virgil, but does seem like the best plan. “International Rescue will then be able to take us all to the hospital to get checked out, and then I’m sure you’ll be released to go home to your families before you know it. Got it everyone?"

In that moment Virgil finds himself struck with amazement at how John seems to have become almost as fearless as Scott, as they started carrying the two injured people out to safety. It was really a new side to him that Virgil doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

"Virgil… I need you to check on Lady Penelope and Parker.” John’s keeping pace at his side, helping the boy they’d dug out along as he goes, “I told them to check to see if anyone was hurt."

"Hmm, yeah you're right.” Virgil frowns. If Penny and Parker have any more injured party members, even minor ones that just need a check up, Thunderbird Two will need to evacuate them to the hospital as well. “Have you got any idea where they might be?"

"Well, I told them to get somewhere away from the landslide,” John frowns, as their limping, shocky party stumbles out into the bright light of day, to be greeted by the roar of Thunderbird One’s engines high above them. “They should be near here.” He yells over the sound of it.

As usual, it turns out that John is completely right. Penny and Parker are waiting for them, but neither John nor Virgil find the look on Lady Penelope's face all that reassuring.

"JOHN!” She rushes toward the battered, bloodied spaceman, her arms outstretched. Virgil very quickly and carefully finagles poor Lito out of the way as his brother gets ambushed. “Are you okay?!?” Penelope demands, frantic, “What happened to your arm?” She reaches for the bloodied bandage, and John winces, “I'm so sorry,” All of John’s carefully constructed rules around personal space are shattered as she cups his cheek, inspecting his face for injury. It’s lucky that John is by far the most patient of the Tracy boys. “I shouldn't have left you there.

"She’d been so terrified, perhaps more than anyone else here. The horrific view she’d seen with her own eyes is going to haunt her for a long time yet. One second she was getting out of the building to reassure and check up on the people, and the next she was watching half the structure collapse completely, with John under the side that fell. She still feels a little sick.

"I'm so, so, so sorry John,” She repeats, before he can get a word in edgeways to reassure her, “Please, you must tell me if there's any way I can make it up to you. Ask me anything and I'll do it."

"Okay guys,” Virgil chuckles, “while you talk things out I'll go to get the injured people aboard Thunderbird 2. Make it quick though, we’ve still got people who need immediate medical treatment, got it?"

"F.A.B. Virgil.” John nods, “We'll be quick. Penny, I..."

“I’m so sorry.” She repeats again, and pulls his good arm over her shoulder as if to steady him as they make their way at the back of the crowd toward the big green Thunderbird.

"No no no, Penny, please stop apologising.” John’s fingers tighten for a quick moment on her shoulder, in brief reassurance, “I'm not going to ask you for anything because it was never your fault.” He insists, “It was just some bad luck, that's all. Fortunately I, and most people, got out safe with no severe wounds. These things happen.”

“Your arm.” She points out softly, hoping that all that blood looks worse than it is, “John I can’t believe you stayed behind like that, it’s so...”

“Tracy?” He grins, amused but very weary.

“Scott Tracy.” She corrects, scowling a little as she holds on just that little bit tighter around his waist as his adrenaline from the rescue starts to flag. “I thought you had more common sense.”

“Hate to disappoint.” She feels the warmth of him chuckling, “I’m lucky it was nothing worse than his cut from some shattered glass that fell on my arm while I was helping one of the guys who got stuck. I don’t think any arteries or anything have been damaged, but it is... kinda deep." And he might be getting a little lightheaded from the blood loss. Still, he really wants to reassure her, just like she had reassured him before he’d gone in to give the lecture.

"Hate to interrupt your moment, but are you guys done?" Scott pops up from who-knows-where amongst the crowd to yell at them. He’s clearly joined the relief effort. "Virgil’s just finished getting everyone aboard Thunderbird 2, and he's ready to launch." He adds, squinting at the pale, wobbly mess of his brother. "And you really do need to check your arm. That looks nasty.”

"Yeah Scott,” John wipes a tired hand over his dirty face, dislodging dust, “We're done. Don’t let Thunderbird Two wait for me, I'll hitch a ride with Lady Penelope, uh,” He turns to her, bashful, to check, “If that’s okay?"

“Of course,” Her Ladyship concedes, “Scott?” She is mildly concerned that big brother might want to have the injured member of his flock under his wing so he can smother him.

"Yeah sure, ride whatever you want.” Scott flip flops a dismissive hand at them, “You can ride a pod, I won't care as long as your destination is the hospital."

"How about you, Gordon?” John knows his little brother is still on the line, probably sulking. “Is it okay if I take the ride with Lady P?"

"W-what do you mean by that?” Gordon sounds confused and maybe a little embarrassed, like he’s been caught out. “Scott already said you should go, why’re you asking me?"

"Well, she's your girlfriend.” John grins, teasing, as Penny helps him into the back of FAB1. “Of course I have to get permission from her boyfriend.

"Penny swats at him for that, amused, but careful not to hit his injured arm. She doesn’t need anyone’s permission to do anything, but it is fun to see Gordon squirm - especially as Scott and Virgil both crack up, and even Alan in space starts teasing him.

"What?!?” Gordon’s face, bless that darling young man, has gone bright red. “J-Just go already." He ducks off the comm screen to try and hide his embarrassment, but it’s far too late for that.

He’s lucky that Penelope finds it incredibly endearing.

"John,” She nudges him, as the Tracy’s all click off the line to go do their actual jobs. She’s a little concerned that he’s looking a bit spaced out, if you’ll excuse the pun, and it’s probably a good idea to keep him talking. “You know we're still going to The Pagasa Observatory, just like I promised you, right?"

"Wait really?” John’s head tilts, a little floppy, towards her from where it had been sinking into FAB1’s luxurious headrests. He’s looking a little grey, but it’s good to see his eyes open. “After all that happened?” A ginger eyebrow quirks, “Are you sure there's time for that?"

"Well, we’re on our way to the hospital now, but there’ll be plenty of time this afternoon.” As long as the medics give him a clean bill of health. “You can change your clothes after we're done checking your arm then there should be time for you to go see that big telescope you've been dreaming of visiting. After all, I did promise you we’d go there after we're done."

"Well, that sounds good to me!” John smiles like there’s a supanova fuling him, “Penny you’re the best."

They reach the hospital a little after International Rescue has dropped off the fourty or so injured people, and so there’s quite a wait for a Doctor to be free so that they can have a look at John’s poor, sliced arm. Penny seems to be doing a worried hover at his side, while he waits, shaky from blood loss, and though he’s not used to having so much company, John has to admit it’s nice to have a chance to catch up with his old friend with no rescue alarms blaring.

Alan reports in that the two worst injured in the landslide have been hospitalized as fast as possible, that they were stable - the doctors have said their prognosis looked good. He also tells him that Lito’s family had been asking after the redheaded lecturer who’d helped him out of the rubble, and that John Tracy, M.Sci, PgDip, B.Lang Hons, should probably expect a gift basket in the mail quite soon.

John gets quite flustered about that. He’d just been doing his job.

The spaceman's arm was eventually treated, and Scott calls in to ask what actually happened to his arm. It still hurts, a properly bandaged throb just under his elbow, but not like before. The painkilling injection and little bit of morphine they’d given him when they stitched it up had probably helped with that.

Alan’s reports dug up that the landslide had been caused by a water main leaking under the building, and destabilizing the soil. Over time, water can do a lot of damage, washing away vital infrastructure if it’s not been properly reinforced during construction.

As the Chino Roque Theater was a new build, there must have been a mistake in the installation of the pipes during construction.

Someone was getting a big lawsuit heading their way, and Tracy Enterprises will be more than happy to fund the lawyers for the theatre.

As Lady Penelope promised him, they found John a change of clothes and went to the Pagasa Observatory. Penny’s quite sure she’s never seen anything as wholesome as the moment John sees the telescope - his eyes went all shiny, and the smile on his face was massive.

"Lady Penelope, Parker come take a look at the stars!!!” He calls, over his shoulder, with the enthusiasm of a boy half his age, “They’re really beautiful from here!" With such a high-powered lens pointed up at the cosmos, it rivals even his view from Thunderbird Five.

"Indeed, they are." Lady Penelope and Parker both step up to take turns, but John was the one to look through the telescope the most. With all the stealth her years as a secret agent offered her, Lady Penelope took a picture of him.

"Parker, come take a look." She whispers, beckoning her old companion gleefully over. "He looks so happy and innocent in this picture. Wouldn’t it be lovely to see his face like this always?"

"We still have some time before they close,” Parker points out, a sly grin creeping onto his nosey old face. “How h’bout we leave him like this for a little longer?"

"That, Parker.” she smiles, “Is an excellent idea.”

The End

#tag mini bang 2021 #tagminibang2021 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #john tracy #scott tracy #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #alan tracy #Lady Penelope #Parker #tag #my writing

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wkemeup · 5 years ago

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By Any Other Name (13)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 4.1k warnings: smut (18+), a relief from all that angst, a bubble where nothing bad can happen (if only for a moment) 🌹series masterlist 🌹

The air was cool as you followed James into a third story apartment of an old brownstone. Faded bricks lined up the street-side wall and a couple dozen plants in desperate need of watering sat under the windows. The hinges squeaked as the door closed behind you, a few scuffs on the interior and a deadbolt near the lock. You handed him the baseball cap he insisted you wear to obstruct your face and the heavy overcoat you borrowed.

James smiled nervously at you as he started to shrug off his jacket, watching the way you stepped further into the quaint, one-bedroom apartment. The couch looked to be a few years old, well-worn with use from the dip in the cousins and the faint discoloration of sunlight draped along the backrest. There were newspapers and mail piled high on the kitchen table, an empty mug on the coffee table in the living room, a sweatshirt hung over the back of a chair by the television.

It was so domestic, so genuine; a glimpse into the place where he felt most at home. Safe.

“It’s cute,” you commented, gesturing to the open floor plan that allowed you to step from the furthest end of the kitchen to the wall of the living room in less than ten paces. You touched the exposed brick along the wall by the fireplace, the slight prickles of the cement scraping your fingertips.

“It’s a closet,” James laughed, shaking his head. The edges of his hair fell into his eyes but he quickly brushed it away. “It’s nothing compared to--”

“Maybe I like a closet,” you said, cutting him off before he could even bring up the home you’d been kept locked away in like a prisoner. It was extravagant and spoiled in riches, but it was cold and unkind. You trailed your fingers along the edge of his couch, soft under your nails, as you made your way back to him. “It’s nice to see something that’s really yours.” A pause as he nodded, smile brimming on his face though his cheeks were flushed. “This is your apartment, right? It’s not just part of the cover?”

James laughed at that. “Yeah, it’s mine. Bureau wouldn’t dare spend an extra dime to get James Karpov a nicer place.”

You stood in front of him, tips of your fingers gently dancing around his own until your hands intertwined and you felt the bare warmth of his palms heat the chill of your skin. Leaning into his chest, you cherished the oaky scent of his shampoo, letting your gaze wander around the small, Brooklyn based apartment, that held so many clues to the real identity of the man whose heart you could hear thumping inside his chest.

Baseball cards were framed, but not hung, leaning against the wall on the top bookcase. Sneakers kicked off by the front door like he’d just come back from a run and didn’t quite have the energy to get them in the closet just yet. The manila envelopes stacked on the end table by the couch with coffee rings on the top.

There were a dozen pillows floating around between the couch and the love seat, an old woven rug placed underneath and candles sitting on the fireplace mantel. Photos hung on the walls of the faces you’d been reacquainted with just hours ago; their smiles beaming, mid laugh, dressed in what looked like matching softball outfits with ‘FBI’ embroidered across the front. All so exceptionally normal.

“Y/n?” he called softly, a strain in his voice that surprised you.

“Hmm?”

“You think you might--” he paused, a heavy breath out. “You think you might ever forgive me?”

You pulled back, startled by his question, to find him chewing on his lower lip, tugging at dried skin and trembling exhales past his tongue. Careful hands reach up to the sides of his face, thumbs tracing over cheekbones and grazing the scratch of bristles along his beard line.

“For what?” you asked gently. “For working tirelessly to put a dangerous criminal behind bars where he belongs? For being so impossibly kind and patient with Peter and treating me like maybe I was worth something more than just a trophy on my husband’s arm? For being the good man I always knew you were?”

You felt the muscles of his jaw clench under your palms, eyes darting down to the floor, but he stayed silent.

“So, I don’t know your real name,” you conceded playfully, trying to pull a smile from his lips, “and maybe you weren’t entirely truthful about what you did for a living, but, James, tonight I found out that the man I love doesn’t blindly kill people for a living, doesn’t willingly work for the same vile monster who trapped me in a marriage and threatened to beat my sixteen-year-old cousin within an inch of his life. You don’t need my forgiveness, James, because what you’ve given me is just... relief.”

You were smiling, weightless almost, and it surprised you to find him frozen under your touch. Wide eyes bore into yours, blue faded to dark grey in the dim lighting of his kitchen, and he slowly unclenched his jaw.

“What did you say?” His voice tense, almost aching, a little desperate and you stitched your brows at the center.

You pursed your lips, repeating the last thing you’d said. “There’s nothing to forgive, so you don’t have to—”

“Not that.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused.

“You said,” James started, unsure as he watched for your reaction, “you said you loved me.”

Had it really slipped out that easily?

You thought about it for a moment, considered the gravity those were held; that they hadn’t been spoken since they were told to a perceived notion of a man who never once cared for you in the way you’d believed. They were an act of manipulation, of deceit, and they had held nothing but disdain.

Until James. Until the beautiful man with a name you didn’t know and the bluest eyes you’d ever seen.

“Did I?” you exhaled; throat dry suddenly.

A flash of panic quickly crossed James features, a harsh breath in and he nervously stuttered out, “you can take it back if you—”

“No!” you blurted out without much of a second thought. You didn’t need one. This was something you were absolutely certain of. You tucked a fallen hair behind your ear and confirmed, “no, I… I don’t want to take it back.”

Leaning onto his chest, you could feel the rapid pace of his heart pulsing beneath your touch. The unsteady rhythm and the deep rise and fall of his breaths, the physical manifestations of the nerves rushing through your own body, though you waited patiently.

“Good,” he said after a while, like he’d needed a moment to find his bearings.

“Is it?” you teased, chewing on the edge of your lip.

He nodded, smiling growing on his face. “Will you say it again?”

“What?” you replied, grinning wildly and feigning confusion. “’The man I love’ or ‘I love you’ or--”

Lips on yours, a laugh in his breath and a smile etched to his cheeks, the words died easily on your tongue. There wasn’t anything quite like the way he kissed you, all warmth and comfort, wet and aching; he kissed like every touch of your lips might be the last time, like he had novels worth of last words to say and all he had was the gentle tug of his teeth to your bottom lip, the sweep of his tongue over yours, to convey what he was desperate to say.

“Any of it,” he gasped, breathless between kisses along your jawline. “All of it. Say it a million times.”

“Greedy, aren't you?” Your stomach was aching with laughter, his lips kissing along your neckline, the crease of your jaw, your collarbone, and his hands roaming along your hips send goosebumps and tingles up your spine.

“Maybe. You should try it yourself sometime,” he teased, labored breath and stunning red color on his lips. Slowly, he cupped the sides of your face, and pressed a tender, chaste kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

You knew and yet your heart was threatening to burst straight out of your chest. It was in the way the plump red of his lips curved into that smile you adored, the winkles up by ocean blue eyes, dimples caved into his cheeks and the faint outline of scars he’d earned protecting the only family you had left.

“I love you,” he said again, followed by a kiss to your forehead. Lingering, gentle, and sweet.

“I love you,” and a kiss to your nose. Brief and chaste.

“I love you.” Lips on your clavicle. Warmer, open and wet.

“I love you.” He sank down to his knees, the wide surface of his palms resting ever so slightly in a feather’s touch upon your waist line, fingers pressing against skin hidden under your shirt.

You watched him, waiting under bated breaths, as he slowly slipping his hands up under the fabric, tracing along your spine. It lifted the edge of the shirt just enough for him to press a kiss to your stomach, just above your jeans.

A sigh escaped you, and you lifted your arms above your head, the tension burning in your skin as he took the hint without question, and slowly peeled the fabric from your body. Up and over your head, brushing your hair from your eyes and you quickly tried to tame it again, but he was smiling so wide you couldn’t be bothered to care for the flyaways.

“I love you.” A dozen times over and every time the words left his lips, silk and butter on his voice, it felt like the first time; it carried goosebumps prickling on your skin and shivers in your spine.

Coming back to his feet, his lips touched the hill of your breast, forcing your eyes to flutter shut. Though, when his tongue flattened, and the warmth of his mouth trailed down to your sternum, you gasped.

He grinned against your skin, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

“James,” you tried, warning him to stop his teasing, but he hushed you.

“Shh, sweetheart, I’m not done.” His hands snaked up along the indent of your spine, over curves and edges, until his fingers touched the clasp at the back of your bra. His forehead rested on yours, a slight look to your eyes for approval, and with your nod, he swiftly released the clasps.

The material slipped down from your shoulders, straps hanging loosely down by your elbows and he slowly pulled the cushion away from your chest. It fell to the floor and the slight chill of his apartment pebbled at your nipples.

You moved to cover yourself, in the cold and the flush of embarrassment as his eyes had yet to leave your breasts, but there was something about the way he was looking at you; like you weren’t a prize to be won or a stake to claim. You were something of beauty, of astonishment, and the disbelief in his eyes, the genuine awe, allowed your arms to rest at your sides, leaving yourself open and vulnerable to him because for once, you trusted a man to keep you safe.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, fingers trailing around at your hips as he leaned forward to kiss your neck. His lips lowly peppering kisses down your collarbone, over your heartbeat, until he kissed the valley of your breasts. Hands snaked up into his hair, a slight gasp, as his tongue touched the hardened bud.

“I love you,” he whispered, heat of his breath against your breast and he wrapped his lips around the bud. Tongue swirling in gentle circles, teeth grazing ever so slightly over the sensitive peak, though never once in pain. You gasped, digging your nails to his hair and arching your back to the kitchen table.

His hands were everywhere; holding you still, caressing down your waist, anchoring you to the ground while his mouth pushed you high above the clouds.

He moved to the other breast, his right hand coming up to gently massage where his lips could not, a thumb brushing over the nipple, still wet and aching from where he’d left you.

“James,” you whined, a dull ache between your legs and you squeezed your thighs together in refuge. Your hands left his hair and he only smiled in response, sucking harder on the bud and pulling another shaky breath from your lips. Fingers gripped in tight to the edge of his shift, just above his shoulder blades, and you started to tug. “Off. Take this off.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” He bent down, let you tug the material up and over his head, discarding it to the floor next to your own. In the moment he tried to lean into you again, to pick up where he’d left off as if going even a moment without touching you – kissing you – was pain within itself, you spotted a faint discoloration on his his chest, one that stilled you in an instant.

“Oh God,” you gasped, a hand pressing to his shoulder to keep him where he stood. There was a heaviness in your voice as your fingers grazed over the raised, light pink edges of scars littering his chest, carving over his shoulders.

He paused, watching you nervously, the playfulness fallen from his face in favor of bated breaths and tension in his jaw.

Fingertips brushed over a particularly prominent one under his ribs, two inches wide, dark in color, like it had healed over a few times. It sat between his muscles, the dip between hardened lines of his stomach, and he shivered under the touch.

“Trafficker in New Orleans,” he said simply, voice low, a thick swallow. “I told you I’ve survived worse than a few punches.”

“You were shot,” you exhaled, hands shaking over the scars and he quickly gathered them in his own, kissing sweetly at your fingers.

“It was a long time ago, love. I’m alright.”

It looked years healed over, like maybe he’d opened the stitches a few too many times because he couldn’t simply sit still and listen to the doctor’s orders. It sounded like him to do such a foolish thing. Too impatient to care for himself when there was work to be done.

“Y/n,” he called gently. “Sweetheart, come back to me.”

Blinking a few times, you found yourself caught up in stormy blue. He smiled sweetly at you, kissing at your hands nestled gingerly within his own.

“I guess I forgot that your job is still as dangerous as it was yesterday,” you admitted, eyes darting to the ground. “But it’s worse than that, isn’t it? Being undercover where you are… it’s more dangerous than just being connected to Hydra.”

“It is,” he confirmed, slow and steady. He had no interest in lying to you anymore, that much you could tell by how easily he replied. There was no hesitation, no pause. His breath was warm over your fingers. “But we’re almost at the end of it. Just one more month. Until the shipment comes in. Then, we’re out.”

“I don’t know if I can last that long,” you confessed quietly and James quickly wrapped you tight into his arms. Chest to chest; skin to skin, and his arms enveloped you close. Hands trailing down the bare of your back, your cheek pressed to his heart.

“You can,” he said, the vibrations of his voice purring against your ear. “I’ll be there with you. You and me, love. I’ve got you.”

Tears blinked over your lashes, touching the skin of his chest. “I’m scared for you.”

“Hey,” he cooed, gingerly pulling you away just enough to see you face. He frowned at the redness in your eyes, the reflection of tears on your cheeks. A thumb brushed up over your cheekbones, carefully sweeping under your eye. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me, okay? I’m good at what I do. I’ve been on dozens of assignments like this and even when shit hits the fan, I still come out on top. I’m still the one walking topside while the bad guys are rotting in jail.”

“But Brock—”

“—doesn’t suspect a thing,” James sighed. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Just let me take care of you tonight, sweetheart; forget about all that waits for us tomorrow. Let me love you.”

There was so much on your mind; images of what Brock might do if he were to ever discover James’ identity, questions of how you were going to spend a month with the knowledge that could get him killed and lie to a master manipulator, fear that you might be the very reason it all comes crashing down.

Your heart rate started to beat a little faster, breaths come in a little quicker, but you felt a slight tug on your hand that pulled you out from under the water.

“Come with me,” James asked, gesturing to the door at the edge of the living room. He had that beautifully sweet smile on his face, one that was exceptionally light and barely even curved the edges of his lips but it lit up bright in his eyes.

You nodded, following him as he guided you through the door. It was dark inside, walls baron white and he flicked the switch to a small lamp in the far corner of the room. It cast a light orange glow over the room, almost like the glow of a dim fire on the edge of extinction. It was just enough to see him; the curves and lines of his muscles and the slight dishevel of his hair.

“It’s just you and me tonight,” he said, gently sweeping your hair away from your shoulder and as his lips touched down along your collarbone. Wet and warm, tracing the bone to your neck. “There’s nothing else. It’s just you and me.”

You nodded, lost in the feeling of his tongue trailing your skin, sucking sweetly at the crevice of your neck until a sigh left you, one that ached deep between your legs. He must have noticed or perhaps it was the way you gripped at his hair or clenched your legs, but James carefully ushered you to the bed, helping you to lay down on your back as he hovered over you. His lips didn’t leave your body for even a second.

His hand trailed down along your stomach, finger tips dancing around the waistline of your pants, and he paused. No question needed to be asked, but one he sought an answer for anyway, and you reached down to unbutton the clasp yourself, slowly wiggling the jeans down your hips and kicking them off the edge of the bed.

A hunger grew in his eyes as he began crawling down your body, peppering kissing along the way; your neck, your breast, stomach, hipbone, until the warmth of his tongue touched over the fabric of your underwear.

“We’ve waited long enough,” you whined, simply wanting him and you were certain you were aching and wet enough from the tension alone. You could feel the gathering pool between your legs, the shift of it when you moved your thighs, the dampness of the fabric.

“There’s always time for this,” he purred and he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed core.

You gasped, hands quickly gathering in his hair, yanking and pulling, though it only seemed to make him laugh. He likely imagined you were just sensitive. It had been almost eight months since you allowed Brock to touch you, though even in his best efforts it was never like this. He was a selfish lover, using your body for his own desire.

The truth was, a man had never kissed you there before, over or under the material covering the most vulnerable, most sensitive parts of you, and James was one that seemed to revel in the privilege of it. He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties, a quick look up to you in wait, and with your nod, he slid them down your legs, discarding them with your jeans.

In the cool air of his bedroom, you tried to squeeze your legs closed, but strong hands curled along the insides of your thighs, holding you open and expose. Fingers dug into the soft skin of your legs and though you strained against him, there was give, enough that you could have overpowered him if you really wanted to.

“Easy, love,” James mewled, lips grazing over your inner thigh, slowly skimming up along your curves until the heat of his breath touched your core and a jolt rocked through you. He chuckled, deep and low, and the vibrations of it trembled through you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing sweetly at the very edge of your leg, right along the curve, and he moaned when your nails dug into his hair. Your eyes fluttered shut just at the sound, the way he rutted against the mattress, his arms snaking around your thighs and caging himself to you.

“I love you,” he said again, teasingly, as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the very place you’d been aching from, clenching around air in anticipation, and your free hand wrapped tight to the bedpost behind you.

“Shit, James, I—” You couldn’t find words, couldn’t string more than a few together because suddenly, his tongue licked a long stripe through your folds, lapping up the wetness and swirling it around your clit with the tip of his tongue. You gasped as he sucked the bundle of nerves between his lips, sliding two fingers easily inside of you and stroked at your walls.

You could feel his grin against you, the satisfaction of you withering and whining under him. His hips jutted along the bed with every gasp he pulled from you, with every pump of his fingers, and lick of your clit. You’d never known a man to enjoy this the way he did, to find his pleasure in your own.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough. It was heaven.

“Ja—” you bit down on your tongue, your walls clenching at his fingers and he tongue didn’t let up for a second. Your hips moved against his hand, riding him, seeking more because his fingers just weren’t enough.

The peak found you before you were ready for it and you cried out, hips chasing at his fingers as he held you down, sucking furiously at your clit, until the gaze started to subside. A warmth spread through you, limbs heavy and tired, and you’d only come once.

“Come here,” you gasped, tugging gently on his hair as he looked up at you, cheek resting on your thigh, content to stay between your legs for an eternity.

He grinned, slowly crawling back up to you, kissing cervices of your body along the way; the curves that you hid under layers of sweatshirts, the parts of your body that felt used and put on display for a man you despised, now reveled, adored, by a man you so desperately loved.

“Hi.”

You laughed, kissing him on the lips, tasting the tanginess on his tongue. “Hi.”

There was a boyish look on his face, one of a playful kind of awe. “I love you.”

“Yes, I suspect you do,” you teased, smiling up at him. Your hands trailed down his chest, down past his scars, to his jeans where you started to fumble with the clasp. “Show me some more, won’t you?”

“Show you a lot more than that, sweetheart,” James winked, leaning back onto his knees. He straddled over your waist, slowly unbuckling the waist of his jeans. He was teasing you, grinning wildly as he watched the impatience form on your features and you sat up, sliding your fingers between his jeans and his hips, and tugged.

“Need you,” you murmured, pulling down just enough, but paused to let him take the step to fully show himself to you. You looked up at him, wide eyed and eager, chest panting a little, still high from the dull ache between your legs.

“I know, love,” James said sweetly. He pushed himself off of you and quickly removed his jeans, his boxers sliding down along with them. When he stood again, adoringly beautiful kind of smile on his face, he didn’t seem to mind when your eyes lingered downward.

Thick and heavy between his legs, standing against him almost painfully hard, with a drip of precum gathering at his slit. He stepped towards you and you watched how it jolted with his movements. Slowly, James crawled back over you, nestling between your legs as his cock brushed at your slit.

“Wanted you for so long,” he whispered, pained in his voice as he tucked his nose to the crook of your neck. “Loved you for so long.”

“I’m here,” you sighed as a hand slipped up into his hair scratching at his scalp, the other running along his back, tracing over hardened scars and exit wounds, the line of his spine. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, honey. I’m yours.”

His cock brushed along your core, sweeping over your clit and drawing a moan from you. James shivered, a tremble chasing up his spine as he kissed along your jaw, slowly finding his way back to your lips. You brushed the hair from his eyes, meeting ocean blue for a moment under parted lips, and he set his forehead to yours.

His cock edged at your entrance, tip pressing between your folds and into your cunt. You took a breath in and before your exhale, he slid deep into you in one smooth push. He stretched at your walls, a slight ache you had expected quickly melding into a burning desire.

“Move,” you gasped, barely able to get anything else out.

James slowly pulled his hips back, enough so his tip just barely left you before he sank back in. Hot breaths on your neck and he rutted his hips again. The tension of it, the pressure of his width, the touch of his pelvis to your clit; it was like fire and flames, the clearest water, it was refuge and salvation.

Arms wrapped at his shoulders, his chest flush to yours, you lifted your legs, heels pressing to the backs of his thighs to urge him forward with every thrust. All you could take from him, every inch, every touch, every gasp, you wanted it – craved it.

This man, this beautifully selfless man, who volunteered his life to live in the shadows of his own name, to spend each day behind enemy lines at the right hand of the country’s most vile criminals, who managed to help you find pieces of yourself again. He brought hope back into your life. And love.

“Ah-ah, James… I’m—I’m close,” you whimpered, nose scratching along the rough bristles of his beard.

You could hear his heavy pants, the low hums of a moan in his voice, and he snaked a hand between you. His fingers touched your clit, circling gently at first before picking up in pace and pressing down, the pressure pushing you closer to the edge.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispered breathily, kissing sweetly, almost innocently, to your cheek. “I’m—I’m right behind you. Let go, love.”

Losing rhythm, his hips chasing his own release as your walls clenched around him, impossibly tight, and your nails dug into his shoulders as you touched cliffs. Running to the drop off, a free fall into the open sky to only clouds and heaven below, you jumped.

Legs gripped tight around him, arms trembling as you held onto him, rocking through the high pulsing down at your core and sweeping through you. James’ breaths were labored, uneven, as he held himself up on the slight shake of his forearms caged around you.

