#not to mention that this was meant for repairing a surface I wanted to gift my mom for christmas

[dragongirltail]

oh man the classic buys expensive replacement screen for device, immediately drops the part and breaks it

fuck.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Life's Sweet Bells

A COD Farm Sim AU with omegaverse splashed in!

Poly 141 x F!OC. Masterlist

Pt. 3 Axes and Apples

Today was shaping up to be a no good very bad day.

Which Paloma supposes was bound to happen eventually.

But still. 

She stares at the ground, her well worn axe broken at her feet. Shattered to pieces. She can still feel the sting in her palms from the final blow, a handful of splinters left in its wake. 

She stares balefully at the culprit of such destruction. An old tree stump, impressive in its size, and right in the way of where she wanted a  very lovely flower bed to be. She kicks it for good measure, a shock of pain shooting up her foot through her cheap work boots.

She stands stiff as stone, ruffled like a cat as she hisses in pain through clenched teeth. 

Bad days happen, Paloma. Take a deep breath.

She tilts her head toward the sky and takes a long suffering breath, oppressive summer sun searing through her eyelids.

She'd done well to make a fair dent in clearing the debris from her farm, breaking down fallen logs and small stone boulders, clearing it meticulously to have a nice tillable surface.

But if she were being real honest?

She was tired.

Going non-stop since she arrived in town would do that she supposes. 

She slept when she could, made her meals out of forageables and what extra eggs and milk Soap had given her.

Not that she was complaining! Soap was more than generous, and working with him had given her valuable learning opportunities as well as a new friend! Not to mention the coins he threw her way for her help, that was just a bonus. 

Admittedly, money had been a little…tight. The move had cleaned out the majority of her bank account and while she was thankful her retail days were behind her, getting her money up had been a slow process. 

Farming wasn't difficult per se. There were just lots of steps. Ones she tried to keep scribbled in her dusty little journal. 

To get a farm started she needed money. To make money, she needed vegetables and animals. To keep vegetables and animals year round she needed her greenhouse and barn. To repair those she needed materials, and to get materials she needed better tools…that cost money.

It was a very annoying cycle, but one she had to jump into at her own pace, less she trip over herself and crash. 

This meant taking rest days felt illegal. How could she? Everyone she'd met had been busting their butts to keep the village alive, bestowing her with a generosity she would have never imagined. Gifting her tools, giving her odd jobs. She'd promised herself she would pay them back when she could, do her part to help the community. 

That meant now was not the time for rest. 

With aching hands she shuffles back inside, leaving her axe in the front yard to rot. She takes her time plucking out the errant splinters,  wrapping her poor blistered fingers as she ponders her options. The axe was a necessity for a fair amount of her chores, and she doubts super glue and a real sturdy stick would suffice as a repair. 

She does however, know of someone who could repair it. 

Ghost was one of the few townsfolk she'd yet to meet. Paloma had been nose to the grindstone since she arrived in town, building up a fair little nest egg of money. But in doing so had neglected her social duties, scuttling around the countryside getting into everything she could get her hands on.  

She may have also been avoiding town to preserve what little change she had anyway. As if it were her fault that she loved little treats and silly knick-knacks. 

Soap was obviously fond of the man, having rattled off his achievements to her with pride, chest puffed as he spoke. Paloma found it incredibly sweet to see how he practically gushed over his friend.

She’d teased him then, poking his shoulder playfully. I think you have a crush on him, she’d singsonged. Soap had only sported a big grin, cheeks flushing pink as he looked at her with a strange gleam in his eyes. Aye, something like that.

Ghosts achievements weren’t just embellished stories from Soap, but a common theme among everyone she’d spoken to. Ghost was one of the best blacksmiths in the country, albeit a little illusive, but Soap had told her that much as well. 

He's a shy fella, you'll have to pay him a visit. You don't want him to feel left out do ye?

And today seems like the day to do just that. 

-

She walks through town, old worn backpack over her shoulders and axe in hand. 

Well. 

Some of it. 

The village was truly beautiful, charming little shops lining cobblestone roads. Lush trees cover the sidewalks, their foliage providing cool shade and the soft rustle of leaves, well kept flower beds adding appeal to the rustic storefronts. Soft blue flags hang from the sparse street lanterns, a winged sword insignia visible in the warm summer breeze.  

It was quaint, quiet, with only a few passersby as she trots along. 

And maybe she made her trip twice as long by getting distracted by the many lovely shop windows, displaying an assortment of fine clothes and food items. She'd almost barged into the inn, the warm familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee calling her name. 

However, she'd prevailed. The change in her pocket a heavy weight as she drags herself to Ghost's shop. She finds herself standing before a rather intimidating heavy black door, “BLACKSMITH” painted in crude white paint.

The inside is no more polished. It’s a little dingey, a thin layer of soot covering most of the dark hardwood surfaces available. A large anvil stands around the corner, with tools upon tools lining its dusty walls: chisels, tongs, cutting tools, hammers of all shapes and sizes. Along with a myriad of other tools she couldn't even fathom the name of. Even from here she can hear a forge roaring somewhere in the back of the shop, making the summer sun outside seem preferable. 

The whole place reeks of coal and metal, with something oddly sugary buried beneath, like breakfast, richly sweet. She tries to snuffle deeper, the sting of soot too much on her nose to huff any deeper in search of the source. Instead she timidly taps the bell on the counter, a loud ping, resonating through the small shop. 

Her eyes linger behind the counter, where under soft glowing lights lays a small group of glittering ornate weapons. Beautiful swords inlaid with jewels, daggers made of fine gold, intricate details carved along the blade. They’re incredibly out of place amongst the dirt and cobwebs, but they're gorgeous. Treasures that looked like they belonged in the museum themselves.

Paloma is now certain of two things. One, that these weapons were worth more than she can fathom (if the sheer lack of a price tag were anything to go by). And two, she has never wanted a sword more in her whole life.

She imagines herself standing tall, the moon glittering off of her bright silvery blade, polished rose quartz and sapphires sparkling like stars as she swings it before her, transforming like the magical girls in her books. She would even have a pretty outfit and jewelry to match, ribbons made of galaxies weaved into her silvery hair. 

“Those are commision.” a deep voice rumbles behind her, scaring her nearly a foot off the ground. She whirls, lips parting as she takes in the man before her. 

Now when Paloma had thought of Ghost, she'd admittedly had something particular in mind. Ghost made tools yes, but he was also responsible for some of the most truly beautiful weapons. She’d pictured someone lean perhaps, with delicate hands to make the intricate pieces Soap had described to her. Someone that looked artsy and maybe even little posh for lack of a better term, yet tastefully dingey to show his work with the elements. As luxury artists usually looked like in the books she’s read.

This Ghost, is absolutely nothing of the sort. 

This Ghost is big, casting a shadow upon her form where he looms just a few steps away.  Broad as a barn and just as tall. A black neck gaiter covers the lower half of his face, the fabric bleached to resemble that of a skull. A heavy leather apron hangs over his shoulders, falling just shy of heavy boots, a plate of steel affixed to the toe. Rivulets of sweat cut paths through the layer of grime along his thick muscled arms, revealing a myriad of puckered scars and fine black ink underneath. 

Oh.

She tilts her head to meet his eyes, pale blonde lashes highlighted against the heavy layer of soot that coats his short cropped curls and upper face. He crosses his arms, dark eyes surveying her. 

“You'll catch flies like that” he rumbles, eyes flickering to her open mouth before bypassing her to step behind the counter. 

She shuts her mouth with a click, hissing to herself before schooling her expression and turning towards him, an embarrassed blush still heating her cheeks. 

She powers on. 

“Hello! Was wondering if you could help me?” she smiles, chasing after him.

He turns, fingers drummin against the wood counter, contemplating. 

“What ‘ave you got?”

“Well…” she trails, dumping the handle and handful of axe fragments against the counter, gnawing on her lip sheepishly as he stares between her and the shattered tool with no small amount of incredulousness. 

The silence kills her. “You think you can fix it?”

He leans back, gloved palms picking up a larger piece to inspect. “Oh I can fix it, take me a day or so, but you’ll still have a shit axe.” he says dryly, shrugging a shoulder. “Or, I can just fashion you a new one, for a fee.”

He explains his pricing, and Paloma can’t help but wince, just a repair would cost her days worth of foraging, and a new one outright? Well that was simply out of the question. What if he’s right? How long until she broke it again? If she had a few good days of fishing she could make it up in a week or two. But that was up to chance and would definitely cut down on her time for mining and other foraging. Could Soap miss her for a few days?

She’s prepared to make up an excuse, tell him she left her wallet,  when he speaks again. 

“Unless” he drawls, pulling her from her thoughts “You provide the materials, then it’s just a small labor fee.” He rolls his shoulders lazily, leaning his ass against the back counter and propping up a thick thigh to rest comfortably. 

She blinks at him. Materials?

“What kind of materials?”

“Could fashion one from stone, but you’ll end up with that again.” he gestures to the counter. “You’ll need somethin’ stronger if you're going go ‘round hackin’ down forests. Iron would be better, but copper’ll do.” he shrugs again. 

She perks up at that, holding back her happy claps as squirms her backpack off in excitement. Her bag hitting the floor with a surprisingly heavy thunk.

She fishes around for a moment, and with a small grunt she hefts a sizable knapsack onto his counter, loose strings falling to reveal a small mountain or raw copper ore. 

“Will this much work?” 

The large man freezes, doing a subtle double take at the pile of glittering copper, brows knitted as his dark eyes flicker between them once again.   

Paloma. Copper. Paloma. Copper. 

She waits patiently, thinking about how lots of people have been giving her those looks lately.

Finally, he pushes himself forward, scooping up a small piece with a gloved hand, eyeing it closely. 

In a flash he hikes up the mask, treating Paloma to the pale scars above his lip, along his neck. She watches him click the metal between his teeth curiously, giving a satisfied grunt before tossing it back into the pile lightly.

“That'll do”

-

The following days are almost painful with how giddy Paloma feels. It's not like she were getting new jewelry or a pretty dress. It was a bloody axe!

A new bloody axe.

“It'll take a few days. Just check back in.”  he'd told her, waving back to her awkwardly as she'd bid him goodbye. 

She did well to refrain from pestering him the very next day, instead, axeless and bored, she'd gone back to foraging.

She'd still yet to explore the farther corners of her property, and after a little jaunt she'd come to quite a lovely clearing, a singular loaded apple tree standing proudly in its center. She'd made quick work of plucking one of the bright red apples from its leafy nest, polishing the wax off with her shirt before taking a big bite. Sweetness bursting across her tongue in what must have been the sweetest, juiciest apple she's ever had in her life. 

An idea strikes her then, and she gathers a basket full,  enough to treat herself without making a noticeable dent in the tree's healthy supply.

She’s practically dancing as she rinses off her little prizes, oven already pre-heating.

She'd happily paid Ghost's labor fee up front, despite him telling her she could wait until after the service was done, but to her the fee itself had seemed suspiciously cheap. 

While Paloma may not have been blessed in the way of money, she could bake. 

Why not make up the difference with a little treat?

By the next day she is on Ghost's doorstep, little wicker basket in hand. She dings the small bell, busying herself with looking at his tool lined walls. The breakfast scent remains, stronger now, like syrup, with a familiar mix of rose and citrus that she can’t quite place. 

“Not ready yet” comes a gruff voice from behind her, startling her once again.  How does he move so quietly??

“That's alright! Here!” she holds the little basket in his direction. He pulls it from her hands carefully, eyeing it as if it were a bomb. The little basket looking comically dainty in his big paws. 

“What's all this…?”

“For you! I know you work hard, and it's not exactly cash, but everyone deserves a treat!” she beams, watching him carefully pull the pretty plaid cloth away to take a peek. 

She's quite proud of herself actually, it's the prettiest apple pie she's ever made, the crust carefully weaved and cooked to golden brown perfection, sugary crystals glistening in the light. 

…Nevermind that the first one she butchered sits half eaten in her own fridge. Practice makes perfect after all. 

The big man goes quiet, something odd flashing behind big brown eyes. He clears his throat,  thanking her quietly, his almost strained. 

She flashes him a sweet smile, patting him lightly on the bicep, and thinks nothing else of it. Some folks are peculiar about gifts, and she wasn’t going to stand around and watch him eat it like a weirdo.  The next day, she is pleased as punch to find her little basket returned to her front porch.  

In a few days time he fixes her axe, a beautiful shiny copper that makes demolishing tree stumps look like light work. So she requests upgrades for her other tools too, happily providing the materials. 

Similarly she continues her visits, chatting idly at the man while he lumbers about. He's pretty funny when he does talk, telling her some of the corniest jokes she's ever heard, often giggling at his own bit. Humoring her questions when she asks with more patience than she expected.  

So she keeps packing little gifts to the quiet blacksmith, a small fruit basket, little handmade pastries in the shape of hearts. 

Small gestures of gratitude while he upgrades her tools one by one. 

Each time the man looks more and more perplexed, brows knitting. 

But she notices his jokes grow fewer, voice going dry when he speaks to her, his eyes either bore into her or refuse to look in her direction at all. He even stops taking her gifts, waving her away offhandedly when she sets them on the counter. 

She reasons maybe he’s tired of sweets, so she changes tactics, starts gifting him particularly pretty gems she's found in the mines , even a small bundle of cucumbers and tomatoes she'd grown herself!

Yet he remains, aloof. Doing what he’s asked and shooing her away gruffly. 

This time she reasons he’s just busy. 

The next time she meets Ghost, he’s stiff, propped up on his back counter once again, arms crossed, simultaneously relaxed and also imposing. His eyes are trained on her, harsh pools of black that follow her from the door as she approaches his counter. 

She still smiles.

It’s not uncommon for her to make up stories about people in her head, stories that say they’re mad at her when they’ve said nothing of the sort. So she ignores her gut, digging out a small little geode from her bag and setting it before him. She no more than opens her mouth, excited to show him the lovely clusters of amethyst within when he cuts her off. 

“You tryin’ to court me?” he barks seethingly, and her stomach drops, forcing ice through her veins as her heart jumps pace. 

She freezes in place, eyes turning to saucers in pure mortification. 

Court him?

“I’m sorry…?”

“The bloody pies and this,” he glares at the geode on the counter. “can’t slap jewelry on me so you give me rocks?”

She thinks about her gifts, sweet treats and glittering stones…

It all clicks into place. 

Memories flood forward, the scent of maple and brown sugar wafting around him, the pale crescent scars she’d got glimpses of on his shoulders, along his neck. Hidden carefully beneath his mask. 

A dead light bulb flickers to life in the ignorant darkness of her mind. 

Oh. Oh.

Her old home had been so far removed from old courting practices that the thought hadn't even occurred to her. She didn’t even know that he was-!

Pure embarrassment heats her entire body as the realization hits her.  For all Ghost knows she was trying to pave her way into gifting him a bloody collar. And she’d carried on like a bumbling fool.

She stutters, mouth opening and closing like a guppy, cheeks red enough to paint roses as she frantically tries to explain herself. He stands now, towering, watching her with a harsh intensity that makes her want to dissolve.

“N-no!! Not like that!” He raises an incredulous brow, huffing at her.  “Not that you're not pretty!” Shut up! Paloma! “It's just that you've been so kind and I thought you'd like something… I didn’t know.”  she gestures vaguely, body beginning to tremble as the impending anxiety attack rears its ugly head. 

“Didn’t know fucking what?” he snaps.

She curls in on herself at his tone, nails digging into her own cuticles for purchase. She musters all she can to meet his eyes, voice just above a whisper. 

“I didn’t know you were like me.”

The room goes silent, all tension seemingly sucked out like a vacuum as the words leave her mouth. 

Something seems to snap in Ghost too, shoulders sinking as his arms fall uselessly at his sides. 

She stands there for a moment, carefully measuring her breaths in an effort to fight off anxious tears, before she bravely steps forward, plucking up her new and improved shovel with trembling hands. Nearly dropping it in the process, arms flailing as she just barely secures it, hugging it closely to her chest in an effort to maintain whatever scrap of dignity she had left. 

She whispers another apology, unable to look at him anymore, too afraid to see the anger still lingering in his eyes. She leaves the geode on the counter, turning to leave without another word. 

What Paloma failed to see, was not anger in the eyes of Simon Riley. 

But guilt.

[writerlyhabits]

Courting

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader

Words: 5.3k

Based on this request

A/N: As you can tell by the word count, I went ham on this prompt, I seriously love it so much. @deceiverofgodss and I worked on this probably too much for both of our own good, but I am so in love with what we created and I hope you like it too! Lots of fluff, actual decent angst this time (not my usual bullshit), a fun dive into both canon and fanon Mandalorian culture, and just lots of fun 😊

Warnings: canon level violence–use and mention of weapons & combat, angst, Mandalorian lore, I made a Mandalorian specifically for this, semi-established relationship? I explain it, I tied it into the plotline of the show even, the child is a contributing member this time (kinda), idk this is the longest fic I’ve written so I feel like I’m forgetting something

Seeing a Mandalorian covert was an interesting experience to say the least, and an experience not hardly any other non-Mandalorians like yourself would share. It was like an entire civilization, though on a much smaller scale, hidden beneath the surface of the planet above. Din had received a heavily obscured and ambiguous message from who he believed was the armorer, his assumption coming to be true as she welcomed his little clan into the covert, offering protection for you and the child as well as information before the three of you had to continue on your search for the Jedi.

While Din had busied himself with information gathering, as well as doing what he could to provide for the tribe, you had taken to putting your own set of skills to use. You and the child would often entertain and watch after the Mandalorian children and foundlings that ran around the tunnels of the covert, telling stories of your adventures with your Mandalorian that seemed to inspire them, many a Mandalorian parent thanking you for it. You offered your limited medical help, helping with anything from minor scrapes, knife wounds, and brushes of blaster fire. As well as, with the experience you’d gained working on the Razor Crests’ constant repairs, being able to offer some mechanical support in the rare cases needed.

Overall, you proved to be a favorite among the Mandalorians, and even though you took it very modestly, Din couldn’t help but feel his pride being inflated. He’d had a handful of Mandos tell him about how perfectly suited you were to be a Mandalorian Riduur, and it took a lot for him to ignore his body’s response.

The child loved the attention, and quite honestly, you didn’t mind it either. The women were welcoming and taught you different styles of fighting, the children were sweet, and there was one Mando in particular with green markings on his shoulder who would often give you gifts. Just little things, but it was a nice gesture, and made you feel like you fit in amongst the beskar clad warriors.

“What did you tell them about me this time?” Din asked as he made his way into the little cove you three had occupied in the covert, pushing the drapery meant for privacy aside. “The foundlings were all over me when I walked through.” You giggled at the thought.

“We told them about the Mudhorn today, they wanted to know how you earned your signet,” you told him fondly, the child wriggling out of your grasp to descend onto the bed that took up most of the space in your little cut-out of a room. “They seem to idolize you.”

“That’s because you keep fluffing up the stories you tell them, mesh’la,” he sighed as he deposited his rifle in the corner beside the bed, and you couldn’t help but smile at him. There was an unspoken connection between the two of you that just lit your entire being on fire. Especially when he called you sweet names like that. You didn’t technically know what it meant, but you figured it had to be a term of endearment by the way he said it.

“Any luck with the…” You trailed off, asking him about the Jedi, but trying not to get the kid’s hopes up. The two of you had noticed his ears perking up at any mention of it, and after a while with nothing new, Din suggested the two of you keep things low-profile around him.

“Same as always,” he admitted, and you could hear frustration creeping into his voice. “We’re running out of options, and I don’t even know where I would start if we can’t find anything.”

“I’m sure something will come up,” you tried to reassure him. “Why don’t you come sit down, you’ve had a rough few days,” you offered. He tilted his helmet at you in just the right way, and you knew he was looking at you as fondly as you were him. He turned his focus to the troublemaker fumbling around the large bed.

“What have you got little one?” he asked affectionately, picking the child up and examining the object he had been trying to put in his mouth. It was a miniature carving of what looked like a Nexu, complete with four eyes, a wide mouth, and a long two-tipped tail. “Another Nexu, huh?” You chuckled softly, the sound making his soul light up. While your time here in the covert had been stressful in terms of the search for Jedi, Din had enjoyed these moments with his little family, finding absolute bliss in the comfort they allowed.

“Mmhmm, it also came with this,” you offered, bringing him out of his daze as you held a dagger delicately in your hands. He’d almost let it slip as he looked up at your smiling face, doing a double-take as he took a closer look at the weapon, a silver blade fixed to a hilt of beskar. Din gently set the child back down on the bed, his visor trained on the dagger in your hands.

“Who gave you that?” He asked abruptly, his shift in attitude catching you off guard.

“You remember that Mandalorian with the green designs on his shoulder? I think he goes by Tairoh.”

“Has he given you anything else?” Your eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, hinted with concern.

“All of these were from him. He has something for me almost every time I see him,” you admitted cautiously, referring to the assortment of trinkets and toys amongst the pile of your things, most of which were variations of the exact same thing. The fucking Nexu. He’d heard that Mando tell too many stories about the ugly animals before, he should have known it was a signet.

Tairoh was much taller, bigger, stronger, and younger than Din was. He was good with the foundlings, had a soft spot for them. As a fighter, he was reckless, never thinking before he leaped, yet every action he took was one for his tribe. He was a prime example of a Mandalorian warrior, and it made an uneasy feeling start to settle in the pit of Din’s stomach.

“Dank farrik… I thought you got those from the foundlings,” he grumbled, looking seemingly anywhere but you. Which didn’t help make you feel any better about whatever was going on.

“Why, what’s wrong?” you tried. Din just kind of let out a heavy breath as he hesitated a few moments. “Should… should I not have taken them? Should I give the blade back?”

“No no, you should keep it… it’s a beautiful weapon, it suits you.” Din tried to be genuine, but it wasn’t working, his comment coming out passive and cold. In all fairness, it was well crafted and would fit your fighting style well. But it was wrong.

“Alright… then what is it? Why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset,” he lied. You simply raised an eyebrow at him, seeing right through his act. He huffed in frustration. “I’m not upset, not at you.” That was all he said before he flung the drapery “door” open and stormed off through the tunnels of the covert, leaving you and the child alone again.

“Yeah, that was a great talk. Glad we cleared that up,” you muttered sarcastically to the empty space where Din was standing a few moments before, the child simply looking up at you with wide eyes. You had half a mind to take the Nexu out of his mouth, but you didn’t need both of your boys throwing fits, one was plenty.

...

“Why did you make the blade?”

“I have made a handful of blades in the last few days, you’ll have to be more specific.” The Armorer had her back to him as she worked in the large circular room, her voice calm and collected like it always was. It was starting to piss him off.

“The blade Tairoh gave to her. A courting gift, when she’s mine.” He was seething, his words hot on his tongue.

“Not by Mandalorian customs,” The Armorer answered with a lilt in her voice. Din froze.

“She’s not Mandalorian, she doesn’t understand.”

“That does not stop the others from being able to try. She does not carry your signet, she wears no ring, pendant, or other signifiers. While she may have a bond with you and your foundling, she has no true tie to your clan.”

How could someone be so right and so wrong at the same time? You did belong to his clan, you made it a clan of three. You were always there to have his back, you cared for his foundling as if he were your own. Maker, after everything you had been through together, he was as much your child as he was Din’s. He thought of all your lingering glances, your gentle touches, warm smiles. The way your eyes lit up at the sight of him, the way you looked at him as if he had put the galaxy in your hands.

But he hadn’t given you his signet. Despite having thought about it more times than he could count, you had nothing that bore his mudhorn. So while by common standards you were his, to the Mandalorians… there was still room for doubt, for interference, for competition.

And yet, he had such a personal knowledge of you, he felt like there hadn’t been a need for such a bold claim, such a strong statement of possession. He knew your facial expressions and what each subtle change reflected, as you knew every tilt of his helmet. He knew which meals and snacks disappeared quicker, he knew how softly you would sing in the ‘fresher, which sleeping positions you found the most comfortable during cold nights on the Crest. He knew you as intimately as you knew him. Wasn’t that the point? Wasn’t that enough?

“She possesses the Mandokar, the virtue of a true Mandalorian. She has an aggressive passion, tenacity, loyalty, and a clear lust for life. He will help strengthen this in her, and together they will raise strong warriors.”

Din could physically feel his heart shatter. Just the thought of you with another man, another Mandalorian, having children that were not his own… it was never something you had discussed, but in that moment Din knew it was everything he wanted.

“This is the way,” the armorer tried. For the first time in a long time, he did not reply. He turned and stormed out of the room, his cape swishing behind him as he sped off with one thing in mind.

You.

…

“I don’t understand, do you not like it?” Tairoh asked.

“No, it’s a lovely weapon, it really is,” you started, the kid in his satchel on your hip while you held the knife out to him with both hands. You had no way to know whether this was right or not, but after sitting in your room racking your brain for an answer with nothing else to go off of but Din’s reaction, this was the best solution you could think of.

“My Mandalorian did not react the way I expected him to when I brought this back.” You tried to choose your words gently, terrified of accidentally offending him by some part of his culture you didn’t understand, unaware that Tairoh knew exactly why it had set Din off. That he had almost anticipated it, though your clear statement of ‘my Mandalorian’ threw him off. “I clearly don’t understand what this means, and I think it might be best if I returned it to you.”

“He didn’t explain it to you?” Tairoh questioned, his hands remaining on his hips as he towered over you, still not taking the knife out of your hands like you wanted so badly for him to.

“Neither did you,” came the modulated voice you were so familiar with, and you could feel the kid’s ears perk up at the sound. You peeked behind the hulking Mando in front of you to see your favorite wall of beskar storming down the hall of the covert, beelining towards the three of you. Tairoh turned to face him, his size quickly becoming evident as his bulky frame towered even over Din, who you were used to feeling small standing next to.

“Did you think she knew?” You could hear the anger in his voice, hot and boiling over the edge. “Or did you disregard that she had no idea what you were doing?”

“Being so close to someone with such a strong Mandokar, it’s a wonder you haven’t gotten farther than I have.” How they can have a whole conversation and still not say a damn word about what the hell was going on was almost impressive. It’s like they were doing it on purpose. They had stepped dangerously close to each other, and the tension of the situation was so thick you could have cut it with the blade that was, unfortunately, still in your hand.

“You don’t know her like I do,” Din sneered, his voice quiet but unwavering. You had to ignore the shocks it sent through your body.

“Maybe I don’t, not yet. But I’ll know her better.”

You couldn't even interject before Din had launched at Tairoh. You watch in shock as Din’s shining silver vambrace became a blur until his gloved fist collided with the other helmet, his opponent only flinching a little. In that brief pause where they both processed what was happening, you felt like your heart was stuck in your throat. A green armored hand shoots out to grab Din behind the neck, and he moves to swing the other one at his helmet. You watch, almost in slow motion, as Din managed to duck himself down and out of the way, headbutting the much larger Mandalorian in the gut. You’re almost impressed by your own reaction time considering how distracted you are, quick to move out of the way as he plows Tairoh into the wall behind you.

You glance around at the others gathered around the covert, and no one is even batting an eye. Well, figuratively. There’s only one helmet turning anywhere near your direction, and his body language just looks bored. The child at your hip, on the other hand, seemed to be having a great time, cooing and cheering in his own little way, being far too used to watching his father beat the shit out of people for his own good.

Tairoh kicks Din off of him, sending the silver-clad Mando stumbling backward, your attention brought back to where it should be. Pushing himself off the wall, he sauntered over to Din, grabbing him by the collar and hoisting him into the air. Din scrambles a little bit, his legs swinging as he tried hitting Tairoh anywhere he could reach, but nothing seemed to make any progress.

After a few moments, you started to get even more nervous than you already were, watching as nothing happened, Din struggling and Tairoh seeming to stand victorious. What he was winning was lost to you, but he seemed pretty comfortable with his accomplishment, bringing his other hand up to prop up against his hip. Almost as soon as he got comfortable, Din’s legs shot up to hook around his opponent’s upper body, catching him off guard. He ignites his jetpack, causing Tairoh to stumble backward with the offset, dropping Din to the floor with a metallic thud.

This was what was getting people’s attention, you figured, watching as a crowd of Mandalorians had started to congregate in the nearby halls when the combatants started pulling out their fancy toys. You’d seen a couple of Mandos brawl through the covert during your stay, it was like sibling rivalries, they fought over anything and everything. But it was usually just with their fists, and the occasional vibroblade if they got fired up. They didn’t pull out their jetpacks or other impressive weapons, like your Beskar clad dumbass was doing right now.

Din was quick to his feet, or at least to one of them as he scrambled up from the floor and onto one knee, throwing the grappling line out from his vambrace to wrap around Tairoh’s legs and send him to the ground. The larger Mandalorian plants his feet and grounds himself, and reached out to start pulling the line, and Din with it. You watched almost in awe as Din’s strength was tested, holding his own against his hulking opponent until his boots betrayed him, sliding against the floor. You can hear his struggle, grunting and groaning as he used all his strength to stop from being pulled in, and combined with the sight of his broad stance ... it was certainly having an effect on you.

There was a soft clink of metal, Din having found his footing in a grate on the floor, wrapping the line around his fist and pulling it taught. You didn’t know who drew their weapon first, but in a flash, both of the armored men in front of you were throwing fire at each other, blasts meeting in the middle and canceling the other out. The air was not only hot, but it was thick with rising tension, and you knew it was only a matter of moments before one of them launched to further attack the other, and your stomach was tying itself in a knot as the other Mandos around you egged them on.

You physically flinched as a clang reverberated through the halls, turning to see the Armorer at the end of the corridor, her forging hammer in hand, likely having collided it with Beskar to produce the sound. The flamethrowers were disengaged, and a crowd of ‘T’ shaped visors turned to look at her, even from their positions on the floor.

“Enough,” her calm voice came through. “We cannot let our personal battles overpower the strength of our tribe. While strength is life by the Canons of Honor, for the strong have the right to rule... loyalty is life, for without one’s clan one has no purpose. Do not let your flames burn down that bond, nor our newfound covert, crucial in our continued survival.” There was a pause as they all absorbed her words, and you could see as the two in front of you started to let go, releasing the cable for Din to reign it back in.

“Our secrecy is our survival, our survival is our strength. This is the way,” She finished. There was an echo of voices, ‘this is the way’ resounding through the crowd that had gathered as they reiterated the aphorism the way they often did. You looked to Din at that moment, still unsure whether answering or not answering was more offensive, only to find his visor already pointed at you.

As the crowd dispersed, Din offered a hand to help Tairoh off the floor, and they gave each other a silent nod before turning to you. The latter gave you a similar nod before walking in the other direction, leaving you, the child, and Din to yourselves as he made his way to your side. The child started squirming in his satchel on your hip as he tried to get to his father.

“What the hell is going on?!” you questioned him in a harsh whisper, handing him the wiggling green swamp rat. Din let out a deep sigh, holding the kid close to his chest with one arm, his other slotting at the small of your back to gently lead you forward.

“Let’s head back to our quarters, I’ll explain there.”

…

The walk back had been a quiet one, aside from the Child’s happy gurgling, while Din was racking his brain to figure out where he was going to start and you silently waited for him. You passed a handful of other Mandos on your way, and you figured word must have traveled quickly by the way their visors lingered on your party.

Peeling the curtain back to let Din walk in before you, you tossed the satchel and unwanted dagger onto the large bed and propped your hands on your hips, waiting for his explanation. He almost looked sheepish as he set the child down in his pod, begrudgingly handing him the Nexu toy that he had taken a liking to.

“He was courting you,” Din started, always quick to the point when he decided to give you any explanation. Your eyebrows shot up in confusion. “All the gifts he was giving you, they were courting gifts. He wanted… he wanted to marry you.” He had to take a shaky breath to manage the last statement, and your heart ached.

“Din…” you sighed, dropping your hands to try and get closer to him.

“You couldn't have known, and… and I should have told you, I just...” You placed a hand on his arm as you came up to him, his body responding almost instinctively as his hands found your waist to hold you against him. One gloved hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your soft skin. “I just didn’t want to lose you,” he whispered. You almost laughed at him, unable to hide your grin.

“What made you think that would ever happen?”

“Do you realize how many Mandalorians would have been happy to make you their partner?” he said, almost shocking you with how steady his voice was, like he’d thought about this many times before this. “You have a lot of key Mandalorian qualities, and many of them have told me directly that they’d be honored if they got the chance to court you.”

You just kind of looked at him with wide eyes, barely processing the words coming out of his mouth. You had started as an outsider, doing what you could to prove your value, let them know they could trust you… and apparently, you had accomplished much more than just fitting in.

“What stopped them?” You asked, almost amused at the absurdity of all of this.

“Me.” The conviction in his voice sent chills down your spine. “They understood that you’re mine, that you’re with me, under my protection.”

“They’re damn right,” you smiled, placing your hands on the broad expanse of his chest plate.

“But you do not wear my signet,” he continued, not sounding quite as amused as you did, and your smile fell. “By Mandalorian standards, I have no claim over you. Tairoh saw that, and took his chance.” His hand fell from your cheek, but didn’t go far as it resided at your waist. “He is much bigger, stronger, younger than I am… he would have provided well for you.”

You finally got a glimpse into what was going on inside that bucket on his head, and you were not successful in holding in your laughter this time.

“What’s funny?” He sounded irritated, securely holding you in place as your laughter had you leaning back in his arms.

“You’re dumb,” you replied, earning a huff in response. You righted yourself, trying to contain your giggles as you looked back up into his visor. “Do you think I care about any of that?” His helmet tilted the slightest bit, and you knew he was listening intently. “I didn’t choose you because you could provide for me, or because you were Mandalorian. Apparently, I could have my pick of the lot.” That comment made him give you an amused exhale, and you dreamed about the smile that accompanied it.

“I want you, Din Djarin. I want you just as you are, beskar helmet or no,” you admitted softly, hoping to soothe his nerves, and help him realize just how far you would go for him. “But dank farrik, you have got to start telling me things. We could have avoided all of this if you had just told me what was going on,” you poked at him, and you got to hear one of the rarest and most beautiful sounds– the deep, belly laugh of your favorite Mandalorian.

“That takes the fun out of it, mesh’la,” he smiled. Your hands flew to cradle his neck in between your hands, sitting just under his helmet and pulling down ever so slightly to get him closer to you.

“You can start by telling me what that word means, you’ve been calling me that forever!” Din’s helmet tilted to the side, far more prominent this time, and it made your cheeks grow hot. You knew he was about to say something absolutely adorable, or something that would make your sides hurt with laughter. Always a gamble with him.

“It means beautiful,” he muttered, and your heart swelled.

You remembered the very first time he’d ever called you that. It had taken you completely off guard and had probably been the only time you could have asked what it meant and actually have gotten an answer, at least before he got stubborn and made it something secret he could get away with as he pleased.

It had been on Sorgan, in the weeks spent laying low in the quiet backwater village, well after the initial battle that had brought you there. Din had been standing on the porch of the little hut they had graciously provided for the three of you to stay in, standing with his thumbs hooked into his belt, his back to the door as he waited for you.

I want to show you something, you had told him, and you could hear his smile when he couldn’t resist you. You remember what it felt like as his visor gazed up and down your body as you modeled the blue, apron-shaped piece you had woven yourself. It had taken weeks and immeasurable amounts of patience learning from the villagers, and you would never wear it again once you left the planet, but you were proud of yourself.

It looks great, mesh’la, you did well. It had made you light up like a plasma charge, the intimacy in his voice made you melt.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that?” you asked the Mando in your arms, enamored with the man who had been calling you beautiful for almost as long as he’d known you. He dropped his head down to meet yours in a Mandalorian custom you did recognize– from legends and stories before you had your own to interrogate– the Keldabe Kiss.

“Because I’m dumb.”

…

Weeks had passed at the covert, and you welcomed the growth that came with it. The child had gotten over his fussy-ness when being left with other Mandos, happy to play with new friends and other foundlings while you and Din were away. In this time, you continued doing what you could to help around the covert and did more training with the Mandalorians you had grown close to, helping you hone in on a fighting style that suited you best in both preference and build. As for Din, he’d been much more talkative since the fight and had been more than happy to indulge you in any mando’a translation you asked of him, even going as far as to give you some of his own. It was nice, having a little routine. It was almost domestic.

But that kind of domesticity just didn’t fit your party’s lifestyle, and soon enough you were on the move again. You were to meet an informant, Gor Koresh, who frequented an underground fighting pit and had a lead on the location of other Mandalorians. With nothing to go off of in the covert’s position, this was your best option. And while you had enjoyed your time at the covert, you were itching for something new.

You settled yourselves back into the Razor Crest, the child already having forgotten about his missing Nexu toys – a crime Din refused to answer for – when he was reunited with the beloved ball topper from the cockpit. The other Mandalorians had been gracious enough to help stock up your supplies, and ensure the ship was prepared to travel. Tairoh had been one of those people, heavy lifting where it was needed, but gave you nothing more than another silent nod. It would have been the opportune moment to return the blade back to him, had you not misplaced it before leaving the covert, even though it remained in one spot since it had been in your possession. Though you couldn’t lie, there was an incredible lack of remorse for the missing object on your part, and you were sure that one person would be relieved.

“How far do you think you came in your training?” Din had asked, turning the pilot’s chair to face you now that he had set a course through lightspeed.

“I’m doing much better since what you taught me on Sorgan, I could hold my own,” you answered proudly. “Why?”

“I’m half expecting trouble with this informant, but I want you to come with me.” There was something different about his tone. You knew he was grinning, you could hear it, but you couldn’t for the life of you figure out why.

“Yeah? You and me against a bunch of underground fighters?” You teased, knowing full well that it was an image he’d enjoy.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he chuckled. He hesitated for a moment, almost unsure of himself as he fidgeted with his glove. “Do you want to fight me? Show me what you’ve learned?”

“If you’ve got something I can use,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders. You turned to look down at the hull below as you explained, “I got pretty good with hand to hand, but I’m used to using their blades. Yours look a bit bigger, and I lost the one from…” Your words were caught in your throat when you turned back around to face him.

He was still sitting in the pilot’s chair, and though his posture was relaxed you could tell all of his muscles were at attention. In his hands was a sleek dagger, much like the ones you were used to. The blade was attached to a beskar hilt that had intricate designs, and a very distinct image of a mudhorn.

“Is that…”

“I had it crafted before we left,” he answered as your question trailed off. “I hope you don’t mind, but I reused the beskar from your last blade, and had it made into something better.” You let out a laugh at his implication, some of the tension released from your body.

“Din, does this mean you’re courting me?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. He gave an airy chuckle as he let go of a breath he seemed to be holding.

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to make it count by Mandalorian customs as well. We would be recognized as a clan of three.” You stood from the co-pilot’s chair to stand between his legs, and he leaned up from his position to look at you properly, a gloved hand caressing the side of your leg as he held you there. “It’s yours if you’ll have it, mesh’la.”

You gently took the blade from his hands, beaming at him while you examined it. Another hand came up to your other side, pulling you down into his lap to hold you close.

“What do you think?” You gave it a brief moment of feigned contemplation.

“I think I’m gonna kick your ass with it when we land.” You felt his body rumble with the chuckle that came from deep within his core, his hand moving to cup your cheek.

“Save it for the fighters my love.”

...

Taglist: @janebby

Din Djarin: @spideysimpossiblegirl @cats-are-a-girls-bestfriend

[dangerousconnoisseurdonut]

Magical Thieves AU

In a Gotham where about 40% of the population have some sort or magical ability and only something like 13% have two abilities, Bruce is a street rat with his honourary sister, Selina, and the two are excellent cat burglars, known as the Cat and the Bat. Selina is a Shadow Magic user; she can blend into the shadows as well as bring her shadow to life in extreme circumstances. She is called a Night Stalker, and is not trusted by many of those gifted with Light Arts. Bruce though, if anyone knew what his real abilities were, he would be locked up in the interest of public safety; he is often referred to as simply a Chaos Courtesan, despite not being a Chaos Mage.