Then, as you leaned up to kiss tenderly at his neck, he released inside of you. A few slow, drawn out thrusts before he stilled, collapsing in his haze and sinking you to the mattress. Full, wet. You gently ran your fingers through his hair as he caught his breath again.

“I’d like to be able to call out your actual name, you know,” you teased, light and airy and cheeks flushed as he slowly raised his head from your chest.

His lips were swollen red, a line of sweat on his forehead, and he chuckled. “I told you James is my name.”

“Not the name you want me to know you as,” you added, remembering well what he’d said in the warehouse.

He nodded. “Soon, sweetheart. I can wait.”

“Not sure I can,” you shrugged playfully, looking away from him out to the window of his apartment to the stars littering the sky and James started to laugh.

“Let me keep loving you like that and you might just test my patience.”

“Maybe that’s my goal.”

He laughed again and you swore it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever hear. You could have spent forever like that, held under his weight, pressed to cotton sheets that smelled of him, full between your legs of the man you so adored.

But he slipped from you, gone before you were ready, and you whined as he stood from the bed. He chuckled at your reaction, bending down to kiss your forehead before he disappeared to the bathroom. The running water of the faucet carried into the bedroom and you settled against the mattress until he returned; the remnants of his release sticky along your inner thighs.

When he returned, he held a washcloth in his hand, warm as he aired it out and steam filtered around it. He touched it to his face first, testing the temperature, before he slowly bent down and ran it along your leg, almost teasingly, until he tenderly wiped along your thighs and pressed it to your center. You sighed, eyes fluttering shut from the lingering sensitivity, and he gingerly cleaned himself from you.

When he was done, he discarded the cloth back to the bathroom with a quick throw and settled in the bed beside you. He held out an arm, giving you space to curl up against him, cheek pressed to his chest, arm draped over his stomach, fingers tracing over a faded scar along his shoulder he told you was from a bad encounter with a slumlord in Chicago.

It was a dream to hold him like this; to be so close you touched every part of him, to be free enough to say the words as they came to your mind, to not have a filter on each movement, to feel safe.

“I’ll have to take you back soon, you know,” James said reluctantly after some time. You felt a kiss press to the crown of your head.

Your heart sank, knowing he was right, that the sun would be up soon and your husband would inevitably return from the ‘business venture’ downtown he’d taken a side trip on following his meeting at the Chinese restaurant.

“Just let me hold you a little while longer, won’t you?” you asked, trying to hold back the lump in your throat, the impeding reality that would come for you soon enough.

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” James sighed, his breath warm against the bare of your skin. It left goosebumps in its wake. “Within these walls, I am completely and entirely yours.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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nelllraiser · 3 years ago

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hell’s true north | adam & nell

TIMING: current. LOCATION: hellscape number ??. PARTIES: @walker-journal & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: adam follows his compass home. CONTAINS: sibling death (brief references to the bea plot), mass poisoning (from inhospitable domain), parental death mentions.

Vines with the texture of withered leather fingers writhed under Adam’s feet as he stumbled out of a brackish puddle of ichor. Disaster response boots that’d been designed to weather fire, acid, and radiation had eventually yielded before the onslaught of otherworldly environs. Now the ragged soles barely clung to his feet, wrapped tight with bloody strips of bloody demon hide. The most cutting edge kevlar, environment-resistant tactical gear, breathing apparatuses, and deadly military firearms had been gradually ravaged into uselessness by universes full of chemicals and alternative laws of physics that Earthly science had never imagined. As the tactics, preparation, and martial science Adam had once relied on was stripped away in the nonstop battles with demonic flora and fauna, the title of Hunter had become brutally literal.

Adam spelunked through caverns that formed from the innards of sleeping elder things, scaled cliff sides made of solidified light and shadow, jumped across archipelagos of bone islands floating in stormy skies, climbed up trees the size of skyscrapers whose fruits were embryonic sacks in which monsters gestated, hiked across the savannahs with rolling plains of scalpel-sharp obsidian grass, and tightroped across worlds that were just spider webs of tentacles stretched across abyssal gyres.

Adam was now a ragged figure where a dauntless soldier had once been, the shreds of his tactical uniform stitched together with leather and pieces of chitin. Once the olympics-ready peak of health, the footballer’s veins were stained with dark lines across his skin and he stumbled across the landscape of grasping roots and tide pools of black blood. His breathing was shallow treks through world after world had wracked the Hunter’s body with alien toxins that even the mutant’s regeneration was failing to fight off. Adam’s vision was blurred with the edges and everything muscle in his battered body begged to just lay down in darkness.

But the compass in Adam’s hand pointed the way across the hellscape of fire, floating islands of tentacled flesh, and geometric monoliths to old gods that's already sunk into dreaming torpor long before humankind had discovered fire. Adam fought back agony and followed the compass needles across the poisoned land.

Everything had blurred together by now. Nell couldn’t even clearly remember how she’d gotten to this realm, just that she’d fallen through far too many holes in the ground, off cliff sides, or out of sky-hanging oceans to even begin to remember what world this was. The red skies she’d originally arrived under were long gone, barely a memory after all the worlds that had followed, and all the attacks she'd scrambled to come out of in one piece. Though perhaps calling herself one piece was being generous when she’d resorted to packing the missing chunks of her flesh with whatever she could find that didn’t instantly sting and burn at her open wounds. She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d slept, time still immeasurable in places like these— just that she hadn’t done it since the baykok’s attack. The lack of sleep meant she hadn’t been able to replenish a single shining grain of her magic after she’d been quite literally drained and fed from, her body having nothing but sheer determination to keep her wavering feet from falling out beneath her.

Something was the very definition of fundamentally wrong with this world in terms of survivability. Nell could feel it in the way each breath felt sharper than the last, and the ugly coughs that had her spitting up black specks on the palms of her hands. None of the places she’d seen could have been described as friendly, but this one felt like it was digging her foot deeper into the grave with every second she stayed. She needed to find a way out if she wanted to make it another hour. Nell was far past the point of finding a way back to White Crest, ready to settle for a hellscape that wasn’t killing the witch with every inhale of her lungs, and go from there if she could manage to last that long. How long had she lasted already? How much longer could she last? She’d always been a fighter, refusing to go down without taking at least a part of her attacker with her. But how could she carve out a piece of a world? How was she meant to rage against an entire realm? Maybe sometimes there was simply nothing to fight against, the hand of Fate snuffing out her life whether she liked it or not.

And yet she kept walking, limping along as the injury on her leg oozed with some otherworldly infection that promised to kill her if this air didn’t. There was no direction, no plan, just the foolish hope that she’d stumble into a place where she could properly breathe. She walked until she could barely make out a figure on the horizon, squinting her eyes against the bright green and dingy brown of this place while she wondered if this would be the final creature to kill her. But the figure grew closer, and despite her best judgement an uncontrollable wave of hope flooded her chest. “Adam?” she dared to utter, even though she knew it was far too good to be true. Nell and the hellscape had done this before in the form of a tikbalang sending her astray with the perfect illusion of her hunter. “We’re doing this again?” she asked the air in a tone that was resigned to the disappointment of finding another falsehood, the high instantly giving way to a low. “What is it? Another tikbalang?” But this Adam was different. He looked sickly, and past the point of battered— like he’d already knocked on death’s door only for death to tell him to come back in ten or so minutes. They’d call him when they were ready. Why would an illusion-caster show her this?

Hallucinations had become ever more common as toxic environs and constant otherworldly stimuli wore down Adam’s nervous system.

Sometimes it was dad, gently reminding him of past lessons as Adam fought his way through nightmarish creatures and tried to find his way through landscapes only possible in other realities. Other times it was James or Terry, come to chat idly about football and girls as Adam trekked across wastelands whose sloping yet flat contours didn’t obey the rules of time and space. Dave gruffly reminded him about knots and the perils of marine warfare as Adam journeyed through rivers that flowed up into the sky and seas of sentint poison. Regan gave pointers on splinting a broken arm with a demon’s bones all while primly reminding him she wasn’t that kind of doctor. Orion nervously recounted facts about obscure demon types as Adam ducked claws and spines while trying to find a weak point. Ariana punched Adam in the arm and reminded him to buck up and put on a tough grin when everything was just pain. Athena gave advice on slowing the poison’s spread through his body with her mixture of tenderness and steel. Kaden brusquely correctly Adam on his stances as the younger Hunter’s limbs trembled with neurological damage, before reminding him to stay alive. Mina kept him vigilant, pointing out dangerous movements and sounds even when every fiber of Adam’s body wanted to sink into oblivion. Morgan spoke gently to him when the horror became too much, her hand on his shaking shoulders when the mental strain of glimpsing elder things sent Adam into seizuring convulsions. Dani reminded him of duty and their ancestral oaths with a concerned smile when ancient deceivers whispered in Adam’s brain, offering easy miracles in his moments of weakness. Luce yelled at him to get the fuck back up and fight when Adam could barely stand and death’s release drew close. Beatrice demanded that Adam remember who he’d come her for, when poisoned dreams threatened to swallow reality entirely.

So this was not the first time Adam’d met Nell and had to hold back tears when stabbing yet another shapeshifter to death or felt crushing emptiness when it turned out he’d only embraced only empty air.

Adam looked down at the compass needle, pointing unerringly forward.

“Hey Nell,” Adam rasped through cracked lips, taking a green stone with a hole through its center from a cord around his neck. He held out the Adder Stone in one hand, gory knife clutched in the other. “When’d you give this to me?”

Nell looked to the Adder Stone held in Adam’s hand, her solemn resignation to the illusion disrupted by the flickering of uncertainty in her eyes. The compass was a new addition as well, though she recognized the daffodil bloom she’d carefully laid into the face of it, the magic and flowers they’d made together under a full moon. “But I didn’t- I was gonna give you that after the date,” she mumbled, already chiding herself for how easily a couple of emotional trinkets could sway her mind towards what the demon world wanted her to see. But the compass wasn’t what he was asking about. The Adder Stone. Of course she remembered when she’d given it to him- the first of many things she’d gifted in an attempt to keep him safe.

“After Bea- after we...brought her back.” Nell had masqueraded the gift as a thanks for Adam’s help in bringing her sister back from the ether, but the truth had gone deeper than that. “I said it was for helping protect my family. But I just- the carachs had just given you those visions, and the somnivore thing wasn’t that far off.” It’d been nearly a year ago that she’d delivered the stone, nearly five months after their first meeting at the Ring, and by then she’d already gotten soft for him. “You were hurting and- I didn’t want you to hurt.” Taking the Adder Stone between her fingers, she swallowed hard as she held it before her face, already dreading the moment he’d disappear before her eyes. The motion sent her into a brief coughing fit, the heaves long and loud as her lungs desperately tried to dispel the poison in her system. At the end of it she finally raised the stone’s center to her eye, knowing this vision and her willingness to linger with even a false Adam had already shaved precious moments off the stopwatch that was ticking down the seconds until the poison got the best of her. “Let’s just- let’s get this over with.” It was silly, and she shouldn’t have said it knowing he was nothing more than an exhaustion or demon induced delusion. But she couldn’t help herself as the next words whispered from her lips, trying to find a moment of peace in a land that had never known it. “I miss you. I’ll miss you.”

Finally Nell looked through the stone’s center, still surprised at how solid it felt in her hands, wondering if that was another lie to be chalked up to feeling dead on her feet. Except Adam didn’t fade from view, didn’t disappear into nothingness as she locked her gaze onto his familiar and brown eyes. She gasped, still hardly believing it but reaching out nonetheless, letting the Adder Stone thump unceremoniously against his chest while its cord slackened and her hand found a gentle resting place alongside his cheek. Warmth. Perhaps a little too warm, as if he were running a fever. But there was the unmistakable feeling of life beneath her fingertips, and she didn’t hesitate a moment longer to close the space between them, slipping her other hand into his. Her knees grew even more unsteady, either from shock, barely having the energy to hold herself upright, or both— and for a moment she rested a little more weight against him than she probably should have considering his state. But it was impossible for her not to sink into the first safe place she’d found since the onychorror had snatched her. She’d finally found a place where she was safe in the hellhole. A place where she’d always been safe to crumble, to relieve her walls of their nearly ever-present duties. A place where she knew it was safe to fall because he’d never once stumbled when it came to catching her. “How- How did you- you’re real? Please- either this is a really good mindfuck or-” Or Tate had made good on his deal, and managed to get her hastily doctored sigil back to White Crest. Was it possible something had actually gone right? Had gone so right as to bring the man she loved to her side?

Adam let the knife fall from his hand onto the writhing ground and put his arms around Nell. There was a moment of tenseness, of resigned expectation. But she didn’t turn to mist, slip right through him, or boil up into some hungry thing. Tidal waves of relief and shock at something too impossibly good to be true collided in Adam’s chest. Nell was solid, real. Just a moment Adam couldn’t feel the heat of the burning sky or the poisons of alien worlds killing him cell by cell.

“I’m real,” Adam assured holding her tight with what strength was left in him. “I’m really here.” He entwined the fingers of their free hands. “I don’t want any other life except one with you in it,” the Hunter confessed, wasting precious water as the tears slid down his bloody and battered face.

“So uh...here I am.”

Nell could feel her own tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, an avalanche of relief washing over her near-ravaged spirit, almost still waiting for this moment to break in a way that left her spinning. But the moment never came, and Adam was breathtakingly solid within her arms. For a long breath she savored the peace he brought, like a salve over an open wound. She wanted to bury herself against him, to hide from the world around them and pretend like it didn’t exist, but the fear that he’d disappear if she so much as looked away from his gaze was too great, afraid to even blink lest the break in their eye contact be the blip of time needed for him to dissipate from under her hands.

She could feel her pulse gain a few extra beats while Adam made his declaration, heart in her throat while she ran his words on repeat through her mind. It was wrong. So wrong that such beautiful words should have to be uttered in a world as ugly as this one, spoken between the gasping breaths of a dying pair. Nell had always known that loving Adam wouldn’t be easy between his constant brushes with death, and the conditioning that often made him feel the need to put humanity’s welfare before anything else in his life. She’d done it nevertheless, having made peace with the fact that maybe he wouldn’t ever wholly be her’s, a part of him always belonging only to his mission. The pieces of him she’d been given had been more than enough. But that didn’t mean his admission didn’t tug at her heart, didn’t make it soar in a way that made a fluttering bloom in chest that had nothing to do with the poisonous air slowly killing her.

“Here you are,” Nell finally managed to repeat in wonder. Hadn’t he been the one trying to convince her to leave him behind should the demon apocalypse commence? He'd told her that she was a part of humanity’s hope for survival, that she should abandon him for the sake of the world. It was his own words that made her know the gravity of him choosing to come for her, to potentially sacrifice one of humanity’s hopes in the form of himself by searching for her in the endless worlds. And that was enough to keep her voice steady and sincere while she spoke. “I don’t want a life without you either.”

Part of Nell wanted to be upset with him, to scold him for being so foolish with his own life by following her into the portal, but she couldn’t manage to speak the words through the temporary moment of solace they’d found in the middle of hell— unwilling to break it. Unfortunately there was something else that needed to be said that would do just as good a job at shattering their moment of quiet. Something she couldn’t ignore. “There’s...something else I need to tell you.” Let her hold onto this shining feeling for just a few more seconds before she brought them back to reality.

Adam had grown up with the knowledge that his life wasn’t his own. It belonged to humanity’s destiny, a merciless idol that generations upon generations of his family had been sacrificed to appease. The abnegation of the self had been soothing in a way, it’d made him brave in a way. It doesn’t hurt to suffer and risk your life again and again if it isn’t truly yours to lose. He tried to never deceive the women in his life. Nobody deserved to be given only part of someone to love.

Mom and dad had loved each other intensely, and Adam had seen the aftermath after the needs of humanity had demanded yet another sacrifice. At the time he’d thought he’d learned a lesson from Esther Walker’s sorrow, and was determined to never hurt someone the way his father had.

But after three years of complete radio silence, Adam had spoken with mom and learned too late that he'd gotten it all wrong. As he’d grown, so had she, and neither mother or son were the same broken people that’d parted at Gehena 19.

Penelope was a person he shouldn’t have loved. She practiced demonology, the very art that’d fucked up the world in the first place. She’d participated in human trafficking and slavery. She’d performed ritual human sacrifice. She’d hunted down bounties without any concern for morality or a higher cause. She aided and abetted supernatural criminals simply because of her personal feelings. When these actions reaped consequences, Nell responded with personal wrath and revenge rather than seeking resolution, splintering tragedy into ever more fractals of repercussion.

Basically, by every standard he’d been raised to believe in, Penelope Vural was evil, and if she hadn’t been born human Adam would’ve been obligated to kill her.

But that’s not what happened. At first it’d just been that she was a useful ally. Next it'd just been typical horndog Adam, thinking with the head in his trousers rather than one on his shoulders again. Physical attraction and wary partnership had explained things for only so long however. She was brave, self-sacrificing, vivacious, and free to act according to passion and her free will in a way Adam had never dared to be. Eventually Adam was sharing things with her that he’d never dreamed of telling anyone else.

He wasn’t supposed to care about someone like Nell, to give her so much of what belonged to the mission. Adam could only love someone also sworn to fight the same war, no one else could understand the sacrifices necessary and what’d inevitably come sooner rather than later. Adam had been introduced to Huntresses his age with the unspoken understanding that eventually he’d find someone to fight alongside and raise children with to pass the sacred charge onto the next generation.

Adam had drank, partied, and screwed his way into forgetting for a while. Until suddenly, he ended up loving the wrong person, someone who wanted Adam for just himself, war be damned.

It wasn’t the right thing.

But what if he just….did y’know?

What he just loved Nell like she deserved without holding back, fight for his own humanity for a change?

Adam just wished he'd had the courage to take that plunge earlier.

Adam looked parted the embrace slightly so that he could meet her gaze “What is it Nell?”

Nell hadn’t planned to fall for Adam Walker, hadn’t even entirely noticed how close she’d let him get until she’d felt like she was on the edge of losing him, delivering the news that August Thompson had died a death far from peaceful— that Adam’s hand had been directly involved in the spellcaster’s demise. Of course she’d known he was one of the people she’d trusted most, one of the only people she’d ever let see her stripped to the core while he’d held her after Bea’s death. It was why she’d asked him to help in the first place. But she hadn’t realized just how much there was to lose until she was standing on the precipice. She’d been convinced that it would be the end, that she’d managed to ruin something before even really letting it begin, and that he wouldn't come back. It turned out she didn't need to worry about him coming back, because he’d never left in the first place. And he kept not leaving, something that had been rare in the life of a witch who had an overzealous temper and a reckless streak a mile wide.

So when he’d done things others might condemn or draw the line at— killed a werewolf in cold blood, admitted his own bloodlust beneath a full moon, gone on a murder spree fueled by the same moon, considered a demon pact, left her on read in the middle of feeling as if she were about to lose him...there’d been no choice of whether or not she’d grant him the same loyalty, to stay with him just as he’d stayed with her. She’d just wanted him to come home. And he always had. Even now, after fighting his way through literal hell, he’d come home.

Selfishly putting off her bad news for one moment longer, she let months of feeling the sun on her face when he smiled fill her soul, holding onto that feeling as she tried to find the words for what she wanted to say. What needed to be said if they didn’t make it out of this hellscape, and what she should have said much sooner despite being scared. She’d been worried about what he might say in reply, always thinking of that part of himself that she knew he felt he couldn’t give, not sure if she wanted to hear the ‘I’m sorry, but’ that she might get in response. But the man who’d dived into hell for her deserved to hear it, and she wasn’t scared anymore. “You know I love you, right?” He didn’t need to say it back, she’d finally realized that while he’d been walking towards her, knowing loving words could never speak as loudly as his actions had. “I just wanted you to know,” she assured him, letting him know she didn’t need to hear it in return. It wouldn’t change anything.

Now for the less charming of her news. “Not to...instantly bring the mood down but...the other thing I needed to tell you…” Nell glanced over her shoulder, as if the soul-snatching creature would be there even now as she divulged news of it. “There’s a...slaugh. I think it’s been following me.” Adam would know what it meant, that such creatures only went after those who were generally mere hours from dying, waiting to devour their souls. Nell had glimpsed it as she kept rubbing elbows with death in the hellscape, the being momentarily coming into focus while she’d barely escaped a demon encounter with her life still intact. The creatures were nearly as good at predicting death as banshees were.

Adam followed her gaze towards the burning horizon where plasma storms corrustated in lightning rainbows over living plains of crawling flesh. Slaugh were vultures of the spirit world. As a kid he’d been terrified of the invisible presences that set off his Hunter senses whenever there was a clash between militia forces around the Levant. It’d felt like a blizzard of dark wings, choking him with claustrophobia on empty arid plains covered in bodies shredded by shrapnel.

Mom had assured her son he wasn’t crazy. He could just feel the demons glutted humanity’s senseless wars against itself.

Adam‘s mind went back to Regan’s prophecy and felt an iron dread settle in his stomach, adding bittersweetness to the joy and relief coursing through his enervated body.

Adam let the future go and drew Nell close against him again, just letting this moment exist for as long as hell allowed. “We’ll figure it out when we get back to Earth ,” he murmured.

The tension in Nell’s shoulders melted as Adam pulled her back, savoring their togetherness for as long as she could, feeling true hope for the first time since...she wasn’t actually certain how long it had been, not even knowing how many days she’d been stuck in these hell-worlds. She drew a long breath while she was pressed against him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze to assure herself that he was still here- still real even though it seemed impossible that he was. When they got back to Earth. It seemed like a far off hope, like shooting for the moon without any of that bullshit optimism of landing among the stars. “Then you can tell me the plan when we find a place that’s not suffocating us.” He wouldn’t have come without one, right? It was one thing to condemn himself to death, and she wouldn’t be entirely surprised given his generally self-sacrificing nature, whether that had been taught, was natural, or a combination of the two. But it was another entirely to forfeit the life of her as well by diving in without an extraction plan. He wouldn’t have risked the person he was saving.

The slaugh was worrisome enough as an omen of death, but there’d been more to consider when it’s eating of souls was brought into play. Nell still wasn’t all that sure whether she’d want to be raised from the dead in the first place should she perish in the next twenty-four hours, but if the slaugh ate her soul...she wouldn’t have a choice to begin with. You couldn’t raise a body without a soul.

Again Nell fell silent while she drank in as much as this as she could, the dread in her stomach a constant reminder of how far there still was to go. But with Adam- at least she stood a chance. With Adam they could at least sleep, taking varied watches. And then maybe some of her magic would come back and Adam could heal, and then...well then they’d at least have a fighting chance together, always stronger together. Nell used her fragile strength to bring herself to the tips of her toes, trying to press a gentle kiss to his black-veined cheek before feathering across his lips. “We’ll figure it out when we get back to Earth,” she echoed, recognizing it as another promise they could hold between them. They’d go back to Earth together in the same way they’d fought the dolorphage, the way they’d faced an unknown future beneath the full moon all those months ago, and the same way they’d taken on a demon cult and lived to tell the tale— always together.

#// DON'T LOOK AT ME IM EMOTIONAL #as alwAYS tapir just gives me a GIFT of a chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy #ch:adam #hell's true north #sibling death tw #mass poisoning tw #parental death tw

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amerie-wadia · 4 years ago

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Release

For the prompt: "Shelby telling Toni it’s okay for her to make the first move sometimes and maybe being insecure that it seems like she’s the only one reaching out for physical contact but Toni just doesn’t want to scare her away."

hope you like it, anon :) click here to read on ao3

Shelby reached out—Shelby always reached out. Reached in the empty spaces between curls, between sun freckles, between moments of pure silence with ocean water spinning around them like a vortex. A hand to hold, a cheek to caress, lips to kiss. And Shelby stretched her arms out so far and so wide that she sometimes wondered if she could reach the edge of the earth, the point so deep into space that she lost it all. That maybe Toni would pull back when she pushed forward and they would collapse.

Sometimes Shelby wished Toni believed in God because it would make everything so much fucking easier. Or maybe harder, in certain ways.

There was nothing she could do to change the parts of Toni that felt distant and too different, scary and uncertain. Not that she would—she might. It was exhilarating being around someone so polar opposite to herself and to her life. Toni was everything Shelby wasn’t. Toni was selfless and reckless without guilt and soft like the underbelly of a cat. She would grin and blush when Shelby ran her fingertips from the tip of her jaw until they locked in a loop behind her ears to keep them both steady as she leaned in for a kiss.

It was the brightest rainbow Shelby had ever seen and it was sweeter than any candy she could name. It was Toni. It was incredible.

It was also a bit infuriating.

Not being Shelby didn’t like it, on the contrary, Shelby cherished every second she spent around Toni. The moments were fleeting at first: stolen kissed behind the trees and midnight whispers beneath the crackling fire and perilous sky. Overtime, as they opened up about their relationships and the days grew colder, the moments slowed to halt and paused the entire universe. Shelby could lay next to Toni, her hand draped over Toni’s waist, and it felt like hours. In some ways it was a comfort, in others a curse.

Because it always Shelby reaching out.

Perhaps it was a stupid thing to feel insecure about. And yet, she did. Toni never initiated anything. She never reached first or leaned in for the kiss, not physically nor emotionally. At first, she was simply following Shelby’s lead and it made sense, it was safe, it was everything Shelby needed. But it had been months and Shelby didn’t need that anymore. Not on the island, not with Toni.

And Toni still hesitated.

“You know, Toni,” she murmured one evening as they lay sprawled around each other as the sun set off in the distance. They had hidden away in the cave that night to get away from the others, to have some privacy. The girls were cool about everything, all the time, but that didn’t mean they wanted to be around the other every moment of the day. Shelby tightened her grip on Toni to try and pull Toni into her mind. “You can kiss me first.”

Toni tensed, flipped over so she was laying on her belly with more space between them suddenly than there had been in weeks.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wreck the mood…I just,” Shelby trailed off, picking at the grass to distract her hands from reaching out. “I just want you know that you can, if you want to.”

Toni hummed, an indulgent agreement that clearly meant something different to Toni.

“It’s just that it’s always me, you know? Like I can do it all, if that’s how you want it. I just need to know that you still want it.”

“Want it? Of course I want it, Shelby,” Toni stated surely, meeting Shelby’s gaze with a heavy one of her own.

“It doesn’t always feel like you do anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

How was Toni not getting it, she had laid it all out quite explicitly.

“Don’t you ever get this crazy desire,” Shelby began, looking up at the sky so nothing in her peripherals could cloud her fantasies, “to just reach out and hold my hand? Or kiss me in front of everybody. Dive into a bush or something?”

“You want us to dive into a bush.”

“You’re not listening to me,” Shelby reprimanded, shifting her gaze back to Toni who looked far too amused to be paying attention to what Shelby was feeling.

“I’m listening,” Toni said, more softly than before without the flicker of humor her voice normally held. Toni shuffled sand around in her palm and Shelby didn’t understand why she couldn’t just reach out and hold Shelby’s hand instead.

“I don’t know how to say this without feeling really stupid.”

“Nothing you say sounds stupid.”

Warmth. Light. Weight. Heart. This was still Toni, still the only thing in the world that could ever make her feel so at home in herself and in the world. She sighed and took a moment to process her next words.

“Before we were together, I always thought that you…” Toni’s eyes narrowed in confusion and intrigue and Shelby paused, not liking the words floating around her head. She needed to be gentler—why are you so scared to initiate anything? “Are you comfortable, like, with us?”

“Of course, I’m comfortable with us. Where is this coming from?” The sand dropped between her fingers and Shelby wanted to hold her hand but it felt like she would stop herself from asking what needed to be addressed.

“You promise?”

“I swear.”

“And you still want this?”

“Shelby,” Toni whispered, the raspy and musky voice that could set Shelby’s heart on fire if she didn’t tread lightly.

“I’m serious. If you ever don’t want this, everything will be okay. I don’t want you to feel trapped, or like if you ever need some space that everything will be awkward and it’s a small island and—,”

“Shelby,” Toni interrupted, still keeping her distance but her eyes were wide and full and she looked a bit afraid. The sky was getting darker and Shelby realized suddenly that they had missed the green light. “I want to be with you.”

“Then, baby,” Shelby tried to keep her voice gentle and steady because she felt overwhelmed and somehow already on the verge of tears. Maybe if she started crying then Toni would reach out and wipe her tears away. Or hold back. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re asking me what’s wrong? Shelby, are you okay?”

“Stop deflecting everything I say!”

It was louder and more spiteful than she intended and Toni tensed again, inched back subconsciously.

“I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, Toni. It’s not fine. It’s not fucking fine if I yell at you!” The yelling might have been contradictory but Toni needed the banging of a gong to feel the rise and fall of her chest sometimes. “You stand up to everything but me.”

“I don’t need to stand up to you anymore, you don’t do anything to hurt me.”

“Then why can’t you trust me?”

Toni’s jaw didn’t actually drop like a cartoon character’s often would, but Shelby could see her jaw fall inside her cheeks and the spark in her eyes dim.

“What?”

“Why don’t you trust me, Toni?”

“I trust you.”

“Then come to me,” Shelby cooed, finally letting herself reach out and hold onto her girlfriend. She let her hands graze Toni’s shoulders and dance up her neck to cup her jaw. “Why are you still holding back?”

Toni opened her mouth to say something but just as quickly she closed it and shrugged, her eyes flitting between Shelby’s and the sand below them.

“Promise me again that you still want this.”

“I promise,” Toni whispered.

“Then tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what’s going on in here,” she pleaded, letting one hand caress Toni’s forehead.

“I know how hard it can be,” Toni started and Shelby crept closer to show Toni she was really listening. “The pressure and figuring it all out and the worry and I just…I just want you to be able to let it all go and know that whatever you want, you can have.”

“Toni.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t to, be anybody but yourself. Not with me.”