Bruce is one of the 13% that has two abilities; the first one alone would have him be monitored for the rest of his life, Technomagic, an ability that allows him access to computer files, all kinds of electrical data, and possess mechanical devices, and those are only the surface of his abilities, but they are enough to warrant the government being worried about him. His other, arguably stronger ability, however, would have Bruce either locked up in a special facility where he never saw another living person ever again, or killed; Blood Magic. An ability that is hard to regulate as the user can literally use their own blood or that of their attackers/victims against them. They can turn a person’s blood into acid so they are eaten away from the inside out, they can track a person as well as those with Animal Magic, and they can supposedly even control people by binding their blood.

Selina and Bruce have been siblings since they were nine-years-old and Selina found Bruce wandering around, looking for something to eat. Bruce’s parents were from feuding families and when they fell in love, they were both disowned, and they became rather good thieves themselves, until the police caught up with them and killed them in a shoot-out. Selina and Bruce have stuck with each other and managed to become two of the most sought after professional thieves around, and they have been saving for the chance to get out of Gotham for the chance of a normal life. They need just one more good payday and they ca leave for good; unfortunately, that opportunity comes in the form of Roland Daggett and Rupert Thorne (Sofia and Theo work as well, I just thought something different). They are offering the pair a huge payout, in return for what others would call a suicide mission; rip-off the King and Queen of Gotham themselves, Oswald Cobblepot and Barbara Kean. Bruce is all for ignoring this job as this is beyond dangerous, but the pair are also offering papers that will identify the pair as harmless, low-level White Magic users; papers that would cost upwards of $50,000 a piece.

Selina talks Bruce into taking the job and they stake out the place to prepare for Gotham’s social event of the year; The King and Queen’s Masquerade Ball. Selina poses as someone called to do a repair job to get access to the house and they learn the layout of the house, particularly the room that holds their prizes; two beautiful rings that identify Oswald and Barbara as the King and Queen. The night of the ball, Selina attends as a low level socialite and Bruce is a waiter, both wearing one of his blood glamors to help add to their anonymity. Soon, however, a hush falls over the crowd as the King and Queen make their entrance with their respective courts. Barbara enters with her consort Tabitha, her botanist, Ivy Pepper, and her two bodyguards, Bridgit Pike and Ecco Valeska.

Then there’s Oswald with his consort, Captain James Gordon of the GCPD, his engineer, Jeremiah Valeska (Ecco’s half brother), his advisor, Jervis Tetch, chemist, Jonathan Crane, his own bodyguards Jerome Valeska and Victor Fries, his informant (and not-so-secret assassin), Victor Zsasz, and his Chief of Staff, Alfred Pennyworth. Each of them have dangerous magical abilities and none were meant to be trifled with but, if Selina and Bruce want that big payday and those papers, then trifle they must. Some time passes and the pair actually find themselves talking to members of the courts; Bridgit hates these things and enjoys talking to those who feel as uncomfortable as she does, and Bruce finds himself saving Jonathan from an embarrassing situation. Still though, once the Ball really gets going, Bruce and Selina break away to the room where the rings are housed and just as they grab the rings, Bruce feels a frisson of unease shoot up his back; they’ve been caught.

The two Courts enter the room, and Oswald reveals he’s actually flattered that Gotham’s infamous Cat and Bat Thieves have not only targeted him, but gotten so far, though he was suspicious when a random repair worker appeared at the house, given that Jeremiah always takes care of such problems. Still, as he’s an admirer of their skills and he’s in such a good mood from the party, all they have to do is put the rings back and tell him who hired them, they can leave peacefully. Bruce and Selina both know, however, if they show up empty handed, let alone give up who hired them, they will be a pair of dead ducks. When Bridgit throws a small fireball at the pair to scare them,  Bruce and Selina show their magic to protect themselves, and now Barbara finds them very interesting, offering them a fair percentage of what they would have made if they pulled off the heist. The pair still refuse to give up so easily as not having to buy those papers themselves, would save a large chunk of their savings.

Things go from bad to worse however when Jim and Alfred notice the blood charms and there’s just something too homey about them not to be handmade, and they realize that one of the pair is a Blood Mage. Once Oswald is informed of this, he’s ecstatic and informs Jerome to test the pair as the psychotic ginger is a chaos mage, and the only thing that can stand up to them are those of Order magic and Blood magic. Thanks to Jerome, they quickly figure out that Bruce is a Chaos Courtesan, and Oswald and Barbara know they need these two in their Courts. Not knowing this, Bruce and Selina make a break for it, which is helped by the fact Bruce managed to get a small sample of everyone’s blood, giving him a slight edge.

The two are about to take the staircase heading to the front door when Ivy manages to trip Selina, sending her careening down the stairs, thankfully only knocking her out. As Bruce reaches the bottom of the stairs to grab Selina, he instead is grabbed by the two Victor’s, Jim, and Jervis, who are quick to hide him in a small alcove as the other guests come to investigate Selina’s scream from her fall. Oswald and Barbara are quick to act as concerned hosts over the ‘poor dear who had a touch too much champagne and lost her balance’, a story corroborated by Bridgit and Ivy. When no one comes forward to claim her, Tabitha is quick to suggest they look after her, so they move her to a secure room.

Oswald meanwhile joins the other males, and Jervis tries to compel the truth from Bruce, but Bruce still has a vial of Jervis’ blood, and smashes it so that he can temporarily be immune to Jervis’ power. Zsasz and Fries however are quick to point out that Selina is very vulnerable at the moment and it wouldn’t be hard to...

Bruce is quick to reveal everything and give the rings back, not willing to let anything happen to Selina. Oswald orders some of his men to go to the meeting spot where Bruce and Selina were to meet Daggett and Thorne and take care of things. Bruce hopes to be able to leave with Selina once she regains consciousness, but Oswald naturally has other ideas;

Oswald: Let an injured kitten and obviously malnourished bat go wondering off into the night?! The ASPCA would have my head on a platter! Not to mention Barbara would have a separate one for my balls.

Jim: She is an avid animal lover, especially when it comes to cats. Same with Tabitha.

Oswald: Yeah, and I do not want that woman coming after me with her whip.

Bruce, starting to struggle between the two Victor’s: I will look after her; she’s survived worse falls than that! We both have!

Oswald: You see?! The kitten and no doubt baby bat, uh, what do you call a baby bat, anyways?

Jervis, enjoying himself: A pup.

Oswald: Thank you, Jervis; a kitten and a pup who are constantly being abused on the streets of Gotham?! Obviously they need someone to look after them! Do you like bats, Victors?

Victor Z: I think they’re adorable.

Victor F: Yeah, and this one is a real cutie.

Bruce: You can’t do this! Selina and I are people, not pets! We can look after ourselves!

Jim: And I’m the Captain of the GCPD, and I don’t think you can!

Alfred appears: Oswald, Ms. Kean has seen to it that her new kitten is properly situated in her new room, and I have prepared one for our bat whenever you’re ready.

Oswald: Thank you Alfred, if you would please? I wonder how much harder it is to train bats than birds?

Victor F: We’ll figure it out; besides, you always did love a challenge.

Bruce tries to cast one last spell, only to feel a sharp pain in his neck, and know no more.

For all those who liked my Underwater Gotham AU, I thank you and hope you’ll like this one just as much. Please leave a comment if you do!

[mmvalentine]

Circus of Dreams, pt 6 | Feysand

Night Circus AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

Rhys was certainly going to miss having Feyre in his bed, but he was still able to feel happy for her, that she was getting her own space back. He knew how uncomfortable the idea of sharing with him had been for her, and was glad the caravan had been fixed so quickly.

Mor, of course, was ecstatic. He didn't envy her- it couldn't have been easy bunking with Amren, even for a few short days. He heard she snored something fierce.

Rhys got dressed while Feyre and Mor set up their refurbished caravan, and was on his way to the magic tent, when something caught his eye.

A new tent.

There hadn't been a new tent in the last five years. Rhys stepped closer. The fabric was black, with a fine silver lace laid over it. From inside, he could hear faint music, as well as a mechanical whirring. There was no label or signpost on the outside, the way some of the tents had. So he stepped through the flaps.

Inside, he saw Amren, and Feyre. And small, slowly rotating carousel with three white horses, and one brass one. He turned, questioning.

"What do you think?" Amren asked him. "I... I didn't know we still had it." He should have, Amren was ever the hoarder.

The carousel had been his mother's of course. Years ago.

"She made it for you," Amren said. We were going through some of the old equipment, and when I told her it was your mother's, she wanted to repair it."

Rhys looked from the carousel, to Feyre, and back to the carousel again. Feyre blushed deeply.

"I didn't make it, I fixed the spinning mechanism and repainted the horses. One was too far gone to be repaired, but then I remembered you mentioned there was a clockwork pony somewhere..."

Rhys stared. "Feyre, it's beautiful." She beamed. "Thank you." "When did you even get time to do all this?" A wicked gleam came into her eye. "What do you think I do all day while you lot are working?"

Feyre stepped up onto the base of the carousel, grabbing onto one of the poles to steady herself as the whole thing continued to rotate lazily.

"Watch this," she said.

Feyre made her way to the clockwork horse, and sat down side-saddle. She reached forward and pressed something in it's neck, and the horse began to move it's legs on the spot like it was galloping.

"It winds itself up since the base turns," she explained, turning her head as the carousel took her away from them. "All you have to do is release the switch and it'll gallop away. Once it's run down, the switch falls back into place, and it gets wound up again."

Feyre hopped off, taking a few quick steps to regain her balance as the carousel spun on.

"Do you like it?" she asked Rhys. "It's my thank you gift, for looking after me this past week." "I love it," Rhys said. "Where did you learn to do this?" Feyre shrugged. "I sat on the floor of my father's workshop for years. And then when he stopped working, I took over and I've had ten years of trial and error to work on the craft."

Rhys just looked at her, stunned.

"You clever, beautiful thing."

Feyre went red, and Amren had had enough. She clapped her hands.

"Alright children, back out. It's time to get to work. Feyre, good job."

And then they were herded out.

That night, alone in his bed, Rhys stared at the ceiling and watched the ghosts of four horses spin around his head. He'd wanted to tell Feyre how much it meant to him, but hadn't been able to find the words.

He rolled over onto his side, and found the smell of Feyre's hair on his pillow.

At that moment, so faint that he wasn't sure he had really heard it, there was a knock at his caravan door.

Rhys didn't move for a second, wondering if he had conjured the sound it in his head. Then it came again.

Rolling smoothly out of bed, there was only one step to the door. He opened it, and there stood Feyre. He blinked at her, hair sticking up in what must be every direction, and quite without a shirt.

"Hello, Rhys," she breathed. Rhys' mouth quirked up. "Hello Feyre darling. Everything okay?"

Feyre looked away, and sort of shuffled from foot to foot.

"I... I couldn't sleep," she said. Rhys didn't respond immediately, wanting to be sure about what he was reading before he offered anything. Then she met his eyes. He stepped back, and held the door open.

Relief spread over Feyre's delicate features, and she stepped up into the room with him. Rhys slid back into bed, and made room for Feyre. They both lay on their sides, facing each other.

"Sorry," she said. Rhys shook his head. "Don't be." "I'm taking up your space," she said. "I want you to be here." Feyre went quiet at that.

Rhys watched her face, watched her bottom lip as she sucked it under her top teeth slightly. When he looked back up to her eyes, he was startled to find that she was staring at his chest.

"Did... they hurt?" she asked him. For a moment, he wasn't sure what she meant. He looked down at himself, and realised of course she was referring to his tattoos. Done so long ago he didn't think about them anymore.

"Yes," he admitted. She frowned slightly, then her brow smoothed again as she followed the trail of them with her eyes. She surprised Rhys again by asking, "Can I touch them?"

"Yes," he said, dazedly. He had been so careful this past week, let Feyre dictate the level of contact they shared. She seemed to feel less anxious when he held her, but this made sense to Rhys. They had done similar things for the horses, put heavy blankets on them to calm them down. Pressure and containment. He had tried not to make a big deal of it, tried especially not to touch her bare skin. But of course, of course he had wanted to. And now here she was, asking to touch him.

Rhys rolled onto his back and sat up a little, so that Feyre could see the pattern better. The tattoos had taken hours, the sound of the tapping hammer increasingly grating as the pain escalated. It was a tradition from his father's side, and although he had been reluctant at the time, he now quite liked them.

The first touch of Feyre's fingers made him start. Feyre snatched her hand back, but he smiled at her.

"Cold hands," he said. "Sorry," she whispered. "It's okay," he replied.

He nodded to her, and Feyre reached out shyly again. This time, Rhys held perfectly still while she traveled the curling lines across his chest. His eyes slid closed, and he might have hummed low under his breath as her hands moved over him.

"They feel... the same," she said. "I can't feel them at all." Rhys chuckled. "The ink sits under the skin," he said. "The surface is all the same." "Oh," was all Feyre said. She lay back down, and Rhys rolled to face her again. "Do you... do you want me to hold you?" "If it's not too much to ask." Rhys smiled gently at her. "I'll get a shirt." "It's okay, we can sleep like this."

Rhys paused for a moment. Then he opened his arms to her, and she slid forward into his chest. He could feel her breathing on his bare skin, and it thrilled him to his bones.

"I'll sleep in my own caravan tomorrow," Feyre promised. "Don't," Rhys said. "I like it better when you're here." A smile ghosted over Feyre's lips. "Okay," she murmured, and then she closed her eyes.

****

Okay I know this is not the most popular one, I have another one on the go but will I confuse the fook out of you all if I post that one at the same time? There are 2 more parts to this one, bear with me!

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @maybekindasortaace

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

Pirate AU Masterpost

Different ships captained and crewed by different hermits, maybe some could be normal sailors too? Or maybe even some could be sirens? There could be a pirate ship, a pirate hunting ship/law-keeping ship, some random shipping vessels, some sirens or sea monsters, or whatever else! I envision Doc as a pirate captain and Xisuma as the law enforcement captain, but it's open to whatever changes! (@-shadeswiftdraws.)

Headcanons to start us off:

-Bdubs is a fruity sailor.

-Cub and Scar sell things to both pirates and the law enforcement. They only take the aide of profit.

-DocM threatened Bdubs into joining him. Whether it worked is up to the 'what gets popular' Gods. If not, he probably just holds Bdubs hostage or something.

-Hypnotizd's bandana has a skull and crossbones on it, as does Etho's headband.

-False is feared by Doc.

-Grian has a parrot that always sits on his shoulder. Doc keeps telling him to get rid of it but Grian refuses.

-Iskall wears an eyepatch.

-Hypnotizd has scurvy.

-iJevin makes maps and sells em to pirates to keep them off his back. Did he bury the treasure? I dunno.

-All of ZIT collectively own a boat. They like to pretend its a yacht and have fun. Sometimes they just use it to relax, sometimes they just go fishing. Sometimes they scare each other with stories of pirates and massive storms.

-Joe Hills is scared of the water because he nearly drowned as a child. But when he ends up accidentally stowing away on the ZIT boat, his worst fears happen.

-Keralis is Xisuma's second in command.

-TFC is a retired sailor that knows too much.

-VintageBeef and basically all of the NHO are with Doc.

-XbCrafted grew up by the beach and likes to collect shells. One time he found a fossil of a dinosaur. What will he do? I don't know. His childhood friend, Hypnotizd, left to be a pirate. Xb hasn't heard from him since (he promised he'd write letters,) and fears the worst.

-ZombieCleo is a dead zombie captain. Her and her crew (the gals, and maybe some co,) are out to get their revenge on Doc. Her second in command is Stress but her main muscle in False.

-Mumbo is usually the one who works maintenance on the ship. (He's with Xisuma.)

-Rendog got stuck on an island he's called 'Loser Island' and has been there for at least a year. He's found by Doc.

-Stressmonster makes people fear her through her name, but they usually laugh when they see her because she's really unintimidating.

-Welsknight hoardes cool swords.

-Everyone underestimates Stress when they see her but those who have faced her in battle have realized their mistake. She is slowly but surely gaining the reputation as one of the most feared pirates of the seven seas. She’s still very sweet if you get to know her tho - 🌙

-At some point while attempting to leave the ZIT crew's yacht, Joe somehow ends up with Cleo and the gals in the middle of the ocean, who take pity on him. Because they help him with his fear and take care of him on the way back to land, he decides to stick with them for good. The Navy and a lot of other pirates don't believe that Cleo can be the captain of such a feared vessel or that False can be that deadly and decide that Joe must be doing it all. He takes joy in deferring to Cleo whenever he can, and the whole crew gets a laugh out of his combat attempts. He mainly handles navigation and stuff, though he does record their adventures and anonymously submit them to newspapers and/or publish his accounts. (Don't want to skip the Joe+ZIT stuff, just love him and Cleo and need that dynamic :-) )

-Half siren/merman grian? - Frost Anon

-Different anon adding to the Merman Wels idea, he's a siren but instead of stealing your life he steals your swords and shinies. Some pirates may be on good terms with him and gives him swords occasionally and ask for directions or just hang out with him and be nice (I'd think Ren would sing with him and Jevin would hang out and steal shinies with him landing both their crews on good terms with him. He may even follow them around as it can be lonely in the ocean)

-Mumbo never meant to be a pirate. There was just a mutiny of the last captain he was under and everyone liked him enough to keep him around.

-Some loser thinks that joe is the muscle of the group and asks for a duel. cleo decides fuck it and just pushes joe into a fight with them because thats how she be sometimes. (False is on standby so joe doesn't get creamed)

-https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/619926302710956032/another-take-on-the-pirate-au-concept

- At some point, Cleo's ship begins picking up stray orphaned children. They are kept safe below deck during battle and are taught by the crew how to run a ship and fight, but Cleo also teaches them stuff like how to read and do math. The crew is very protective of the young'uns and the ship eventually becomes known for the fact that they take care of kids. Most other ships, upon learning this, respect that and don't attack them. If a ship does, they will find that the Rotten Corpse is viscous, and has many powerful friends who will back them up. If Doc or X come across Cleo's ship, they will give the kids gifts and stay close for a bit to provide protection. As the kids grow up some go back to shore and build legitimate/legal lives (including opening an orphanage) but a group of them go off and become their own pirate crew! Their ship's name? I don't know, I'm not clever.

-In a tavern someone's just like "im gonna sail to this island." Tfc, sitting nearby "you wont find anything" a little while later that ship goes missing. No one actually knows what tfc found in his sailing days. But my god does he know where to avoid

(All above in red are from our community's lovely Anons!)

-The ZIT boat is a bit of a disaster because each person always thinks it's the other people's turn to maintain it. Joe probably saw it on an evening beach walk and thought it was abandoned, decided to explore it, and accidentally fell asleep in the hold. He wakes up to the ZIT boys arguing about what to do with him.

-Xisuma has a reputation for being strict and disciplined and running a very tight ship, but if you're actually on his crew you'll know that's a front for intimidation purposes. In reality he is organised but extremely forgiving, and he will often sit down with crew who are new or going through something stressful and talk it out with them.

-Iskall is with Cleo's crew, he appears just as driven as the rest of them but he's mostly just there to make sure Cleo and co don't go too overboard with the revenge thing. He just doesn't want them to do something they'll regret....

-Wels can be a merman! He hoards cool swords as souvenirs of the surface world and dreams of two-legged adventurers and explorers.

-The "incident" that put Cleo on the path of undead revenge was partially accidental. Doc's goal was to raid the ship and get away with no casualties, but things escalated way too quickly. He is haunted by what happened, but Cleo doesn't know that and is determined to hunt him and his crew down.

-Pirate singalong nights! Doc's ship definitely has a singalong under the stars every night, where everyone can gather together and relax and let loose. It's fun to think about who would be good at it, and who would be bad at it but sing anyway ☺️

-Grian starts off on Doc's ship (with his parrot), but he gets washed overboard in a storm. Siren!Wels rescues him and gives him siren magic.