“And I think I’ve shown you that,” Shelby explained, loving the feeling of Toni’s own hands reaching out to wrap around Shelby, turning them both so they lay on their sides facing each other instead of brushing beside each other. Shelby tugged them closer by the straps of Toni’s top.

“You have. I mean that, I just never want you to feel like you have to do things for me that you don’t want to do.”

“Like what?” Shelby asked, hearing a teasing tone enter her voice, “Hold your hand?”

Toni shrugged.

“Maybe.”

“I always want to touch you,” Shelby whispered, brushing her hands across Toni’s skin like a paintbrush. “To kiss you.” She pressed her lips on Toni’s cheeks close enough to her lips that they floated closer into each other’s gravity but not close enough to make it stick. “You can come to me first, if you want.”

“I know.”

“I promise, I’ll tell you if there’s something I don’t feel comfortable with.”

“Promise?” Toni asked, eyes hopeful.

“Only if you’ll do the same.”

“Promise.”

“Good, then I promise too,” Shelby announced proudly, pressing her lips against Toni’s this time. She could feel Toni melting beneath her and she moved her arms from Toni’s neck to her waist to bring them chest to chest. Toni wiggled happily beside her, warm and electric as always. When they parted her cheeks were flooded in pink. “You make me feel safe, Toni. You’re the only person who has ever made me feel this way.”

“You make me feel, uh, safe too.” Her face had gone red and it was so endearing Shelby could almost scream. Instead she buried her head in Toni’s neck and let herself shut her eyes.

“We need to getaway more often.”

“How will be ever find a good sitter for the kids, though?” Toni teased. Shelby chuckled and broke out of Toni’s embrace long enough to kiss her forehead and tug Toni against her chest. Toni nestled against her instantly.

“We’re good.”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Toni agreed, pressing a feather-kiss against Shelby’s wrist.

It was small, but it was a start.

#my writing #toni x shelby #shelby x toni #the wilds

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the-river-person · 3 years ago

Text

Epilogue

Wind swept through the red grass like a wave upon the sea, sending ripples down the slopes of the endless hills. In the lowest valleys the grass vanished into a soft white fog, making the hilltops seem as if they were detached from the earth and floating through an ocean of clouds. Sans gazed around in wonder, while also having to shield his eyes a little. Above them the sky was a thousand blending shades of purple, everything from a deep angry bruise to a very soft lilac. At the edge of the Horizon was the sun, and from here it looked a very deep red color, and though it wasn’t terribly bright, he still had to shield his eyes. It seemed that he needed some time for his eyes to properly adjust to seeing the surface in all of its overwhelming brightness after living in the muted and shadowed Underground for all his life. Well for lifetimes on end, really. Mouth open wide, and eye lights nearly pinpricks in shock, Gaster too appeared to be too stunned for words at the sight of this world. Sans knew that his uncle had been around to see the Surface of their own Universe, and judging by Gaster’s reaction, it was nothing at all like this. The River Person had taken them to this place because he said it was still a relatively safe Universe to visit for a little while. Comfortably seated in his ferry boat, the River Person didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere soon, so they’d opted to explore for a bit while staying in sight. Arriving at another Universe was just as bizarre as leaving one had been. It was as if there was a reflective orb in the distance, only when you got closer it wasn’t you that it was reflecting, but a place. And if you got close enough it was as if the reflection warped and twisted itself so that it swallowed you and you were sitting in another Universe as smoothly as if you’d landed your boat at the docks. Actually the ferryboat itself was sitting in the middle of the red grass, and looked perfectly natural there as if it were supposed to sail across the sea of red grass and plants instead of up and down a river. Out in the distance the world got even stranger. To the right, he wasn’t sure what the compass direction was because the red sun appeared to be circling the horizon instead of crossing overhead in an arc, he could see bright glow that spanned the whole edge of the sky in that direction, as if the area was filled with light. And to the left the sky seemed to get darker and darker until the horizon that way was shadowed and still. “Pretty, isn’t it?” “Yes,” he breathed, still trying to take it all in. The next moment he leaped away in shock as he realized the comment had come from someone who had unexpectedly been standing beside him. It was a skeleton, somewhat similar to himself in appearance but not quite. Wearing brown pants that might have been tucked in overalls by the green straps that were sticking out from one side of the waist, a white shirt, and a long brown scarf... the skeleton’s clothing alone made a strong first impression of him. But more interesting than that were the splotch of black ink that coated the bottom right side of his jaw and the enormous paint brush that he carried on his back like a sheathed sword. Over his chest was a belt holding a series of tiny phials with heart shaped stoppers, each phial held a different colored liquid within, and altogether and in order they formed a kind of rainbow pattern. Finally, around his neck and hanging down his back was an incredibly long scarf of some brown fabric. The Skeleton was grinning at him, mischief dancing in his eye sockets, which Sans had only just realized contained some odd shapes. In his left eye, the pupil was shaped like a bright, five pointed, golden star (☆), twinkling merrily as if to say “I’m excited!” to all the world. And in his right eye the pupil took the shape of... and this left Sans feeling more bewildered than anything else, a small purple 7. But even as he watched the pupils changed shape, and again, and again. A spiral (๑), a triangle border with nothing inside (△), a check mark (✓), an eroteme (?), a small crescent moon (☽), a pair of squiggly lines that might have been either water or a double tilde (≈), a silcrow (§), a percontation point (⸮), and a very small umbrella (☂). “Hullo!” said the skeleton. “I’m Ink! Guardian of the Multiverse and Protector of AUs!” Gaster, who had turned around to see what Sans had been reacting to, was examining the newcomer with something akin to professional curiosity. “AUs?” he asked, tilting his skull slightly to the side. “Alternate Universes,” clarified Ink. “And parallel ones. And pretty much any other kind of universe that springs up. So... now that I’ve introduced myself, who are you two?” Other universes, the thought was a little frightening. Sure he’d heard Gaster practically wax poetic on the subject numerous times, and here he was standing in another universe entirely. But it was different hearing someone else talk about them existing, as if they’d seen them with their own eyes. An entire multiverse full of them. And if Ink was truly the Guardian of that Multiverse and every universe inside of it, then he must be a really important person. “I’m Sans-” he started to say, not sure whether there was special protocol for introducing yourself to a Multiverse Guardian, but Ink was already cutting him off, flapping his hand impatiently at them. “No no no. There are way too many Sanses and Gasters floating about. Even I’m a Sans. We like to use... well I guess you’d call them nicknames. They help keep us from getting confused. More confused. Some people use the name of their AU, others ” Somewhat at a loss, Sans turned to look at Gaster, who only shrugged unhelpfully. Well alright then. A nickname huh? His thoughts raced back years and years, decades, centuries, all the way to that very first therapy session with Doctor Whimsol. She’d suggested that he didn’t have to be a Sans if he didn’t feel like one. For a while he’d toyed with various other names, mostly Fonts in the style of Skeleton naming conventions. But he’d never really made anything of it. Perhaps one of the ones he’d liked would do? Something that suited him the way that he was now. He’d changed a great deal since then. There was no way anyone would think of him in formal terms, even now. But he was a bit more serious, even though he tried to stay approachable. He wasn’t suffering from depression and guilt, and he was a lot more active than he had been. So something light-hearted but serious, informal like, with a sense of movement.... It came to him and he grinned suddenly. “Mistral,” he informed the Guardian of the Multiverse. “I’m Mistral.“ Looking intrigued, Ink nodded enthusiastically. “It suits you! A little rough of a font, sort of like brush writing, but with this... um... crystal stuff on your bones, it really works.” Oh yeah, Sans had forgotten about the Kenón still growing on him. It had sped up its growth a bit in the Void, which made sense because they were already connected. Small spikes of silvery-grey crystal were now easily seen growing up from the collar of his shirt and from his sleeves, and tiny lumps were beginning to form under his usual overcoat that betrayed the crystals growing underneath. “I think,” said Gaster suddenly, “That I would like to be known as Majuscule.” Sans stared at him. “You want to be named after Capitalized Letters?” he asked incredulously. It wasn’t a font. Though they weren’t really required to stick to those if they truly didn’t want to. But it was related enough that it was odd that Gaster would want to choose that of all things for a name. The smile the scientist gave him was a smug one. “When I use the Wingdings Sign variant it really doesn’t differentiate between Minuscule and Maguscule symbols like the font does in physical writing. And since I cannot speak it out loud and adjust the volume of my speech, it is as if I am saying everything in capitalized letters, constantly speaking with maximum intensity all the time.” Oh Angel, of course Gaster would choose something that convoluted. Sans groaned and rolled his eyes, surprisingly Ink only looked amused and actually giggled, his eyes flitting between an octothorp followed immediately by an S (#S) , an ecphoneme (!), an on/off symbol, and an asterisk (*). “I’m guessing you guys are new travelers to the Multiverse. That means you’re the ones I was looking for. You see, I felt a Universe die recently, and I went to go protect it from whatever was causing it to be destroyed. But it was dying on its own, of old age. I’ve never seen a Universe do that before, reach its natural ending. Then I found a trail in the Void, the sort of paths the River Folk make when they travel, and I knew that someone must have escaped before everything fell apart. And well... here you are!” Ink smirked and stuck out his tongue in a sort of “blep” way. Somewhere in the back of his head, Sans couldn’t help but notice that the tongue was rainbow hued. But now that he was reminded, he had more important questions. “Did you see anyone else?” He asked. “A ship in the Void? Any survivors? Papyrus? Well, my Papyrus anyway. He’s the Captain of the Royal Guard. And there were a lot of people on the ship before it fell into the Void. Please, if you’ve seen anything...” He trailed off hopefully. Ink’s eyes had suddenly become two ecphonemes (!). “Wait, there are more than just you two?” asked the Guardian excitedly. “It’s pretty rare we get more than a Sans or a Gaster. For some reason the Sanses seem to be inclined to go traveling more than others, though we do get Papyruses and Gasters here and there. But I don’t recall seeing a ship...hmmm.” Then Ink reached back and pulled on his scarf. Upon closer inspection, Sans could see all kinds of writing on it, scribbles and notes. Ink was using the thing as a planner. For a moment Ink squinted down at the scarf, searching through all the notes. They could see his mouth moving as he silently muttered some of the reminders he was reading. At last he looked up. “Nope, sorry. I haven’t seen any ship. But I’ll make a note to keep an eye out for one. I definitely don’t want to miss seeing that. Oh, but I did write down something else. I found this where your universe used to be.” And digging into his pocket, Ink produced something that was difficult to see. It was like a point, but without any width, depth, surface, or length. It flickered strangely and Sans heard Gaster’s intake of breath behind him. “There it is!” said the Scientist as he stepped forward, reaching for the thing. “The last fragment. The final percentage. What bit of me are you hiding in such a small form?” His hand closed around it and he closed his eyes, looking triumphant and relieved. Just as quickly he snapped them back open again in alarm. “Sans!” “What?” “I had three assistants, Sans. Three! Not four! I don’t know who Goner actually is!” * * * The Tem had managed to push the wreckage away from itself, freeing its trapped hind leg. Nobody else was in this part of the Ship, mostly being occupied in repair work or attempts to plan and reorganize. He’d volunteered to come out here and replace the spark plugs in this area because it would make it easier to get away from people for a while. A low creak, like metal under strain, made him turn. It was similar to the sound he’d heard earlier before the ceiling fell. This ship had taken a lot of damage in the crash, it was no wonder it was all falling apart at the seams. There was no one there. Yeah, probably just more infrastructure damage from the crash that needed to be repaired. Turning back brought him face to face with the grey torso of Goner, who was looming over him with his pale whitish-grey eyes. “Your name is Bob, right?” Said Goner in an expressionless tone. It wasn’t really a question exactly. More like a statement with a question tacked onto the end like an afterthought. Suddenly Goner’s expression seemed almost sly, sinister. Perhaps it was just the lighting, but the Tem shrank from the Monster as he leaned forward. “My name is Goner, I have a feeling we’re going to be very good friends.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink!Sans belongs to @comyet Special Thanks to @msaoa12345 for their continued reblogging, praise, and excitable and positive commentary. Without their support, this story wouldn’t be anywhere near finished.

#gaster #w d gaster #wingings #wing ding gaster #sans undertale #sans the skeleton #the river person #goner kid #bob the tem #ink sans #ink!sans #aeontale #undertale au #undertale fanfiction #undertale multiverse #the void undertale #unicode symbols #temmies #epilogue

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years ago

Note

Onyx tells Mc she’s pregnant. They hosts a party for everyone to announce of Onyx’s pregnancy. How they announce it and how everyone react are up to you!

Written by @evoedbd

“Hey babe. Welcome back. How was your outing with Na-” the cheer fell from Cali’s voice, as heavy and rapidly as a brick dropped from a skyscraper. Her heartbeat picked up, even as the feeling of led seeped into every limb, dragging her consciousness towards what felt like a tar pit. Sticky, dooming, encasing.

“Onyx?” She called, brow furrowing as she tried to reconcile the woman who had walked through the door with the usual upbeat, unstoppable Onyx Wren. This woman appeared ashen, pearlescent white save for the usual shadings of her makeup, and the veins running blue beneath her icy skin. Long, flowing blonde hair hung in clumps, tangled around the streaks of meadow green like weeds attempting to devour the most beautiful flowers. Where life had once shone in oceanic green eyes, now there was a dullness, a glazing that only emphasized emptiness. Worse, shoulders which could bare the weight of the world slumped, chained down along with the woman’s feet. No. Onyx’s feet weren’t chained down, they were dragging, as if the act of taking a stride was too much to comprehend yet the need for familiarity and comfort drove the zombie like body onwards.

“Are you ok?” A questioned filled with trepidation. Already, Cali could see that Onyx Wren was absolutely not alright. She could feel it. Sticky hands of a hoard all dragging at her through the bond, making the world entirely too much.

Internally, she fought a war, crossing a list off silently in her search for solutions. What could have hurt Onyx this badly?

A fight with Nahara? Doubtful. Onyx loved that woman, and Nahara had earned that affection. Her hugs were too perfect, rejuvenating and secure. How Cali imagined sinking into a pool of warmed honey or melted chocolate might feel like.

Dorran? Oh, Cali had so many things she could say about him, respect for the dead be damned. Cali was absolutely convinced, out of everyone who had ever existed or ever would, that he was the most deserving the title of Jerk. Lord Jerkington the Gaslighting abuser, the third. Anybody who could do half of what he had done to Onyx whilst claiming to love her, whilst she trusted her body and soul to his romance… Cali couldn’t conceive a punishment fitting enough his horrendous crimes. Her anger had nowhere to go. No conclusion. Nothing dark and despicable enough to bring justice or pay penance. All she could do was vow never to allow Onyx to suffer that ever again.

Vinca? That was delicate ground too, and not an unrealistic conclusion. Cali’s personal grudges aside, after-all Onyx’s twin had turned Cali into a well of supernatural energy with the potential to unleash hell on Earth, Vinca had played her villainous role well. Cali still could trace the numerous scars across Onyx’s body, from throat to gut, which Vinca had left. Also, Vinca had technically gutted Onyx, though she had been possessed by Nizha at the time. Cali wasn’t too sure she could ever erase that image from behind her closed eyes. Or her nightmares.

“I’m pregnant.” Onyx’s voice was so small, so broken and confused. If Cali hadn’t been watching and listening intently, she might have mistaken those words for a breath. Or the aircon.

“… you’re…” The word fell from Cali’s lips on a shocked breath. Well. Babe had definitely been the wrong pet name to use. Suddenly nothing made sense. Her stomach fell out yet her body seemed ready to float to the ceiling, all whilst her nerves suffered a rapid fire mix of dreadful numbness and prickling tingles flowing across her skin to match the static ringing in her ears and pinging around her head.

“I’m so sorry! Please don’t be mad. I’ll be good! I w-won’t disobey o-o-or mess up.” The panic in Onyx’s voice cut Cali to the bone. Onyx fell to her knees, arms wrapped around her abdomen and torso as her shoulders curled inwards. She trembled, green eyes gazing up at Cali as if she were a terrifying Goddess preparing to render judgement upon a defiler. Cali shuddered. Who would want such worship as what Onyx was offering in the moment? Senseless, all-consuming fear? In that moment, Cali realised she could never be an abuser. There was no power in Onyx’s terror, only revulsion. Revulsion that Onyx felt she had to be subservient like this. That her trust had ever been so broken that her default was to cower like a beaten dog, still lovingly licking its own blood from the master’s knuckles.

“I didn’t mean for this, I swear. I-I ca-”

Cali couldn’t listen anymore.

“Onyx. Hey, hey, hey. Shhh, it’s ok. Breathe with me, sweetheart. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” She cooed, collapsing to her own knees before Onyx. The moment she could reach, Cali gently cupped her hands around Onyx’s elbows, tenderly guiding the smaller woman a little closer.

“Reach for me through the bond, how do I feel?” Imploring words were accompanied by every joyful image Cali could summon at that moment. The mewls of kittens, the softness of a puppy’s fur. Seeing Onyx recognise her, even as a dragon. Flying. Watching Onyx fly, be it with the wings of a dragon or across a tightrope in human form. Freedom, beauty, power. Family.

Cali’s heart picked up a marching sprint, beating so rapidly she was positive someone could visibly see her pulse throbbing in her throat if they spared a glance. Pregnant meant baby, which meant children. Onyx. Baby. Onyx. Baby. Onyx’s baby… each time Cali managed to conceive the sentence her heart skipped another beat, beat faster and faster until she was positive her heart would burst. Onyx was having a baby. An actual baby!

“You’re… you’re not mad? You’re happy? B-”

“Onyx. You’re pregnant! How could I not be excited?” Cali began as she lured Onyx to her feet. The former Envy assassin surrendered herself to Cali’s guidance, relaxing even in her confusion. Cali was incredibly careful, her touch remaining delicate, as if she might taint the innocence within Onyx if she moved a single finger incorrectly. Yet, there was also no fear to Cali’s touch. She knew Onyx, just as she knew her own breath. She offered comfort, unconditional support, even without having uttered the words.

“I’m nervous too.” She confessed, finally lowering herself and Onyx onto the couch.

“I mean there are so many things to think about. Is it safe? I mean, what effects on the baby will your dragon side have? Will you lay an egg? I mean, can your body even handle that in human form? Will you be human form for the birth? Who even is the father?”

“I didn’t cheat! I’d never do that to you. Please, you have to believe me.” Onyx’s frantic tone was matched by frantic hands which desperately clutched at Cali. She clung to Cali’s forearm, both forcing Cali to remain close whilst also preparing to defend herself. Green eyes filled with tears, a mix of panic and guilt, dappled with layers of confusion. Despite all of that, Cali saw sincerity. She felt the truth of those words as if they were her own heartbeat.

“Onyx, babe… you died. You died in my arms and came back as a Dragon. Cheating never even crossed my mind. There are some insane magical circumstances that my medical training doesn’t cover. Even if you had cheated or if something had happened, I wouldn’t be angry. I wouldn’t be him. You love me, I believe it with all my heart. Nothing anybody can say or do will make me love you or this baby any less.”

“I didn’t cheat.” Onyx reiterated; her voice much softer yet no less vehement. Her hands surrendered their grasp on Cali, allowing the Asian woman to weave her fingers through Onyx’s. The warmth of her callused hands was enough to earn a soft sigh, though neither woman could confirm who it was from.

“I believe you. D-did somebody hurt you? Onyx, babe, did somebody force himself on you?” The words burnt Cali’s tongue. Bile threatened to rise in her throat. The thought of someone doing that to Onyx. Without the guise of a relationship to force his will, to satiate perverted desires… Cali couldn’t… she couldn’t even imagine it, until she could. From a mental blank, to images of a broken Onyx. To memories of her screams morphed into something entirely different, fitting a different scenario. It was enough to make Cali tremble with fear, revulsion and a rapidly rising tide of rage.

“Nothing happened. Nobody r-” Onyx hesitated, unable to utter the devastating word flashing in Cali’s worst fears.

“- did that.”

“Thank goodness. Then, do you know how this happened?” The gentle question was delivered after a breath of utter relief. Knowing Onyx was safe from that abuse, safe from one of the most brutal of Earthly horrors mankind had ever weaponized, helped untangle the tension in Cali’s aching chest. Her heart stopped seizing in her chest, resuming its marathon sprint.

“I don’t know. Nahara said something about consequences and the past.”

“Rebirth. That was when she was talking about the bond of deceased Envy and the barer of the bite. The possibility of physical manifesta-“ Cali stopped dead. Her mind leapfrogged over the words, gathering them into a net of logic so obscure yet so plausible it felt as if she’d been punched unconscious and now was waking up. Waking to a world where mortal logic no longer applied, and the furthest dreams could come true.

“Oh fuck… Onyx..?” Cali didn’t know if she spoke, only that Onyx’s face pinched in concern. No, not concern. Fear. The murkiness reclaimed clear beauty, obscuring it for all who wished to bathe. It nearly broke Cali to see Onyx shrink, yet her small voice shattered Cali’s heart into smithereens; sent those shards digging into every vein until Cali’s body throbbed with how wrong it was.

“Please don’t get angry.” Onyx whispered, flinching as if expecting Cali to scream. Cali couldn’t. All she could do was go over the basics of Nahara’s theories. A physical manifestation of the bond between Envy, Deceased and Barer of the bite. An echo of the past. The lost reclaimed as new.

“Mine? Ours? Is this..?” Cali begged, she wasn’t and never would be afraid to admit it. Such a glistening possibility was at her fingertips, and she dared reach, hoping against hope itself that the impossible had become even the improbable. A thousand to one? Hell, even a million to one was more than enough. Cali would take any and all chance. Hers. Theirs. A chance to see how she and Onyx may appear a thousand years down the line, a notch in the human species. Proof they had existed, that their coupling had existed. Cali wasn’t dumb enough to consider a baby proof of love, not alone, but also it was. It would be. No matter whether or not that million to one chance was recognized.

“I- I don’t know. It’s possible, probably. I mean, magic? I need to talk to Nahara to find out more. I… it was overwhelming to hear I actually was pregnant and can’t let the dragon out. I just needed time. Needed to talk to you. It could be a manifestation of our bond, or it is something from the past.”

“Dorran.” The name fell from Cali’s lips like a bullet dropped from a tower into the cooling lakes. Oh, how it longed to be thrown like garbage, just as the darkest parts of Cali longed to throw the actual man into a trash compactor and hear him squeal.

“This could be his baby too.” She voiced her conclusion. Even as the words escaped, she felt no change in her heart. There was… she hated the man, she hated the power he had abused over Onyx, just as she hated the idea of him continuing to. Yet, for the baby? For that possibility? Nothing. No hatred, no resentment. No matter how she searched for it. She couldn’t confess how deeply that shocked her. Emotionally, everyone always hoped that they’d accept their partner’s children as their own, but the actuality of that often defied dreams. It was a rare person who could accept such a thing, even in Cali’s situation. To find herself even potentially one of them was humbling, too much, too quickly. Diversion needed.

“That’s one hell of a choice. A dead man, unknown entity, or a key to the gates of hell.” Cali made the understatement of the century after a quiet hissing whistle through her teeth. Remarkably, her tone remained as light as she intended the delivery to be, as if she was discussing what to order for lunch.

“Please don’t leave me.”

“Le-” Cali couldn’t even finish the word. Her body moved on instinct, launching into Onyx’s space so that she could gather the smaller woman into her arms. Leave? Onyx couldn’t leave! No, her brain quickly caught up and corrected her internal malfunction. Onyx’s voice had been so small, the chirp of a bird compared to the roar of a dragon. Regardless, Cali was determined to provide shelter, to cage the willing Onyx within her loving embrace.

“Onyx, you died, I thought I’d never see you again. That I might never have another moment with you, even as you were reforming. Now, I’ll get to watch a baby Onyx Wren grow up! How could I be angry? I don’t care if this child is Dorran’s. Hell, even the Devil himself could be the father and I wouldn’t care. I want to be with you.”

“Even with a baby? A baby you didn’t plan, who m-might not even be yours.” Onyx’s words were serious, more so than any Cali had ever heard escape her gentle lips. They were warning, they were a siege to push Cali away even as Onyx hoped to keep her close. It was the last offering, the final out. Cali understood. Her answer here would shape her life. This answer couldn’t be about comforting Onyx, no matter her urges. It had to be truthful, no matter the pain, no matter…

“Yes.” It was the easiest answer Cali had ever given in her life.

“Onyx, we aren’t naturally biologically compatible for reproduction.” Cali’s obvious assessment earned a watery snort from Onyx.

“Whenever I daydreamed of having children, they were always yours. I was already committed to being a mother to any pet or child you had, to being with you. I want this baby to be ours, I want that more than anything.” Cali had to pause, to actually breathe and let her words sink in. Her chest hurt from how hard her heart was pounding, for how she longed for Onyx to want the same things.

“I’m here and ready to be whatever you need me to be for you both. If you don’t want me to be there as the other parent, I can be the cool aunt. Or a friend. Or a babysitter. Anything, Onyx.” Cali concluded, laying her offering out for Onyx to pick through. Silence dominated the room, save for Cali’s hurried breathing and the pounding of matching heartbeats. Or two heartbeats. Did baby have a heartbeat yet? How far along was Onyx? She made a mental note to ask.

“If you want to be, you know, their mom, then I’d love that too.” Onyx finally broke the silence with a soft yet sure voice, a shy smile tugging on her lips. Cali couldn’t help it, she leapt to her feet, letting forth an excited cheer. Finally, all her nerves burst forth, erupting in her version of a triumphant roar. This was HER family. Hers. Hers, hers, hers!

“There’s nobody else I’d rather raise a baby with. Nobody has ever supported me like you. I just don’t want to take your life away, or be a burden.” Onyx continued, reaching up to tuck some of her chaotic hair out of her face.

“Onyx, this isn’t about supporting you regardless of my own feelings. You’re not taking my life away; you’re giving me a life to fight for. A family. Onyx, our family! You’re having a baby, Onyx! It’s a BABY Onyx! Baby! Yours. Maybe mine. Maybe ours. I feel… just feel me, Onyx! Baby! You’re having a baby!” Cali tried to remain calm and mature, she truly did, yet the urge to move overcame her senses. She paced back and forth, using her entire body to emphasize her points. Big, sweeping gestures of her arms accompanied her escalating excitement, turning her into a goofy rendition of a car yard inflatable.

“Yeah. A baby. You… Sweetheart, can you sit down? Just watching you is tiring.” Onyx’s request was accompanied by a summery laugh, one which calmed Cali for all but three seconds. Then, it was back to pacing, phone whipped out of the pocket of her jean shorts so that she could begin to compose her list.

“Onyx, BABY! A baby! Our baby! We have to tell the others! I’m sorry but no more training for you! Also, none of the trash Darius calls food. We should probably look into supplements too, so that the baby is as healthy as possible. Should I call a dietitian for a food plan? And materials! Are you going to make your own maternity clothes? I got paid this week so I could totally go get some fabrics if you te-”

“Y-you want to tell the others?” Onyx cut in, alarm flooding her tone. Cali froze for a second, recognizing the way Onyx’s surprised voice dipped. Oh, Cali realized, she was behaving entirely differently to anything Onyx had experienced. To how Dorran had reacted. That was enough to have Cali’s internal beast snarling, hating how the past continued to hurt. Dorran had insisted on secrecy, on punishing Onyx. Increasing her training, increasing his bullying. Afterall, that had been cheaper than birth control, or a medically safe… Cali couldn’t finish the thought.

“Of course! Onyx, you’re pregnant! This is like one of the happiest days of my life! Top five, for sure! I’m trying to think of everything we need so that we can be ready for this baby. Like, we need to look into our insurance. I don’t think my workplace insurance covers sexy mamma’s who can turn into dragons. Or Assassins. Is there supernatural insurance I need to know about? Are there any doctors for, well, non-normal human pregnancies? Are there any magical medical guides for this? And birthing classes. We need to look into those too!”

“We…” The pondering tone Onyx used broke Cali out of her packing, leading her to look up from her phone.

“… Did I say something wrong?”

“No. It’s just sinking in, you know? It’s really nice to hear you say it. It sounds right.” Onyx explained, her face taking on a dreamy grin. She was so beautiful, glistening in the afternoon sun through the skyscraper windows. Even messy, Cali couldn’t think of anything more captivating than Onyx. Not the sirens of legend, not the most handsome of men. She doubted if the entire troupe, who were the most attractive people she knew, walked in naked that she’d be able to take off of Onyx.

“It feels right.” She confessed in a soft tone, unable to raise her voice above a whisper. The light in Onyx’s eyes… Cali had never seen something so pure. Green, like gazing up the sun through the underside of a wave. The gleam in them was more varied than a kaleidoscope of colours; brighter than diamonds. She had to look away, while her brain still had some function. There was so much that needed to happen, too many lists to write. Lists! That was a good place to start. Cali could do lists. She helped with stock intake, so a simple list on her phone would be a piece of cake! Oh, and her mother! She had to text her mother. Maybe there were some spare books…

“So, I’m going to text mom about getting some medical books out of storage. I’m pretty sure we didn’t sell all of them. They might have some more details on pregnancy. We have to come up with a way to justify everything, maybe we should discuss giving her sight. I’d prefer not telling her we’re fighting demons though. She’d absolutely spit if her daughter in-law was caught in that! Especially since you’re carrying her grandchild! I’d never live it down if I let you fight in your condition. It’d be “Cali, why are you making your girlfriend do everything? She’s pregnant! My grandbaby needs to grow!””

“Grandchild?” Onyx interrupted Cali’s exaggerated impression of her mother. Gone was the kaleidoscope, gone were the diamonds. The wave had crashed down, sending Onyx flailing into the wild tides of her worst fears without anything to hold her.

“She won’t hate me? She wouldn’t ever believe this child could be yours without knowing everything. She’ll assume I cheated. She’ll think I broke your trust and you’re just standing by me because you’re, well, you. You’re too good to walk away from somebody as broken as me.”

“Onyx, I love you. You are the most… I can’t put it into words. You are my… My light. You are not broken, Onyx. You are a literal dragon. Fierce, strong and beautiful. I am so in love with you that I cannot picture my life without you. This feels like my child already. You’ve only just told me and already I feel as if my heart will burst. Surely you can feel how much I already love them.” Cali almost pleaded, kneeling before Onyx. The current Envy assassin reached out, laying a single hand over Onyx’s quivering knee. Cali could feel everything, the tidal wave of anxiety and fears striking so hard and fast that she was almost physically knocked over. She countered, her mind parrying and weaving.

Pizza in a secret alleyway shop, the way hot cheese melted in her mouth, or the strings hanging from Onyx’s smiling lips. Little hands reaching, trying to steal pineapple as Onyx laughed. This was happiness. Love. Safe, secure, keeping their baby proceeded against her chest. So small, yet inspiring something so large. She had to protect, she needed to. Protect both the joys of her life.

The simple concept of the future flowed through their bond, a shield for Onyx to seek shelter behind. Cali herself was blown away by the intensity of her emotions for a distant possibility.

“I can.” Onyx breathed; tone full of wonder.

“I don’t know why I keep questioning you. You’re always kind and sweet. “

“People have hurt you, Onyx. I’d rather you question me a thousand times, a million times, than ever feel unsafe with me. I love you, and Mom can see how much more me I am with you in my life.” Cali insisted, fixing Onyx with an encouraging look before continuing.

“We had the talk when I told her I was bi. About if I ended up with a girl. We talked again after she met you, officially that is. I told her as long as I was with you, at least one grandchild would not be biological. If we even had children. She fully supports my choices and will love this baby with all her heart. She’ll probably spoil them rotten no matter what we say. She already loves you too! You’re the favourite daughter. She’s going to be so excited for her grandchild. Be prepared for a LOT of baby onesie- OH, this one’s cute! Onyx look!” Cali tried to remain serious, she truly did. Yet, curiosity had taken hold and her thumb had all but developed a mind of its own. Soon, she found herself glancing down at her phone, only to see a lovely pastel themed website, filled with baby onesies. Upon spotting a bear on the third row, she excitedly turned her phone to Onyx, which earned an actual squeal of delight.

“Oh my god, that looks like a little Ripley onesie!” Onyx cooed excitedly, leaning closer to support the phone. She couldn’t help but internally swoon over the adorable little bear onesie, complete with little pink pads on the feet. The little hood with adorable little ears, and the stomach patch. The tail, which concealed the buttons for easy changing.

“Right? I’m buying it! Ohh, it comes in purple! Should I get a little leopard?” Cali declared, reclaiming her phone and swiftly adding two versions of the bear to the cart. When Onyx didn’t respond, she paused, turning her gaze to the expectant mother.

“Onyx? Are you ok? Don’t you like them?” Cali asked, her voice going quieter. Once more, Onyx looked so small, trembling in the face of everything. Overwhelmed, Cali realized. Onyx was entirely overwhelmed.

“Cali. They’re both adorable. I’m just scared. How can you be sure Joyce will be ok with this?”

“Err, It’s my mom. She’ll just be thrilled to have a grandchild, no matter if they are biological or not.” Cali responded, unable to fully put into words how she knew. It was simple. It was her mom. Her mom who had supported her throughout life. Her interest in extreme sports, every bump, break and bruise. Her mom had been the first signing her casts, and selling the demon contraptions that damaged her daughter. When Cali’s father had walked out, her mom had been there, fighting to support a child emotionally and financially whilst she herself fell apart. Through teenage heartbreaks. When Cali hadn’t gotten a date for prom, it was her mother who had shoehorned her into a suit and driven her there. When Cali had finally come out as bisexual, her mom had been the first one demanding to know what type of girls Cali liked, gossiping about the boys Cali had only ever expressed interest in.

“But what if they come out with wings? Or, you know, not human?”

“Aside from me being worried how you’ll push that out of a hole the size of a lemon?” Cali questioned with a blink.

“Cali!” Onyx squealed in a mix of disbelief and horror. Her hands came up to her face, covering her suddenly flaming cheeks as she let forth an ungodly groan. Cali couldn’t help but be reminded of Ripley, how the bear concealed her muzzle when Onyx flew across the tightrope.

“Oh god, I don’t want to think about what its going to do to my… well, you know.”

“You’ll still be gorgeous, even if things are a bit different. You know, when I picture mom you, you’re always stunning. I can’t help but think our daughter will be scared her boyfriends will run off with her sexy mamma. You’ll turn into the sexiest MILF.” Cali purred, flopping onto the couch beside Onyx once again with what she hoped was a seductive grin. Strands of shaggy brown hair fluttered everywhere, sticking to Cali’s face in the most unflattering of ways. If asked, Cali would absolutely blame her uncooperative hair for her failed delivery, despite her history of appearing more like a vaguely romantic crab than seductive. Somehow, her dorky display calmed Onyx, judging by how tensed shoulders finally relaxed, and the show-stopping smile returned to her lips.

“That’ll be you, Sweetheart.” She purred in return, nuzzling closer. Cali’s phone fell to the couch, forgotten as the Envy assassin wrapped her girlfriend up in her arms. Both sighed. Everything was right with the world again, at least for a few moments.

“Mmmhmmm, agree to disagree. If our baby is born anything but human, then we tell mom the whole entire truth and teach her how to babysit. The troupe can’t always be around when we need naps, so mom will be happy to have a chance to spoil her grandkid rotten. Besides, she raised me, a dragon will be nothing her brooms of vengeance cannot handle.”

“But, what if the troupe hate me? I can’t help you guys like this.”

“You can’t turn into a dragon because you’re pregnant. That means you’re vulnerable, not useless.” Cali pointed out, giving Onyx an affectionate squeeze around the shoulders.

“Nitza will be after me. She’ll want me, and the baby.”

“I’ll die before I let anybody touch my family.” Cali growled; all traces of her humanity lost in a snarl vicious enough to rival any demon. She felt the rage bubbling, thicker than molten lava in the cradle of a volcano. It consumed, burning through her rationality until she couldn’t tell where her own protective rage ended and Onyx’s began. Onyx may be the dragon, yet Cali’s entirely human body produced sounds to rival Onyx’s alternate form. The former Envy assassin reached out, wrapping her own hand around Cali’s clenched fist, wiggling her fingers between Cali’s until the current Envy had to relax her fist. Had to let Onyx in.

“Ripley and I will protect you, we can take craving shifts! It’ll mean I won’t be on the streets with the troupe, but that does’t mean we can’t both help out here more. We can watch Avi, which will be awesome practice for baby. I can keep gear up to scratch, work on the bikes and you can have more time to design. I know your fingers must be itching to do something creative.”

“They are…” Onyx sighed l, seemingly content to have settled Cali’s rage. The blonde tucked her feet up onto the couch, barely pausing to kick her sneakers off before she wiggled her toes in silent satisfaction. Cali couldn’t help but tighten her arm around Onyx, smiling when Onyx responded by leaning into Cali’s shoulder, forehead buried in chaotic hair.

“but the others will be out fighting while I’m stuck here. It feels like hiding away and doing nothing.” Onyx trailed off, tensing. The sun set over beautiful greens when Onyx closed her eyes, the bedazzling piercing through her cheek acting like the moon across the skies of her expressions. For a moment, she trapped the soft, delicate flesh of her lower lip between gleaming teeth, as if gathering the courage to speak.

“I keep hearing Dorran.” The whispered confession had the dragon within Onyx roaring with rage, something which echoed through the bond. Cali shuddered, brows furrowing as spots took over her vision. For that brief moment she could feel it, the war within Onyx. The uncertainty and doubt mixed with rage. The latter, Cali empathized with. It burned just as brightly within her own heart, feeding into a loop of fury that promised to spiral out of control. Cali didn’t let it, she couldn’t.

Soft feathers, like laying on a marshmallow. The warmth of a spa day, the relaxation. Sticky and wet along the side of her head, into her hair. The rasp of an impossibly large tongue. Laughter. Pride. Love. The certainty of a promise.

“Ignore everything he told you.” Cali urged, barely keeping her opinion to herself. Now was not the time for her to rant about how pissed she was at her girlfriend’s ex.

“Onyx, you aren’t hiding away doing nothing. Not only are you holding a literal dragon back, you’re growing a person! Or a dragonling. You are doing the hardest job in the world. You’re creating a little Onyx! You’re nurturing and providing a safe place for baby to grow. You’re growing a life, Onyx, and sustaining them until they can sustain themselves. Even when you sleep, your body will be working. For nine months, you never get a break. That is way more exhausting than fighting demons for an hour. Can you imagine Cal’s face if he snarks at you? You can be like “Bitch, I grew a nerve cluster today, I’m currently working on a kidney.”

“Sweetheart… You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” There was no laughter in Onyx’s voice, despite the glee taking spark in her eyes. Genuine awe was slathered across her face, radiating until Cali could feel the accompanying emotions through the bond. The littler woman untangled herself from her partner, reaching out to take Cali’s hands for a few moments before her cheeks tinged pink. Without a word, Onyx lured Cali closer, placing the mechanic’s hands over her pale abdomen.

“Nup. I’m scared too, and excited. I just know that you’re my everything, and we’ll figure this out together.” Cali’s words were soft, whispered into the stillness they found themselves submerged in. Cali’s hands were burning, her palms prickling with the tingling heat as she processed what she was doing. Caramel and milk, that was the closest things Cali could associate to the swirl of their different skin colours. Her fingers looked so dark compared to Onyx, casting her in an exotic light, or perhaps Onyx in a mystical one. The duet of tones was dreamlike, earning the largest smile as Cali finally processed the meaning of the gesture. She stared, illogically fearing her callused hands might hurt Onyx and the baby. A breath, accompanied by trembling muscles the few moments before Cali surrendered and placed her hands flat against Onyx’s belly. It was unbelievable! Onyx had barely put on any weight, just enough to be barely noticeable, yet suddenly her body felt entirely new. The definition of her stomach was still there, all lithe muscle and sublime softness, yet there was more too. A curve, small enough to be imagination yet large enough for Cali’s hands to trace. To cup. To protect from the world. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, threatening to spill down her swollen cheeks as her smile grew large enough to rival the Cheshire cat.

“Oh, names! We need to start thinking about names!” Cali added enthusiastically, blinking away her tears. This was her future, sitting just beneath the palms of her hands. A little Wren growing, expecting them to have the perfect name. Cali began to panic. What name could be enough for their baby? Forget names, what title best fit until they decided? The baby was too clinical. Baby had that familiar quality Cali was looking for, but also couldn’t be the name they used forever.

“But I’m barely even showing yet.” Onyx playfully protested, bringing her hands to rest over Cali’s, holding them to her belly. Love. It was so pure, so overpowering. Cali lost it. Her tears began to trail down her cheeks, accompanied by little sniffles as she looked hopefully up to Onyx. Every hope and dream she had flooded the bond, sweeping them both away on a tide so impossibly sweet that the real world dared not invade. Even through their sniffles and tears, Cali laughed, appraising Onyx on a particularly important fact.

“It’s never too early to start thinking! Trust me, it’ll be the first thing my mother asks.”

#Anonymous #lovestruck #women of lovestruck #onyx wren #onyx x mc #sin with me onyx #swm onyx #sin with me envy #swm envy #sin with me #fluff #miscellaneous monday

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cutieodonoghue · 4 years ago

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the edge of hope (4/9)

summary: canon divergent au; when Din left Sorgan to protect the Child, he left the woman he’d fallen in love with, not knowing he’d also left behind something else. Or, Omera and Winta join Mando and Grogu on their season 2 adventures. Mandomera!

Catch up here: 1, 2, 3

Fourth chapter below the cut or on AO3!

The Heiress

Very slowly and held together by sheer luck, the Razor Crest approached the estuary moon of Trask. The passengers of the ship had slept for a short while at the beginning, but were now all awake, sitting in a silence that felt tepid. Omera kept her eyes on the windows while she held tight to her yawning daughter.

This journey had started off so hopeful only a handful of days ago, and now, they were flying in a ship so broken that they all had to squeeze into the cockpit and pray that the door wouldn’t fly off.

Was it worth it? Omera pondered this question often over the course of the past day or so especially, trapped on an icy planet with no clear path of escape.

Her gaze shifted to Din, whose slouched posture indicated that he may have still been resting. She had to smile just slightly. He’d worked hard to keep them safe, and she knew this wasn’t the journey he’d wanted for them.

Yes, she decided, even with all of their struggles and scares thus far, joining Din and his son on their path to find the Jedi had been worth it. Winta had been given a gift many of the children in their village would never have the chance to receive: adventure. Omera had been given the gift of spending time with the man she loved.

In the smallest moments with Din was where she’d found the most joy. His fingers on her knee on Tatooine. The way he’d gone speechless at the sight of her wearing his clothes. Working in tandem to fix the ship. Even if they were unable to spend any time together in the future, being here now would have been worth it.

The nav system beeped, alerting them of their proximity to Trask, and Din jolted forward, his hands already at their positions.

“Looks like we made it.” He turned, checking to see if everyone was awake. “Get ready for landing.”

The Crest began its descent, but it wasn’t easy. The ship jolted and jerked. Din seemed overwhelmed as he checked the levers and knobs on the console.

“Dank farrik! The landing array isn’t responding.” Bad. “Without the guidance system, it’ll be a manual re-entry. It might get choppy.” Worse. “Once we’re through the atmosphere, there should be enough fuel to slow down. If we don’t burn to a crisp.”

His words were less than reassuring, but Omera chose to believe that it would be alright. After a moment, Din called out over his shoulder, “Omera, come up here. I need your hands!”

She was on her feet in an instant, allowing Winta the entire seat for herself. She came alongside Din and he touched her hand to the lever he wanted help with.

“This lever needs to stay back. Keep it steady.”

They began to plummet and the entire ship felt like fragile glass beneath them. Fire damaged the lower belly of the Crest, sending alerts up to the console in bright flashing red lights and alarms.

But now, she could see the port. They were getting close. Probably too fast.

“Razor Crest, this is Trask flight control. Please reduce your speed to port protocol.”

“I’m trying my best here,” Din replied, pained. “Engage reverse thrusters. Brace!”

Omera reached out with a free hand to grab the side of the ship, bracing as the ship dropped in altitude.

“Razor Crest, do you copy? You have to reduce speed.”

“Almost there, almost there.” Din’s words came as the ship began its final descent, finally just above a landing spot in the waters of Trask’s port.

Omera prayed with everything within her that the cockpit was waterproof.

Din focused intently on the landing, finally setting them down on what felt like the landing pad. It was seamless. “Here we go. Nice and easy.”

The ship almost instantly jolted downward, lopsided, sending them down into the water. Blessedly, the cockpit held, even if Omera had fallen to the floor in the collapse.

“Nice and easy,” Omera teased. Din looked at her and she could tell he was glaring through his helmet. She shook her head. “Next time, maybe.”

Din scoffed. “I definitely want to do that again.”

The ship was raised from the water then by the careful help of a crane and settled on the landing pad they’d struggled to find balance on. The Mandalorian helped her off of the floor, his hand gentle and strong in hers.

On a sigh, he turned to the Frog Lady and Winta. “Well, we made it.”

Winta grinned. “That was fun!”

“Fun?” Din asked. “We’ll put you in the pilot’s chair next time, then.”

Her daughter giggled. “Can you teach me how to fly?”

Din stood and guided the little girl out of the cockpit. “I thought we already had your first lesson.”

“Oh yeah!”

Omera steadied herself when she felt a wave of nausea, a hand falling absentmindedly to her middle.

In all of the excitement, she’d very narrowly forgotten that she was pregnant. The Frog Lady seemed to notice, tilting her head at her while she settled her egg backpack over her shoulders.

She croaked, sympathetic in tone.

Omera offered her a soft smile in response. She gave her belly a slight rub. “We’re a lot alike.”

The Frog Lady nodded with compassion in her eyes. She approached Omera and set her hand over hers. It was startling how understood she felt.

“I haven’t told the Mandalorian,” Omera admitted in a quiet voice. She shook her head. “I don’t know how.”

Her companion croaked again. She removed her hand and held it outwards for her, as if to offer her the chance to leave first.

Omera smiled politely. “You go on ahead. I’m sure you’re anxious to see your husband.”

The Frog Lady paused, hesitant, before she gave in and walked away.

It took a minute, but the nausea passed, and Omera breathed in deep, the scent of the ocean filling her nostrils. It reminded her of Sorgan, the water, and offered a sense of calm.

Stepping down the ladder from the cockpit, she found the rest of the Razor Crest’s passengers already venturing off the ship, the Frog Lady the last on the ramp.

Ahead of her, she spotted Winta with her hand in the Mandalorian’s, and the Child in his floating pram. Already, Winta had become so attached to Din.

Omera gathered her bag and swiftly disembarked the ship.

The Razor Crest dripped with water, spouts of it raining from drainage all around her, and as she walked away, she looked at the damage.

It was a lot worse than it had been before. Parts had actually fallen off in their landing. The door to the cargo hold seemed to be stuck permanently open. It looked like it had been through absolute hell and back.

She could only imagine how much this would cost to get fixed properly.

Omera caught up to Din and the children at the dock. She spotted the Frog Lady ahead of them, looking around with haste to find her husband. For a moment, it almost seemed as if she might have to keep up her search.

But suddenly, a call from a voice similar to the Frog Lady echoed from across the dock. The Frog Lady took off in a run, bustling through the crowd with her eggs in tow. As Omera watched the couple embrace, she came alongside Din.

“You did it. They’re reunited.”

Din looked down at her. “We did it.”

Omera smiled softly. They were a team. Together, they’d fixed up the Razor Crest and brought the Frog Lady and her eggs home in one piece.

Careful not to crowd the Frog Couple, they hung back a little as the pair chattered excitedly over their eggs. The Frog Man turned to Din and took his hand, shaking it brusquely.

“You’re welcome. I was told you could lead me to others of my kind.”

The Frog Man nodded eagerly. He gestured out, pointing to a nearby inn.

“The inn? Over there?”

Again, the Frog Man nodded. He and his wife held hands as they led them toward it, as if they were eager to give as much as they could as a way of thanking the Mandalorian for his kindness.

“Do you think we could get a room?” Omera asked Din.

“Let’s see what we can learn. Then we’ll see about a room.”

Once seated at a table in the inn’s restaurant, Omera felt as if she could relax a little bit. The crowd of fishermen in the restaurant were a mixture of Mon Calamari and Quarren in species, all of them preoccupied with their bowls of chowder and conversation to care about their group.

“What can I get you?” the waiter asked.

“Nothing for me.” Din held tight to his creed even if he was probably just as hungry as the rest of them. “A bowl of chowder for everyone else.”

“These seats are scarce, buddy. Everyone seated needs to eat.”

Din settled a generous physical payment on the table, one that the waiter took easily. “I can buy something else. Information. Have you seen others that look like me?”

He poured chowder into each of their bowls from the device hanging on the ceiling. The chowder was white and smelled a bit odd, but Omera was just hungry enough that she was willing to give it a try.

“Others with beskar have been through here.”

“Who can take me to them?”

“I know someone who might help.”

Omera watched as the man went to another of his kind a few tables away, sharing a discussion that brought focus onto the Mandalorian sitting at the table beside her. She shifted her gaze when she realized Winta was giggling at the Child.

A small sea creature jumped out of his bowl and onto his face. Din slashed it with his knife.

“Don’t play with your food.”

The Child made a little noise and leaned over his bowl again, this time having a sip of the food. Seeing that both of the children were eating, Omera felt comfortable feeding herself. She lifted the bowl to her lips just as the man from a few tables away approached.

“You seek others of your kind?”

“Have you seen them?”

“Aye. I can bring you to them.”

There was something about the man that made Omera nervous. He had an easygoing tone, but the way he eyed Din left her wondering if his motivations were pure.

“Where?”

“Only a few hours’ sail. It’ll cost you, though.”

“Always does.” Din sighed. “Can you take me to them tomorrow?”

The man shrugged. “Anything you’d like. Just bring the credits.”

After they finished eating, Din got them a room to stay in for the next few nights while they explored Trask in search of others of his kind. It was small, with a double bed in the center and a bathroom they could use to freshen up in, but it was enough.

Winta collapsed almost instantly on the bed with a relieved sigh. “I wish the Razor Crest had one of these, Din.”

“I don’t think something like that would fit on my ship.”

Omera padded across the room to check in the bathroom if there was a tub for bathing. A smile found her lips when she discovered that there was.

“Looks like it’ll be bath night, Winta.”

Her daughter pushed herself up so she sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s good. My hair is smelly.”

“I imagine,” Omera teased. “Mine must be too.”

She watched Din survey the room as if he were searching for traps. It seemed to her that he was anxious for the day that lay ahead of him meeting those of his kind.

“Does the Child need a bath?” Omera asked. “If we’re all going to clean up, I think getting his bath done first would probably be best. He can try to go to sleep after.”

“He’ll get the water all over,” Winta giggled. She jumped off of the bed and approached the Child’s floating pram, reaching inside to grab him. “Do you want a bath?”

“I haven’t ever really given him one,” Din admitted in a soft, awkward voice.

Winta put her fingers over the Child’s head, gently stroking. She had always been a caring girl, looking after the younger children in the village as if it were her responsibility. One day, maybe, Winta would make a natural mother.

“I think he would like it.”

“Go ahead.” Din nodded. “I should go see if I can find something to eat. Want to check in on our passenger to make sure she’s okay too.”

Winta beamed happily at the prospect of giving the Child a well deserved bath and carried him with her toward the refresher.

Omera folded her arms to her chest and studied the Mandalorian. He crossed the room toward her on his way out like he was eager to do something - anything at all.

“You okay?”

He stopped at her side and nodded. “Just… been a rough couple of days. We need a win here.”

She hummed. “I have faith. When you find the Mandalorians, they will have an answer.” Omera settled her hand over his heart and offered him a tiny smile. “In the meantime, our victories should come from knowing we’re doing our best to care for one another. The children are happy and healthy. We still have plenty of time to find your boy’s kind.”

Din reached for the hand at her side and put his opposite palm over her wrist, bent slightly to hold hers.

“I know I’ve said it before, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Her heart fluttered at his admission. “I’m glad, too.”

He lowered his forehead to hers, one hand moving up toward her cheek to hold her steady. Omera smiled at the closeness of the embrace and allowed herself to get comfortable in it.

“This is called a Keldabe kiss,” Din explained in a quiet voice. “My people use it to show affection.”

Her smile only spread wider knowing that it was the equivalent of a kiss. “I wondered if it was something like that.”

For a moment, they were able to stay as they were, holding onto one another by touching the crowns of their heads with their hands held tenderly over Din’s heart.

“Mama, can you help?” Winta called from beyond, a jarring reminder of reality.

With some reluctance, Omera released Din from her grasp. “Go get something to eat. I’ll get the children clean and try putting them to bed.”

Taking a few steps backward, she watched the Mandalorian, her heart still beating fast from their gentle intimacy. He waved goodbye to her and she echoed the sentiment.

Turning toward the refresher, Omera’s teeth dug into her lower lip to keep from smiling too big.

When night covered Trask like a dark blanket, Din returned to the room at the inn. He’d found something to eat and thought to grab a few extras for them to share come the morning, already anticipating the Child’s ravenous appetite.

When the door closed behind him, he found himself staring at Winta and Omera, curled up together on one half of the bed, while the Child snoozed in his pram nearby.

Gently, he settled the supplies he’d picked up on a table that lined the wall next to the door.

With everyone sound asleep, Din had only one thing in mind: getting into the refresher to get clean himself.

The door locked behind him and he worked with practiced ease to remove his armor, helmet coming off first so he could finally breathe fresh air through his nose and see without his visor.

The small space of the bathroom smelled already of flowery fragrances and there appeared to have been somewhat of a mess, water sprayed on the floor. He could only imagine how things had gone with the Child in a bath.

The Child probably did enjoy it, as Winta had suggested, probably too much.

The water in the shower was gratefully warm, a pleasant departure from the ice from that rock they’d nearly been stranded on permanently. His armor offered him more warmth than what plain clothes granted, but not much more.

Quickly, Din cleaned the past couple of days off of his skin. Sweat, blood, and grime washed down the drain and he scrubbed some of the flowery smelling liquid into his hair, briefly wondering if Omera would smell just like it, too.

It was incredible how quickly his thoughts shifted to her. Before he’d gone back to Sorgan to see her again, he’d find himself in situations similar to this, allowing his mind to wander to her as if he had nowhere better to set his thoughts.

Bringing her along on the journey to find the Jedi hadn’t exactly been in his plans when he went to Sorgan. In fact, he’d gone to Sorgan to repent of what he’d thought had been a mistake on his part, hoping to just clear his conscience of what he’d done when he knew Omera was alright.

Having them along with him made things difficult in some ways, but in the overwhelming sense, he felt as if being in this together made it easier. Easier in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He dried himself off as soon as he was finished with the warm water. Clothes and armor back in place, he felt better, new, and went to see if he could fit on the bed next to the girls.

The last time he’d laid beside Omera had been the first time he’d laid next to her. The night they’d spent together, giving to one another the most intimate of a stolen moment in time.

She’d come to him, warm and unassuming. His heart had acted faster than his brain could catch up. It seemed she was one of the only people in the galaxy who could do that to him.

The bed was much more comfortable than his chair in the cockpit of the Crest, where he’d last allowed his eyes to close. He laid on top of the blankets, facing the ceiling with his hands clasped together over his chest.

Beside him, the bed shifted and he turned his head to see Omera facing him, her eyes open.

“Did you get something to eat?”

Din smiled softly beneath his helmet. “Yes. Picked up some extra for the morning too.”

Omera’s lips curled at the ends and she reached out with one hand to touch the side of his helmet. “Try to sleep. Don’t worry about tomorrow.”

He lifted both of his hands, tugging the glove from one to remove it. When his bare hand was free, he brought it to Omera’s, giving her one of the only things he could when his whole being ached for something more.

She thoughtfully turned her hand and gently touched their fingertips together before pressing her palm to his. Slowly, her small fingers filled the spaces between, curling as she lowered her fingertips to his knuckles.

Ever so gently, she brushed her thumb against the side of his and offered him a kind, almost loving, smile. As he stared at her, he saw that secret again, hiding and private, dancing behind her pretty brown eyes.

It wouldn’t be right to ask about it now, while the children were sleeping so close by, but he resolved he’d ask soon. All he wanted was to know that she felt whole, and seeing the shade of fear in her eyes imposed by this secret made him think she didn’t feel that way at all.

“Rest, Din,” Omera whispered.

“You too.”

As Din allowed himself to fall asleep, he thought back to their conversation earlier. She was right. The children were happy and healthy. He didn't need to worry about how quickly he could find the Jedi when he could see victories here, with them.

For the first time in a long time, when Omera woke, she felt rested. Lately, she’d found it difficult to sleep even back home on Sorgan in her own bed.

As she opened her eyes, she decided it had to have been because of the pregnancy. Her body needed more energy, and she hadn’t exactly been allowing herself to charge up on the unborn’s behalf.

Very quickly, she realized that she was the last one to wake. She heard Winta’s giggles and the Child’s cooing babbles. Even warmer was Din’s low, even voice as he dealt with both of them on his own.

Omera sat up in the bed, wincing ever so slightly at the light that came from the overhead lamp.

The Child was tucked under one of the Mandalorian’s arms, both of them sitting directly beside her in the bed while Din offered his son food to eat. Winta sat on the foot of the bed, nibbling on whatever Din had brought them to share.

Perking up at the sight of her freshly awake, Winta grinned, crawling over top of the bed towards her. “Morning, Mama.”

“Good morning, Winta.”

“You slept for a long time. Din was worried about you.”

Din sighed. “I wasn’t worried.”

Winta hummed. “Yes you were.” She gave Din a very matter-of-fact look. “You asked me if she usually sleeps this long. Twice.”

Omera laughed to herself and looked over at the Mandalorian, whose open palm held the food meant for the Child to eat. It was touching that he’d been worried about her.

“I needed to sleep. Thank you for not waking me any sooner.”

After they shared their food, Din settled the Child into his floating pram and said, “I’ll take the kid with me to the harbor, but I think you and Winta should stay here. I don’t know if I can trust him. Heard them saying something about my beskar.”

Omera nodded in agreement. “There was something about him I didn’t like either.” She looked at the Child. “You’re sure you want to bring him?”

“We are a clan of two. Where I go, he goes.”

Omera nodded in understanding. She reached into the pram and stroked her thumb over the top of the Child’s head. “Be good for Din, little one.”

The Child cooed adorably, his ears twitching at the feeling of her hand on top of his head.

Omera looked up at the Mandalorian, whose gaze always seemed to be on her. He was closer to her than he had been before, but then again, he always seemed to be close to her too.

He lowered the crown of his head to hers ever so briefly and she set her hands on either side of his helmet.

“Be safe.”

When he pulled away, he said, “We’ll be back tonight. Let’s plan to meet at the chowder place downstairs at sunset.”

Omera liked his optimism, but worried he might not be able to fulfill the plan. She didn’t know what laid ahead. “We’ll be there.”

Winta wrapped her arms around Din’s side in a tight hug, a surprise to the Mandalorian. He lowered his hand to the back of her head with the slightest hesitance.

“We’ll be back in a few hours, Winta.”

“I know,” she said. She smiled up at him. “Just for good luck that you’ll find your Mandalorians.”

Din nodded once. “Thank you.”