-I got tired of referring to "Xisuma's ship" and "Doc's ship", so: X's ship is called the Voidrunner, and Doc's vessel is the Black Goat. (Cleo's is The Rotting Corpse -Anon.)

-(I did a submission mentioning ConPost earlier, so look at that for context) The ConPost boys don't sail, but they're very knowledgable about sailing supplies and even ship repair. Cub does bookkeeping and negotiates big deals. Scar likes to wander the docks checking stock levels, with Jellie napping in piles of rope or following close behind.

-https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/619819577428279296/for-the-pirate-au-cub-and-scar-own-a-supply

-Xisuma is feared and respected by pirates because his ship is one of the first/only steam powered vessels at the time. Mumbo is his engineer; he maintains the mechanics and is constantly testing ways to make the ship faster and more efficient.

-If you ask Iskall why he wears an eye patch, you will get a wild tale of adventure and heroic battle that may take an hour to relate. However, the story is different every time. He actually lost his eye in a completely non-pirate related accident as a child. It just sounds cooler the way he tells it 😂

- About Joe moving from the ZIT crew to Cleo's ship: Joe really wants to be taken back to shore, and the ZIT lads understand his fear of water and try to take him back as soon as possible. However, they get caught in a storm, and the boat isn't in great shape to weather it. The boat is not quite wrecked, but badly damaged, and Joe is washed overboard. Cleo's crew finds him and pulls him aboard to save him (maybe siren!Wels helped bring him to her!)

-As a pirate Etho is known for his skill in boarding enemy ships. It doesn't matter how many ropes you cut, how many pirate grappling hooks you throw into the sea in an effort to keep them from your decks. Even if there's no possible way across, Etho will just sort of.. . End Up on your ship, and you will end up in Davy Jones' locker. (Based on the creepy teleport thing with Grian, and just Etho's general cryptid-ness)

-The sea spray and the general ocean humidity is horrible for Doc's arm. Ren helps him keep it as clean and rust-proof as possible, but it still probably squeaks a lot and stiffens up sometimes.

(-@shadeswiftdraws.)

-ZombieCleo's gal (& co.) crew includes Iskall. [More info pending for when I finally get around to watching s6 and see the infamous Iskall & Stress duo in action] (-@basaltdragon.)

-Inspired by shade: Cub is an ex-sailor, and Scar grew up in a family of fishers. Cub was really good at ship maintainence (he just got sick of the politics), and Scar loved keeping stock of the fishing nets and what sort of fish were caught, how much they might sell for, though he's not as good at repairs.

-For the Pirate AU, Mumbo telling Siren/MerGrian stories of the surface world and (secretly?) making a way for Grian to see it for himself. (-@shiniestumbreon.)

-Pirate au: one day there is a really bad storm that destroys all of the hermits boats except for one of them. So now all the hermits are all on one boat that’s really far away from land. (Angst part) some of them went over board (I’m thinking the captains maybe) so the remaining hermits are either grieving them or looking desperately hoping that their crew mates are still alive and clinging to wreckage. Who they find, if they do find any of them is up to the reader for now. (-@lookitsspacekween.)

- Mumbo, being the spoon he is always forgets where he buries his treasure. (-@xxpzmistxx.)

-Mumbo, as the Voidrunner's engineer, has so much to work on that Xisuma will sometimes take over the maintenance so poor Mumbo can get some sleep. This leads to the hunt for a secondary engineer and maybe that's how Mumbo and Iskal end up meeting. (-@my-cat-is-a-bastard.)

-A cat scratched out Iskall's eye as a kid, and he's too embarrassed to tell anyone. He's still a bit afraid of cats, so you'll always see him keeping a close eye on Jellie when he's at the dock. (-@12u3ie.)

- i dont really know much about pirates but ima try!! ok so, cleo is human, but she gets the nickname "zombie cleo" because she faked her own death. people thought she drowned, and her old crew along with her. most of them went to live normal lives under different names, but cleo missed the sea and eventually returned to being a pirate, eventually becoming the capitain of a new ship. (i hope this makes sense lol) (-@bakubakunyanyaa.)

-Pirate headcanons! As someone said before Ren and Wels are friends and like to sign together. I can imagine Wels telling the Black Goat that there is a treasure burried in Loser Island to get Ren rescued. Also! People think Ren is halve siren/has siren magic as he is really good at singing and the melodies he hums are similar to the ones sirens are said to sing, turns out just a bit of siren magic and Wels singing style rubbed on Ren during all the time they spent together singing.

-More pirate hc cause i have no self control and they are not a lot of them: Doc gives shiny stuff to Wels in exchange of him warning them when X’s crew is on a port. Iskall is also a great engineer and is working to make the Rotten Corpse Steam powered too. He insist Cleo to let him take a peek on the Voidrunner to see if he can copy Mumbo’s work, the gals agree this is the most dangerous idea Iskall has.

(-@ivi-prism.)

-Ship AU! Hypno originally joined the ship's crew with his friend, Jessassin. They became a swashbuckling duo, and still sometimes work together, despite Jessassin's inactivity from pirate duties. (-@calmshejaguar.)

[cosmiceverafter]

Ch. 3 - Surprise

Summary: It was a typical Thursday night until Gregory received a surprise.

A/N: It's been fun to write Gregory and all of his thoughts. Having his character on the show has been such a pleasant surprise, especially when seeing the bond grow with Alex. I hope you enjoy this chapter from Gregory's POV.

Read the fic Legend on ao3

It was a typical Thursday night, and Gregory was busy on the reservation. One his age should be doing something fun, but he was actively grading papers and preparing for next month's curriculum. He loved being a teacher, but somedays just felt off.

He knew it wasn't the children, though; it was him, entirely. 

Greg hadn't found closure with many things in his life, but he was trying to make up for the wrongs he had done. 

Luckily, he and Alex were forming a closer bond, closer than ever before. It meant so much to him. He couldn't forget when his little brother had invited him to the Wild Pony to listen to him sing the song he had written in front of the entire town. 

He had never been more proud. 

Alex was a changed man, with the courage and grace to change the tainted family name. And even though Alex was his little brother, Gregory wanted to be just like him. 

However, he had blood on his hands, his father's blood. Gregory felt no remorse in his action against his father, though. The man was the damn devil, and he would pay for his sins, that much was certain. Jesse had broken their family into pieces, in more ways than one, but he would do what he could to help repair it. 

Yet, trying to be a decent person didn't wash away the nightmares Gregory had. He didn't think anything would make those disappear. But it was his burden to bear. 

Besides having his brother back into his life and a career he loved, something was missing. It had hit him the moment he saw Michael Guerin run defensively in front of Alex. The man would've done anything for his little brother, even sacrifice his own life. Gregory bore witness to that act and knew Alex would do the same for Michael. 

Gregory had known about their love back when Alex was still in high school and all the years after when they were apart. Alex would never fully be able to commit to such happiness with a curse of a father like theirs. 

Looking back at what could've been for those two, broke Gregory's heart. He didn't help support Alex in fighting for that love—instead, Gregory had been the coward who left right after high school. He had run away from many things in his life, which was why Alex probably followed along in his footsteps, and Flint's; those were his childhood examples. 

That love between Alex and Michael was something special, though; it had never faded. That much was clear when you saw the two of them together, even though they weren't together. 

Gregory had been so confused that day on the reservation when Maria and Michael appeared to be dating—it made no sense to him. His heart had hurt for Alex when he noticed his little brother staring helplessly at the two of them. Greg had wanted to take Michael aside, asking him, "What happened to you both?" 

But he didn't have the right to play the 'protective older brother,' but he was working on it, and soon enough, he would have that talk with Michael. 

Gregory had to hand it to the guy, though—in many ways, Michael revealed he still cared. He had felt a rush of relief when the guy had shown up at mic night and looked nonplussed in the crowd. The song Alex had written was clearly about Michael; about their relationship. 

As Gregory marked the papers absentminded, he recalled how his heart had pounded in the audience that night, not just for two lovers reuniting but also because she had come with Michael. 

Isobel Evans. 

Even now, as he sat in his classroom, he couldn't help but smile at the thought of her. Their first reunion was when she had waltzed back into his life at the reservation. She always managed to take his breath away.

The moment he had seen her with that elegant braid and that smirk upon her stunning face, he drifted back to when they were back in high school, and she had gotten stupid Jake Mulligan to pull the fire alarms. 

Gregory didn't think she even realized she saved his ass that day, but she had. He was studious and enjoyed school, but his grades had been slipping because life at home continued to worsen with that nightmare of a father. 

Alex had been experiencing more with a new style, and it had thrown their father into a rage, among other things. The two of them had battled a power struggle, one that Jesse wouldn't go without a fight. 

And at that point, Gregory had just wanted to get the hell out of Roswell, so he had worked his ass off, but mentally he just couldn't keep up. So when Mr. Otto had mentioned a pop quiz that would take up half of their grade...well, he knew he was screwed. Not just for his future, but for the pure fact that his father wouldn't accept any failures in the family. 

So the alarms going off were an unexpected gift. Greg hadn't thought much of it, not until he had overheard the jock bragging about his hot date with Isobel Evans in return of him doing that favor for her. 

He had been grateful for her efforts, yet he remembered feeling a pang of jealously. Gregory couldn't help it. Slowly yet steadily, something occurred when Isobel had walked by him in the hallways. There was a light inside her that shined so brightly that it chased away his inner darkness. 

As much as he enjoyed having her in his class, Isobel Evans was quite a distraction. Sometimes, he had caught her staring at him, too. Greg often wondered if she had felt the same way. But even though he had hoped for more with her, nothing came of it. They both had gone their separate ways. 

He had heard years later, she had gotten married, and he had shut the door firmly on entertaining any hopes for something more between them. Until recently, when he had heard through the grapevine that her husband had died. But Gregory still had stayed away. 

That is until Alex brought her back into his life. 

To see her again...feelings rushed back inside, ones Gregory had pushed below the surface long ago. 

Reliving that night at mic night when Isobel had waltzed in with Michael, caused his palms to go sweaty. Gregory kept thinking of how after Alex's song, he would go up to her...ask to buy her a drink. Unfortunately, halfway through Alex's song, she had followed Michael out the door. 

Gregory hadn't understood, not until he noticed how the blue-haired guy was staring at his brother. It made sense when Alex had kissed Forrest. Michael must've seen the stare, too. 

But even though his brother was now with Forrest, Gregory knew he'd find his way back to Michael. 

He just wished he could find a way back to Isobel. 

Shaking his head of foolish daydreams, he stood up and erased the whiteboard. As he wrote out the lesson for Friday, his phone chimed. 

Greg opened up the message and froze. 

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. 

Isobel. 

Isobel Evans. 

It was as if he had willed this moment into existence.

The text said: 

Hey, Gregory! It's Isobel Evans. I'm hanging out with your little brother right now and thought I'd say hello. You should join us sometime. :) We could catch up. What do you say? 

A smile broke out onto his face. He couldn't help it. Excitedly, as if Gregory were that young high schooler again, he wrote back: 

Hi, Evans. Absolutely. The first round is on me. I owe you. -G. 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Six Steps To Finding Your Place In The World (spicyhoney, stand alone)

Summary: It's been three years since the other Universes found their way through the barrier and to the surface. Underfell might be running late, but they made it, and Edge is left searching for his place in this new world.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Underfell Bros, Underswap Bros, Undertale Bros, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Break Up and Make Up

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

First Step

It was fascinating, in a way, to see how much could change in only three years.

Three years since the other Universes found their way to the surface, each led by a Human child whose mercy brought Monsters from the Underground. Three years since Undertale and Underswap walked out into the sunshine for the first time and left the mountain behind. Three years that it had taken Underfell to do the same, for a world of Monsters who knew only violence to find enough peace in their souls for their Human to break the barrier.

Three years since he’d seen the others. The other skeletons, Sans and Papyrus, Stretch and Blue.

Stretch.

Edge’s first sight of the sun was awe-inspiring, worthy of contemplative silence and he stood at the cliffside gazing at it even as the others from Underfell chattered excitedly around him. The sun, the surface, he’d never expected to see either. Just as he’d never expected to see anyone from the other Universes again. Monsters leaving the Underground and the breaking of the barrier meant the source of magic for the Machine would be gone; there would be no traveling between the other worlds. No visits, no gatherings to fight over what movie to watch. No nights spent with a slim, warm skeletal body curled up next to him in his bed, watching Stretch sleep.

It was done, over, a gift borrowed for the briefest of time. Until they managed to get to their shared surface world, led by a smiling child.

Edge never expected to be standing in a house in the dubiously named New New Home, surrounded by other skeletons who greeted him and Red with varying levels of excitement.

“It’s so wonderful that you’re finally here!” Blue burbled excitedly. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt proclaiming him to be a ‘Smol Boi!’, and how strange it was to see him and Papyrus both no longer wearing their battle bodies. It made Edge unfairly aware of his own uniform, somewhat ragged from being constantly worn and dirtied from traveling to the Above.

“yeah, ‘bout time you two got here,” Sans drawled. “we weren’t gonna hold dinner forever, y’know. glad you decided to show up, now we can ketchup.” His clothing was newer but at least familiar, a hoodie and shorts, slippers abandoned for sneakers.

“Dinner,” Edge agreed, somewhat weakly. Truthfully, he was exhausted. He’d had no rest since the final...battle? He wasn’t sure what to call it; his memories were dreamily blurred and he’d woken to find the barrier destroyed and the surface world waiting for them.

“Do not pay attention to my brother!” Papyrus declared. “There is no need for us to hold dinner, we have a perfectly fine table to put it on!” His own ‘Tall Boi!’ t-shirt was a partner to Blue’s. No sharpie scribbles on these ones, they were properly made and fitted. All of them were dressed in proper clothes that weren’t scrounged from the dump to be carefully patched and repaired. Even the one person who didn’t greet them.

Standing on the far side of the living room, leaning against the stair bannister. Edge met his gaze, pale white eye lights looking impassively back.

Three years.

Looking at Stretch was reminiscent of his first sight of the sun and he wanted to drink it in, to bask in the sight of him. Gone was the well-worn hoodie and cargo pants of Underswap. He was wearing khakis and an orange plaid button down with a plain white t-shirt beneath. It looked good on him, but it wasn’t his clothes that Edge wanted to see.

The others crowded around them and Edge only looked at Stretch, no longer hearing any of their excited exclamations or puns. He stood watching as Stretch silently turned around and walked away, slipping out the front door.

Blue at least noticed him leaving. His cheery smile faltered briefly, then came back with forced enthusiasm. “Don’t mind Papy, I’m sure he’ll be back soon! You two must be exhausted, goodness, yes! I remember what it was like,” he trailed off, uncertainly, “um, I think! It was all very confusing. But come on, let me show you your rooms!”

He allowed Blue to pull him upstairs, still chattering, Red following up behind and Papyrus at his heels.

The bedroom he was given was plain, utilitarian, but the bed was made and felt incredibly soft on his aching bones as he laid down on it without even stripping off his dirty uniform. He was asleep from almost the moment his skull hit the pillow, dreamless and deep.

It would be some time before he saw Stretch again and by then, it was mostly over with, anyway.

~~*~~

Second Step

The next morning, he rose guiltily at nearly noon to find a neat pile of clothing sitting on the room’s sole chair. With it was a note written in Papyrus’s fierce handwriting, again welcoming him to their new home and offering the clothes to borrow until Edge was able to get some of his own.

With some trepidation, he unfolded the stack and was relieved to find it was merely a pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He dressed quickly, venturing downstairs to find the living room empty and music coming faintly from a nearby room.

Warily, he pushed open the door to find Blue standing on a stepstool, singing brightly along with the music as he washed dishes. The words weren’t ones Edge understood and reminded him of the anime that Undyne was so fond of, the tones of singsong happiness filling the air.

“Good morning,” Edge called, loud enough to be heard over the cheer. Then he lunged forward to catch hold of Blue before he fell off the stepstool as he nearly shrieked in surprise. The three of them wobbled together, him, Blue, and the stepstool, in a strange parody of a dance before they caught their balance, gravity thwarted.

“Oh, my, you scared the life out of me,” Blue laughed. A bright flush lit in his cheeks, the color a match to his namesake and Edge realized he was still holding Blue in his arms. Hastily, he drew back, a flush warming his own cheeks.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to--”

Blue waved him off before he could even finish, hopping down to shoo him into one of the kitchen chairs. “Nonsense, it wasn’t your fault! Sit, sit, let me make you some breakfast, you must be starving!”

The mere mention of food sent his magic eagerly roiling, but simply taking a meal with no way of repaying did not sit well with Edge. He was already borrowing a place to sleep and the clothing on his back. At least in the Underground he’d been able to trade meal for meal with the others.

But he also did not currently have another option.

“If you’ll let me borrow some ingredients, I can cook myself,” Edge offered. It was a weak compromise at best, but made the idea of borrowing easier to swallow.

A concept that Blue dismissed with a scoff, setting a frypan on what looked to be a very nice stove, indeed. “Borrowing, don’t be silly! We all share here, that’s the way we like it! And it’s no trouble at all to make another breakfast, you just sit there, I’m sure you’re still getting your bearings.” Blue chuckled as he began rummaging through the refrigerator. “I may as well make extra, anyway, your brother always had a good appetite! Maybe the smell will entice him down.”

“That always seemed to work for your brother, perhaps he’ll come down as well,” Edge said. It dredged up memories he’d pushed aside for some three years now, of Stretch sound asleep, his face slowly scrunching up as the smell of coffee and delicious food wafted to him. It was doubtful he was even fully awake when he rolled to his feet and began shambling after it, and true wakefulness only came after at least one cup of coffee. There had been more than one morning of that in Underfell and Underswap alike and Edge began to brace himself to see Stretch again.

Blue froze for a moment, his smile faltering. “Oh, um. Papy’s already gone to work this morning.”

That...that was unexpected, and Edge couldn’t say what expression was on his face as Blue said with uncommon gentleness, “Of course you wouldn’t know. He’s a teacher. Well, a professor, really, he and Sans work at the community college.”

“They’re both teachers?” Edge blurted and it was impossible to keep the disbelief from his voice.

“Professors,” Blue corrected lightly. He cracked eggs into the hot pan with a loud sizzle. “Papy is always reminding me of that. And of course, they do have their PhD’s!”

That was true, they did, and yet, both of them worked as sentries and food vendors underground instead of putting those degrees to use, with an occasional side trip into standup comedy. That mental image was due for an upgrade, it seemed, disorienting as it was.

Before Edge could ask anything else, the toaster popped up and Blue was bustling over to it, snatching up the toast and adding it to the plate. In no time, it was slid in front of Edge, two pieces of well-buttered toast, eggs cooked perfectly over easy, and a side of what Edge knew to be bacon though he’d never had it before, cooked to what he was sure was crisp perfection.

Again, his memories weren’t matching up to what he was seeing. Blue and Papyrus both cooked with enthusiasm but very little skill and more than once they’d all spent an evening gamely chewing their way through lasagna or spaghetti that managed somehow to be both overcooked and still crunchy in the same mouthful. His own cooking skills were only marginally better and only because he was more accustomed to making do with whatever provisions could be found.

This offering was worthy of a Mettaton special and Blue was beaming at him, waiting for him to begin.

Slowly, Edge picked up his fork. He cut into the egg, the yolk bursting and bleeding its sunny yellow over the plate. It was delicious and Edge didn’t allow the faint nausea muddying his magic to stop him from eating every bite.

~~*~~

Third Step

It was four days after his first meal Aboveground and well past midnight when Edge was sitting up in the living room alone, watching the television.

Underground the only channels were ones of Mettaton, for live shows and reruns. The sheer amount of things to watch here was boggling, almost disturbingly so. Netflix alone could fill years’ worth of time.

Edge was starting on the third season of Stranger Things when the front door opened and Papyrus came in. He was in his chef’s uniform, still nearly pristine despite his long shift.

His coat was halfway off before he saw Edge and he blinked in surprise, “Oh! Good evening!”

“Good evening,” Edge didn’t move, his gaze on Hopper as he began to argue with the girl-child El about her spending time with that foolish boy.