When Winta pulled away, Din took an audible breath and stepped toward the door. As it opened, he looked back toward them as if he had something to say, but said nothing, instead leaving them on their own.

Almost instantly, Omera’s fingers fell to her middle, where she swore her belly had swollen up even more over the course of a night, and sighed softly through her nose. She really needed to tell him.

It had been four months since that night, which meant very soon, it would be quite unmistakable that she was with child. Even now, she felt as if the child had begun to show enough that Din might be able to tell on his own. Maybe he already had noticed and was just being polite while he waited for her to say something.

“Mama, can we go see the Frog Lady? I wonder if her eggs are going to hatch.”

She laughed a little. “Okay.”

Winta noticed her hand over her belly and looked up at her curiously. “Have you told Din yet?”

Omera shook her head. “Not yet. He has a lot on his mind. I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

“But your belly is growing,” Winta noted, her hands settling on either side of Omera’s small bump. “And it will get even bigger.”

“I know,” Omera sighed. “I’ll tell him soon. Just not yet.”

“Tonight?” Winta suggested. “Once he finds his kind, he might have less on his mind.”

Omera chuckled. She ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair and shook her head. “Why do you want him to know so badly?”

“Because I’m excited to be a big sister,” Winta admitted, bouncing on her feet. “Will Din be the baby’s father?”

Her eyes widened a little in surprise. “Um… I don’t know. I don’t think he thinks of us in a family sort of way. Not yet, anyway.”

Winta’s nose and brow both wrinkled as she pondered Omera’s explanation. “But he does all the things you do for me, Mama. He feeds us, gives us a place to sleep, and keeps us warm and safe.”

Omera smiled softly at her daughter’s innocence. She continued to run her fingers through her hair as she considered what to say.

“Being a family is more than those things. It means you give your heart away. That you love regardless of how you feel. That you stick together through all things.”

Her daughter frowned. She clung to Omera, burying her face into her side. “How do you feel that way for someone? If they aren’t like you and me and Baby…” Winta’s fingers trailed over Omera’s belly as she paused, thoughtful. “It must be hard to give your heart away.”

“It is.” Omera nodded. “But often, your heart decides on its own who to choose.”

“Has your heart chosen Din?”

She bit down on her lip, her heart feeling heavy. “It has.”

Winta pulled herself away from Omera and stared up at her, still thoughtful. “Is Din the one who gave Baby to you? Is that why your heart has chosen him?”

A blush very quickly found her cheeks. She shook her head. “That’s enough questions about the baby for now. Let’s go find our friend. Maybe we can bring her a gift to celebrate her arrival here.”

Winta sighed. Clearly, she wanted all of the answers that Omera felt the most unsure about, and she wanted them right away.

“Okay…”

“You ever been on a boat, kid?” Din asked the Child.

From within his hovering pram, the boy stared up at him, tilting his head to the side. He made a little noise, patu, and Din nodded his head once.

“Try not to get seasick. Don’t wanna get your clothes dirty and have to get you another bath.”

This time, the Child made a different noise, like he wouldn’t mind it. Blep.

“You liked the bath, didn’t you?” Din asked. He smirked to himself, giving a small shake of his head. “Omera spoils you.”

The Child hummed.

Din knew that the kid liked Omera. He knew that Omera liked the kid, too. She was a good mother. Even if she hadn’t intended to take on that role for the boy, he was glad that she had.

He did his best where it came to being his father. The word felt funny even to think, but the Armorer had bestowed the title upon him. All he could do was honor him and the path they had been set upon. He could care for him and guide him. Teach him his manners.

He was trying. That’s what mattered. He hoped the kid could see it.

Ahead of them, he saw the captain of the ship that could take them to meet up with his kind. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. This would define their next steps.

Din guided them to the ship at the dock. He kept an eye out for danger, cautious in case the stranger fisherman wanted to try anything from the docks.

“Excuse me. We spoke yesterday about a ride to find more of my kind. Mandalorians.”

The fisherman nodded. “Yeah. I remember. You got credits?”

“Yes.”

The fisherman eyed him briefly, then looked at the Child. He nodded his head. “Settle up and we’ll be on our way. There’s a mamacore out there, right in our path. Impressive beasts. You ever seen a mamacore?”

“Can’t say I have.”

He hummed. “We’ll get up close. Get you a good look.”

The fishing boat was modest in size, crewed by a modest crew of five Quarren.

After a couple of hours on the water with no end in sight, the bad feeling Din had about the captain of the vessel only intensified. There didn’t appear to be any land masses anywhere nearby, and the fog that settled over the waters was eerie.

“You ever see a mamacore eat? Quite a sight.”

Din looked blankly at the captain of the ship. The Quarren gestured to the Child beside Din, still safely stowed in his floating pram.

“Child might take an interest. You should take a look. Come on over here.”

Din cautiously allowed the Child to follow after him toward the center of the fishing boat. There was a large grate in the floor that opened up to the choppy waves.

“Get a good view. Let the kid see.”

He and the Child stayed back a safe distance, just close enough that they could see into the water, and Din held out a hand to stop the kid from going any closer. “All right, close enough.”

The captain of the fishing vessel rigged up a net of dead fish just above the freshly exposed hole in the middle of the ship. With a swift releasing mechanism operated by a lever, the net broke open and the fish dropped down for the mamacore to feed on.

“She must be hungry.”

The waters began to bubble, signifying the arrival of the mamacore, and the captain continued to ramble, but before the creature of the sea could emerge, the Quarren used his fishing spear to push the floating pram and the Child into the water.

Din’s stomach lurched. “No!”

In an instant, the mamacore surged upwards, its sharp teeth and claws descending upon the Child’s pram in the most horrifying instant. He didn’t have to think twice- he jumped in after him.

The water was murky, and he didn’t have a plan for fighting the mamacore. As he tried to find the creature beneath the surface, he very quickly ran out of air. Surging to the surface, where the boat was, he was met with resistance in the form of a grate.

It was a trap.

It seemed the Quarren operating the fishing vessel were, in fact, hunting him down for his beskar. They jabbed at him with their spears through the holes in the grate as he tried to push back on it.

How the hell was he supposed to save the kid and get himself out of this situation all on his own?

One jab of the spear in the right spot made him lose his grip on the bars, sending him back down into the water. He was as unprepared as the first time, but this time, water flooded his lungs.

With a renewed anger, he surged back up to the surface, just in time to catch his breath and get attacked all over again.

But before the fishermen could push him down below the water’s surface again, they were met with force by a Mandalorian from just beyond his sights.

He could hardly make out what went on, too focused on his breathing as he coughed and struggled to keep his head above the water.

He heard the sounds of a couple of other Mandalorians arriving via jetpack as the fighting continued. With his eyes fallen shut, Din coughed and set his focus on one thing: hope.

He would get out of this. The kid would too. He’d be safe within the pram. They just needed to get into the jaws of the creature and pry him out. Hopefully it wasn’t too late.

The grate that had locked Din away from safety aboard the boat finally pulled back. In front of him, a Mandalorian held out their hand to help tug him out of the water he’d very nearly drowned in.

“Take my hand.”

Din did as the Mandalorian asked of him, and as she helped him up out of the water, he choked out, “There’s a creature. It has the Child.”

“On it!” The words came from one of the other Mandalorians.

Focused on the Mandalorian who had pulled him from the water, Din added weakly, “The Child. Help the Child.”

“Don’t worry, brother. We’ve got this.”

He struggled to catch his breath. His body trembled and tears sat unshed in his eyes. The shock of this attack hit him differently than most did. He wasn’t a skilled swimmer, and although he probably could’ve compensated for it with his weapons, he hadn’t been prepared for the fight.

The sounds of gunfire came from beneath the ship and Din set his focus on the opening. Dread flooded him from top to bottom.

What if he’d failed? What if the pram wasn’t strong enough to protect the Child from harm? How would he explain this to Omera and Winta?

As much as he doubted himself in the past, this was a harsh reminder of how inadequate he was. Did all fathers struggle with these feelings?

The Mandalorian who had plunged down into the water to battle the mamacore emerged with a gush of water that broke the surface. She landed on the boat, pram in between her hands, and set it down on the ground next to him.

After tearing it open, she grabbed for the baby inside. “Here you go, little one.”

She handed the Child to Din. He instantly cradled him in one arm and placed his palm against the baby’s chest as he examined him. He was completely unharmed, and hadn’t even gotten wet.

A calming wave covered him. It was alright. They were both alright. A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding slid past his lips and he felt the hot tears escape his eyes out of sheer relief.

Finally, he looked up at their saviors. His voice still trembled a bit when he spoke, “Thank you.”

Briefly, he checked on the Child again. Safe. He was safe.

The fear he held in his heart gave way to something different in this instance. Was it love? Did he love this child?

Afraid of what the answer might be, Din set his focus on the next realization: this was the moment he’d been searching for. He’d found his kind. Now, he needed to do right by the kid.

He needed to find a Jedi. That was his path.

“I’ve been searching for more of our kind.”

Of the three Mandalorians who stood in front of him, the one who had rescued him from the water replied, “Well, lucky we found you first.”

“I’ve been quested to deliver this child. I was hoping that…”

He stopped dead in his tracks when all three of the Mandalorians standing on the deck of the ship removed their helmets from their heads. As he stood to be on their level, a certain degree of rage simmered just beneath the surface of his skin.

On Tatooine, it had only been Cobb Vanth who wore Mandalorian armor. He’d worn it as a means to protect his town, as a symbol of strength. He hadn’t understood the Mandalorian creed because he wasn’t Mandalorian.

Now, three much more powerful strangers stood before him in Mandalorian armor, skilled with their weapons, and treated him as their equal.

Never removing one's helmet was one of the first things they’d taught him as a Foundling. It was a key to being a Mandalorian. To remove your helmet meant turning your back on the creed.

“Where did you get that armor?”

The woman in the middle seemed confused by his tone, keeping her voice light as she replied, “This armor has been in my family for three generations.”

“You do not cover your face.” Din felt himself growing angrier with the passing moments. “You are not Mandalorian.”

This time, the man on the right spoke, “He’s one of them.”

“One of what?” Din asked the woman in the middle, the one he deemed to be the leader.

“I am Bo-Katan of Clan Kryze.” She took a tempered pause. “I was born on Mandalore and fought in the Purge. I am the last of my line. And you are a Child of the Watch.”

“The Watch?”

“Children of the Watch are a cult of religious zealots that broke away from Mandalorian society.” Bo-Katan’s gaze fell upon the Child in his arm. “Their goal was to re-establish the ancient way.”

Din gritted his teeth. “There is only one way. The Way of the Mandalore.”

After a few hours sitting with the sweet Frog Couple and their new tadpole in their humble home, Omera walked Winta through the shops along the dock, holding onto her hand tight enough that she wouldn’t get lost or wander.

Her daughter seemed nervous by all of the excess stimuli that a new planet like this crafted on its own, so it didn’t matter all that much how tightly she held on.

Omera herself kept an eye on passers by, cautious not to linger for too long in one place. She had a pistol clipped to her side, but it would never help her feel as safe as she did with the Mandalorian at her side.

She wanted to get some more food for the morning, hoping it would be the last meal they’d have to share on Trask. It would be good to have the Crest fully repaired somewhere else before they found the Jedi. If, in fact, Din had found his kind, that would likely be the course of action.

With a small container of fresh food in arm, Omera walked Winta back toward the inn, set on staying there until sunset, just under an hour away. But, as soon as they drew close, she noticed a ship a short ways out and the surprising sight of a figure with a jetpack soaring up toward the sky.

Recalling their plan to meet Din and the Child, Omera took Winta back to the inn in order to deposit the food.

“Mama, do you think Din found his kind?” Winta asked. She sat on the bed just behind her, kicking her legs out and swinging them back inward until they hit the base of the bed.

“We’ll have to ask when we meet him.”

Winta hummed. “What if he didn’t find anyone?”

Omera turned to her daughter and shrugged her shoulders. “I guess we’ll just have to keep looking.”

Together, they walked to the chowder place and settled in at a table in the back corner. She kept her eyes on the patrons, careful of onlookers. The last thing she wanted was for something to happen to them before the Mandalorian could return.

The door to the building slid open and she watched as Din entered. He cradled the Child in his arm and approached the table with a dominance that attracted the gaze of many of the patrons.

Finally, Omera felt as if she could breathe.

From behind him, she noticed the door open once more. This time, three others wearing blue Mandalorian armor entered. They had their helmets in their arms. Were they Mandalorian? Or were they as Cobb Vanth was - just a man in Mandalorian armor?

Din stood at the head of the table and the three others followed. One, a woman with a commanding presence, studied Omera and Winta for a thoughtful second.

“These are your people?” she asked Din.

He nodded once. “They’re traveling with me.”

Again, Omera met the woman’s eyes. Finally, a smile found her lips. “I am Bo-Katan. A Mandalorian, just as he is. We are from different clans, but we serve the same creed.”

Her head swarmed with thoughts. They were Mandalorians. Mandalorians who took their helmets off, and still professed the same creed that Din held.

She wasn’t sure what to believe, but she couldn’t help but feel a little excited by the idea that not all Mandalorians had to keep their helmets on. Maybe one day she’d get to see Din’s face after all.

Omera smiled back at Bo-Katan, trying to be polite. “I’m Omera. This is my daughter, Winta. You’re free to join us.”

And so it was that the table was filled with Mandalorians, and a child whose pram had been lost in the jaws of a mamacore.

Beside Omera sat Din, whose attentiveness to his boy seemed amplified after the attack at sea. The boy was perched up on his own chair beside him, with a bowl full of food that he sipped slowly.

“They came in time to save me and the Child,” Din explained. He gestured out toward Bo-Katan and her clan. “I should’ve been more careful. I was right. They wanted the beskar.”

Omera’s heart almost broke at his retelling. She wished she’d been there to help, but knew that if she had, something far worse might have happened.

“Thank you,” Omera said to the three new faces around the table.

Bo-Katan nodded. “He would do the same for any of us.” Pausing, she took a second to gather her thoughts. Then, she turned to Din specifically, saying, “Trask is a black market port. They’re staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet.”

Bo-Katan glanced at her fellow blue-armored Mandalorians. “We’re seizing those weapons and using them to retake our homeworld. Once we’ve done that, we’ll seat a new Mand’alor on the throne.”

“That planet is cursed.” Din was clearly not all that pleased with Bo-Katan and her plans. “Anyone who goes there dies. Once the Empire knew they couldn’t control it, they made sure no one else could either.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Our enemies wanna separate us. But Mandalorians are stronger together.”

Din focused on the Child beside him. “That’s not part of my plan. I’ve been quested with returning this child to the Jedi.”

Bo-Katan’s brow knitted. “What do you know of the Jedi?”

“Nothing,” Din admitted. “I was hoping you would help me by creed.”

Bo-Katan was silent. She looked at the Child thoughtfully. “I can lead you to one of their kind. But first, we need your help on our mission.” Briefly, Bo-Katan glanced at Omera and Winta. “If you can spare the time.”

“What is your mission?” Omera asked, almost daring her to continue to treat her as if she wasn’t there.

The leader of the group pursed her lips. She lifted her bowl to her mouth to sip. Then, she spoke again, “We can share our plans with the Mandalorian you travel with, but it isn’t a place for you or your child.”

She felt Din stiffen beside her. “She travels with me. Treat her as my equal or I won’t help you.”

Bo-Katan’s jaw clenched, as if she didn’t want to do what he wanted her to. Like she was annoyed that she’d encountered a Mandalorian like Din. Even if she were trying to be courteous and not involve Omera due to the dangers of the mission, it felt like she had judged Omera quickly.

She nodded at each of them, looking between them as she spoke with intention, “Tomorrow morning, there is another Imperial freighter leaving Trask with the weapons I’d mentioned earlier. We get in, take the weapons that belong to us, and get out.”

Din considered Bo-Katan’s mission thoughtfully. “And if I help, you’ll give me what I need.”

Bo-Katan nodded her head once. “Should you earn it, yes.”

“We shouldn’t discuss the details here,” the other female Mandalorian said. “Let’s get eyes on it after we finish.”

Beneath the table, Din settled his hand over her leg as a gentle reminder that they were here, together. He nodded his head to the Mandalorians. “Fine. I’m in.”

Bo-Katan smiled into her bowl slightly. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

With Winta curled up in bed sound asleep, Omera sat at the foot with the Child in her arms, waiting patiently for Din to return. The boy wasn’t sleeping, but seemed content reaching for her hair and babbling incoherently to her all about the hardships of his day.

Omera couldn’t help but smile, looking down at him. She hoped he knew that he was very much part of their family, as unique as it may have been. She lowered her lips to the top of the Child’s head and gave him a gentle kiss.

“Shh,” she whispered, “I think it’s time you went to sleep, little one.”

Din had gone with the other Mandalorians to scout out their mission, a mission she hoped would finally bring Din the answer he searched for. Yet, in the same heartbeat, she almost wished he wouldn’t be able to find a Jedi at all. In such a short period of time, she had grown deeply attached to the boy in her arms.

The door before her slid open and Din entered, quiet and cautious. He paused at the sight of her and his boy, almost like he hadn’t anticipated to see them still awake.

Omera rose to her feet. “How did it go?”

“I’ll meet them in a few hours to prepare,” Din replied. He looked at the Child in her arms when they were close enough. “Today… I couldn’t protect him. I owe Bo-Katan my help after what they did.”

Omera nodded, somber. She offered the Child to him. “Here, maybe you can get him to sleep.”

The Mandalorian reached for the small boy and took him into his arms. With utmost care, he rested a hand over his belly.

“When we were on Tatooine, you sang to him.”

She smiled. “It was a song my mother taught me as a little girl. I sang it to Winta when she was a baby.”

Omera couldn’t help but think about telling him her secret then, especially with their conversation leaving the perfect opening to just say it without needing the right circumstances.

But it still wasn’t right. Telling him then would only distract him during a mission with high stakes.

Maybe, she decided, once they were back onboard the Crest, she could get him alone and say the words she so desperately needed to.

Winta was right. She would only be able to conceal her bump with strategic articles of clothing for a little while longer. And, as much as she wished things were simpler, having a child with a Mandalorian would likely never be easy.

Din sighed deeply. He shook his head. “When I almost lost him today in the water…” He stopped, choking on the last of his words. “If the Jedi take him from me to raise him, they will be right to do so. I can offer him nothing.”

Omera closed her eyes briefly. She knew the inadequacy he felt. She’d experienced it herself plenty of times as a young single mother.

She lifted her hand to touch the Mandalorian’s arm ever so gently.

“You’re his father,” Omera said. “That will never change.”

She watched the Child finally fall asleep, clinging to Din as he did so. The little boy was so small in Din’s arms and he found so much peace there. Would their child feel the same peace? Would they ever have the chance to?

Din had nearly died a few times over the course of their adventures so far. Maybe she was right to want to keep the unborn within her a secret. Why would the Mandalorian want to settle down and raise a child with her, even if it was his own?

“I’m sorry for the way Bo-Katan treated you and Winta.”

Omera shook her head. “I wasn’t offended.”

He sighed heavily. “She thinks I’m part of a cult. On Mandalore, I guess they did things differently. They… take their helmets off.”

She could tell that Bo-Katan and her clan had hit a nerve. Whatever had been said in their meeting on the boat had been enough to spark a conflict within him.

“Do you want to help them?”

“It is the Way to help other Mandalorians.”

Din stepped away from her and approached the bed. He tucked the Child in beside Winta, gently bringing the blankets up toward his chin.

When he came to Omera’s side again, he said in a soft voice, “I… didn’t realize there were Mandalorians who don’t abide by the same rules.”

Omera hummed. She didn’t expect Din to change his understanding of his creed overnight, but part of her felt hopeful that maybe one day, he might be comfortable enough to remove his helmet in front of her.

She could only imagine what he looked like beneath, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. To her, Din Djarin was the man she’d fallen in love with without needing to know what he looked like.

“Maybe being Mandalorian means more than what you wear. It’s your code that makes you Mandalorian,” Omera thought aloud. “Maybe… if you all fight for the same cause, for each other, it doesn’t matter how you appear.”

He stared at her in silence. She wasn’t sure how he felt, but knew that she hadn’t upset him. If she had, his posture would surely indicate as much.

“Do you want to try to sleep tonight? Before you meet with the others?”

He nodded silently. When they laid down side-by-side, Omera turned to face him. He stared after her, even in the darkness.

As he had the night before, he removed his glove from just one hand. With it free, he very hesitantly reached out to touch the side of her face, almost as if he wanted to ask if it was okay. Omera gave him an affirming smile.

Gently, the tips of his bare fingers brushed against her cheek, a tender caress that brought back memories of the night they’d spent together on Sorgan. So rarely had she felt so adored in her entire life.

He brushed her hair behind her ear and then soothed his knuckles with the lightest touch against her cheek.

“Goodnight.” Din spoke in a voice so quiet that she almost couldn’t hear him speak.

Her hand found his and she took it in the space between them, flat against the mattress.

“Goodnight, Din.”

He shifted until he could touch his forehead to hers. Omera closed her eyes at the feeling. It was such a simple action, but she felt a tangible wave of warmth fill her from the very top of her head to the bottoms of her feet.

She wondered if the Mandalorian felt the same.

She hoped he did.

Din didn’t sleep as much as he should have. He spent a long time watching Omera rest, her fingers having fallen away from his but her figure still turned toward him.

Beside her, the Child and Winta were curled up together. He could hear the Child’s sleep sounds, little squeaks and grunts that he always made when he dreamed, and a soft smile settled on Din’s face.

They were all safe and comfortable here: together.

Being together had been the reason for asking Omera to join him.

Now that they were together, walking this path toward a Jedi, he had to consider what was next for them.

He knew that Omera would likely wish to stay together, even if she never admitted it aloud to him. If he stayed with Omera and Winta on Sorgan, would he still be able to be Mandalorian? How would he fulfill his role as a Mandalorian there? Would he remove his armor?

Their conversation before they went to bed echoed in his mind. Was what Omera suggested true? Could he remove his armor in front of others and still be Mandalorian?

The Mandalorians who raised him would have argued that every element of their code together made a Mandalorian. The creed dictated adhering to the code as strictly as possible so that they could develop future generations to be strong.

As Din stared at Omera, sound asleep, only one thing ran through his mind over and over again: he wanted to stay by her side.

Could they be together in the future? Was that even a possibility?

Maybe it was naive, but he wanted to believe it could be.

When it was time for him to get up and meet the clan of Mandalorians, he reluctantly looked away from Omera and sat up. Quietly, he stepped around the bed, moving with determination to the door, but stopped when he caught something moving out of the corner of his vision.

Winta. She sat upright in bed, her head tilted to the side as she rubbed her right eye.

“Din?”

He glanced over at Omera. She hadn’t stirred. Neither had the Child.

Din nodded. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to meet with the other Mandalorians now.”

The young girl had a tight knit in her brow before she suddenly hopped off of the bed and with light feet, came to stand in front of him. Curious, Din studied her. Maybe she was sleepwalking.

“Will you come back?” Winta whispered. She seemed genuinely concerned about him. Probably not sleepwalking.

He sighed to himself and dropped down to one knee so that he could meet her eyes at her level.

“I’ll be back before you even realize I’m gone.”

She nodded, but something still seemed to bother her. She reached out with one hand to touch the side of his helmet, gentle and timid.

“What’s wrong?”

Winta shook her head minutely. He noticed tears in her eyes, something he absolutely hated, and she whispered, “I’m just thinking about Mama.”

He tilted his head to the side, confused. “Is she okay?”

Winta smiled softly at him, a pure reflection of Omera, and lowered her hand from his helmet. She sighed. “She told me that she loved someone and wanted to be a family with them, but… she doesn’t know if they want that too.”

His heart leapt. Immediately, his mind began to whirl in thought. Was Omera in love with him? He’d thought that she could be, but was there someone else? Maybe Winta misunderstood altogether.

Was Omera in love with him?

The thought felt loud in his mind, so loud that he could barely force himself to focus on Winta.

“Why wouldn’t someone want that with you?”

Winta shrugged one shoulder. “She said their heart has to choose. I don’t know if it will happen.”

He frowned, reaching for her hand to squeeze it when her lower lip trembled with oncoming tears.

“Hey, no. Please don’t cry.”

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just…” She sighed heavily. The weight of all of the feelings she carried within overwhelmed her so that her shoulders fell low. “I love Mama and I want her to be happy.”

He smiled. Winta had the same giving heart as her mother.

“She is. She has you.”

Winta wrapped her arms around his neck in one swift movement. He held her with one arm around her middle. Winta’s eagerness to hug him all the time reminded him of the Foundlings from the covert on Nevarro.

“Please come back.”

As if she didn’t want to overextend her welcome, she took a step away from him, her fingers still wiping at her wet cheeks. She managed to smile at him through it and squared her shoulders, putting on a brave face even if she continued to sniffle.

“Don’t worry about me, Winta,” he said. “I’ll be back by midday. You can tell your mom that we should meet at the Razor Crest then.”

Having a plan in mind seemed to calm the girl. She nodded her head. “Okay.”

Din was hesitant to leave, but he knew Bo-Katan and her clan would be waiting for him. He was running late as it was. He stood to his feet and gestured to the bed.

“Go back to sleep.”

Winta scrambled back to the bed, careful as she climbed back in beside the Child and Omera. He waited for the blankets to be up to her chin before he left the room.

When Omera awoke, Din was nowhere to be found. The sun had come up, so she decided that she would prepare the children to return to the Razor Crest.

Winta nudged Omera’s arm when she sat upright. The girl sat beside her in the bed, bright-eyed and rested.

“Din left a few hours ago.”

Her daughter cradled the Child in her arms. The boy babbled while he played with Winta’s favorite stuffed toy. Omera had given it to her as a newborn. She’d made it herself.

“He told me to tell you that we should meet him at the Razor Crest by midday.”

Omera smiled at Winta and ran her fingers through the young girl’s hair. “Then I suppose we should get something to eat and get ready to be back on our way.”

It was bittersweet having to leave the inn on Trask. While it had been a comfortable, safe place to lay their heads, Trask itself left much to be desired. It was certainly not a place she would have felt confident letting Winta off on her own.

“What do you think I can bring home from this place?” Winta asked. “I have my rock from Tatooine. What can fit in my bag from Trask?”

Omera looked over at her daughter, who now sat on the edge of the bed with the Child doing the same at her side. Meanwhile, she busied herself with making sure their bags were packed.

“We could…” Omera paused, thoughtful. “Maybe we could get you a shell from the beach.”

Winta’s eyes lit up at the idea. “Yes!”

The Child giggled when Winta bounced eagerly on the bed, careful with her hand held over his belly to keep him from falling over.

“It’s almost time to leave,” Omera told Winta, “and when we do, we’ll see what we can find.”

With both of the children and their bags ready to go, Omera held the Child on her hip while hanging on to Winta’s hand. They walked the docks cautiously and Omera kept an eye out for the Mandalorian.

Once they found a beach, Omera allowed Winta to wander, but only just a little. She pressed a palm against the Child's belly and kept her focus on her daughter as she searched for the perfect shell.

Very soon, this would be a reality in her life: Winta wandering off while she held a baby on her hip. It felt oddly natural, being a mother over two at once.

Breaking her from her thoughts was the sound of a jetpack. A familiar Mandalorian flew just overhead and landed on the beach beside them.

“You’re back!” Winta exclaimed.

She rushed toward Din with a hug already locked and loaded. She tackled him with her arms around his waist and he stumbled at the impact, laughing breathlessly.

“I said I would be.”

Winta smiled warmly up at him. “I’m just really glad you are.”

Din sighed, still catching his breath from all of the activity. He looked up at Omera. “She told me the name of the Jedi and where to find them.”

Her heart jumped and her eyes widened slightly. “That’s good. You were able to finish the mission.” Omera smiled down at the baby in her arms and stroked her thumb against his fingers that gripped hers. “You’ll be with your kind soon, little one.”

As the words fell from her lips, Omera’s heart ached. She knew it was right to bring the Child to his kind, and it was what Din’s quest required of him, but she didn’t have to like the idea.

“We should get back to the ship,” Din said, pulling her attention away from the Child. “I have a feeling the credits I spent trying to get it fixed were wasted.”

They certainly were. The ship was now covered in netting and fishing gear, all of it trying a little too hard to keep the fragile ship together.

Din sighed deeply as he sat in the pilot’s seat. “Mon Calamari.”

Omera settled in beside him, still hanging onto the Child, and Winta giddily jumped into the third chair.

“Well, based on the looks of things, we aren’t getting all the way to Corvus in this shape.” Din turned to look at her. “How would you feel if we took a trip to Nevarro? Got some friends there who might cut me a deal on the repairs.”

Omera shrugged her shoulders. She gazed down at the Child in her lap. The boy peered up at her with his big eyes and her heart clenched. They’d get the opportunity to spend just a few more days together.

“What do you think, little one? Do you want to visit Nevarro?”

The Child offered her a lopsided grin, but otherwise made no efforts at communication. She soothed her thumb against one of his fingers.

When Omera returned her focus to the Mandalorian, she nodded her head. “Extending our trip just a little wouldn’t hurt.”

Wordlessly, the Mandalorian nodded back at her. He spun around and began to prepare the ship for takeoff.

In her lap, the Child squirmed and she allowed him to move freely. He turned just enough to face her and one of his hands extended over her belly. Omera felt herself freeze in surprise. Did he know?

From within her, she felt the unborn stir. Just a soft little flutter, one barely noticeable. Taking the Child’s hand away from where he’d extended it, she fought the tears in her eyes.

The Child stared up at her, almost as if he was trying to tell her something. He did know.

Without another moment passing them by, as the Razor Crest began its climb back up into space, the Child snuggled against Omera again. She held onto him and accepted the gentle feeling of his hand settled against hers with a soft smile.

She casted a longing gaze after the Mandalorian.

She'd felt so conflicted since he came for her on Sorgan. While she wanted them to be together, and wanted to tell him about their child, she felt fear every time she considered it. She didn't want him to lose focus on what mattered the most. She wanted him to feel confident walking his path with the Child, knowing that she had his back through it all. If a future together would come of this time, she wouldn't decline it, but she worried, especially after meeting Bo-Katan, that perhaps there were even more important paths yet to come for Din.

Should she protect him from learning about the truth so that he could face those challenges freely?

When Din turned around again, he gave the Child his attention. “Well, what do you think, kid? You want to try fixing some wiring for me?”

The Child quirked his head to the side, cooing curiously.

“There’s a panel…” Din tilted his head toward where it was in the cockpit. “Pretty sure we can hot-wire a fix. You know your colors, right?”

Again, the Child made a curious noise.

Omera offered the young boy to his father, who took him into his arms and held him there. He stared at the boy with an affection that filled the very air of the cockpit.

The Child reached out for Din’s helmet and touched the armor covering his cheek. The Mandalorian chuckled softly in response. “Hey, pal.”

The ache inside of her chest tightened. Doubting his capacity for the truth was a mistake. Din deserved to know her secret. Now if only she could find the right words.

#mandomera #the mandalorian #din x omera #my writing #the edge of hope #so many scenes in this one i ADORE #GAH

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moonlightchildz · 4 years ago

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Knocking on heaven’s door

warning: spoilers for season one of aot!!!

credit: tiktok - @ bogm.cax

so this is my take in season 1, after mikasa finds out eren is dead. i saw this beautiful edit of it and was deeply inspired and this is what flowed out. now to endure more pain for season 4 :(

also listen to can’t handle change - roar (slowed)

the day death catches up to eren jaeger, is the day mikasa ackerman starts knocking on heaven’s door.

At first, she doesn’t realize this feeling at first. This gnawing feeling of hysteria and desperation slipping off her fingertips. All she knows is that eren, her eren, is no longer breathing anymore. Time seems to have slowed down to the point where she could only watch Armin deliver the blowing news. She counted just how many times he tried to form a coherent sentence as his eyes welled up in tears. His sobs were heart wrenching to watch but to feel?

She couldn’t feel anything anymore.

Eren...is gone.

Those cerulean eyes that she loves so dearly won’t be brimming with such defiance and fervor to keep on fighting no matter what anymore. Correction, loved. She doesn’t feel it as tears threaten to spill down her cheeks, or even as her burning throat clogs up to the point she keeps swallowing back her pleads of ignoring the truth.

she doesn’t dare to acknowledge it, not even when her chest heaves drastically and she’s gasping to breathe. not even as her trembling fingers struggle to grasp her sword, or as her knees buckle beneath her to the point she can no longer stand still. her shaking hands tug at her hair as words, cries, or something trapped inside of her tries to desperately rip out of her.

all she can think is just how much it hurts to breathe at the moment. her mind is telling her to slow down, but her heart is racing against time, trying to beat past it so she won’t have to deal with a world without eren jaeger. but it hurts so fucking much. It hurts to still be alive and be incapable of rewinding time to just hear his voice one last time. To say everything she had kept inside her silenced body. To reach out to his fingers and grasp his hand, and never let go.

to demonstrate just how much love she was capable of giving to the boy with the world within his eyes. the boy who saved her when she lifelessly stared at death with no hope to her name. he had given her the will to fight so now what can she do? what’s there to do? carla first, and now eren too. a small whimper emits from her quivering lips, her chest tightening as she recalls what carla had asked her to do. to protect eren no matter what and look at where she is now.

she’s alive physically, that she can say with utmost confidence. the numbing in her brain says otherwise though. it’s already starting to shut her down and she’s thinking why? just why?

“WHY?” she roars out in desperation, slamming her fist into the brick wall. tears are clogging her throat and she swears she can’t feel her hand slam full fist repeatedly against the wall. as if she’s trying to convince herself if she’s human right now. blood splatters on her clothes and she curls her fingers into her palm, digging her nails until she’s blinking rapidly.

She has charged to her death. Sending everyone to their pending doom and now she’s cornered, lost, and not able to comprehend just how everything had turned to shit in an instant. There’s blood in her hands and she’s lifelessly staring at what’s in front of her, thinking about a few moments ago. After all, she was just listening to sasha enthusiastically blabber on about sharing the meat she had stolen with everyone, claiming that they’ll be more once they step foot outside the walls. Spirits had been lifted automatically and it was all smiles and laughter.

And then, and then, they dared turn right into death’s door. she swore it was just her imagination, but the moment eren charged forward she knew it wasn’t. she watched as eren threw himself forward, leaving everyone in mere horror and shock as they faced what seemed to be the colossal titan. her heart had lurched forward, clawing at her, as it mocked them right in their own home again.

she didn’t even have time to process it all as her dark gaze spots the titan heading her way now. great, is this is where I die now? watching the enemy advance it’s way towards me and I just stare at it?

she’s all burnt out.

is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Devoting and losing yourself entirely for the purpose of love? Of giving yourself fully to someone who took everything in its wake and is now dead? a sob emits from her quivering lips. all she can remember is the way eren so gently had wrapped the red scarf around her neck. those ocean blue eyes had promised to keep her safe, to keep coming back to wrap the scarf around her neck as many times because he would fight until the ends of the earth.

If she had known she would be last seeing his smile, she would have done everything in her to prevent just that. she would have stood in front of him and armin, to devote herself to the people she loved the most in the world. because those two souls had kept her steady from floating away into the depths of hell that were awaiting for her. she remembers their faces, how these two would animatedly talk to each other for hours and she would be content in just listening to them.

in those moments she had felt so alive.

“if we don’t fight, we can’t win, mikasa.”

but despite as her gaze landed at death itself, the love within her that he had ingrained into her managed to be restored enough to wince once she clenched her remaining sword. blood dripped on the ground, following her as she straightened her back. all she could see was eren telling her to stop being a pussy and to do something about it. even if she died, she would not stand to go without fighting for the people that she has lost and will keep losing.

her duty as a soldier, as a friend, and as family was to restore their memories before she soon joined them.

Fight.

fight, mikasa.

FIGHT.

Give it your all and it will be enough.

And as she launched forward, roaring in defiance, something from behind her sends her flying from the impact. The concrete she lands on causes her to sprawl uncomfortably, her head banging against it to the point she seems to be imagining the following events.

“fuck,” she groaned out, trying to blink away the dark spots that had clouded her vision. her steady hands were trying to find her sword, or anything really at this point. she grasps it, starts getting on her knees with all her might, and then life itself blooms within her.

A large foot slams against the concrete, splitting it in half as she watches in astoundment. Her wide eyes glimmer as her quivering lips remain opened. Is that...a titan? There’s a loud roar echoing of it and she can feel the intense pain and vile hatred radiating from it as it pounds on to the incoming titan that was about to end her life right there. Glowing electric green eyes stare her down and all she can do is stare back with a dumbstruck expression.

why...why wasn’t it going towards her? and why did it ignore her? but more importantly just why in the fuck was it fighting back? She watched as it angrily stomped on their face over and over and over again, blood splattering everywhere. It’s running towards another one and she swears she doesn’t feel a pair of hands grab her, shaking her out of her trance. why was it pulling her towards that thing? why couldn’t she keep her eyes off it? The resilience within her flares up like a flame, spreading throughout her body and engulfing her to the point she feels fire within her fingertips.

she’s burning once again.

The next form of events blur by but she’s fighting now. She’s fighting for her freedom, for her life, for everyone, and for the boy she will have to bid goodbye to once this was all over. However, she wonders if she could just follow alongside. If her time could come and she’d be happy to let go and stop breathing. her heart and mind are set in dying. she knew this life was not promised. that it wasn’t going to be always and forever, but beside him? life had felt eternal, endless, and full of promise.

However she’s keen on watching the abnormal titan fight against each titan coming their way. She’s acting on impulse at some point, trying to prove to herself that she wasn’t going crazy because she felt as if there was someone controlling that thing. there’s no way the hatred it spilled of it could be mindless.

And then, and then, she notices something strange. there’s something ripping out of the back of its nape. is that a figure? her body reacts before her mind can recollect her thoughts because she knows that silhouette anywhere. her finger could trace every inch and curve without a doubt and she’d pinpoint those eyes anywhere. those ocean blue eyes that open briefly, but that is more than enough for her to act on her own will.

she’s there in time to catch him in her arms as he is being ejected from the nape of the titan that she watched save her from death. she’s there to wrap her arms around him, and feel his heart beat against his chest. and then she feels the tears spill down her cheeks, her blurry eyesight hindering the military armed men who are all pointing their weapons at the two, no three of them. tears are covering eren’s face but they’re not his and armin is there to prove that she’s not dreaming anything.

in that moment mikasa notices two things. one, is that not everything is as it seems and two, even if they were all born to die these two heartbeats, these two souls, would become one to fight and bite back against knocking on heaven’s door now. she figured she was meant to die, but not by the hands of her own people. no, she was going to die when she decides that herself. when she believes it’s suitable enough to leave this world with her memories of eren jaeger, armin alert, and mikasa ackerman.

but as her and armin acknowledge each other with eren in her arms, she knows it’s not time yet.

That’s how it had started and that’s how it would end.

#aot #eren headcanons #eren x mikasa #attack on titan #aot final season #aot anime #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #angst #aot angst #aot headcanons #aot imagines #eren mikasa armin #snk #snk fandom #snk manga #snk fanfiction #mikasa headcanons

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scintillating-galaxias · 4 years ago

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simpatico week day 2 - time travel

because we all need a little brainstorm whump in our lives :,) @simpaticoweek

read it here on ao3!

Perceptor wasn’t sure what prompted him to sit with Brainstorm. Hell, he wasn’t sure what prompted him to enter Swerve’s in the first place. Perhaps he’d had enough of the solitude the lab provided. That must be it. His processor needed stimulation, and a loud, busy environment was an obvious solution. Only, he hadn’t expected it to lead to him sitting down across from a morose looking Brainstorm and awkwardly making stilted attempts at conversations.

He said, ‘attempts.’ In reality, he hadn’t tried, too concerned about saying the wrong thing. Brainstorm has been giving him weird looks since he’d sat down with his drink and sipped at it in complete silence, but he hadn’t gotten up and left yet. So... perhaps that was a good sign. Or maybe Brainstorm felt obligated to stay here since Perceptor had sat down. He couldn’t be sure. Social cues didn’t come naturally to him.

Finally, Brainstorm let out a heavy vent, took off his blast mask, and sighed, “What do you want, Perceptor.”

Perceptor tensed. “You looked like you needed some company,” he said stiffly. This was true enough. Everyone kept a wide berth from Brainstorm these days as if his EM field could emit the same poison he’d used on them all those weeks ago. Even now, the nearby tables surrounding where Brainstorm and Perceptor were noticeably empty.

But if Brainstorm was aware of this, he did not seem all that bothered by it. In fact, he didn’t seem aware Perceptor had said anything at all. His optics were unfocused, glazing off to stare at something to the right of Perceptor’s shoulder. Perceptor followed his gaze. Unsurprisingly, it led to where Chromedome and Rewind were curled around each other in a booth. Their drinks were untouched, each of them content to drink in the sight of the other instead.

“You’re thinking about Rewind,” Perceptor quietly guessed.

“Ding, ding, ding,” Brainstorm said. His voice was flat, lifeless without his usual chirpy enthusiasm. “We have a winner.”

Perceptor spent a second too long trying to formulate a response. A brittle smile spread across Brainstorm’s face. “It’s fine,” he said. “You don’t have to pretend to care. You didn’t before, and I don’t know why you’re bothering now.”

Perceptor shuttered his optic. “I’m not pretending,” he said, faintly hurt, but he knew his hurt was unwarranted; he understood the doubtful reaction and couldn’t blame Brainstorm for having it. It wasn’t as though they’d had many positive interactions in the past to say otherwise.

“Hm.” Brainstorm’s mouth twisted in a way that told Perceptor he didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t willing to pursue the topic. “Sure.”

Perceptor resisted fidgeting with his monocle in the awkward wake of silence that followed. Instead, he tentatively asked, “May I ask what it is about Rewind you’re thinking about?”

Brainstorm shot him an unamused look that positively screamed, Seriously? Perceptor’s frame heated up a bit; he’s never been a fantastic conversationalist, but he refused to let it be for lack of trying. So he tilted his helm with a slight flush to his face and waited until Brainstorm sighed and fell back against his seat, helm tipping up to stare listlessly at the ceiling. “What everyone else is thinking about,” he said dully. “The fact that he’s back. His second life. And just… Hah. What’re the chances of that?”

“Almost incalculably small,” Perceptor said quietly. “It’s really quite the marvel.” Brainstorm’s optics dimmed. Perceptor wanted to smack himself. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to aggravate you. I thought I should ask because you seemed upset, is all.”

“I am,” Brainstorm said simply. Perceptor blinked; he’d been expecting another non-answer. But Brainstorm, evidently mistaking his surprise to be towards something else, grimaced. “Well, no. I’m not upset about Rewind coming back. God, no, I’m—I’m glad he’s alive, and I’m glad that Chromedome got a good twist to his story for once. Mech’s had a sad life.” Perceptor did not know much about Chromedome’s past aside from his work with Prowl, so he merely nodded. Brainstorm made a frustrated sound. “This is making me look like a complete aft. Why are you even asking? You don’t care.”

Perceptor’s scope dipped thoughtfully. After a moment, he finally said, “That’s not necessarily true. You are hurting. It’s only right someone should at least ask how you’re doing.”

Brainstorm gave him a long, considering look. Like he was searching for something—No, testing Perceptor for something. Perceptor remained silent, patiently waiting as the orange light of Brainstorm’s optics washed over him.

He seemed to find whatever answer he was looking for, because finally, he warily asked, “You want the short answer or the long answer?”

“Whichever suits you best.”

“Short it is. How am I doing? Fragging terrible. Thanks for asking.” Brainstorm flapped his servo at him. “You can go now.”

Perceptor hummed, but he did not move. “That is to be expected. But I’m afraid I do not know what exactly this has to do with Rewind.”

Rewind’s lively, bright bout of laughter cut across the bar chatter as Chromedome murmured something in his audial. Brainstorm fixed Perceptor with a piercing stare.

“Have you ever loved someone to the point of invention, Perceptor?” he suddenly asked, deadly serious.

Perceptor shook his helm. “No.”

Oh, he loved to invent. That certainly couldn’t be denied. But that wasn’t what Brainstorm asked. He’d asked if Perceptor had created something that had never before existed in the whole grand vastness of the universe, all in the name of love, and for that, Perceptor could not say he had.

“Mm. I don’t blame you.” His wings drooped even further, making him look impossibly small as he fixed his gaze on some unseeable spot on the table. “Did I ever tell you about why I made that briefcase?”

Again, Perceptor said, “No.”

Brainstorm’s face smoothed over into a pensive wistfulness. “All I ever wanted was for Quark to be safe. I loved him, you know. I loved him with everything I had, and I gave everything I had to get that silly old sod back. I was ready to erase the entire concept of my existence so he—and everyone else, I guess, but it started with him—could live. I invented a way, possibly the only way, to inconsequentially time-travel so he could live. Well,” he said, shooting Perceptor a faintly amused glance, “it would’ve been inconsequential.”

“Your work is incredible,” Perceptor blurted. “The designs behind your briefcases are nothing short of ingenious, as are your proofs for the paradox locks, and—” He stopped when he noticed Brainstorm raising an optical ridge at him. This time, Perceptor really did flush shamefully. “I—I apologize. I don’t know what came over me. That was highly inappropriate. Please. Continue.”

Brainstorm gave him a careful look. Then, he chuckled bitterly. “It was incredible,” he corrected. “You and Rodimus destroyed all of it.”

Perceptor cringed. “I… yes, I suppose that is deserved. If it means anything to you, I didn’t particularly want to do it.”

That, at the very least, he could say was true. He couldn’t stand destroying Brainstorm’s beautiful feats of engineering. It’d almost physically hurt, watching the dying sparks the electronics in the briefcases coughed up as the flame fused the lot of it into a twisted, blackened mess. They weren’t just extraordinary pieces of technology he’d destroyed; they were answers to questions he’d had for millennia. They were the definition of a new future of possibilities. And now they were gone.

Guilt twisted around Perceptor’s spark like a tangled net free-floating in an ocean, suffocating and cutting. He should’ve at least tried to argue that it was in their best interest to spare one of them for the sake of science. Rodimus could be reasoned with when it came to these kinds of things. Instead, he’d stood by and watched it all burn, compliant to the end.

“We could build them again,” said Perceptor.

“They wouldn’t like that,” said Brainstorm.

“I know.”

“So why do it? There’s no point in you of all mechs going down with me.”

Perceptor didn’t know.

Brainstorm sighed. “It doesn’t really matter. The point is, it wasn’t enough. I don’t think there ever could have been ‘enough.’ It was bound to happen anyway.” He tipped his helm towards Chromedome and Rewind with age-old yearning burning away at his smile. “I made up a whole new rulebook for the universe to abide by, and it wasn’t enough to get him back. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. I gave Quark everything I had to offer. And now? I’ve got nothing. I’m not allowed in my own lab. Nautica hates me. No one trusts me, and I can’t blame them. My life’s work is a pile of melted circuits. Quark’s still gone, and it was Chromedome who got his conjunx back from the dead.” Brainstorm’s laugh was this horrible, weak little thing that tugged at Perceptor’s spark. “I sometimes wish I’d been left in the past. At least I had something worth living for there.”

Perceptor once believed he knew failure. It’d taken more from him than he thought possible. His friends, his home, his faith. But he’d never seen it take everything but life from someone, scraping out every last thing they had inside them until they were a hollow, bleeding vessel for defeat.

He looked at Brainstorm. Really looked at him. There was something tired worn into his frame, an exhaustion that ran so deep, there was no other way Brainstorm could be perceived. Gone was the puff-chested, bravado-filled Brainstorm Perceptor had somehow managed to convince himself into believing to be callous, distant, and cowardly. He couldn’t believe it to be the same Brainstorm before him. This one, who was once filled with so much devotion and passion, it hurt him to hold it all.

Never, in all of his functioning, had Perceptor been so wholly wrong.

“I’m sorry,” said Perceptor.

“It’s not like it’s your fault,” said Brainstorm.

“No,” said Perceptor. He reached out and grasped Brainstorm’s servo with his own, squeezing it tight. “I’m simply… sorry.”

Brainstorm stared at their linked servos. Then, tentatively, hesitantly, like he’s afraid he’d lose this too, he squeezed back.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Me, too.”

#simpaticoweek2020 #simpatico #tf #mtmte #whump #my writing #maccadam #timelines? i dont know her

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lokimostly · 5 years ago

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Polaris (Ch.12/?)

Loki x Reader, Pirate!AU Word Count: 3,231 Warnings: none ♡ Summary: Your life has always been set in stone. Born to a wealthy merchant family in the Caribbean, you’ve spent your years as an heiress in the daytime, escaping at night to wander the streets of St. Thomas. Now, on the eve before your life settles into mundanity for good, you discover someone who could change everything– if you choose to trust him, that is.

A/N: I’M BACK EVERYBODY -- thank you all for enduring that incredibly long hiatus. I am now working only one job instead of three and am relatively stress-free. Endless hugs and kisses to everyone who sent sweet messages and comments while I was MIA! ♡

Chapter One ~ Chapter Two ~ Chapter Three ~ Chapter Four ~ Chapter Five ~ Chapter Six ~ Chapter Seven ~ Chapter Eight ~ Chapter Nine ~ Chapter Ten ~ Chapter Eleven ~ Chapter Thirteen ~ Chapter Fourteen

“I don’t like this idea,” you said, standing knee-deep in shallow water with the fabric of your chemise bunched in your fists.

As far as the weather was concerned, your second day on the island was even lovelier than the last: clear blue skies with sparse clouds, a warm wind, and still water. However, this wasn’t a comfort to you– Loki insisted on teaching you to swim as soon as the sun was high. Considering the small size of your island, it wasn’t as though you could hide from him. The water was a pleasant relief from the sun, but you weren’t about to admit that as you stood knee-deep, staring at the ripples with apprehension.

Loki uncrossed his arms and sighed, taking your hands without asking and stepping backwards. Your face burned at the physical contact. The cold waves raised goosebumps on your skin as Loki led you deeper, each step putting you further into the mercy and good graces of the ocean. Your body tensed.

Your anxiety didn’t escape him, and he sighed, stopping once the water reached your waist. “We’ll start here.” Loki moved to let go of your hands and you let out a small queak of terror, latching onto his forearms for dear life. He half-scoffed, half-laughed, looking down at you in amusement. “Stop trembling. You won’t drown.”

“Oh, you underestimate me,” you rebutted stubbornly, refusing to loosen your grip. You could see your feet beneath you, toes dug into the sand, distorted in the water’s reflection.

Loki sighed again, more out of annoyance this time, and moved around you while your eyes were lowered. His arm slipped from your grasp and replaced itself at your waist too quickly for you to realize its absence, and then he was standing behind you, your back to his chest. You could feel the warmth of his bare skin through the thin fabric of your chemise, and your face flushed. “What are you–”

“I have you,” he reassured you. “You have to trust me.”

You considered this as the waves pushed your body gently back and forth, held fast by Loki’s arms around your waist. You had no reason to believe that he wouldn’t keep you safe. Slowly, reluctantly, you surrendered, dropping your shoulders and letting out a tight breath of air. “Alright.”

He hummed, and you felt it against your back. “You have to float before you can swim,” he explained. “I’m going to lay you out on your back; your only task is to keep breathing.” His voice was less hoarse than yesterday, but still held a pleasantly graveling quality, like he’d just woken up. You tried not to think about it, and focus instead on the actual words coming out of his mouth: “Is that simple enough for you?”

You nodded. Loki started to lift you up – your hands went automatically to his arms around your waist – but at his reproachful gaze you let go and let him continue. Loki lifted you up with one arm, scooping you up beneath your knees with the other, holding you like a bride against his chest. The water was at your shoulders, but being held firmly within his grasp kept you calm, and you linked one arm around his shoulder, letting the other float in the water.

“What now?” You ventured, looking up at his face and silently noting the sharp edge of his jaw, and the way his dark eyelashes caught in the sun.

He sighed, looking down at you, his dark hair falling over his shoulder in gentle waves. “Now, we see whether or not you trust me as much as you claim to, little one.”

It was an arduous process. Loki tolerated your panic, showing endless patience at every turn. He repeated his instructions as many times as you needed to hear them, his voice low and calming. If your stubbornness and unnecessary fretting frustrated him, it didn’t show; if anything, he seemed to almost be enjoying himself. You weren’t sure if it was sadism, or perhaps the possibility that he actually liked your company. For the sake of your sanity, you weren’t going to entertain the idea of the latter.

By the time the sun reached midday, shining golden against the robin’s egg sky, you could float with only your hand linked to Loki’s. Your eyes were squinted against the bright light, focused on breathing evenly, reminding yourself now and again to ignore the rise of anxiety in your throat that came whenever a large wave moved beneath you.

“You can come up,” Loki said finally. You surged upwards and clung to him gratefully, looping your arms around his neck and eliciting a chuckle from his lips. Loki’s hands moved to grip your thighs, holding your legs around his waist. Your face burned, and you hid it by turning away from him. The sunlight sparkled on the waves.

“Well, all we can do now is practice,” he sighed, speaking to you as he looked out at the horizon. “Kicking your legs, moving your arms. The water here is calm.”

“Haven’t I done enough today?” You complained, resting your cheek on his shoulder. His skin was warm from the sun. Loki hummed noncommittally, and then stepped further out into the water.

Your grip tightened and you pulled away from his shoulder in alarm, looking him in the face. “Loki, wait. Loki. What are you doing?”

“Only a few steps,” He assured you, raising one eyebrow. The waves were up to your chest now. “Easier to swim out here.”

“I’m not letting go.”

Loki’s sea-green eyes narrowed, and he stopped, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs and making you shiver. You watched the gears of his mind turn like a timepiece, elegant and complicated. Finally, he sighed. “Will you at least loosen your grip?”

You unlocked your hands from behind his neck guiltily. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Before you could finish your apology, Loki’s hands were gone from you, and he dropped you without a word of warning. Your gasp of horror meant a mouthful of saltwater, and you surged upwards, gasping and coughing when you resurfaced.

“You – You snake!” You spluttered, splashing him with water. “I despise you, I loathe your guts–” You stopped suddenly, before realizing two things: first, that Loki was laughing, and second, you were treading water entirely on your own.

Your sudden pause only made him laugh more: the same clear, ringing laughter that you’d first heard in the bar at St. Thomas. His wolfish smirk and clear vindication, as infuriating as it was, made it impossible for you not to smile, and you felt your heart soften a little inside your ribs.

Loki reached out and took your hand, reeling you back to him. He held you against him with his fingers splayed across the small of your back, the other hand tucked beneath your knee, and his expression turned slightly more humble. “I am sincerely sorry,” He apologized, smirking in a way that made your chest tighten. “But I have a feeling that you’ll forgive me for my trespasses.”

Your thoughts turned to his hands, and to your legs linked snugly around his waist, and your face flushed. “Well, one of us has to be civilized,” you mumbled, twisting your hair over your shoulder and separating the strands. Anything to avoid looking at his handsome face, to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his raven curls and kissing him senseless.

Stupid, you thought. As if I know how to kiss.

Loki watched your expression shift slightly as the silence stretched on. His brows pulled together. Your thoughts were a mystery to him, even when you were held close in his arms and warm beneath his touch. Perhaps he had gone too far.

He inhaled quickly, raising his eyebrows. “Well,” he said, breaking the silence. “To be fair, we are no longer in civilization. Our island, our rules.”

You hummed, the corner of your mouth turning up in amusement. “You’re not going to put a sword to my neck and demand my forgiveness?”

He scoffed and shook his head, smirking lightly. “No,” he said, reaching up and raking his long fingers through his hair. “I’d rather earn it.”

Your stomach flipped. For a moment you were lost for words. “How do you plan on doing that?” You asked, once you found your tongue.

He grinned. “Oh, I have no doubt you’ll think of something.”

Pieces of splintered wood began to appear on the shore the next morning.

Neither of you commented on the likely possibility that what washed ashore could very well be pieces of your ship. You and Loki put to use what you could, and burned what you could not; firewood, as it turned out, was difficult to find on an island where both kindling and shade were valuable commodities. Your little hideaway beneath the rocky overhang now had planked walls to block the wind, and offer you an illusion of privacy, which was rather ironic; the two of you were alone on the island. There was no one to shield yourselves from but each other.

And so the two of you developed a routine. You woke up to sunlight coming through the cracks of the wooden planks, went out and had breakfast and swam in the shallows. Loki usually went with you, either to catch more fish with one of the nets that washed ashore or simply to survey your progress. You never went past where your feet couldn’t touch – not unless he was out with you, offering himself as something to cling to when you exhausted yourself. You got used to the feeling of his hands around your waist, holding you secure amidst the waves. The afternoon was usually too hot to stay in the sun for long, so you spent it exploring the island. There was a waterfall, you discovered, barely a stream, but it meant both your lives; you and Loki couldn’t survive on fish and wild fruit alone. You cooked food in the evenings, storing any extra dried fish in the barrels inside the hideaway. The nights came with fireside talk, until you returned to your shelter to sleep. Rinse, and repeat.

You lost track of the days, but after all, they didn’t really matter. The only thing that changed was the potency of your feelings. The more time you spent with Loki, the more ardently your feelings of attraction pressed against your stomach and made you feel nauseous whenever they surfaced. The pirate you met in the tavern who was devilishly handsome and vicious in his teasing seemed a little more subdued out here, more tangible. Everything about him kept you grounded. Being on a desert island, when you were with a man like him, wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

This morning, there was no sun coming through the cracks in the wood – it was too early for that. You blinked slowly, shifting on the makeshift bed of burlap and fabric, turning your head. To your surprise, Loki was still beside you, turned away as his chest rose and fell. His raven curls were splayed out, arm tucked beneath his head. You sat up and studied him in silence, pushing your hair away from your face. You were used to waking up in the hideaway alone. For a moment you entertained the idea of lying back down and sidling up to him, running your fingers through the hair that you knew to be silky smooth and drinking in the smell of leather rose that was always on his skin. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered violently.

You couldn’t bear to be so close to him. It was driving you mad.

You stood up, picking up one of the cotton shirts and pulling it on over your chemise. You took one final look at Loki’s sleeping figure, pressed your lips together, and ducked beneath the burlap flap that hung from the doorway.

Once you stepped outside, you realized that it wasn’t as early as you’d previously thought: the sky was merely overshadowed by dark, billowing clouds running fast across the sky. Warm wind whipped through the trees, pushing your clothes against your legs and tangling your hair into loose knots. The air smelled like rain.

If it was going to storm, you might as well spend some time outside while you could.

You made your way through the palms, walking through the undergrowth and taking care not to step on any rocks. The trees gradually receded as you climbed higher, until you broke through the vegetation and came to the top of the hill that overlooked the island.

It was quite a sight. The world was open all around you, the entire horizon visible in one dark, unbreaking line. The sea was black all around you, not quite storming yet, but it would be. The clouds were low and cauliflower-topped, their edges glowing russet gold as low thunder reverberated in your chest. You held your hair back and sighed against the warm wind. Standing on firm ground, the weather didn’t frighten you as much as it did before. You were merely a bystander in its wake.