It was what he’d been doing all day, episode after episode, until even the television asked him if he wanted to continue watching. All Edge did was press the button to resume the program and settled back on the sofa.

His peace at seeing the sun for the first time had morphed into this, days where he was at loose ends with nothing to do, no place to go. Blue had a cleaning schedule well established for the house, the others all had their jobs, his brother was venturing to the college with Sans and whether or not he chose to dust off his own PhD, Edge was certain he would find a use for himself.

Even Undyne was tentatively starting to work for the Embassy, although when she’d called, she’d told Edge with a laugh that she’d decided Felldyne was a damned stupid name and she’d be going with Dyna, instead. Really, it had been an unsubtle invitation for him to join her and Edge had very unsubtly refused. Babysitting duty for ex-royalty held no appeal for him and by the end of the call, he still hadn’t remembered to call her by her new name.

The surface world had no call for an ex-captain of the guard; his entire life’s goal, the title he strove so hard to be worthy of vanished with a single step into the sunshine. And the other option--

“Have you given any more thought about coming to the restaurant with me?” Papyrus asked brightly. “Because the owner has said that even without training, he trusts my judgement and he is sure you will be an excellent addition to our team and of course won’t burn the restaurant down on your first day.”

“I will consider it,” Edge said, for perhaps the tenth time, and every time he had no intention of doing any such thing.

Papyrus only nodded, taking off his shoes and lining them up at the door. He tutted and shook his head at the two sets of sneakers jumbled into a pile, Sans and Red’s, and lined them up as well. Guilt rose heavily in Edge’s soul, he’d been sitting here all day and night and never thought to straighten them himself, been here for nearly a week, consuming their food and taking their shelter, offering nothing in return and--

“Just so you know, if you’re waiting up, he won’t be home tonight.” That jarred him from his circling thoughts and Edge finally glanced at Papyrus, meeting what was surely a gratingly pitying look.

“I beg your pardon?” Edge said stiffly. “I don’t believe I asked about anyone.”

“Of course you didn’t!” Papyrus said with that relentless cheer. “But if you had, I would tell you that tonight is Astronomy club night and people that we aren’t asking about don’t come home or if they do, they don’t use the front door because some other people can’t sleep through it opening and closing, even if they try to be very, very quiet!”

Edge only returned his gaze to the television, picking up the controller to change the program. Papyrus started up the stairs before he said, quietly, “Thank you.”

“It will be all right, you’ll see. You’re on the surface!” Papyrus said cheerily. “Things are better here!”

Edge leaned back on the sofa to watch a cartoon sponge attempt to make some sort of hamburger. It was the closest he wanted to get to being a chef.

~~*~~ 

 Fourth Step

“he’s not seeing anyone. if you were wondering.”

Edge was not wondering about that at all. What he was doing was attempting to see what it was about naps that his brother had always found so enticing over the years. Thus far, all Edge was learning was that he was as terrible at this as anything else on the surface.

He rolled over to glare at Sans, who only looked back peaceably, his ever-present smirk unchanged. It would be pointless to pretend he didn’t know what Sans was referring to and in the interest of getting this over with, Edge told him shortly, “I gave up my right to wonder about that some three years ago.”

That smile tightened, Sans’s eye lights shrinking. “yeah, i know. we all know.” He tucked his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth from toes to heels. “he took it real hard. i mean, who wouldn’t. thought you guys were the real deal and then one day the kids show up and our worlds break through to the surface. he comes to me and says he’s gonna stay in the underground with you. asked me to look after his bro for him, said he couldn’t leave you and red alone. but the next day, he comes back and he’s got nothing to say at all. not for a long time.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Edge said hoarsely. He didn’t want to imagine it. He had enough memories of his own from that day.

Sans only shrugged. “dunno. thought you might be curious, is all.”

“Thank you ever so much for your help then, if you’ll excuse me.” Edge rolled back over, giving Sans his back even as warnings crawled up his spine, his brother’s voice, never turn your back on anyone, ever, fucking never.

A loud snort. “yeah, you look real busy. i’ll let you get back to that.”

Soft footsteps that led out his door, the click of it closing. Edge curled around his pillow, holding it tightly to where his soul was aching, dull and heavy.

Edge ignored it, tried to ignore it all. He was napping. All of that was old news and it had been for the best. The memory of Stretch’s expression, of his tears when Edge shouted at him to get out of his world and his life, weren’t what was important. What was important was that Stretch didn’t waste his life in Underfell where they were never meant to reach the surface. Stretch deserved sunshine and Edge was never supposed to be able to offer it.

~~*~~

Fifth Step

“all right, get the fuck out of bed.”

Edge snarled as the covers were ripped off him, leaning up on one elbow to glare at his brother. A useless attempt, Red only glared back, blankets dangling from his grip as his gaze swept over Edge in a brutally unimpressed assessment.

With a groan, Edge flopped back on the mattress and closed his sockets, “Go away.”

He heard his brother sigh. “bro. never thought i’d be saying this. you need to get out of this house.”

Edge didn’t open his sockets. “What’s the point?”

“what was the point of coming to the surface at all?” Red countered. “you wanted to stay in the fucking underground waiting for your turn in a dustpan? go out, see the sights! go check out those cockmobiles you were always so eager to see, take ‘em out on a test drive. we’ll be getting our stipends by the end of the week.”

Thinking about that made a sour taste form at the back of his mouth, slimy and bitter. “Charity.”

“more like socialism,” Red snorted loudly, shoving his hands into his pockets. At that moment, his resemblance to Sans was eerie, especially the way he was intruding on Edge’s life. “but whatever, it’s money for all monsters, not all monsters except your scrawny ass. get up and go spend some of it.”

“On what?” Edge asked listlessly. “There’s nothing here I want. Give it to Blue to put towards groceries and let me sleep.”

“nope, you’re done sleeping. get up.” He heard the ting of blue magic at the same moment Red used his hold on Edge’s soul to yank him from the bed, dumping him to the floor. He sat up, spitting curses that only drew a chuckle from his brother, asshole that he was.

“I don’t need to get up,” Edge snapped. “There is nothing to get up for! I’m nothing here! Useless!”

The slap caught him so by surprise he didn’t even summon an attack, too busy gaping at his brother. Slowly, Edge raised a hand, touching his stinging cheek bone wonderingly. In all their years in Underfell, despite anything that happened, Red had never raised a hand to him. Another change for the Aboveground and Edge blinked hard, inexplicably hurt in a way that had nothing to do with the blow.

Red’s eye lights were blazing and Edge nearly shrank from the heat of his crimson gaze. “you shut your fucking mouth about my baby brother,” Red told him, low, “and you get out of this fucking room before i drag you out. you hear me?”

For a long moment there was nothing in the universe but the two of them, the surface world melting away and it was like being Underground, Red warning him, watching out for him, always.

Edge looked away first, muttering out, “Fine.”

Sharp fingertips caught his chin, forcing him to look back. Red studied his face for a long moment, searching for what, Edge didn’t know. Finally, he nodded. “good. you want to be something here? that’s just fine but you ain’t gonna find it laying here molding in this fucking room. go get some of your own clothes, at least, you look like paps’s stunt double.”

That stung almost as much as the slap. Edge rolled to his feet, glancing reluctantly at the dresser where the single pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt proclaiming the wearer a ‘font geek’ waited for him. “I will if you leave. I’ll go out today.”

“good enough.” Red turned away, hesitating at the door to call over his shoulder, “and bro? just talk to him. lance the boil.”

Edge paused with the fresh t-shirt halfway over his head. “Lance a boil? What does that even mean?”

Red’s unpleasant smile said that he noticed Edge said nothing about talking to anyone, but he seemed willing to let that go for now. “google it, if you’re brave. doctor pimple popper changed my whole fucking life.”

~~*~~

Sixth Step

He could admit, grudgingly, that his brother was right. It was better to get out of the room. Despite his fears that Blue would think he was intruding, he was instead delighted for help around the house. And also for a trip to the mall, and while being around so many Humans was discomfiting, the store was one that catered to Monsters and knew Blue well. They helped Edge find some clothing more suited to his own tastes. Jeans and plainer t-shirts, a comfortable leather jacket and boots.

He started to spend more time with Blue in the kitchen, helping him make dinner and fold laundry. In the afternoon, he took a walk around the block and it was uncomfortable how many of the other Monsters called out greetings to him, offering smiles at his mere presence when in the Underground Monsters would scurry hastily out of his path, casting furtive glances at him as they fled. Strange, yes, but he was slowly getting used to it. He’d even called Dyna back, no longer Undyne he reminded himself, and hesitantly asked about her work at the Embassy. Her enthusiasm very nearly left bruises through the phone line, but he was going in tomorrow. Just to see what she did.

It was better, some, and Edge was mostly doing all right, he thought.

Mostly.

“Could you please take out the trash for me?” Blue asked from his position on the stepstool. He was teaching Edge to make fresh pasta and while it was nothing like Und--Dyna’s methods, he had no doubt the taste would be better.

The bin next to Blue was close to overflowing. “Of course.”

Edge gathered up the bag, pulling the drawstring tight to carry it outside to the cans. Even trash was something of an anomaly here, it was honestly appalling what was thrown away. In Underfell, he would have used those vegetable scraps for stock. He’d watched a show on Netflix about composting, perhaps he could—

He stopped. Stretch was standing at the end of the driveway, right next to the bin where the trash cans were stored. He was leaning against the side, smoking and the way he was turned meant he hadn’t seen Edge yet. Perhaps that was why he was still there.

Lance the boil, Red had said, and the videos had been revolting enough to nearly send him gagging to the toilet, but Edge did get the metaphor. He walked closer as silently as he could, half-expected Stretch to simply teleport away as he said, softly, “Stretch?”

Stretch didn’t vanish into the void, but he did startle, whirling around to look at him. Again, the memory of before overlapped with the now. He was wearing another button up, this one a deep green that made for a lovely contrast with his magic. The cigarette held loosely between his fingers was familiar, the lazy slouch, those pale eye lights set into a well-known face. Less so was his closed off expression, coolly assessing Edge even as he raised the cigarette to take a long, slow drag, breathing out a cloud of smoke.

“really?” he snorted. “you’ve been here for how long and don’t even know that i don’t go by stretch anymore?” He dropped the still smoldering butt into a coffee can that was sitting at the base of the trash bin, fishing a pack out of his shirt pocket and Edge only stood, trash bag still in his hands as he watched Stretch…not-Stretch?...go through the ritual of lighting another, closing his lighter with a decisive flick. Words came, couched with another breath of smoke. “decided that papyrus getting to claim the whole name was bullshit. i’ve been rus for two years now.” His smile was sharp enough to cut and Edge dimly wondered if it had, because his soul felt it like a wound. “if you’re looking for a chance at a name change, paps is pretty much taken, but hey, pyr is always an option.”

Edge’s mouth felt too-dry, his tongue stiff as he managed, “My apologies. Rus. I…you’re still smoking.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Rus chuckled unpleasantly and took another long drag, tongue curling as he exhaled a perfect smoke ring. “and you’re still charmingly observant.” He started to turn away, “see you around, edgelord.”

“Wait,” Edge blurted, fumbling for words that needed to be said, because if he didn’t lance this, the infection would spread. Spread and deepen, until the damage was too much to bear. “Please. I...I only wanted to apologize. For hurting you.”

“for hurting me,” Stretch, no, damn it, Rus, said slowly. “oh, well, go on then, let’s hear it. i mean, not that you didn’t have plenty to say that last time. what was it you said? oh, do let me think.” He tapped a long finger against his teeth, face twisted into mocking thought. “can’t recollect it all, but i seem to remember it ended with you saying that i was no better than a cheap whore that needed to get the fuck out of your world, think that was it.”

The ugliness of those words made Edge flinch as they hadn’t when he’d said them in the Underground, each one spoken with cold deliberation while Rus stood in front of him, silent tears trailing down his face.

“I know.” Edge hated the desperation in his voice, unable to stop it. “I know what I said was unforgivable, but I couldn’t let you stay underground for me. You needed to be on the surface with your brother. Saying those things was the only way I could think to drive you away.” On the surface, where he belonged and Edge never did.

“yeah, i know.” The tip of Rus’s cigarette glowed cherry-red as he inhaled, a cylinder of ash falling to the ground.

Edge stared at him, uncomprehending. “You...know?”

Rus laughed humorlessly. “Of course i know, how fucking stupid do you think i am? you think i didn’t know what you were doing?” Rus offered him a thin, sour smile. “not at the time, of course. had to give it a think. see, what gets me is you thinking you get to decide for both of us what’s best, just like you always did. don’t know why i expected anything else.” Rus flicked his cigarette butt into the rusty coffee can. ”that all you had?”

“Yes.” The trash bag was still heavy in his hands, but Edge struggled with the urge to simply flee back inside and...he didn’t know. Crawl back into his bed? Hide in his room again, away from the world and the overbearing sun?

The pain in his soul only worsened as Rus’s mouth twisted, “so that’s it, huh. what were you hoping for? to step right back in like nothing changed? it’s been three years, edge. i’m not even the same person anymore. i wasn’t sitting around with a thumb up my ass waiting for you.”

“I never expected you to,” Edge whispered numbly. He’d hoped for the exact opposite, wanted him to be happy. He’d spent three years imagining Rus on the surface, spent nights torturing himself with thoughts of who he might be with, what he might be doing, never expecting to ever stand before him and see he was still alone. “I only wanted—”

He couldn’t finish, choking on the words. Edge clumsily brushed past Rus to the trash bins, tossing the bag in his hands inside without even looking and turned away. Before he could head back towards the house, a hand lashed out, catching him by the elbow and if Rus tried to strike him, slap him as Red had or simply send an attack at him, Edge would have let him.

Instead, Rus only said, lightly, “i mean, after all this time? if you’re gonna start over, you need a first date, and you haven’t even asked me out.”

It took a moment for those words to penetrate and when they did, the thin trickle of hope was nearly unbearable, like the first ray of sunshine after a lifetime of darkness. “I wouldn’t know where to take you.”

“huh. good point,” Rus said, thoughtfully. “sounds like it's up to me and luckily, i have learned all the best places in ebott. i could take you bowling.”

“I only have the vaguest idea what that is,” Edge admitted.

“good because i suck at it.” That soft, lopsided smile was one Edge knew, so terribly well, his own private sunshine from beneath the mountain that he’d learned to live without and if it was tremulous, uncertain, it firmed as Rus said, softly, ”i've missed you, you shit.”

Hearing that made his soul soar, shedding that leftover pain. Edge took a shaky breath, let it out. “I missed you, too. Rus.”

That precious, perfect smile widened. “nah, you don’t know rus yet. but you will.”

Rus held out his hand and Edge took it, curling their fingers gently together. His hand was warm and so was his mouth, still faintly smoky and layered with sweetness beneath. There was a strange spice as well, salty-wet, and Edge only realized it was his own tears when Rus cupped his face with his free hand, trying and failing to smooth them away.

“shh, it’s okay,” Rus whispered against his mouth, “it’ll be okay, i promise. come on.” He let Rus pull him along, following behind and ready to go anywhere at all as he led them both out into the sun.

Maybe, just maybe, Edge could find a place here, after all.

-finis-

[fucking-zawa-sensei]

Pieces

Title: Pieces

Pairing: erasermic

Rated: G

WC: 1k+

Notes: I asked @bethhankel to give me an erasermic prompt so I could give you all a little EM love before I drop my kakairu fic in a couple weeks and among a myriad of other crazy suggestions, she said, “Shouta breaks Hizashi’s favorite mug, the last thing he had from his mother.” You know me, I love angst, I couldn’t possibly resist that. So here you go. I hope you enjoy!

Read it on ao3 here

Pieces

Each and every porcelain shard feels like another sin, scattered across the hardwood floor, some still spinning idly before coming to a rest. The light from the sliding glass door behind him reflects off a few of the pieces and it’s more than a little tragic how beautiful the mother of pearl inlays, once placed with painstaking precision into the marbled black mug, look as they’re kissed by the sun. 

Mother. 

It’s ironic that this of all things was all that he’d had left of her. 

Now, Shouta had taken it from him as well. 

He can hardly force his body to move, just staring down at the shattered masterpiece, some part of his mind attempting to mentally connect the swirling designs where they lay, what feel like massive gaps between them. He knows glue won’t work. He briefly contemplates taking it to recovery girl, wonders if she’d ever tried to reverse the damage done to objects too. 

He knows it’s not use. 

Hizashi is in their bathroom, just down the hall, brushing his hair after his morning shower. He’d be out here soon enough. He’d walk down the hall and call out a greeting to Shouta, maybe even say I love you in a sing song voice that would break his heart. 

Then he’d looked down at Shouta’s feet, at all the broken bits of the thing he’d loved above all else. 

Mother. 

Hizashi had said the word, over and over, as he sat on the couch holding the mug in his hands back when it was whole but he was nowhere near close to that. He’d rubbed his thumb over the twisting branches of the pearl tree, all the little leaves falling delicately down the sides. He’d leaned forward, pressing the mug to his forehead gently, his fingers flexing and unflexing.  All the while, looking very much like he wanted to grip it tightly, like his muscles were twitching beneath the surface in frustration, caught between the desire to lash out and the need to keep this one precious object safe. 

As a reminder of what had been lost. 

It was a miracle he’d had even this. 

The mug had been left there by accident, Hizashi’s mother’s favorite. She’d been visiting for the weekend and had brought it along to show Hizashi the small chip in the handle, to see if he’d known a way to fix it. Hizashi had always been a collector of odd talents and equally as gifted friends. 

Pottery, though, was not something anyone he knew dabbled in. 

So she’d meant to take it home.

As hugs and kisses were exchanged at the door, it never made its way past the threshold, just as its owner never made their way back. 

Shouta had, in a cruel twist of fate, offered to return the mug on his patrol later that week. Hizashi had chastised him, insisting he couldn’t take the already fragile mug to fight villains, and in retrospect, of course he couldn’t.

He would have broken it.

Now, though, now with no one to blame but his own hands for the crime scene at his feet, it hardly seems like it matters. 

Shouta kneels down, sighing heavily. He picks up a larger piece of the mug, turning it over in his hand, spinning the shiny pearl in the sunlight, wishing it could tell him how to fix what he’d done, wishing he could take it all back. 

He closes his eyes. 

This wasn’t the first time he wanted to revisit the past, to undo what was beyond repair. 

His fingers close around the shard. 

In a way, he almost wished Hizashi had been the one to drop it. He thinks it might have been cathartic. 

His mother had been dead for a year now, but each holiday without her, each milestone with no one to call, each mention of her dimpled smile all made Hizashi’s fade away. 

Not for the first time, Shouta curses the fire that stole it all, every single thing she had, Hizashi’s childhood home, and his mother along with it. 

An accident, they’d said.

Out of control, they’d said

Nothing we can do, they’d said.

Nothing left, they’d said.

I’m sorry, they’d said.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

“Shouta?”

His eyes open and he sees Hizashi’s feet, tucked into their velvet black slippers. His eyes raise slowly, dreading their ascent, taking in every fold of his husband’s shirt, the freckle on the underside of his chin, before finally coming to rest on his face, on his wide eyes and opened mouth, on the glistening gathering of tears along his bottom lid. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

Hizashi’s head moves slowly, from side to side, and Shouta can’t tell what he’s saying no to. 

Perhaps it’s reality, he just can’t accept that this has happened, that only a year after losing his mother, he loses this too. 

Or maybe it’s Shouta, unable to forgive him, unable to accept that someone with such immense control over their fingers had somehow managed to drop something so delicate, so important. Afterall, Shouta balanced life in his hands every day he walked out the front door. 

Hizashi crouches down like the weight of the world has pushed him there. 

His hand shakes as he reaches out, his pointer finger connecting with one of the smaller, curved pieces. It teeters from the slight pressure and Hizashi’s finger retreats like he can’t believe he’s just touched something solid instead of a hallucination. 

Shouta watches carefully, waiting for the tears to fall, waiting for a sign that he should get close, should wrap his arms around Hizashi, should bring him into his chest and away from the pain, but it doesn’t happen.