Suddenly lightning split the sky above you and thunder clapped all at once, causing you to shriek and fall to the ground. Fat drops of rain hit your head, coming down in ones, two’s, three’s, and then all at once. Before you knew it, you were drenched. You stumbled to your feet, blinking the water out of your eyes and quickly descending the hill. More lightning flashed just as you ducked beneath the trees. You covered your ears, but it didn’t dull the noise, and your heart rattled inside your ribcage as you flew towards home.

Okay – maybe you were still frightened.

Back in your hideaway, the sudden rumble of thunder jolted Loki from sleep. He exhaled and turned over with a grunt, reaching out to hold you; the storm on the ship had frightened you, and there was a chance this one did, too. But only burlap fabric met his touch. Loki’s eyes snapped open. He sat up, and looked around your hideaway: stacks of driftwood against the wall, barrels, fabric and clothes – but no sign of you.

He called your name, but you didn’t answer. The rain started to pour, coming down against the earth like a drum. Wind spun the sheet that covered the doorway, and wind blew against his back. Loki’s blood ran cold. Panic rose in his throat, making it hard to breathe. Where were you?

The wind turned cold and your clothes stuck to your skin as more rain came down through the palms. You skidded against the grass as you turned a corner, praying that you had turned the right way. The clouds made everything feel like dusk: hard to see, and growing darker fast. The palm trees creaked and groaned as the wind bent them back and forth, and you ran, fearing that one might crack and fall. This was the right way, wasn’t it? You stopped, turned around, and tried to regain your sense of direction. All the trees looked the same. The island wasn’t that big; how could you possibly be lost?

A huge clap of thunder jolted you violently from your thoughts and you shrieked, picking a direction and running. You ducked below the branches and leapt over outcroppings of stone, so fast that you felt like your legs might be swept out from underneath you, until suddenly the line of trees broke and you were on the beach. Frothing waves crashed against the sand in thunderous noise as the warm rain pelted your skin, and you stood there catching your breath as the dark clouds flashed. You weren’t far from the shelter now.

You took a breath and started again. The sand was wet and pulled at your feet, slowing your pace until you finally hit grass again and followed the well-trodden path back to your hideaway.

You spotted the planks and slowed, skidding on the grass and ducking under the flap. You immediately collided with the wall of Loki’s chest and yelped at the same time he did, losing your balance.

Loki caught your arms to keep you from falling and then moved you aside none-too-gently, ignoring you for the moment. He lifted one of the spare planks from its place against the stone wall and used it to block the doorway, where the burlap sheet was flapping madly in the wind. The spray of rainwater loose dirt blowing in stopped, hitting the wood instead and muting the noise outside.

You were shivering violently, dripping water onto the cool stone floor and grimacing as you tried to pull off your cotton shirt. Loki turned and pulled your hands roughly away, his gaze set in steel as he peeled your shirt off himself.

“What were you thinking?? Are you mad?!” He demanded, helping get your arms out.

You immediately clutched your chest once it was off. “I don’t know!” You said, your teeth chattering. You watched him turn away from you, looking for something dry for you to wear. “You were asleep, I didn’t–”

“I was about to go look for you, do you know how dangerous it is to go out alone in weather like this?!”

You felt anger flare up in your chest as you stood there. “I’m not stupid!!”

“No?” He challenged, looking around and finding nothing suitable. So he reached up, pulling off his black shirt, and holding it out to you with a flat expression. “You could have fooled me.”

“I wasn’t swimming,” you explained, taking his shirt, which was still warm from his skin. “I went out for a walk, and the storm came out of nowhere–”

Your excuses clearly weren’t abating him. “Just because we’re not at sea does not make it any less dangerous,” he insisted. “You have no idea what could have happened.”

Loki averted his gaze from you then, and you realized belatedly that your white chemise was almost entirely see-through. You quickly changed into his shirt while he was turned away. It smelled like him. Once you put it on, the hem fell just below mid-thigh, which was nothing short of scandalous, but you didn’t care.

You pushed the sleeves up and glared at him. “You don’t know what could’ve happened, either. I’m here, aren’t I?”

He turned back to look down at you, and clenched his jaw. He watched as you wrung out your hair, your eyelashes wet and face flushed from the cold. His heart twisted inside his chest. The anger and panic inside him fizzled down to a feeling deeper and more difficult to ignore, pressing ardently against the inside of his ribs.

He loathed you for capturing his heart without knowing it, for commanding its every rise and fall with a turn of phrase or a sideways glance. He was tired of waking up beside you and not being allowed to hold you. His mind was exhausted from coming up with excuses to touch you, even in things as meager as brushing hands.

Waking up and realizing you were gone – feeling that panic inside his throat, that unearthly sense of dread – had forced Loki into reality like being dunked in ice water: whether he liked it or not, he couldn’t live without you, nor could he pretend otherwise. Even as you straightened up, catching his gaze with a defiant expression and every intention to argue with him, his resolve was crumbling underneath him.

“What?” You demanded, starting to feel flustered. “If you’re going to say something–”

Loki’s hands cupped your face and he was kissing you.

~~~

Tag List (Closed): @neontiiger, @un-consider-it, @jessiejunebug, @nerdypisces160, @lokiisntdeadbitch, @e-wolf-90, @cursedmoonstone-blog, @kikaninchen-2, @bluebellhairpin, @evy-lyn, @midnight-queen-1, @travelingmypassion, @harrybpoetry, @adefectivedetective, @absolutecraziness13, @kumikokagato, @randomfangirl7, @timetraveler1978, @tarynkauai, @arcanethamin, @ornate-ribcage, @julianettedoe, @kinghiddlestonanddixon, @yespolkadotkitty, @befearlesslyauthenticc, @ladybugsfanfics, @thisisaclusterofablog, @groupies-do-it-better, @just-the-hiddles, @quenilla, @amyy-moonlightt, @pandacookieowo, @thatweirdwalangpake, @alexakeyloveloki, @littlemissporter, @yes-captainstark, @justawriterwithdreams, @beautyandflannel, @eyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, @myoxisbroken, @rjohnson1280, @the-republic-and-face-of-texas, @snapessecretdiary, @sailortaylorfin, @cottoncandy1010, @androgynousdeputyfarmhero, @blackcherry26-blog, @saljstuff, @devilbat, @scarlettghost13, @arch-venus25

#loki #marvel #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x oc #loki fanfiction #pirate!au #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x reader #loki fluff #loki angst #loki smut #whump #slow burn

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whirlybirdwhat · 4 years ago

Text

our souls in the ocean forever will be - chapter 1

the sequel to till the sea gives up the dead now a series titled sing songs of the sea ! !

READ ON AO3

Summary:

Zoro’s earrings chime in his ear as he looks over the side of the boat, to deep, dark blue waters and small, foamy waves and…

And… to where…

A human- like face, smiling, sharp fanged and brilliant, stares back.

“SHIT!”

Luffy drowned, once, but his call still rings throughout the seas.

(Things change when the Ocean takes what is hers, but dreams remain the same - bold, unyielding, and reaching for the crown.)

—-

Chapter 1 - join me on the sea today - zoro

Zoro has been lost for about five days now, or so he thinks. It’s hard to tell when the sun is high and the winds keep changing with the tide. Time melds together out on the waves, and everyone knows the sea is a cruel mistress.

Many love her.

Few can say she loves them back.

(And even then, they are often lost to the sway of the tides.)

Once he realizes he no longer knows the time or the place, he gives up keeping count of the times the sun has passed overhead, or the times the stars have winked at him in the night. He merely focuses on his growling stomach and broken swords, and tries to keep Wado sharp as all she is used for is a kind of of spear fishing.

He’s thirsty, but he won’t die out here.

Not in this desert full of saltwater.

(Zoro’s smart, but in the kind of way that doesn’t get you killed. He knows how to survive, even if he doesn’t know how to live, so he will get through this.)

He has a promise to keep.

(His thoughts, like time in an hourglass, are melding and slipping together. He’s tired. Men were not made to be in the seas embrace without company this long. It’s dangerous.

Those that were made for this suffering isolation aren’t really men at all, and Zoro may be more than mortal but he is not of the sea. He is not meant for blue solitude.)

He won’t die.

Splash!

His head turns slowly to the front of his small, small dinghy.

Zoro doesn’t think that was a normal wave. Was it?

Splash!

There. Again.

Was he hallucinating?

(Kuina had told him to quit his moaning yesterday…)

Splash! Splash!

Fine. He’ll get up.

Zoro pushes himself up from his relaxed (half dead) position and, using the sides of the boat and Wadi Ichimonji, crawls his way to the front of the boat.

The sea is calmer than it has been, but his actions still tilt the boat from left to right. He doesn’t trust it, but he doesn’t capsize, which is enough for him.

Splash!

Shishishi!

Oh. He was definitely hallucinating if he was hearing laughter out at sea.

(Has he heard it before?)

A pause.

Splash!

Eh. He was already up. Might as well look.

Zoro’s earrings chime in his ear as he looks over the side of the boat, to deep, dark blue waters and small, foamy waves and…

And… to where…

A human- like face, smiling, sharp fanged and brilliant, stares back.

“SHIT!”

So.

There’s a face in the water. After Zoro didn’t stumble backwards, he had gone back for another look, and there it was again, smiling and scaled.

(There’s a scar under this mysterious person’s eye, sloping like ocean waves, and black hair drifting about their face. Handsome, in a youthful, drowning kind of way, but scales drift across their face and their eyes are so wide, so they cannot possibly be human.

Perhaps they were, once. Just not now.)

A hand, sharp tipped and surprisingly not webbed (or was it? it might have changed -), had sunk its hands into the soft wood of the dinghy. Something silver and sunset scaled and long had been making soft waves, something else spinning about the creature’s waist.

Whatever the creature was, it wasn’t leaving. Just pulling Zoro along with the ocean currents.

They haven’t spoken to him. Not at all, unless one counts the laughter.

Shishishi!

Usually, his hallucinations yell at him, or at least Kuina does.

Zoro’s trembling and weak from hunger, and doesn’t know what he’ll do if this thing is real and attacks him.

But honestly? Honestly, as the day wears on and the sun starts to set and his eyes adjust to the darkness instead of the blinding light – Zoro finds he is starting to not care.

It’s something different.

Something that is not monotonous ocean spray and hunger.

Zoro moves to the front of the boat instead of the back, and casually lays his head down at the bow, face looking towards the sky.

“Hey,” He says, to nothing at all, expecting splashing in return.

SHISHISHI! He gets in response, accompanied with a giant splash of water on his head.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” He shouts, and turns to his right, and there, grinning, is the face from the waters.

They’re leaning towards him, entire torso pulled out of the water, eyes bright and close in the dimming light, and they are smiling.

Still.

It’s like their face is fixed into it – that grinning D shaped smile. Frozen in a smile for eternity.

The creature pauses there, indescribable eyes glinting at Zoro as he slowly settles down in the dinghy when it is clear the creature isn’t doing anything.

Well, I did speak to them, is all Zoro thinks as he stares back.

The world seems to hang still in that moment, and Zoro can’t help but think that if this were any other creature, he would be terrified right now. Paralyzed.

(Or angry, slashing, in the way that his terror manifests – in demonic rage and sword.)

And he is, but in the same way he knows the darkness in his chest and the gleam of Wado’s blade despite the red covering her. It’s a familiar terror, one that he knows he can grasp in his hand or mouth or soul and conquer.

Zoro moves once more, and determines that he will never flinch again.

“Hey,” He slowly repeats, shifting upright in the dinghy.

The creature slides down in response, until their head is resting on crossed arms, settling on the rim of the dinghy. The dinghy lilts dangerously to the side but with a quick balancing act, Zoro slides to the other side and manages not to get dropped in the ocean.

Shishishi! the creature says, and it’s a hey, back to Zoro.

“Do you… want something?” He asks cautiously.

Nah! You gave me food, so I’m just bringing you to the Away Place!

“Away?”

To the shore! Its away.

“Ah. Wait – when did I give you – actually, never mind. So, you know how to get there?”

Shishishi! The creature’s grin widens if that’s physically possible and they laugh. Yeah! I think!

Zoro gives a nod and relaxes then in the center of the dinghy. The creature, sensing Zoro’s tiredness, if not the way the sun is now almost fully below the horizon, turns back to the front of the dinghy and slips into the water. A hand grips the front of the dinghy, rocking it a bit, but Zoro finds it soothing.

A lullaby by the water, rocked by a creature of the sea…

Sleep takes him fiercer than it has any other day on this voyage, and he does not spare a thought to think that possibly, possibly it could be because this sea creature makes him feel safe.

Zoro wakes to a hand shoving at his shoulder and the lack of rocking waves beneath his back.

He opens his eyes and oh – it’s the creature, again.

Damn, he needs a better name than creature.

Shishishi! We’re here! The away place!

“Land,” Zoro says, absentmindedly, and looks around the white sandy beaches.

Finally, he thinks, jumping out of the dinghy to bury his feet in the sand.

It’s hot, but it’s land.

Huh. He wiggles his toes, feeling sand slip between the cracks. He lost his shoes at some point. And its day time – midday really. How long did he sleep?

Eh. Whatever.

He makes sure Wado is secure by his side, checks the shattered pieces of the other, unnamed blades to see if they are salvageable, then turns inland.

Splash!

Oh.

Right.

Zoro turns around, kicking up sand and letting it stick to his wet, salty skin. Damn. He needs a shower. But first…

“You going to be good here?” He asks the gentle waves.

Shishishi! Yeah! The creature splashes whatever they have for a lower body beneath the water, a grin adorning their face still. (Their teeth are sharper, now, Zoro thinks.) They slide slowly back down into the waves till they are near completely submerged. Their bright eyes hairs, sea crusted and inky, float above the water, the ocean wave scar beneath their cheek splashing above the waterline.

Hidden, unless you were looking for them.

“Alright then. Be back soon.”

And with that, Zoro goes in search of booze and maybe food under the blazing sun of a strange island.

It is walking to some sort of civilization that Zoro realizes the creature did not actually speak – that their mouth, shaped in that sharp toothed smile, never moved, never changed, never spoke.

Zoro just knew, in the same way he heard Wado sing when he dueled, what the creature was saying.

He thinks he should be more worried about this.

He isn’t.

Huh, Zoro thinks, and wonders if the creature has a name.

Then he realizes that the creature is also waiting for him back at the dinghy, even though they don’t have to, and also that the creature probably ate his boots and the scraps of bone and fish heads Zoro wasn’t able to eat and tossed overboard in his journey on the dinghy.

Huh.

He’s so lost in thought that he barely registers knocking into the signpost for the island town’s tavern and blacking out either to dehydration, starvation, or the hit to the head.

It’s probably all three, to be honest.

Zoro was called a Sea Child once. He’s sure he still is back home, with the way Koushirou and the others watched his back as he set out in his boat.

Lost boy, they, the old ladies in the village, said in pitying tones, as he wandered around the island, he keeps looking for the sea.

The sea calls him, they would say, ushering Zoro away from the shore, we can’t let him close, not yet.

It’s why he can’t make sense of the land, they say, worrying over Zoro coming back with broken teeth and moss in his hair, he belongs to Her. The Sea.

Zoro knew it was bullshit. Is still bullshit, really.

(He doesn’t mention how ever since he was nine, every time he has gotten lost he has ended up by the shore, answering some unknown siren call.

It sounded like a laugh in his mind, sometimes.)

He’s no Sea Child. He’s heard the stories.

Sea Child, lost child, dancing by the waves…

The kids who go out to the shore and never come back, the women who sing to the sea and hear its call, the men who die at sea and smile in the ocean’s embrace.

There were people who didn’t belong to the land. Whose hearts were the Ocean’s from the second they breath the sea salt air.

Zoro belongs to nothing but the destiny he creates.

Sea child, siren woman, singing to the waters…

Suspicious, though, the way the stories never mention what happens to the Sea Children after they embrace the sea. What is like, to become one with the ocean? What is it like, after a not quite death?

Questioning this, Zoro finds he does not care – for answers or for gods, whatever the choice.

He was here now, a sword in hand. His dream is what truly matters, not the sea or the voice of the wind.

Sea child, fishing man, heading to the depths…

He’s not a Sea Child, no matter what the old ladies say, or the way he ends up by the water and feels less lonely or the way the sea is a comfort.

He’s not.

(As he sets out to sea for the first time and doesn’t feel the urge to jump in the ocean, he worries that something greater has its control over him.

After all, how can he explain the laughter of the sea breeze?)

Sea child, Sea Child, Sea Child lost…

The old lady he wakes up to is pretty nice, despite all her ramblings about him being sea-shook and the strange tides in the bay.

She gives him a bit of money for the bar and sends him on his way, so in thanks he drinks out the bar and eats half the food without spending a penny. A sword with the intent to use it will get you that kind of reputation.

He does, however, bring a bit of pie back to the lady’s house next to the bar.

The actual coins he trades for two steel blades that should hold up to all the bastards in the East. Its good enough till he can get his hands on some real blades.

He’ll need them, if he wants to be able to stand up against Mihawk and his Great Blade Yoru.

(Zoro is perfecting the three-sword style for a reason after all.)

He’s now walking back to the shore, belly sated and a pleasant buzz in his head, with a bag of meat over his shoulder. The old lady also made him take some water jugs with him, complaining about how dehydrated he was, so that’s on a rope over his other shoulder as well.

The sound of splashing and laughter reaches his ears as he draws closer to the shore, a Shishishi! ringing out amongst growls.

It all sounds happy. Still, Zoro quickens his pace and for once, meets his destination on the first try.

(Like a compass, like a Sea Child, he can always find his way to the shore, but it’s not the shore he’s drawn to, not at all.

It’s the horizon.

(It’s the laughter))

He arrives at the waves to a strange sight.

A sea king, golden scaled and small, playing with the creature a little way out in the bay. Both of them are splashing, looking so out of place amidst the calm waters. It’s almost funny, in a way. The creature is practically dwarfed by the sea king – who looks oddly puppy like – yet the sea king seems to defer to them as the bigger, stronger creature.

Then again, Zoro has no idea what half the creature looks like, so they may actually be longer than the sea king under the waves.

Shishishi! The creature seems to call out, laughter echoing across the ways and lilting in time with the waves, Shishishi!

Zoro can’t hear the sea king, but he assumes by the way the creature’s smile seems slightly wider that it is laughing in turn.

He walks closer to the shore, where his dinghy is still digging into the shore, and slings the food off his shoulder.

“Hey!” He calls, hand casually resting on his swords to keep them above the waves. “You! I brought meat!”

MEAT! The creature shouts, face still never changing, and they leave the sea king in a second to come barreling on to shore.

Literally, actually. They nearly miss Zoro, slamming head and shoulders first into the sand in their haste to reach the food in the bag.

“Hey! Chill out! I don’t want any, it’s all for you, dumbass.” Zoro maybe should not have called the sharp toothed sea creature a dumbass but if they haven’t eaten him now they won’t later.

(They never would in the first place, really.)

The sea creature takes it in stride anyway with that laugh again. Shishishi!

Zoro spares a smile, and tosses one big piece of meat to the sea king out in the waves. Hopefully that will stop the kicked puppy look it’s giving him.

It’s peaceful, for a moment, as Zoro settles into the sand. He didn’t get a shower at the village, but this is nowhere near the longest time he’s gone without, so he’s pretty sure he’s okay. He’s not dead at least, and now that he’s dry the sand doesn’t stick to his clothes, only to the feet still buried in the waves.

The creature shuffles for a moment, and pulls themself up out of the water almost entirely – all in order to drag the bag of meat even closer to them.

The shine of scales almost blinds Zoro, and he has to blink a few times to truly look at this creature.

Their torso is shorter than he’d thought, bare and toned in the light with scales the color of fire and silver drifting up from the back. (And drifting, drifting, scales never in the same place for more than a moment.) A fin, vibrant and color shifting, sits folded upon their back and is disappearing into their skin the longer Zoro looks. Clawed web hands, dripping with salt water and red juices, retract into tanning, brown skin – the claw tips remaining, sharp and deadly.

A tail, long, slender, and powerful drifts from the creature’s body and out into the waves, melding into the waves as they crash over them.

Zoro spares a thought to think mermaid? Before realizing what ever this creature is it is more than myth or legend, or the very real people from under the sea.

It’s in the danger, this creature should be emanating, their tail is spiked and deadly, barbed, beautiful fins fading into the sand and waves in colors of the sun. It is nothing sweet or calm or safe – just fatal shine, drifting out to the waves.

(Every time Zoro blinks, it is as if the color of the scales has shifted – like the sea, ever changing, ever more dangerous, dark as ocean deep or green as tropic waves in the same moments.)

Yet – his eyes flash three times and there is no tail, just two legs, covered by shorts and a sash, torn, like from some sunken sailor.

A mirage – a hallucination, still? – but nothing is right about this creature.

Zoro can’t make sense of it all. Everything changes –

Except for that smile and that ocean sloped scar.

Even as the creature devours the food and opens their maw bigger than thought possible, it is still in the shape of that smile.

(Zoro wonders why.)

Saltwater drips off limbs and makes little splats into dry sand, marking where fins were and weren’t. The creature shakes their head and more water flies, hitting Zoro in the face yet – in the same motion, something more obvious, more important, more constant that the smile and ocean scar.

A straw hat, as glowing as a crown, draped across their back with a ribbon like blood wrapped around it.

(So human and alive, unlike everything else about them. This hat was not pulled from a drowning man. This hat was pulled from a dream on fire.)

The creature pauses for a second, as if sensing Zoro’s unwavering stare.

Their head drifts to look at Zoro, slow, the sun highlighting the points of their face and the wave of their hair. In an instant, they make eye-contact with Zoro, and it is as if the breath is pulled out of him by a siren.

He’s seen their eyes of course, before, in the moments the face smiled at him from the waters.

Just not like this.

This creature –

(Webbed hands drifting between human and sea, a smile like ocean depths and fear-)

This sea creature –

(Have you heard the tales? Of those that belong to the sea and no one else? Of those that hear the legends of the waves and know that they are real, like death and life?)

Isn’t a sea creature, not entirely, no -

(Zoro was called lost to the waves, once.)

They’re a Sea Child.

(And Zoro is lost to their pull – to their human-not-human body and ocean soul.)

He’s never quite wondered before, what Sea Children look like.

All that ever has come to mind is people with lost faces setting out to sea. Not what came after. Not what it looks like when the Ocean claims you.

(Koushirou, with a firm line to his lip, had mentioned the Drowned once. Bloated bodies of dead men and women and children – dead bodies of sailors swallowed up by the sea, that still reach up towards the light.

Run, he had said, if you see them.

Koushirou didn’t believe in legends, but he had an old boat from a distant country by the shore. There were scratches in hull made by gouging hands.

They weren’t Sea Children, not even close, but the stories said they were Claimed.

When a dead body from the sea washed up on the shores one day, Zoro had wondered if that was the fate of Sea Children.)

Now, he knows.

This Sea Child changes with the flow and ebb of the waves. A human drowned alive and still breathing, still loving, still dancing with the tide. Saltwater veins and coral eyes, skin breaking apart in scales and the way of tides.

The Ocean born again – that is what a Sea Child is. A child born to the land of the waters.

Zoro will never forget the Ocean’s claim – not now.

Shishishi! The Sea Child laughs, scales drifting across their face like sundrops on waves. You see now!

“Yeah…” Zoro says, and passes the sea king another stick of meat. “I see. The Ocean nice?”

The best! The Sea Child wiggles further up on the beach, tail seemingly gone leaving them to dig bare feet into the wet sand. You should listen to her sometimes.

“No thanks,” Zoro says to the Sea Child, and lays back on the shore. With four limbs, the Sea Child seems only a little younger than him, a little shorter, but power comes in waves off of them, like the shore in a storm.

Zoro shakes his head, and tries to distract himself from the thoughts of ocean, ocean, ocean – if he’s not careful, he’ll be wrapped in her sway eventually. He’s already wrapped in this Sea Child’s sway, if he can hear their voice.

The Sea Child chomps on the bone in their hands and swallows it whole with an odd slurping noise. Zoro raises an eyebrow, and is met with that laugh - Shishishi! - again.

(He’s gotten used to it, like he’s used to the chime of earrings in his ear and the swish of a sword. Constant, natural, and loved.)

Belatedly, he realizes he still hasn’t gotten the name of this Sea Child. Names are important, especially those of those lost to the sea, if they still remember them. It is better than calling them Sea Child forever, at least.

Well, it’s polite to introduce yourself first, isn’t it?

“Hey. My name’s Roronoa Zoro. I’m going to be the World’s greatest swordsman.”

(His name will echo across the heavens, but even children know that the sea only hears the will of men.

After all – what is a name, to a dream?)

The Sea Child stares at him, grin ever wider, and does not laugh. Instead, they reach behind their back and pull the straw hat up upon their head.

I know.

(How? Zoro wants to ask but it doesn’t even matter, does it?)

My name is Monkey D. Luffy! they say, loud and victorious and sure, and I’m the man who will be KING OF THE PIRATES!

The way he says it is like a promise and the way the unsaid words echo across the world is like a golden bell.

Zoro looks at this Sea Child who will be king, and feels something settle in his chest.

(This is the call of the sea – to dreams, to life, to adventure, to crew. Nothing less is equal, and nothing more is greater. It simply is, and it is a call that sings in every heart and every soul.

This is call of the sea.

And it will not be ignored any longer.)

“A pirate, huh?” Zoro’s own smile turns feral. “Where’s your crew?”

Shishishi! You’re the first! Luffy’s smile is kind but his eyes look into Zoro’s and take.

Zoro has no objection.

He stands, hand steady on his blades, and lets the wind chime through his earrings. “Then know this, Pirate King. If you ever stand in the way of my dreams, I will cut you open and leave you to the earth.”

He knows it won’t happen. The sea does not stand in the way of the dreams of the strong, and Luffy is the sea, or a small portion of it.

Still, Luffy does not falter.

Shishishi! He says, a Fine with me! Ringing loud in Zoro’s head. The Pirate King should have the world’s greatest swordsman by his side.

He stands to face Zoro head on, and he’s smaller than Zoro but his presence is just like the sea. Bright, giant, and everything. He reaches out a hand and Zoro clasps it in his own.

A crew of two, formed in an instant.

(It’s how legends start, anyway.

What’d’ya say to turning the world upside down with me?)

The sun shines brighter, the sea splashes higher, and the sea king lets out a victorious howl.

When Zoro lets go of Luffy’s hand, he knows he’s found his place.

“So,” he says, as Luffy turns back to the sea they will soon conquer, “Where to now, Pirate King?”

Where else? To the Grand Line! To Adventure! Shishishi!

Luffy steps forward into the sea then, laughing and changing all at once, and Zoro has no choice but to follow the man who will be king.

He climbs in the dinghy, slinging the water and remnants of food into the bottom, and shoves off into the water. Luffy grips the edge of the dinghy and drags Zoro forward, other hand gripping the edge of the sea king’s fur.

Starving, Zoro did not think he would end up being pulled by a Sea Child and a sea king into the unknown, but now…

Now, Zoro looks to the sun and dreams of victory.

Shishishi!

(Zoro is not a Sea Child. He does not belong to the waves and he does not answer the Ocean’s call. He belongs to Luffy, and the cry of the king is the only on he will bow too.

It’s the way of the world, after all.)

Splash….

“The sea’s happy today, isn’t it Makino?”

“Aye, captain…. I think Luffy might be happy today.”

(A tear trails down a cheek, not hidden by a straw hat.)

“Perhaps he found his dream, aye?”

“Sesese! Perhaps!”

(The sea splashes at the feet along the beach, as a pirate’s memorial is held for a boy who never set out to sea.

For Luffy, the small jolly roger on the beach seems to say, for the King.)

#one piece #opau #opfic #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #op #whirlywhat #whirlywrites #yeah I killed luffy then brought him back what of it #luffy #zoro #makino #shanks #the ocean #au #sing songs of the sea #:DDDDD #opfanfic

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reydjarinkenobi · 4 years ago

Note

I am absolutely interested in more of the time travel fic!!! What you have so far is awesome!

Here you go!

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Time travellers from the future were just about the last thing that Obi-Wan expected to find when he decided to investigate the ancient temple.

They had been taking a break from their journey to a remote Mid-Rim planet, where the senators would be meeting with a delegation from the neutral systems to attempt to negotiate possible alliances and trade routes. Personally, he thought that having an escort of two companies, two padawans and four Jedi was a bit of overkill, but he recognised that this would probably be a prime target for the Separatists if information about it got out, and it almost certainly would.

Plus, he was fairly sure Yoda was trying to either punish them all by forcing them to endure what was sure to be a long and tedious round of diplomatic talks, or force them all to take a break with what was, on paper, a fairly easy mission, as their only job was to make sure that all the senators were safe, rather than to actually oversee any of the negotiations. Really, it was the closest thing to a rest they could get since the Senate was getting exceedingly reluctant to allow the Jedi and their troops have leave; but this assignment had the added bonus of allowing all their battalions leave, with Alderaan having generously offered space on their planet for the battalions to rest whilst their generals were otherwise occupied.

They'd touched down on what was logged as an uninhabited planet so that the senators could stretched their legs and they could use the oceans to restock their water supplies, as the fancy model of ship used as the senator transport did not have a large enough reserve space to last the whole trip.

The ExplorCorps had noted in the planet's profile that there was an ancient temple, with some old carvings throughout it and, of course, Obi-Wan had wanted to take a look. Senator Amidala had readily agreed as well as Bail, though the other senators in the delegation had seemed disinterested in the prospect of examining old Jedi architecture at best, or scared at worst.

So, Mace and Luminara stayed with the great majority of senators and Obi-Wan and Anakin took themselves and a small delegation of clones to the ruins.

They'd eventually gotten to a room filled with carvings, that had a large stone in the middle of it. Having studied the particular ancient dialect printed in runes on the walls during his youth, Obi-Wan was immediately distracted. So distracted, that he only came back to himself when Anakin let out a sharp reprimand that had Fives pausing, his fingertips bare inches from the stone in the middle of the room.

A second later, there was a flash of light and now, Obi-Wan was staring at a group of time travellers from the future, at least two of which had access to the Force; future Jedi if their lightsabers were an accurate indicator, though both of them had shields much more fragile than Obi-Wan would expect from Jedi of their ages, even if they were still padawans - though he noticed that neither of them bore a braid of any kind.

Before any of them could comment, Obi-Wan's comm buzzed.

"Master Kenobi," Mace's voice floated through it, as level as ever to anyone who didn't know him well - but Obi-Wan did, would even consider Mace one of his closest friends at this point in the war, and he could hear the slight edge in his voice, "Can you think of any reason why a light freighter just appeared out of thin air?"

The Wookie garbled out a happy, "She's here!"

Just as he spoke, the human male who had appeared closest to the stone breathed a relieve sigh. "The Falcon came with us."

The woman's - girl, really, she was clearly younger than even Anakin was - eyes widened.

"That's the Millenium Falcon," she informed them, her accent a weird mixture of Core with hints of Outer Rim at the edges. "Tell them not to attempt to enter it. It's biolocked and booby-trapped. Anyone who attempts to get in will be repelled with extreme force."

Obi-Wan blinked.

"Did you hear that?" he asked into his wrist.

"Yes… Who was that?"

Obi-Wan winced internally. This was going to be a headache.

"We will explain when we meet up with you. There is a lot to we need to discuss. Don't worry, though, they are not hostile," he looked between the group as he said the last part, meeting each of their eyes and seeing them nod slightly in agreement.

There was a pause, and Obi-Wan could hear the restrained sigh behind Mace's almost monotone, "Copy that, Master Kenobi. Master Unduli and I will be awaiting your explanation."

Obi-Wan held back a sigh as he looked up at the room around him. Bail, who had wisely ducked behind the wall when the lightsabers had been drawn, (in direct contrast to Senator Amidala, who had pulled out a blaster that had been concealed in her dress and levelled in time with the troopers who were meant to be protecting her) stepped into the doorway. Everyone else had lowered their weapons, though no one had sheathed them.

This was meant to be an easy mission.

"I suggest we all take our leave of this place," he suggested. "The temple will surely send some archivists and rune experts to investigate soon, but we do not want accidentally activate anything else in the meantime."

He nodded at the now cracked stone. "As you said, that artifact can no longer be activated now that it's runes have been destroyed. I'm afraid you may be stuck here for some time… perhaps indefinitely."

A maelstrom of fear terror worry sadness filled the Force around them before Obi-Wan physically felt shields slam into place around not only the two Jedi, but the entire group.

"Apologies," the male Jedi grimaced. "Shielding is… a new concept for us. Rey is better than me."

The girl - Rey, Obi-Wan guessed - rolled her eyes as she finally relaxed her stance, placing the butt of her staff on the ground and leaning against it. "I lost control just like you did, Finn. If anything, my slip was more of a disappointment since I've had more time to practice."

The man standing behind them shook his head and crossed his arms whilst the Wookie looked up at the city with a wordless groan. Both gestures went ignored by the Jedi.

"A whole six months more," Finn sniped back. "And weren't you just saying that I've gotten more direct teaching than you?"

Rey narrowed her eyes. "Two months is not nearly enough training to expect perfection."

Finn opened his mouth, but the other man stepped forward before he could reply, putting a hand on each of their shoulder's. "You both kriffed up. Deal with it. You're being rude… and aren't you meant to be the diplomatic ones? The general's lessons aren't going to waste are they?"

That immediately shut both of them up. Finn glanced down at the ground, whilst the indignation on Rey's face cleared to a blank mask.

She visibly checked herself as she returned her attention back to their group, nodding deeply.

"We're very sorry. We are not at our best… it has been a trying few weeks for us."

Obi-Wan's tongue stuck in his throat, still trying to make sense of that assault. The Force signatures, which had previously been dull - so subdued that they had barely been bright enough for Obi-Wan to label them as Force Sensitive. However, with the wave of emotion, there had also been another change in the Force around them, like a veil pulling away from their very beings.

Finn's signature had glowed bright; a beautiful shining light that had warmed the Force around it. Rey's, on the other hand, hit him like an ion canon, the pulsing supernova filling the room, so overwhelming that it rivalled Anakin's when he lost control.

"Wait," Anakin said. "Did you just say that you've been training for eight months?"

Obi-Wan's stomach twisted. If that was true, the two in front of them were very impressive; very impressive but very troubling.

Rey grimaced. "Yes… I know it is taking me a long time to gain control. I'm working on it… Meditation is beginning to help."

Finn grinned whilst the other man snorted. Rey pursed her lips but didn't comment.

The man between the Jedi stepped forward, smiling openly. "My name is Poe Dameron. The Wookie over there is called Chewbacca, the astromech is BB-8, and Rey and Finn just introduced themselves."

"And you're from the future," Ahsoka finished for him, and, when Obi-Wan glanced back at her, he saw that her eyes were wide.

Poe nodded. "Just over fifty years if I'm remembering my galactic history correctly."

Finn and Rey nodded in agreement.

"Right," Obi-Wan said, his mind whirling with the thoughts. "Why don't we return to our transport? We will need to contact the Jedi Council about this and we can decide what to do with you there… And I think we need to have a talk."

The three humans glanced at each other, before they nodded.

"That sounds good," Finn replied.

Everyone stayed tense as they started walking, with Obi-Wan hanging back, nearest to the group of time-travellers, who all stuck closely together.

He felt the Force shift around the group, tunnels opening up between them; mental channels that were clumsy but strong.

The mental conversation that took place was remarkably well shielded, but Obi-Wan still caught a few stray thoughts that were broadcasted with especial passion.

'We could stop it! Stop it all!' the thought floated from Poe.

'I agree - but we need to do this carefully,' Finn replied.

It was quiet for a few more minutes and then one of Rey's thoughts slipped out, 'We need to do this right. We obviously can't tell Skywalker anything. From what General Leia told me of her father, he wouldn't be able to handle it. He's too erratic.'

The few other stray thoughts that slipped out were patchy, and it was difficult to tell just who they came from.

'Organa! Definitely. The general's dad was brilliant! Is brilliant I guess because we're not letting Alderaan…'

'Amidala?'

'Kenobi should be good too.'

By the time they got back to the ships, Obi-Wan's thoughts were swirling with the implications of their conversation.

Something very bad had happened in the future. Something awful enough that there was no one to train two fully realised Force Users. One of which was so powerful that Obi-Wan was having trouble figuring out how she'd survived so long by herself.

Mace was waiting for them when they got there, his eyes widening as he saw the new group with them.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice flat.

"We do," Obi-Wan agreed looking back at the group. "There must be things you want to tell us."

Rey swallowed. "Yes. We have proof of everything on our ship. History books and records and stuff like that."

Obi-Wan glanced around, noting the way that the group had tensed. He needed to find out what was going on. Now.

"Anakin, why don't you and Ahsoka help Master Unduli and Padawan Offee oversee the senators. Mace and I can interview our… visitors and contact the Council. Hopefully, we can get his all sorted out in a timely manner."

After a second, he also inclined his head towards Bail. "Senator Organa… I think it would also be prudent that you join us… in the interest of keeping communications between the Order and the Senate open."

Immediately, Finn, Poe and Chewbacca relaxed, though Rey narrowed her eyes.

Bail and Mace both nodded at Obi-Wan's plan, even as Anakin huffed at being left out.

"Right," he said, beginning to walk over to the freighter sitting on the beach. "Let's get this over with."

-------------------------

How are you liking this so far? What do you think will happen next? Tell me if you want more.

#Getting Drop Kicked by the Force #my fics #star wars fanfiction #star wars #star wars sequel trilogy #sequel trilogy #finnpoe #poe dameron #finn #rey #obi-wan #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #tcw fanfiction #mace windu #jedi finn #jedi order

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askkrenko · 4 years ago

Text

Krenko’s Pokemon Guide: Tentacool Line

Last time was vore, now we have the tentacle monsters. DESIGN: Tentacool is clearly a Jellyfish and yet at the same time... clearly its own thing. It doesn’t have the ethereal, floaty nature of the Jellyfish, instead solid and heavy, and with big red head bumps. I’m not actually sure what those are supposed to be, but they are interesting and cool. They look a bit buggy, or a bit alien, just adding more cool factor to tentacool. I honestly like everything about this design. It’s a Jellyfish but also clearly not a Jellyfish. It’s familiar but still alien. And even though there’s far too many of them in the ocean, they’re still interesting. Tentacruel takes all these traits and turns it to eleven. There’s no doubt that it’s some sort of Jellyfish like creature with all those hanging tentacles, but the huge red bulbs and the general shape make it look like something that could be from outer space, a mixture of alien and spaceship. And then there’s those huge, pinchy mandibles at the bottom. Tentacruel is terrifying and unique and yet I still fully understand that it’s a Jellyfish Monster that lives in the sea and floats about.

EVOLUTIONS: Tentacool to Tentacruel is a straightforward two stage evolution at level 30. This is fine. While Tentacool’s on par with something that would evolve at 20 or so, Tentacruel is absolutely in the range of something the player shouldn’t get a hold of until level 30. If I was to add something to the line, there could potentially be a middle evolution to carry it through the 20s, but otherwise there’s no issue here. TYPING: Poison is a good defensive type. Water is a good defensive type. Combined, Tentacruel’s typing is insane on the defensive side. Tentacruel has EIGHT resistances compared to a mere three weaknesses. It’s Super Effective STAB options are a bit low for a two-type pokemon, only hitting a combined five types, but honestly? That’s fine. It’s still more than most mono-types get.

STATS: Tentacruel’s primary stat is its special defense. With average HP, 120 special combined with eight resistances makes it a particularly tanky Pokemon. 65 physical defense is a bit low, but not so low that Tentacruel can’t take a hit, and there’s so few physical Electric or Psychic attacks that the only thing it needs to be truly terrified of is Earthquake. Its attack stats are both decidedly average, but Speed of 100 is actually rather good. It’s not top-tier, but it’s more than enough to outspeed the average opponent. ABILITIES: Liquid Ooze is the weakest of Tentacruel’s three abilities, but it’s not useless. While Tentacruel doesn’t resist Grass types, Giga Drain, Horn Leech, and Strength Sap are all real moves, and Liquid Ooze makes them harm the enemy instead of healing them. Drain Punch and Leech Life are also competent moves, but as Tentacruel resists both of those, punishing people for using them on it is not quite as potent. Still, this is really only useful if for some reason your team doesn’t have a better thing to throw at grass-type attackers. Clear Body is Tentacruel’s more default ability, and most people using Tentacruel are going to want that. Clear Body prevents Tentacruel’s stats from being reduced by other Pokemon. It’s not splashy, but it’s useful against a large number of things, and makes Tentacruel a more resilient tank as it can’t be debuffed. Tentacruel’s most powerful, but most circumstantial ability is Rain Dish. Rain Dish recovers HP every turn in the rain, and can combine with Black Sludge or Leftovers for some serious healing. This is the strongest Tentacruel option, but does require building a rain team, and frankly, Tentacruel doesn’t actually need that to be good. A Clear Body Tentacruel is perfectly viable.

MOVES: Look, if you just want to have your Tentacruel attack people and be able to take a hit, give it Hydro Pump and Sludge Bomb, teach it Ice Beam for Coverage, and then go nuts. Its Special Attack is fine, you can do this as an option. But it’s not the best use of Tentacruel. The best use of Tentacruel is to tank. This means instead of going for the super heavy hitting Hydro Pump, take Scald for the chance to drastically reduce an opponent’s attack and inflict damage over time. Then take Toxic Spikes so when they switch something in, that’ll start taking damage over time, too. Of course, your opponent might want to take the time to set up, too... But through proper use of breeding, Tentacruel can get both Rapid Spin and Haze to completely negate an opponent’s attempts to set anything up. Some combination of Scald, Sludge Bomb, Toxic Spikes, Rapid Spin, and Haze gets you your tank, with Knock Off also a reasonable option just to stop an opponent’s item from being mean to you. And like anything that has a weather-based ability, you might want to use one of Tentacruel’s move slots on weather if you’re using the Rain Dish build. But then... there’s an entirely other Tentacruel option. Though 70 attack isn’t what we’d call ‘good’, Tentacruel’s speed and defenses mean it often safely gets a round to set up, and Tentacruel can learn Swords Dance. With Clear Body and Black Sludge or Leftovers, Tentacruel has the bulk to take a turn or two to Swords Dance into a sweeper that’s hard to stop. Its physical moveset isn’t quite as good as its special, but Poison Jab and Waterfall are fine STAB moves, and the first hit of Knock Off is generally pretty strong. Or instead of Knock Off you can take Rapid Spin. It won’t do damage that matters, but it’s still useful just to have someone on the team who can do it.

OVERALL: Everything is right about Tentacruel. It has a good design, it has interesting things that it can do and a type combination only shared with a few other Pokemon. Its big competition is Toxapex, but the fact that it hits harder and has an actual speed stat means it’s not always clear which of the two you want. With three useful abilities, the ability to be built for offense or defense, and some interesting tech moves, I think Tentacruel’s mostly in a good place. My only real complaint is that both Haze and Rapid Spin both require jumping through serious breeding hoops to get on Tentacruel. I don’t mind egg moves, but Haze has to be chain bred from Wooper/Quagsire to Galarian Corsola to Tentacool, and Rapid Spin has to be bred from a Squirtle to a Kabuto to a Shellder to a Tentacool.... and Kabuto’s not even in Gen 8 yet. Honestly, it’s just ridiculous.

#Krenko's Pokemon Guide #Tentacool #Tentacruel

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olympusnerd · 4 years ago

Text

The Story of Aphrodite Part 1

The sketch was done with 4H and B7 pencils and a little color for her majesty’s eyes.

This story is a snippet of a background I’ve written about Aphrodite the Goddess of Love regarding how she became the goddess of love. This piece is rated PG but installments will be rated R and will have additional warnings. Mostly writing this because it’s always bothered me how it seems like pop culture appreciates her because she’s hot and thinks she’s just a petty manipulator. I see a lot more of an icon and wanted to paint her in a different light.

Word Count: 3377

For so many, the beginning was chaos, but for Aphrodite, that was more than a poetic truth. While the world would have one believe that the goddess of love, sex and beauty was put on this earth already ordained the most beautiful or the most sexual, it was a long and strenuous road for the goddess to become the icon mortals will remember her for all time. No, her entrance into the world was anything but beautiful.

The sky cracked angrily with flashes of lightning jetting from one end of the world to the other as the ground quaked with Mother Earth. Gaia was shivering in stunned horror at the brutality of Uranos’s death. Though she had orchestrated the entire event, nothing could have prepared the celestial for seeing her husband slain like cattle, his severed genitals scattered across her lovely planet like seeds to tilled soil.

It was from his blood that various creatures arose from Mother Earth's womb. The Furies: a rightfully dreadful group of female monsters with sharp teeth and claws made to rip apart oath breakers; the Giants: massive beasts of great strength and aggression; and the Meliai: a melancholy family of ash-tree nymphs.

But there was one last piece of the Sky Father left unnamed, floating along the water in a white foam of divine seed. Gaia blew the breath of life into the water, then watched as the waves of the oceans lead the mass away from the grizzly scene of patricide towards the quiet white beach of Paphos Cyprus. Here, in the crystal clear waves, something extraordinary happened.

From the foam emerged a shimmering pink clam that opened to reveal a head of thick wavy hair the color of blood, which rose as the being stood. With surefooted steps, a creature rose from the sea, a creature that didn’t resemble the Furies, the Giants, or even the Meliai. No, this creature was something else entirely.

She somewhat resembled the Titans in shape, with smoothe, earth toned flesh and hair that reached past her hips, but there was something different about her face and body that set her apart from her half siblings. Nude, as all beings were after birth, every inch of her perfect form was on display. Long, strong arms, a shapely form, ample breasts and a round bottom. Her dark skin glistened in the remnants of sunlight, giving her the characteristic glow of what Gaia recognized immediately as that of a goddess.

Her face was lovely, with eyes that held curiosity as they scanned across the beach she found herself on and supple lips pursed in awe at her own spontaneous existence.

“Hello?” she called out in a soft voice. “Is anyone there? Where am I? What is this place?”

Gaia didn’t answer at first, instead she watched from a distance, as she usually did in these types of situations. Best see how things will play out in her own absence before interfering unnecessarily.

Just then, the waves retreated from the shoreline, then rose up into what looked to be a wall that stood a great deal taller than the woman. Dropping down in a sudden downpour, two bodies were left in its wake. A man and woman dressed in thin, iridescent robes with bluish toned skin and black hair gave a shallow bow to the newly birthed woman.

"Hello," the man spoke tenderly, "I am Oceanus, the lord of the ocean. And this is my wife Tethys." His wife gave a small smile and tilt of her head.

The woman who had only lived for minutes inhaled sharply, then glanced around.

"Don't be alarmed, I won't harm you. I saw you appear so suddenly and heard you call out. Do you have a name, my child?"

She shook her head.

"Then we should see to it that you find a fitting name. I'm sure you must be confused, we can help you. And perhaps Mother would be so kind as to come to your aid as well.”

At the que, Gaia materialized in the sand, a grand creature shaped like any other woman save for the granules of rocks and mud used to give her large body form. Tendrils of the seaweed that had been floating along the shore were swept into the manifestation of Mother Earth and to anyone she appeared the epitome of a Primordial Deity in all her ancient glory. “If you knew I was here then I assume you’ve seen what Cronos has done.”

“You mean what you’ve had him do,” Tethys gently corrected. Her large dark eyes fell upon the soft fleshed woman standing between them all, not shivering in the draft of wind sweeping across the land. “Yes, we’ve seen. Is it not what you wanted, Mother? Father dethroned?”

“Not like that,” she answered honestly with a gentle shake of her head. “Your father wronged me and deserved to have his strength stripped of him, but not disrespected. Not disgraced. What Cronos did will forever taint my soils as the first ever blood crime.”

The three bowed their heads in silence as they contemplated what to do next.

It was the newly birthed woman who would break their thoughts with a soft, melodious voice, “What is to become of me?” All eyes turned to Gaia, who tapped a finger on her chin while brooding.

“You don’t strike me in the same way as the other creatures. And I can’t be sure that Cronos even noticed her being born, I myself would have missed it if I hadn’t seen the current pull away as it had.”

“What is that supposed to mean, Mother?” Tethys asked.

“Nothing. I’m simply making an observation. One never knows when such information can be useful.”

Tethys and Oceanus shared a glance at their mother’s scheming ways, but it was never a good idea to argue when Mother Earth was involved.

This was, after all, entirely her domain that the Titans inhabited. She was, and always will be, the great force when angered.

Uranous, the Sky Father, had learned this lesson the hard way.

“Oceanus, Tethys. I would like you to look after this child for the time being. I know you’ve your own children you’re rearing but she doesn’t look to require much care. She should be strong enough to carry her own weight, have her work hard alongside your other daughters and raise her to be good and loving, but also strong.” Gaia reached out and lightly stroked a sandy finger across the unchildlike face with round dark violet eyes glossed over like a sparkling amethyst. “She was born of your seas, Oceanus. She belongs with you. Take care. I can sense great things will come from this one.”

The woman’s eyes met with Tethys, who offered a sincere smile while taking her husband’s hand and offering her other towards her. “I have enough love to spare for one more. You are more than welcome to join us in our home.”

The woman looked between these three and, seeing no other alternative, took the light blue hand of Tethys and followed her and Oceanus into the salty water of the Mediteranian Sea.

And so, the world was given the one born of foam, Aphrodite.

Life with the gods of the world’s oceans was as good a life as any other Aphrodite could have hoped to have. The kingdom of Oceanus spread across the seabed, with a central, enormous palace in the deepest crevices of the seas, carved out of various corals blossoming in red, pink, and yellow reefs. The inhabitants of the kingdom ranged from the fish, whales and sharks that filled the waters to merfolk with tails in place of legs as well as those like Aphrodite with feet. The main difference between the foam goddess and other oceanic humanoids was her lack in ability to change shape at will like those truly born of water. In certain corners of the palace were air pockets that one could dry off and rest their weary limbs after a full day of swimming, which is where Aphrodite found herself most evenings stretched out on beds of seaweed and sponges.

Many years passed since that fateful day on the beach of Cyprus and the young goddess found herself happily living as a member of the Oceanus’ courts. He and Tethys raised thousands of children who would grow and leave to venture into the world, creating streams, rivers and ponds to preside over as their own domain. Many bore children, whose children had children, and so on and so forth. All while Aphrodite stayed the same, day in and day out. Her brothers and sisters tried for many years to try and find a suitable partner for their beloved, adoptive sister, but none caught her attention, though she caught many other’s eye. While she seemed to be, without question, the most beautiful creature yet to be born, she remained, for the most part, content with being single. The love of her family was all she needed, perhaps one day she would find a mate to settle down with but for now she reveled in her freedom of such responsibilities of being a wife and mother. Instead she worked on herself, studying the power of the sea in synchrony with Selene’s moon, helping to classify the many sea creatures she came across, to staying physically fit and maintaining strength. She was just as strong as any man in the sea and as fast as any fish.

For the most part, the goddess had a leisurely life. On any given day, Aphrodite and the daughters and granddaughters of Oceanus swam from one end of the world to the other in races, searched the seafloor for rare shells and gems, or explored underwater caves for new signs of life. On rare occasions they would find themselves on the beaches playing with crabs and gulls, but for the most part they were warned against going above the water surface.

“I rule all within this realm, but once you are under Helios’s sun, I cannot protect you. So take care, my daughters of the sea, to stay close and stay safe,” Oceanus told the women in all seriousness, though usually it would fall on deaf ears. The ladies had never known harm unto themselves or anyone else, truly this life was perfect without danger.

But Oceanus knew all too well that the world above was not as peaceful as that within his home. Cronos, after the death of his father, had grown more cynical every year. While at first his reign was dubbed the Golden Age for all the food abundance and peace that came after the initial slaying of his father Uranos.

The peace, however, was not meant to last. Over time, Cronos became paranoid that his rule was tainted by the curse his father spouted in his dying breath, that he too would someday be dethroned. It was said to be empty words by his brothers and sisters, merely the final cries of a being desperate to have the last say in how the world he helped reign over would crumble without him. Cronos tried to hold onto that thought, tried desperately to quail the nagging suspicions he had playing in the back of his mind like a fly buzzing in the ear of a bull. Until the day the ruler of all the world found out something terrible: his wife Rhea was begotten with child.

He tried to maintain his composure for the most part, but in the end, his own paranoia got the best of him. At the end of the infant’s gestation, Rhea gave birth to a beautiful, clay toned baby girl. While all of her sisters, who had helped with her delivery, were busy tending to the new mother, Cronos stood in the corner of the room holding the newly washed, freshly born child in his arms. She was small, incredibly so, compared to other children of titans. And she held a slight reddish glow around her fragile form.

How strong would she be?

How powerful?

His eyes went over to Rhea, who gave a soft smile in return. “Darling?” she called out.

But he didn’t move. Instead, Cronos looked back down at the infant.

No.

He couldn’t risk it.

To the horror of everyone in the room, Cronos raised the child by her ankle, high above his head, and with a crack unhinged his jaw like a snake.

He swallowed the child whole.

Rhea was so stunned she passed out while her sisters stood in mortification as the king of all the world quietly left the room.

Five more times did Cronus do this unspeakable act of consuming his children, each time sliding more and more into madness.

Where once the world was bursting with life, now it had grown dark from clouds that offered only lightening and thunderous roars. In a few places his misery hadn’t tarnished the lands and those who could fled to escape his wrath.

But those under Oceanus’ rule knew nothing of this pain and suffering, spending their days playing oceanic games and hosting grand feasts as their neighbors above starved.

It was on a particularly normal day that Aphrodite was babysitting for her adoptive sister Doris. It was nothing new for the lovely foam goddess to be asked to keep children, as she didn’t have her own and typically didn’t have any worldly duties like her siblings. She hadn’t a river to attend or a kingdom to rule, and so she found herself with her niece Amphitrite and nephew Nerites playing hide and seek in a grotto off the coast of Megiste. As children of Doris, Amphitrite and Nerites could transform into tailed creatures to help them to move through underwater caverns, though that did little to keep Aphrodite from catching up to each of them. She had been swimming for immeasurable years before these two thought of being born and she had grown to be as fast as her aquatic brothers and sisters, despite being tailless. Over and over, the children cried out in delight at their aunt’s ability to best them repeatedly at their own game, no matter how hard they tried or what animal they transformed into, she would catch them.

They had gone nearly one hundred rounds when Aphrodite stopped just short of tapping Nerites’ arm at the sound of thunder.

His high pitched voice echoed when he shrieked in surprise at the sound, making his sister laugh at his plight.

“You’re such a guppy,” she giggled.

“I am not, I was startled is all!”

“The water seems to be getting worse,” Aphrodite cut in, looking outside as the water began to pour. Fortunately, underwater seldom changed from the surface weather problems, but it still would warrant a cautious swim home.

“Did you see that?” she asked, her amethyst eyes rolling over the cavern walls.

“See what, Auntie Ditey?”

“I,” she narrowed her eyes, was that a shadow on the wall? No, it must have just been refracted light. No one ever came into the blue caves, she reassured herself. Most land dwellers were afraid of unknown waters. “It’s nothing. Who is ready to head back to see grandfather and grandmother?”

“Oh, can’t we play one more time?” Amphitrite begged, her oversized eyes sparkling with the last of daylight echoing off the water. “Just once, please, Auntie Ditey?”

Both children sported their largest eyed pleads they could muster before Aphrodite shrugged, “Now what kind of aunt would I be to say no to such sweet faces. Alright, darlings, we’ll play once more, then we have to hurry off.”

“We can race home!” Nerites offered in a boast. “I’ll turn into a dolphin!”

“Of course, and I’ll beat you like I always do,” Aphrodite teased.

The children turned her towards the cave wall and she proceeded to wait for their collective, “I’m ready!” before she began her hunt.

As they played their last match, somewhere just inside the mouth of the blue caves floated a wooden raft that had rolled inside to escape from the oncoming storm. A man quietly sat on his makeshift boat as he watched the woman and children playing until they swam away, mere feet away still unaware of him. In truth, he wasn’t paying them much mind until had a good view of the earth-toned woman's rise from the water to stand on the outer ridge of the cave’s wall before throwing herself back to make a splash. The children yelped in delight as the man’s jaw fell agape. She was lovely, in the most sincerest of forms, unlike any creature he had ever seen. Her dazzling eyes, her smooth skin, her flaming hair. It was nothing to him that she was nude as most creatures, particularly those of the water, chose to forgo such trivialities as hiding their bodies.

Yet here this man was, watching the woman with a rise within himself he had never imagined before. What was this yearning he felt? He didn’t speak up, in fear

When the storm passed, he made his way out of the caves towards the beaches of what would later be dubbed Athens. There he made his way towards Mount Othrys, where his father and uncle eagerly awaited his return. All the while, images of the enchanting woman played over and over in his mind’s eye.

“Atlas!” his father Iapetus greeted from the dining table. He sat as always to the left of King Cronos, who was brooding over a meal a servant had just served like it had been burnt. Atlas never liked his uncle, but didn’t care enough about politics to press the matter, rather he explored the corners of the globe in search of adventure and unseen lands. “I was beginning to think you had been held up somewhere and we’d have to track you down.”

“No, not at all, I got caught up in some weather just on the other side of the eastern islands. Nothing too concerning.”

When he took his seat beside his mother Clymene, dinner commenced and the guests took up their light conversations as Atlas stared down at his plate deep in thought. Around the table, he could hear everyone carrying on, his uncles Coeus, Hyperion, and Crius, his aunts Queen Rhea, Theia, Themis, Mnemosyne, Phoebe, and Tethys, and a few cousins whom he never took the time to memorise their names unless he liked them. As they carried on as normal, he replayed the images of the intoxicating woman he had seen in the cave.

Why hadn’t he spoken up?

Why hadn’t he asked her name?

“Dear, you’ve been out all day, surely you’re hungry?” his mother gently asked.

He heaved a heavy sigh before his eyes landed on his mother, her glistening light blue skin reminding him of the children that played with the woman. That’s right, they would have been descendants of Oceanus. And that woman, she must have been someone from his court. Perhaps a nymph of some kind?

An idea popped like a bubble into Atlas’s head.

“Actually, Mother, I was wondering. Tomorrow could we visit your father’s kingdom? I haven’t seen grandfather Oceanus in quite some time.”

“Oh, well, I’m actually going to be busy tomorrow, but I’m sure your father-”

“I can accompany you.”

The table’s idle chit-chat ceased as all eyes fell on Cronos, who rarely spoke at such events as trivial as family dinners.

“Tha-that won’t be necessary, your highness,” Iapetus reassured, “I know you must be busy with more important things than traveling into the realm for a family visit.”

“No, I’d like to visit our brother. I haven’t heard from him in quite some time, it would do some good to… catch up with one another.”

Atlas noticed the tension in the room thicken. As far as he’d known, Oceanus was as dedicated to Cronos as any of his other brothers, but there was speculation that Oceanus had closed his doors to most of those above sea level because he didn’t agree with the way his younger brother ran in domain.

But again, politics wasn’ t what interested Atlas.

For now, it was finding out who that mysterious woman was who had ensnared his heart.

#greek gods #Greek #Greek Mythology #greek myth #greek myths #greece #ancient greece #Aphrodite #cyprus #goddess #goddess of love #atlas #greek legend #gods #Titans #cronos

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