Hizashi’s hand comes back down, fingers spread wide, and he pushes it through all the shards like they’re nothing more than spilled marbles, moving them side to side, watching as they glimmer. The only sound is the almost musical clicking and clanking as the pieces crash into one another. 

Shouta holds his breath. 

“It’s okay.”

“What?” All his air comes out in one rush with the question, still staring at Hizashi’s face, his own now in shock. 

Hizashi continues looking down, but his hand pauses. The corner of his mouth lifts into a half-smile. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats. 

Now, Hizashi raises his head, his gaze crashing into Shouta, sending a shiver down his back with its confidence, its assuredness, even as the first tear drop finally makes its way down Hizashi’s cheek. 

“I know it was an accident,” he says. “I know. It’s okay.” 

Shouta swallows roughly. 

“Still, I-”

“I’m not upset,” Hizashi says. He looks back down at the floor, lets out a breathy, weighted laugh. “It’s...it’s almost freeing…”

Shouta’s eyes widen impossibly further. 

“It’s like...now she’s finally gone, you know?”

It’s only now that he moves, shifts across the floorboards to crouch beside Hizashi, wrapping one arm across the back of his slight shoulders. 

“Now it’s over,” he says. “Now I can…”

“You don’t need to move on,” Shouta says, cutting him off. Hizashi looks up at this, turns toward him. 

“Take your time, Zashi,” he says. “Take as long as you need, and then take more.”

Shouta moves his hand from Hizashi’s shoulder to his cheek, turning the blond toward him more fully so he can lean forward, placing a kiss against his forehead. 

As he pulls back, he says, “Loss lasts forever.” Hizashi’s eyes dart between both of his looking, from one to the other, searching. 

“But so does love,” Shouta finishes. His thumb strokes along Hizashi’s jaw. “Love never leaves us, never fades, just like the memories of her.”

Hizashi nods, his hand coming up to land overtop Shouta’s, holding it softly. 

“I love you,” Hizashi whispers. 

“I love you too,” Shouta answers. “I’m still sorry for breaking it. Your klutziness seems to be rubbing off on me.”

Hizashi snorts, then wipes at the corner of his eye with the back of his knuckle, ridding himself of any lingering tears. 

“Oh has it now?”

“Yes.”

“I wasn’t aware it was contagious.”

“A terrible affliction, really,” Shouta says. Hizashi’s head tilts just a smidge to the left, his still damp hair falling out from where it’s tucked behind his ear. He smiles, a little divet appearing in one cheek, and Shouta knows.

He’ll be fine. 

[deckof-dragons]

Christmas on the Surface

“So this whole Christmas thing is a thing,” Undyne said as she settled down in the break room at the table across from Edge.

“Yep, it uh… sure is,” Edge replied. He’d been surprised by it when he’d first heard about it too, a few years ago now. This would also be his first on the Surface though. Unsurprisingly because it was a holiday originated by humans it was an even bigger deal down here than it had been in the friendly universes’ Undergrounds.

Undyne fidgeted nervously, her eye quickly darting left to right to make sure they were alone before coming back to rest on Edge. “You going to celebrate it?”

“Of course.” On top of the fact that he’d been dragged into celebrating it by the friendlier universes the past couple years he also liked the holiday. The whole spending time with one’s loved one and exchanging gifts was a pleasant idea. He’d never admit it out loud though.

“Great! Awesome! What are you going to get for Slim?”

Edge opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out; he didn’t know what he was going to get for Slim. He’d been busy and hadn’t thought about it. It was important, this would be their first Christmas as a couple and it also being their first Christmas on the Surface meant it had to be special, right? But what? … “Why are you asking?”

“Well uh… you know.” Undyne shrugged, her grin obviously forced. “Just curious.”

Edge raised an ‘eyebrow’. “You’re asking because you don’t know what to get for Alphys and you’re hoping you’ll be able to take inspiration from me, right?”

Undyne frowned at him. “Fine, you got me. I don’t know what to get her. So… what you getting Slim? Al and him hang out with his Undyne sometimes so whatever you’re getting him might help me think of something good to get for Al.”

“That’s very sound logic but… I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to get for Slim.”

“Ah, bummer.” Undyne sighed, deflating a little as she rested her chin in her hand. “Looks like we’re in the same boat though, I guess.”

“Yep.” And Christmas was two weeks away, fast approaching. They needed to figure something out soon.

There was a long stretch of silence before Undyne broke it by slamming her fist determinedly down on the table, making it shake and rattle. “We’re going to the mall after we’re done working.” No invite or suggestion, she just assumed compliance from him. “We should be able to find something for our lovers there.” Hopefully anyway.

 -

The mall was bustling with other people like them: people who’d waited until now to start their Christmas shopping. But it was only bound to get worse the closer Christmas came so best to do this now.

Finding something for Red was easy; he liked his magic tricks so something fancy from the magic store would be perfect. Edge got small little trinkets and baubles for all his friends as well based off their interests, nothing fancy or special though. He even spotted the perfect gift for Undyne that he’d have to come back for when she wasn’t accompanying him. But finding something for Slim was difficult, he was certainly into a lot of things but didn’t seem to be super passionate about any one thing over another most of the time.

“What about anime or manga?” he suggested to Undyne as they came upon an anime store. “Alphys likes that stuff.”

“Yes but whenever a new anime or manga comes out that looks interesting she buys it or I do, either way we got it. And nothing new has come out recently that looks good. What about for Slim though? I know he watches anime and sometimes reads manga.”

“Hmm, yes but… only sometimes and I wouldn’t know which he’s already seen or read or which ones he’d even like.”

So, they moved on with a sigh.

There were a ton of stores selling all kinds of different things. The number of options only made it harder to choose. But they did eventually find themselves in a small out of the way store that sold dragon figurines.

“Looks at this one,” Undyne said, pointing a large one that held a sword. “It’s badass!”

Scratch his other gift idea for Undyne, Edge would have to come back here later to get her a dragon. “You think Alphys would like it?” He certainly thought so, both of them were into dragons.

Undyne gasped. “Maybe! Probably! I didn’t even know they sold these. I’m totally getting her one. Which one do you think she’d like best?”

Edge turned to study them. Clearly Undyne liked the one with the sword best so that’d be the one he’d get her so… “That one?” he said, pointing to another one of the large figurines; a dragon climbing a medieval castle. “Or maybe you could get her a couple of those?” He pointed to a series of smaller figurines depicting baby dragons hatching. “You know her best though.”

Undyne stared the self for almost a whole minute before bursting into action. “The castle,” she said as she carefully pulled if from the shelf so she could take it to the register.

While she paid, Edge looked at the dragons again. Maybe Slim would like one? Or perhaps one of the fairy figurines? He liked that kind of stuff but… it wasn’t a huge passion of his. So, if Edge couldn’t find something better, he’d settle for one of these.

 -

An hour later though and he knew he wouldn’t have to settle because he’d found something better. The perfect gift… maybe. Slim would at least like it even if he didn’t love it as much as Edge hoped he would so there was almost a guarantee that it wouldn’t be a complete failure of a gift.

“Woohoo!” Undyne said, giving Edge a high-five after they finished securing their gifts in the car. “Mission accomplished! Halle-fucking-luiah!”

“Yes,” Edge said with a sigh of relief. The majority of his shopping was done, next year he’d make sure to have it done sooner and thus not have to deal with the crowds.

 -

On Christmas, it was decided that the first part of the day would be devoted to their significant others, the second to their family, and for supper, all the Sans’ and Paps’ would get together for it. Which meant, that morning, it was just Edge and Slim, Red and Razz had left to be with their partners.

Despite the time of day and not having had coffee yet, Slim looked almost awake as they settled down at the kitchen table for a quick breakfast. He even managed a “Merry Christmas,” with a smile.

“Merry Christmas to you too,” Edge replied.

They exchanged a bit of small talk as they ate, especially as the coffee brought even more life to Slim. But it wasn’t much, neither of them were the chattiest people and thus tended to enjoy silence together every once in a while.

“Anyway uh… my gift is in the garage,” Slim said after they’d put the dishes in the sink. “So uh… we might want to do that first because it’s cold out there.”

“I’m all right with that.” Edge was a bit nervous anyway. And the curiosity about what Slim could’ve possibly gotten him that was big enough to warrant being in the garage was too much to resist.

Slim led the way to the door connecting to the garage. He opened it and stepped in. “Ta-da,” he said, turning on the light with one hand, flourishing Edge in with the other.

Next to the beat up car Slim had repaired with the help of a couple of the others, was a motorcycle. Shiny and new with a sleek black trim, it was gorgeous.

Edge was speechless as he approached to get a closer look at it. It was… a nice motorcycle, big, strong, and expensive. “It’s… amazing,” he finally said as he looked back up at Slim still standing in the doorway. Edge hadn’t been expecting this, despite wanting a new motorcycle for a while now. “Thank you, I appreciate it greatly.”

“You’re very welcome,” Slim said, smiling smugly as he leaned back against the wall. “After your other one got all dented and scrapped up by that asshat a few months ago, I knew I had to get you a new one. Razz helped me hide it by keeping it at his workplace until last night.”

Edge almost couldn’t wait to take it out for a spin but first… He walked over to Slim and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Now you’re turn.” Hopefully his gift would be good enough to stand up to a new motorcycle.

Once back inside, they split up, Slim to the living room and Edge to their room to retrieve his gift from the closet. “Merry Christmas,” he said again as he rejoined Slim.

Slim eagerly accepted the large giftwrapped box as they settled down on the couch. He wasted no time tearing the bow and paper off, not bothering to be neat about it either – not that Edge could truly be annoyed by that right now. He gasped once enough of the paper was gone to reveal what was written on the box. “Is this for real?” he asked, looking up at Edge.

“Yep,” Edge replied, please with the smile on Slim’s face. “You’ve mentioned multiple times that you want a VR headset so I got one. It was the last one they had too.” Come to think of it, the reason Slim didn’t buy one for himself was probably because he’d gotten Edge the motorcycle and thus couldn’t afford it.

“Sweet! I love you.”

“I love you too.” Mission success, both gifts were good. “Now which of us is going to get play with their gift first?”

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Persephone | John Wick x Reader (Two)

Words: 2306

A/N: A lot of people liked the last one, so I decided to continue and see where it leads. I have no elaborate plan for this series, I just hope that I continue to have the energy and inspiration to finish this.

Warning: Usual JW-verse violence

-

It was after your first mission, your first kill, were you officially initiated as an assassin. Your trainer, Sasha, gifted you with what seemed to be modeled after a vorpal blade. Floral and viney patterns covered the metal surface, a deep black colored covered handle with a grip that fits perfectly in your hand. It was your favorite weapon to use. Being that most, if not all, of your targets being larger than you, you preferred stealth than guns blazing. Taking them by surprise, sneaking up behind them and stabbing the blade to their throat, a gloved hand muffling any sound.

You had dropped that blade on the night you tried to escape, right next to Sasha’s body. You wished you had picked it up, but would it have changed the results? The Instructor had seen the doubt in you, that you were growing rebellious. She had seen her fate and wanted to cage you even after death.

Now within the Bowery King’s underground empire, finally away from the hovering sharp eyes of the Instructor’s people, you had to relearn how to function without their strings again. The Bowery King welcomed you, allowing you to rest and find your bearings using their resources whether you agreed to their mission or not.

As it was a backup to their Soup Kitchen base formerly used as a homeless shelter, they could only give you a tiny room with a stiff mattress and a scratchy blanket, but you weren’t complaining. It helped that John’s dog took a liking to you and would keep you company in your room. John didn’t mind it much, though he should really name him.

It took a while to get back into action but John helped a lot in sparring and running simulations with you. The muscle memory was still there and John managed to teach you new techniques as well. Watching him in action was mesmerizing and terrifying. His movements were smooth, calculated, and systematic, so there was no wonder how he’d survived in the business that long.

Still, you shouldn’t be staring at him that long or get distracted when he’s pressing his large body against your smaller frame, his body heat soaking through his clothes and his scent filling your senses. The Instructor would have punished you for not focusing on your training, although you had been infatuated with one or two trainers and fellow trainees as you got older. Such emotions were frowned upon but you were only human, even if John Wick seemed like he wasn’t.

You were sitting against the cold wall of a small training room after a sparring session with John when John’s dog padded over with a smile. You giggled, putting your water bottle down and reached out for the precious pitbull. John sat down with his dog in between the two of you. He pushed a sweat soaked lock of hair away from his face, watching you interact with the pitbull.

The dog lunged forward and licked your face, making you laugh. You turned to John, a genuine smile on his face that made you almost forget that he was The Boogeyman. You turned away, using the pitbull’s head to block your face from his view to hide your heated cheeks.

You cleared your throat, sitting up straighter and played with the pitbull’s floppy ears. “You should name him,” you said.

“His name is Good Dog,” John said with a straight face.

You rolled your eyes. “No, it’s not. You’re lucky he loves you. He’ll listen to anything you say no matter what name you called him.” You held the pitbull’s head between your hands and looked into his puppy eyes. What would be a good name for him, you thought.

John stood up and started towards the door, his loyal dog trailing behind. You frowned, reluctantly grabbing your things and followed after them. Conversations between you and John became more frequent, but they were often brief, so it shouldn’t be a surprise to you that he got up and left. Though, you sensed that he was delaying on naming the dog for a reason.

-

“So have you considered our offer?” The Bowery King asked you after John left to gather intel. “You help us take down the High Table and we can help you start a new life somewhere else.”

You nodded. “I have nothing to lose,” you said, “My family is gone and I have no place to go back to. I’ll help you guys.”

“Good,” The Bowery King said with a nod, “Very good. I assume after being out of it for so long, you’ll need a crash course on what you’ve missed in the Underworld.”

“Yes, please.”

He had you follow him around the building as he caught you up to speed of what happened in the last five years, John’s dog padding along quietly at your feet. Being in hiding from the High Table meant that he couldn’t bring you to his pigeons on the roof anymore and both of you were growing restless staying underground.

He also told you about what had brought John Wick back into the assassin life, from the death of his wife, the death of his puppy and his car being stolen, the Marker with Santino, to Santino’s death within the Continental walls. Rules were rules, and with the bounty that was still on his head placed by Santino, the High Table was also after him and anyone that he was involved with.

“So how do you take down the organization that pulls the strings?” The Bowery King asked you expectantly.

You paused and said, “You cut off the strings or the hand that holds them. Without the strings, they have no control. Without their hand, they can’t use the strings… until they find another way to pull them.”

“Exactly, but with the High Table, it’s more of a web,” he said, “Killing the spider won’t do anything if another spider takes its place. Even with the most complex of webs, there are always the key strands holding it up. When it falls apart, they’ll have to start from scratch.”

“We just need to figure out who or what those key strands are,” you surmised, hands on your hips. “Surely there’s another way to get more information.”

“I’m glad that you’ve mentioned it,” he said with a grin, stopping in front of a wide room with dirty barred windows, a worn but functional wooden desk with circuits, wires, soldering tools, miscellaneous repairing and building tools, and various scrap metal pieces.

“What’s all this?” you asked, inspecting the components.

“John Wick’s pension for storming through buildings with a couple of guns isn’t going to simply cut it when it comes to the High Table, no matter how skilled the man is,” he said, “I’ve heard you were good quite the tinkerer.”

You shook your head. “It’s been a while. I’m still getting my memories back,” you said, picking up a screwdriver and poking your index finger with the tip, “if it’s anything like my training, maybe if I fiddle around with these stuffs and study some machinery, I could get back into it again.”

You put the screwdriver back down and ran a finger across the dusty surface of the desk. You hummed, wiping your finger on your pants, then turned back to the Bowery King. He was watching you closely, a grin on his face as if he could see the outcome to their ambitious operation.

“Better start now, then. We’ll try our best to get you anything you need.”

“How about a clock?”

He laughed at the sudden request. “Any preference, Miss (Y/l/n)?”

“Both analog and digital should be fine.”

He nodded, already getting the attention of one of his men. “We’ll get you those clocks.”

The Bowery King turned on his heels and left to speak to some of his people that were coming back from the usual corners of the street and to send a couple of them for supplies. You looked back at the desk, then down at John’s dog who tilted his head as you let out a long sigh. You’ll need to clean the room up first.

-

After your new little office had been cleaned and rearranged with some proper equipment, you quickly got to work, reacquainting yourself with circuitry and machinery. John’s dog lied obediently at your feet facing the door, his ear twitching at every loud noise outside.

You tried to keep your eyes opened as timed pass without you realizing it. You blinked and suddenly the natural sunlight was replaced by the dim street lights outside. A yawn escaped your lips, louder than you intended, causing the dog to jump.

“Sorry, boy,” you muttered, petting his head when he stood up to check on you.

“You should rest,” came a familiar low voice from the doorway.

The dog quickly left to greet the man, his tailing wagging at an impressive speed. John stooped down to greet his loyal companion then turned to you.

“What do you have so far?” John asked, leaning down to look at the messy blueprints sketched out on scratch paper and the circuit board you were working on.

“Just something that I’ve thought of recently,” you said tiredly, “Not sure if it’ll work, but it’s worth a try. I’ll show it to you once I get the first working prototype finished.”

“Can’t wait,” he said, impressed by your sketches, leaning closer to look at your progress.

From the short conversations and how he behaved, you figured he wasn’t much into using technology this way. He was more of a physical person, going out and getting things done by his bare hands. You’re not surprised that he had stormed a building filled with enemies, using only a gun.

You turned your head to look at him, the light of the desk lamp illuminating his features. How the hell can he be that good looking while having cuts and bruises on his face? You quickly turned away before he could catch you staring again, working on covering up the exposed wiring and putting your tools away.

“Had a small errand to deal with?” you asked casually, gesturing to the minor injuries.

“Yeah, I had to meet up with someone,” he said, standing up straight. Your eyes immediately checked the rest of his person for any visible injuries. “Nothing too serious.”

“Right.” Your eyes flickered up and saw him watching you.

He held out his hand, like he had done at the flower shop. “You should get some rest,” he repeated.

You nodded, taking his hand and he led you to your small room without another word. It was only when the two of you reached your door when you realized that you were still holding hands. It felt warm and grounding and pleasant, but you knew you had to let go at some point.

“You should get some rest, too,” you said, delaying the inevitable for a short while. “I, uh, I hope you don’t mind when your dog stays by me at night.”

“It’s fine. He seems to like you,” he said, petting his dog with his other hand that’s missing a finger as he sat quietly at John’s feet.

“I feel like I wake up better when he’s there,” you continued, your hand still in his.

“Don’t you mean sleep better?”

You shook your head. “Nightmares and flashbacks seems unavoidable no matter how pleasant my waking moments had been. At least when I awake, I’m not alone and there’s someone to comfort me.”

John nodded. “I know what you mean,” he muttered, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

That was another thing that set John apart from the other assassins, there was a vulnerability to him that he’d show every now and again. It made you think that he trusted you enough to let those walls down around you.

You opened your mouth, then shut it, suddenly remembering about his wife. Of course. He didn’t have the proper time to grieve yet. He couldn’t even catch a break now with almost every assassin going after his head. The thought made you even more determined to help him.

You squeezed his hand then slowly and reluctantly let it go, stepping towards your door. “Night, John.”

He gave you another nod. “Night, (Y/n).”

-

Two figures pushed Marion onto her knees in front of their leader, a hand yanking her hair so she could face him. Their leader grimaced, shaking his head in disappointment at her failure. She let the asset get away right under her nose. His sister held the asset highly and gave strict orders before she was killed by John Wick.

“How could this have happened, Marion?” The new Instructor asked slowly, daring her to try his patience.

“It was John Wick, sir,” Marion grunted, her neck aching from the angle that she was forced in.

The Instructor nodded at the two figures and they let her go. She gasped, rubbing her neck to sooth the pain. He walked around his desk and leaned down, using a finger to lift her chin up.

“Does she know?” he asked.

Marion nodded. “I think so, or at least, she’s beginning to.”

The Instructor cursed, standing up again and sitting at his chair. “Usually a mistake like this would warrant you termination, but seeing that it was John Wick, I’m feeling gracious enough to give you a second chance,” he said, folding his hands on the desk, “Find them. I hear there’s a pretty price on his head. Come back as soon as you find them. If I hear that you acted alone or lose them again, there will be no hesitation to terminate you, if… they don’t do it themselves. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

-

Taglist:

@venusgothic

@weappreciatepower

@anita-e-taylor

@mikaneonox

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Silver Doors

I didn’t have time to audition for the Naminé zine, but if I had--and got in--this is what I would have put in there.

A Naminé character study. At the start of her life, she associates silver--and colors and shades somewhat close to it--as safety; and she carries on with this sentiment through everything she goes through... but never thinks she’ll ever be able to actually touch this hope until the end. Somewhat a companion piece to my Kairi story “Turn Me to Gold”. Slight Replinami and Namiku... and canon SoNami, and a bit of RokuNami if you squint.

When Naminé first came into the world—into the pristine, white castle that she would later learn was called Castle Oblivion—she latched onto the idea of the color silver saving her fast.

Why? Because she was new to the world, and even though she should have had Kairi’s memories at the time… she didn’t. So, colors were still mostly new to her.

And when all these people in black seized her nearly at once—and then forced her to draw, and gave her a few crayons so she could do so—she imagined that maybe, somehow, she could get taken to another castle (for were they the only buildings in the world?)—that was perhaps just a bit darker than this place and her dress that was getting dirtier and dirtier—and that she would be safe there.

And when she first saw Sora. Who, in her opinion, had eyes that were close to the shade she was imagining and even zippers that were exactly it… Naminé fell in love with him, and sold her soul in the process.

But later, when the Riku Replica was created, Naminé started finding some hope through the shock of silver she saw in him, too.

…And maybe that was why she was selfishly glad when he chose to hold onto his feelings for her, even when he learned that they were a lie.

Or before that… when he had still had the fake lucky charm she'd given him, with its gray charm… Naminé had prayed that he could hold onto it—even if Sora couldn’t his own, because his feelings for Kairi were coming back to the surface more and more—but Sora had unintentionally turned it back into a card, so it was no good. And then when the Riku Replica faded away, after his fight with the real Riku… even with the promise that she now had with Sora, Naminé couldn’t help thinking that the world was an empty and ebony place without him.

… Strangely enough, the next time Naminé felt anything at all when it came to color, was with a Vexen clone.

How a Vexen clone had found her at the Old Mansion in Twilight Town, Naminé didn't really know. But he thankfully didn't mention to the Organization where she was, and was instead good to her when he took her to the Tram Common area for a fieldtrip. And the wise scientist told her about Twilight Town some, so that she might understand it better.

And the selfishness that was within Naminé—that was so unlike Kairi, she knew—wished she could use that knowledge to try and escape DiZ… But she would never do it. She had made a promise to Sora, hadn't she? And if that meant working with DiZ—who Naminé hated and feared, even though she shouldn't have been able to feel anything at all—then so be it. "The only thing I don't like about this city, Xion, is its brown and red color scheme. This town is ours—a property of Organization XIII's—so shouldn't it moreso resemble our own monochrome color scheme?"

Truth be told, that was the exact oppositeof what Naminé wanted—given the trauma she'd undergone in Castle Oblivion—and she tried to explain to Vexen some of her issues with those colors without giving the truth away.

“If you—…we—make Twilight Town so sterile… isn’t that the exact opposite of what we’re trying to do in getting Kingdom Hearts? So that we can enjoy vibrant things again with our hearts? …But if you decide to not listen to me and do this anyway, Vexen… could you add some blue to the white and black? I- I like that color.” And Naminé did. The blue lights that connected to Sora's pod—that reminded her of his cerulean orbs when he was awake—were something she deeply loved... and silver still, she supposed. Just not white.

And she must have saidsomethingright, because Vexen smiled at Naminé and ruffled her hair some… and thankfully didn’t do anything to Twilight Town.

…

After Naminé had thought of Sora’s eyes again, she’d felt her feelings for him returning. And she wondered who she cared for more: him, or the Riku Replica.

…But this was ridiculous, Naminé decided as she crossed out the picture she’d just drawn of herself holding both of their hands. Sora would actually ever choose her over Kairi… and the Riku Replica was gone. And she didn’t even have a heart to feel with at all. So, all of these sentiments of hers were false… so why was she torturing herself with it? Besides… they were all still so young, that Naminé had her doubts that what Sora and Riku felt for Kairi (that she had once based Sora and the Riku Replica’s thoughts for her on) was really a crush, or just friendship. Sora may have felt so strongly for Kairi, but she wasn’t certain about Riku (and he wasn’t the Riku Replica, anyway)… and it wasn’t like what like anything they had towards Kairi would somehow be transferred over to her.

She was doomed to never have neither silver, she thought, or the safety for herself that she saw in them. Thankfully, as a distraction to these maddening thoughts of hers, it was around this time that Naminé first started seeing Xion's black hood—that glistened a certain way in the sun—as she attempted to repair Sora's memories.

…

And when Naminé's life didend up getting mixed up with Xion's, she was glad that it was. This girl was selfless and good. And in an alternate universe where DiZ alone was doing all of this, the blonde knew that he wouldn’t have even presented her with a choice… but Xion wanted to give this girl who was so much like Sora—and Kairi, in a few ways—at least that.

But at some point… the white witch even wrestled with what she wanted to do about Xion, because she came to realize that she could potentially save her... but that was only potentially. And DiZ would never allow it...

And wouldn't she be breaking her promise to Sora, if she delayed him waking so long and maybe even risked him waking to find out no one remembered him?

And Naminé got the sense that even Xion wouldn’t want to wait for this answer, if her existence continued to endanger Roxas’.

So, all of this was why Naminé settled on the idea that Xion going away was for the best, when everyone pressured her about it, but she still had her doubts. And oh, how she hated herself.

And maybe that was part of the reason that she promised the girl she'd take care of Roxas: surely, she owed both these poor souls something.

And if Naminé cut some inches of her white dress off—to save as a grave marker for Xion while she still remembered her, before the wind blew it away—then Naminé found the uncomfortableness of her dress being so short, as penance for all she’d done and a gift to another.

…

Naminé’s thoughts of silver—of home, of safety—when it came to Roxas were short and to the point… but perhaps they were some of the most important ones of all.

…When Roxas tried to save her from DiZ—and reached out to her—much in the same way she had helped him against Dusks and the Twilight Thorn before… Naminé felt hope was within her reach for the first time ever, and that she was truly cared for by someone.

So even while she disappeared near him twice, she smiled.

…

The next time Naminé would really be able to think about anything at all—at least in her own body. And not of Terra, who she had forced herself to reach, even without consciousness, in order to save the Guardians—would be when she was brought back to life by Kairi, Sora, Ansem the Wise, Ienzo, and Even... as she sat in that sterile chair, and was thankful for it, yes, but still selfishly wishing that there was someone who cherished her more than anyone else, who could be there for her in this moment.

Sora and Kairi were currently going around to worlds and helping them out in secret—Naminé could see this in their memories—and while it was cute… she didn't think she'd get the reunion from them that she was hoping for. …So was she ever impressed, when Dilan and Aeleus escorted her outside and she saw Riku waiting for her with his hand outstretched—dreaming of taking her away, it seemed. He wasn't the silver she'd once dreamt of. But he wasn't far off. And as blue petals flew all around them, Naminé touched fingertips and found that she could have peace over chaos, after all.

[diverdaddy]

The Great Escape: Free Kanan

Pairing: KanaDia  Word Count: 7 691 Summary: Dia pauses the search for her friend and pulls up the cardboard packaging, taking out a big, purple plastic mess from it. She finds the spout where a pump may go, inhales a deep breath and the blows it out into the inflatable object.  

-Record scratch, freeze frame on Dia as she's about to exhale-  

‘’Yup thats me. You're probably wondering how i ended up in this situation..  Well we gotta go back a couple weeks‘’ 

Author’s Note: Hi, thank you @nozoroomie for my life I dont know how to write but thank you so so much for doing this collab with me and for pretending like I do know what im doing anyways! This is small gift for our friend @chilopawbi because sometimes even your really dumb friends deserve something nice. And this is one of those times.  Also avaliable to read on Roomie’s! [AO3]

One would not expect there to be much activity by the pier of the Kurosawa fishing business late on a Friday night. Normally, after 8pm at the latest, lights are shut off in the factory, boats are safely secured in the docks and everything is as it should be. But tonight, if one looked closely, they would see the form of a young adult sneaking into the boat docks, with a large bundle tucked under one arm and a flashlight in the other.

Said girl walks over to the very end of the docking bay, kneeling down without a care. She places the large cardboard packaging under her arm on the wooden floor next to her and glances around the murky waters of the bay, searching for someone. She frowns a bit when she can’t immediately find who she looks for, but time waits for no one. She opts out of her search for her friend in favour of opening the cardboard packaging and getting to work. She spreads out what looks to be a purple plastic mess that’s meant to be blown up. She takes a deep breath and exhales it before picking it up, finding the little spout where a pump may go and instead putting her mouth around it. One more big inhale and then Dia begins to exhale inside the object.

Why exactly does she find herself here tonight? She thinks back to why she’s done this in the first place and remembers all too well what happened when her father came home that day from work.

The senior Kurosawa with dark red hair that matched his youngest daughter was distraught. He sat in the kitchen, head in his hands as his wife brought him a cup of tea. Dia had been walking past the kitchen but the position her father was in wasn’t normal. She pauses on the other side of the doorway when her mother speaks.

“Are you positive that’s what you saw dear? An actual-”

“Absolutely. I have the proof- she can’t move. She’s hurt and stuck there for her own safety.”

“Wow.. A real life mermaid.”

Dia almost falls over. A what?! There’s no way she can hide herself now.

“Excuse me, what?!” Dia says, stepping into the kitchen with a determined look on her face. The one both her mother and father know means she won’t be leaving them until she’s gotten all the information she needs. Her father prinches the bridge of his nose while her mother sighs.

“Dia,” Her father says in a serious tone, bringing his hand down, “Were you eavesdropping on our conversation?”

Yes.

“No- I was walking past,” She responds curtly, “You found a mermaid at work? Really? You can’t be serious.”

She’s always been skeptical about the local tales- the rumours of mermaids living in the ocean near their little town. She thought it was all a legend- stories from the past that were passed down through generations of families and told to the children to fill their minds with wonder and to respect the ocean more (after all, mermaids and the animals can’t continue to live safely unless they keep the ocean clean.)

But Dia is a firm believer in solid proof. There is little proof that mermaids exist- only theories. She refuses to believe this issue at work is a mermaid and not something more urgent. Her father sighs and he stands up, leaving his full cup of tea.

“Well there’s no point arguing with you. Come along Dia- and not a word of this to your little sister, understand?”

No words are said by the two of them as they head towards the front door. They get their shoes on and Dia’s father leads them towards his work truck. Dia feels a little nervous from the aura of anger and exhaustion radiating off of her father, but he doesn’t seem upset or angry. Frustrated maybe- but not with her. The girl feels maybe she should say sorry, but her pride is a stubborn thing. She’ll wait until apologies are meant to be given.

“Father, are you really serious about this mermaid?” Dia asks him in a soft, concerned voice. He keeps his eyes on the road and lets out a small sigh.

“I know you, Dia. You won’t believe me unless you see it for yourself.” He replies simply. Dia blushes a bit embarrassed but leans back in her seat.

The rest of the ride is short and quiet. Dia steps out of the truck when they’re parked and she follows her father into the warehouse. The walk down the docks is a little eerie. Dia feels a twinge of fear within her but she follows her father regardless.

They approach the final bay in the warehouse where their most expensive fishing boat rests. There’s a long rope going along the front of the boat from one dock to the next and a sign that says “Out of order” right in the middle. Dia takes a once over of the side she can see and notices where the large net motor should be its not there- baron of any sign of a net motor whatsoever. She opens her mouth to ask her father what happened when he peers over the dock and points under the water with his flashlight.

“Right there.” he says, holding the light in place, “See down there? The slight discoloured spots just by the bottom of the boat? The spots throw you off but if you focus on them you’ll see the tail fin.”

Sure enough, Dia squints and the spots she can see move. Her brows furrow and when she tries to locate them her eyes detect movement. She follows it with her gaze and she lets out an audible gasp when she sees not just the spots of a tail fin, but an actual, real life form of a mermaid. It’s dark and Dia swears, if it weren’t for the light from their flashlight, she would not believe it. A real living mermaid.

“What… what are you going to do with her?” Dia asks in an unbelieving voice.

Her father stays silent and Dia finally takes her stare away from the mermaid. He looks like he’s contemplating something and Dia really doesn’t like that gaze he has. The answer should be obvious- help heal the mermaids fin and send her back into the ocean where she belongs. But new net motors aren’t cheap and the equipment to repair their best boat may be pricey- she knows that it might put a financial strain on the company. But nothing they couldn’t handle.

His expression alone says a million things that are far from the answer Dia wants to hear.

“That’s undecided. We’re going to figure it all out tomorrow.” He finally answers. “I’m going to go into the office to make a call since we’re here. Come get me when you’re ready to go home.”

He heads down the dock and into the direction of the office building while Dia stays put. It angers her to know that her father may be planning something more for the mermaid before he even releases her- or if he even releases her. She looks down with a furious gaze.

“Disgusting. I won’t let him do anything like that if I can help it.”

As her sentence is finished there’s a small sploosh noise and Dia perks up immediately, flashing her light towards the sound. All she can see are ripples on the surface of the water between her and the boat, and there’s only one thing that could’ve done it. Dia peers towards the surface closer to her and she almost yells when she finds a piercing, amethyst gaze staring up at her through the water. She hears herself gasp but can’t process anything as she gets a close up look of the mysterious mermaid.

Her hair is long and dark- most likely a deep blue hue. Her gaze is cautious, yet there is a curiosity in it that Dia can recognize quite easily. Her gaze moves and Dia can see that the scales and spot designs aren’t just a part of her tail fin- they go up along her sides and cover parts of her chest, as well as parts of her arms (her big, strong looking arms, and oh so very defined biceps.) and framing her face. She can only assume her back is covered in more of the beautiful patterned scales and it’s only then that Dia realizes just how beautiful this mermaid is. She takes in more details of her face- the way her nose points up ever so slightly in a dainty way, the fullness of her lips (her very kissable lips), the way the scales along the underside of her face make her chin more prominent.

Dia swallows. Hard. Oh no. Oh no this mermaid is cute. No- she’s more than cute. This mermaid is a hottie. A bonafide hottie who Dia wishes was more than just a creature of the sea. She hates this- it’s bad enough having a gay crisis in public with Mari around, but now she’s having a moment alone, in her family’s business, with a mermaid of all things.

Her face is the brightest shade of red and whether it’s from shame or the mermaids beauty, Dia really doesn’t know.

The mermaid has yet to move away and she looks further down to find the injury her father mentioned earlier- as clear as day. Along with what looks like rope burns, the sea creature has a long, painful looking gash going down towards her fin, and it is definitely some kind of swollen. Dia frowns concerned, wondering if anything might be able to help it. Does human medicine work on mermaids? Would the mermaid be willing to try it and find out? Would disinfectant cream even be useful if the mermaid has to be in the water? There’s so many questions running through Dia’s mind, but all she can really think about is how this mermaid needs to be let back into the ocean. They can’t keep her here. It’s too cruel. It’s unfair and unjust and holding her hostage is not the way anyone in the Kurosawa family should handle things.

“I’m not sure if you understand me but if you do, please don’t be afraid,” she says softly, “I’m going to help you out of here and get you back home.”

The mermaid doesn’t seem to react much aside from blinking slowly at her. Does this mean she understood? Dia certainly hopes so. She blushes a bit but clears her throat, deciding she’ll talk with her father now, since she has the opportunity.

She doesn’t leave immediately though- there’s something about the mermaids gaze that keeps her entranced. Are mermaids and sirens the same thing? Is this what it’s like to be caught in the spell of one? (Or is Dia just that gay..) She isn’t sure but she also doesn’t mind. The way the mermaid stares has become more curious and interested than anything else and Dia can only hope it’s because she’s understood her slightly.

With one last look over her shoulder Dia heads for her father’s office.

‘’What do you mean I would have to get a brand new boat!?’’ Her father’s voice echos out of the office as Dia gets closer to the door. Now Dia might be gay, but she wasn’t bad at math, a brand new boat would dent the company’s paychecks more than just a small equipment replacement. She stops outside of the office door, this was worse than she thought it would be.

The mermaids fate was probably sealed now that her father got the bad news. How was he planning on exploiting the mermaid now that their best boat had to be replaced? Was there any laws against exploiting mermaids? did it count as animal cruelty or maybe slavery? The more Dia thought about it the more determined she got. She had to help the mermaid break out, and fast.

By the time Dia is out of breath the purple plastic object is far from looking anything like the picture on the cardboard box it came out of. How could her budget bought inflatable chair be so hard to blow up? The huffing and puffing escaping from her would put the big bad wolf to shame, this was ridiculous!

‘’Hey Dia, do you any need help?’’

Dia almost chokes when the friend she was looking for shows up, of course she would be caught now that she was out of breath and looked like a roasted tomato. Facing the mermaid that was looking up at her Dia can’t help but blush harder before collecting herself.

“There you are Kanan.” She finally says, a bit out of breath. “You’re late.”

Kanan smiles a bit.

“I’ve been here the whole time, you just never thought to look under the dock.” She says with a cheeky grin that catches Dia off guard and god could this mermaid be anymore charming?! Seriously?! Just a single smile and Dia’s stomach is doing flips.

Her attention however quickly zones in on all the things Dia brought with her, especially the cardboard packaging for the purple plastic mess Dia was so desperately trying to blow up. She tilts her head curiously, using her hands to push herself up on the dock and keeping herself held up as she read the letters on the box. There’s familiar characters on the label, but on the picture of the box there are a few english letters spelt out. She focuses her gaze on it to try to read what it says.

“B-Brit-ney Spear-s, What’s a ‘Britney Spears?’’ The mermaid asks out of curiosity as she reads the english text out loud.

“To- to address your question, no- No I’m, I’m fine, I- I can do this.” Dia tries to bluff, but she realizes exactly how close Kanan is at this moment and loses a bit of her confidence, “It’s just a dumb, a really dumb Britney Spears, that’s exactly what a Britney Spears is.’’

She feels too embarrassed to admit that Britney Spears is actually an american pop star but Kanan doesn’t need to know that. She turns back to the task at hand, blowing with all her might into the purple plastic as to prove a point, but her moment only lasts for so long before she gives in to her already dead lungs again.

“Feels like you’ve been doing that forever huh? Think we’ll be able to pull this off without your dad finding out?” Kanan asks, leaning onto her elbows and resting her head on her hands as she watches the other girl.

Dia takes a couple deep breaths of air and shakes her head, preparing herself to blow into the inflatable object once again. If she didn’t have powerful lungs before, she certainly would after today. She tries to blow more air into the object but she runs out of breath fast. Maybe she should take a longer break.

“What exactly is stopping your dad from interrupting us?” Kanan asks, a curious smile dancing on her lips.

“One word.” Dia breathes out, digging into her pocket and bringing out her phone. She scrolls through it a little bit before she turns the screen to face Kanan, “Mari.”

“Oookay.. so, how is this ‘Mari’ stopping your dad?” Kanan pries for more information with that smile still on her face. Dia’s face heats up a little more. Gross. She’s super cute when she wants to learn more.

“Mari is the director of my high school.” Dia explains with a bit of reluctance. “She arranged a parent teacher interview with my father. I don’t know the reason why but I do have a bad feeling about it.”

“Why’s that?”

“I have a feeling whatever reason she’s called my father to the school is because she made it seem very urgent. She never told me what she was going to say, but I have a feeling I’ll be scolding her later.”

As this is said, somewhere, across the city at Uranohoshi Girls academy, Mari feels a chill run up her spin as she looks at Mr. Kurosawa across from her. In front of her are three pictures of what seems to be his youngest daughter vandalising school property with various doodles of sweets, small animals and the most alarming thing of all- an english phrase of some sort that reads “send nudes.”

[The truth of the matter is they were all photos taken for the year book that were edited by her and a comrade in arms (Yohane, they called her) to make it look like the little Kurosawa was destroying school property. Mari assumes Dia will be furious with her, but she’s confident she’ll be able to convince Dia it was the only option. ]

Kanan laughs a melodious sound and Dia feels like she could melt into a pile of liquid. Her laugh sounded like velvet and gold, a weird way to describe a laugh but it’s the only way it makes sense to Dia. Dia’s heartbeat echoes and she hopes, prays that mermaids don’t have super hearing. It would be embarrassing for Kanan to hear how loud it is right now.

“Wonder what she made him go all the way there for.” the mermaid muses, lifting her tail fin above the water slightly to splash the surface in an amused manor. Almost like an excited dog wagging its tail.

Dia almost falls over and clutches her chest at the image of the mermaid with puppy ears. (Like the snapchat filter, tongue out and all.)

“So, what is it you’re trying to blow up there?” Kanan asks, still as curious as ever, “Is it going to help you move me to the ocean?”

“Not quite.” Dia replies as she pulls the plastic apart to see just how much more air it needs. “It’s what I’m going to use to follow you far enough into the ocean so I can assure you’ll be safe and on your way home.”

Kanan snorts and Dia glares at her slightly.

“The plan is we blow this up here, you hoist yourself out and I guide you into the wheelbarrow half full of water, then we throw on the hat and chair and other various things to disguise you and make it look like I’m just moving a bunch of junk towards the beach so nobody stares for too long. Once we get to the ocean, I’ll help you into the water then follow you with the floating chair and we go out to the ocean and you go home.” Dia feels like that was a bit of a mouthful but Kanan laughs lightly.

“You know you could just swim in the ocean if you wanna follow me, right?” She suggests to Dia but Dia shakes her head.

“No you see, how will I be able to protect you or me from anything coming our way? I’d be too distracted swimming to keep up with you. So I brought this paddle to smack away anything that tries to harm us.”

Kanan stares at her a little bewildered before she slowly smirks.

“Okay, sure. So we’ve got you sitting on this… not inflated Britney Spears, with the paddle, and then I’m going to hold those while you wheel me to the ocean in the.. Wheelbarrow?” Kanan says, going through the gist of what Dia’s plan is and confirming if she got it right.

Well. When she says it like that it sounds a little far fetched.

“Just let me stick to blowing up this thing so we can get you home. The sooner I do, the sooner we won’t have to worry about my father.” Dia says then she grabs the chair near its spout again.

God she does not want to continue trying to blow this thing up.

Kanan looks around through the things she has there and frowns.

“Can’t you use a tool or something to make it inflate faster? What was it you guys call it.. a pimp? pimple?”

“A pump!” Dia immediately corrects, and the idea hits her like a paddle and illuminates the lightbulb above her head. “A pump! My father probably has one around here!”

It doesn’t take Dia a lot of searching- there’s a locker at the end of the dock bay filled with assorted supplies and tools. She finds the pump almost instantly and runs back to the spot where Kanan waits with the Britney Spears chair. Her face lights up as she sees the pump in Dia’s hands.

“You did have one!” She exclaims.

“Of course! What real fishing business would have a ship dock without an air pump?”

Well, Dia isn’t really sure if it’s necessary to have an air pump for fishing boats, but she’s certainly glad her father and his coworkers thought it was good to keep around.

She gets back to work, finding the little spout where a pump may go, and this time she has one. She connects the pump to the spout before she realises that this is in fact.. a manual pump. Dia almost wants to cry, but she holds it in as she steps onto the small plastic sides, bends over slightly (a lot) to reach the handle and starts pumping with all her strength. And sure enough the pump is more effective than the previous method.

Kanan is watching, the amusement evident in her face as Dia struggles with both balance and rhythm on the manual pump. Human inventions sure was something. But the speed the Britney Spears was inflating at slowed down significantly as Dia’s arms gave in faster than a moth to light.

Why was I a fool in school for cutting gym?! Dia can’t believe it, but she almost feels more out of breath using the pump than she was using her lungs as her arms burns with every movement she makes.

‘’Can I give it a try?’’ Kanan asks a little cheekily as she splashes some more water around with her tail fin.

Dia wants to say no, like the prideful stubborn adult that she is, but the mental image in her brain tells her yes, the mermaid’s arms are strong, with big and defined biceps and getting to see those arms work it...  if Dia was a roasted tomato in the past, she’s a marshmallow on fire about to get charred to death right now.

‘’Y-you may,’’ is all Dia can manage as she steps off the pump and moves it closer to the edge for Kanan to reach.

Kanan pulls herself up onto the wooden floor as best as she can, her upper body now out of the water. She bends her tail fin and rests carefully on the dock, the tips of her fin slightly covered by the waters below them. Kanan grabs the handle of the pump and lifts it up, pulling it with ease. She looks a bit surprised at how easy it was and she can’t help but smirk when she pushes her arms forward with just as much ease. She repeats these motions and Dia watches, helplessly and with a bit of envy at how easy it is for the mermaid to pump up this chair. Something that should be absolutely no problem for a slightly athletic human such as herself.

But Dia can’t stop staring. She watches as the mermaid’s flexes her very defined and strong muscle in her upper arms, and how her biceps look even bigger and stronger than they did in the water the first time Dia saw them. If Dia was just any undignified barbaric creature she might’ve been drooling right about now, but Dia had some self control, after all she was a Kurosawa, she had some dignity still left in her as she wipes the corner of her mouth real quick just in case. (When Kanan can’t’ see.)

Good thing It isn’t long before the inflatable object begins to form into the shape its meant to be and in no time at all it’s finished. Dia stops Kanan from pushing a last pump of air into it. She takes out the pump, closes up the spout and then she begins to admire their handy work.

“What.. is it?” Kanan asks, leaning towards it and poking it tentatively, a bit shocked from how sturdy the plastic is.

“A chair.” Dia answers simply.

“A chair.” Kanan repeats, staring at the words “Britney Spears” that are along the back of its purple and glittery design with lots of flowers. “It certainly is. Something.”

She turns herself towards Dia, almost directly beside her on the dock. Dia’s eyes gaze down just the slightest bit and she notices her hand is just one small slip away from touching Kanan’s. She wonders if Kanan is cold all the time, considering where she lives. Or maybe her hands would be warm from the work she did pumping up the chair. Would they be slimey, or just wet? Would they feel perfect with her fingers intertwined between hers, or maybe even better with them holding her around the waist in the tightest embra-

Dia shakes her head and smacks her cheeks and it startles Kanan ever so slightly. She tilts her head and looks bewildered at Dia and the eldest Kurosawa daughter decides they need to move out now before her mind travels to more dangerous thoughts and imaginations.

“I’ll be right back.” she says, preparing to stand, “It’s time we get you out of here and back to the ocean.”

Once Dia is on her feet again she leaves to go find the wheelbarrow where she parked it. It doesn’t take her long to find it and wheel it back over to Kanan, her own arms really getting a workout tonight, but the wheels on the wheelbarrow sure made it possible even for Dia.

Thankfully Dia had prepared enough by already filling the wheelbarrow with water with the help of a friend, the water hose that the workers would wash the different equipment with. Now all they would have to do was get Kanan into it.

When Dia comes into view again Kanan’s curiosity is sparked, this wheelbarrow looked so heavy, yet Dia seemed to be able to push it around just fine. Human inventions didn’t seem all that bad, they were quite amazing.

‘’So that is a wheelbarrow? It’s amazing, it makes it possible even for you to move really heavy things!’’ Kanan beams with that smile plastering her face whenever she learns something new and exciting, and Dia, Dia is insulted, and gay, and its unfair because Kanan was so dang cute even when she was being so blunt.

‘’Yes, now we just need to get you into it. Do you think you can lift yourself into it?’’ Dia asks, pushing the wheelbarrow as close to Kanan as she can.

‘’Maybe,’’ Kanan grabs onto the edge of the side of the wheelbarrow, slowly lifting her upper body off the wooden dock and into the wheelbarrow. When it starts to wiggle slightly Dia throws herself over the opposite site, and with some teamwork and spilled water Kanan finally makes it into the wheelbarrow.

Now with her her ‘butt’ submerged in what water was still left in the wheelbarrow Kanan lets out small giggle that turns into a full on laugh as she wiggles her tail that’s hanging off the edge in a small celebration. ‘’Dia we did it!’’

Doki doki, Dia’s heart almost stops there and then, how can this mermaid keep amazing her like this, this was bad for Dia’s health in more ways than one as she forgets how to breath when the mermaids laugh plays in her head and she soaks up the picture perfect 4K HD smile worthy of an Oscar to go along with it. Keep it together Dia, you still have a mission to complete!

But god did it take all of her not to clutch her chest at the sight. She needed to cover this girl up! Without warning she bends down to pick up a folded up beach towel and throws it over the part of Kanan’s fin that drapes on the outside the wheelbarrow. Then she throws a hat on top of her head and before Kanan can register anything else, sunglasses are shoved perfectly in place on her face.

She then turns to the blown up chair and furrows her brow. It might be a bit inconvenient transporting it this way now that Dia looks at it, but what’s done is done. She turns to Kanan for a moment, blushing in slight embarrassment as she speaks.

“H-hold onto this.” she says, grabbing the inflated chair and resting the practically weightless object onto the mermaids lap. The amount of times she's stuttered tonight is preposterous and the sooner Kanan is back at home in the ocean, the sooner she won't be suffering from being too gay to function.

Dia soon moves to the back of the wheelbarrow and with a little bit of effort, she lifts up the handles and pushes forward. The additional weight proves to be a bit of a surprise and she lurches forward, Kanan almost dropping the chair and more water spilling in the process. Kanan laughs lightheartedly while Dia tries not to trip over herself and onto the mermaid. She’s already been embarrassing enough.

After a couple trials and errors Dia finally grasps how to control the wheelbarrow with a mermaid and inflatable chair inside it. After a couple nasty sharp turns she’s out of the ships docking bay and into the evening light, the sun a deep orange and reflecting a beautiful array of colours into the sky. A perfect time for a mermaid send off if she’s honest.

She maneuvers carefully towards the beach, having a bit more difficulty the moment the wheelbarrows tire goes from solid ground to sand. Dia huffs and puts a bit more effort into it, lifting Kanan up higher and using more force from her legs to push forward. She notices Kanan’s sideways glance to look at her but she forces her gaze to stay away from that deep purple gaze. In the light of the setting sun they’re almost a wineish red colour and it’s such a distracting gaze it’s taking all of Dia not to make direct eye contact with her.

With a bit of success (Kanan caught her gaze three times and with each time she did, her eyes crinkled upward) she finally reaches the water. She drops the wheelbarrow and moves to the side of it, grabbing the chair off of Kanan’s lap. She then removes the hat, sunglasses and towel, leaving them all in a small neat pile not to far away. She can hear Kanan shifting by the sloshing sounds of the water beneath her butt in the wheelbarrow. She’s eager to get back into the ocean and back home.

Her heart aches a bit, knowing this is it. This may very well be the last time Dia will ever see Kanan again. She knows it’s a little to early to think about this but knowing there’s only a bit more time left with the cryptid does hurt. Dia would have loved to see her again and again, to learn about Kanan’s world under the sea and in turn tell Kanan tales about her life on land. There’s so many more things Dia wants to experience with this mermaid. She wishes with all her heart that they had more time together.

She takes a deep breath and taps her cheeks lightly. The angsty sadness can wait until later- right now the mission was almost at it’s end. Kanan needs to be back in the ocean where she’s safe and Dia won’t let her wait any longer. She turns back to the mermaid and hopes that she can’t see the sadness in her eyes.

“Alright Kanan, are you ready?”

Kanan’s smile becomes a toothy grin and she nods.

“Let’s do this Dia!”

‘’Here goes!!’’

Dia lifts the handles of the wheelbarrow again, there was only a whole three or four meters of sand left separating Kanan from the ocean. One big breath and Dia pushes forward with what’s left of her strength. Was the wheelbarrow always this heavy? Was it Dia’s fatigue? Was it just the sadness weighing down on her in the last moment? She can’t think about that—  she’s almost there!

The front wheel, the only wheel, on the wheelbarrow touches the water.

That’s when it happens. The wave crashes into the front of the wheelbarrow and Dia’s life is flashing before her eyes as she loses her balance, her feet slip on the sand, the wheelbarrow falls over like humpty dumpty toppling off his brick wall. They were so close.. yet Kanan goes crashing down into the wet sand and that is the last thing Dia sees before she gets a mouthful of wet sand herself.

Dia’s head hurts, but the splashing sound she hears as she opens her eyes again, could it be? Did Kanan make it into the ocean after all? She rolls over and pushes herself into a sitting position, focusing her eyes on the last spot she saw Kanan in and, she is still there, splashing at the edge of the water where waves meet sand, like the most majestic Magikarp Dia’s ever seen.

‘’Kanan are you okay!?’’ The distress in Dia’s voice was strong.

When all Dia can hear is coughing, almost like someone dying she gets even more worried and scrambles on her arms and knees over to the mermaid.

Kanan stops splashing around, calming down slowly as she looks at Dia’s face. She inches closer slowly.

‘’I’m fine Dia,” she insists with a giggle, ”I couldn’t stop laughing my fins off when we both fell.”

Just the thought of it makes her laugh again and Dia almost swoons. A smile grows on her face and she shakes her head. Kanan seems okay and that relieves her, but the grainy texture and taste of salt and sea water still coats a bit of the inside of her mouth and she turns away from the mermaid to spit what remains back onto the ground where it belongs.

There’s a bigger splash and it causes Dia to turn around. She notices Kanan has pulled herself deeper into the water, not quite fully submerged. The dorsal fin and parts of the back of her tail rise from the wave as it settles over Kanan and she keeps herself upright with her forearms. It looks as if she’s pushing herself into the wave and she lets out a content sigh when she sees another coming her way. She’s distracted if only for a moment and then realizes she should probably get ready to set out to sea with her. She swallows a bit nervously.

“W-wait! Kanan don’t go too far yet!” She calls, pushing herself onto her feet and rushing back to the sand. She grabs the inflatable chair (or attempts, it takes her a solid two times to get a good hold of it thanks to the fall) and the paddle and heads back towards the waves. She silently prays they pumped the chair up with enough air to keep it afloat while she accompanies Kanan deeper into the waters.

Once Dia has everything in a solid grip she sprints as fast as her legs can take her towards the ocean in a Baywatch run, except less graceful as the chair almost slips from her grip and every step is a battle against gravity, and how Dia wishes she could just defy it like a green Idina Menzel. The struggle was real, yet she manages to reach the edge of the water with both the Britney Spears chair and the paddle without any more accidents.

Kanan swims freely in the shallow parts of the water close to the beach, keeping a close eye on her human friend and her Britney Spears chair. When Dia had made it somewhat properly into the water, sitting unsteady on her inflatable chair Kanan swims up to her, circling her like prey. Not that Kanan has any plans on eating Dia, but it isn’t too far off from looking like a Jaws parody.

It’s when Kanan bumps the chair playfully enough that Dia gets really unsteady, her paddling uncoordinated and more of a wild splashing with her arms as she wants to cry again. The mermaid’s like a playful sea puppy and Dia’s fearing for her life, yet she can’t stop the way her heart beats out of her chest at how cute Kanan is, even if said very heckin cute mermaid is about to commit involuntary manslaughter.

“Kanan! Stop- that’s unsafe!” Dia says as she slowly realizes the two of them are drifting into the ocean more and more. The dread sets in as all of Dia’s easy escapes from the waves are virtually gone. Soon she’s going to be all the way out in the middle of the ocean with nothing but a paddle and an inflatable chair to keep her company and then the chair will deflate and before she knows it she’ll be swimming for three days before she finally-

“AAH!” Dia screams as a large wave is splashed onto her and the cold shocks her to her core.

“Sorry! It was the only way to bring you back to me.” Kanan says, though the expression on her face is more like ‘you weren’t paying attention and I wanted to punish you for that.’ The expression is lost when she notices Dia looks a little.. pale.

“Dia? Are you okay?” she asks, lifting her hands up onto the plastic and holding onto the arm of the chair, “Did my splash scare you that much?”

The concern in Kanan’s voice is surprised and she look very apologetic. Her eyes give it all away— those beautiful eyes. Fuck, the setting sun just has to make them even prettier than they were before. Dia takes a deep breath before speaking.

“The truth is I didn’t bring all of this as a..protection thing.”

“Well, that was a little obvious.”

“What?!”

“I mean,” Kanan smiles lightheartedly and gestures to the tiny paddle, “A paddle like that will get you nowhere. Literally.”

Dia’s tempted to throw it at Kanan’s stupidly gorgeous face but opts not to, instead lifting her hands up to cover her face so Kanan can’t see the extremely ripe tomato she’s about to become. Would Kanan possibly believe she got sunburnt fast?

“Seriously though,” Kanan begins again and Dia peers through her fingers to look down at her. That piercing wine coloured gaze stares at her with worry, “What’s wrong Dia? Are you okay?”

And for some reason, the embarrassment floods away. Dia doesn’t feel as nervous about admitting the truth to her. She lowers her hands and diverts her gaze to the waves that reflect the light of the lowering sun.

“I… am not the best swimmer. That is to say I, Dia Kurosawa, cannot swim. I never really learnt how and I never thought I would really need to. A little silly, when you see what kind of business my family owns and runs and-”

“Is that all?!” Kanan asks a little bewildered, cutting the brunette off from her rambling.

“Wha-” Dia narrows her gaze, perplexed. “What do you mean ‘is that it’?! This is a big deal! We’re getting deeper and deeper and soon I won’t be able to-”

“Dia. Stay with me, okay?” Kanan puts a reassuring hand onto her wrist, smiling up at the nervous girl. “You just happen to be in the middle of the ocean with one of the worlds cryptic wonders who happens to be a very talented swimmer.”

Dia wants to scoff at Kanan’s attempt of a joke but instead she just frowns at the mermaid.

“I don’t see how that’s supposed to be reassuring. You’re the good swimmer here, not me.”

“What I mean is I can show you the basics. I’ve never taught a human how to swim before but I’ve seen them swimming numerous times. If you could slide into the water, I’ll show you what I mean.”

Kanan holds out her hand and looks at Dia with a gentle, inviting smile. She doesn’t remove her gaze from the nervous girl and there’s a calming aura about her— one completely different from the playful sea puppy like vibe she gave earlier. Dia doesn’t need to linger on the thought as she reaches her hand towards Kanan’s and slips it together with hers, trusting the mermaid and her words and shifting.

With a warm, excited smile Kanan holds out her other hand, gesturing for Dia to take that one as well. She does slowly, eyeing Kanan carefully. The mermaid pushes herself back a little, having to outstretch her arms alongside Dia just a bit. “I’ve got you, Dia. Slide off of the Britney Spears and into the water with me.”

Dia makes a sound of objection at Kanan’s statement but it’s nothing more than an offended sounding gasp as Kanan gives her a tiny tug forward and Dia slides into the cold water. She inhales sharply and just as the fear is setting in, Kanan squeezes her hands, bringing her back to the present and back to their current time.

“It’s okay Dia! You’re staying afloat and I’ve got you! I won’t let you drown!”

Dia’s fingers grip onto Kanan tightly and the mermaid continues to reassure her that she will be okay. She can’t think about much as Kanan instructs and guides her to kick her legs ever so slightly. when she does her body lifts and Kanan swims backwards just a bit, still holding onto her hands.

“I won’t let go- keep kicking! This is how humans do it to move forward!”

“I-I understood that!” Dia retorts flustered, but doing as told. She kicks her feet and proceeds to move forward, but not on her own. Kanan swims backward with each movement Dia makes forward. It’s nice and it’s good and Dia hates to admit how this one on one lesson with the mermaid has made swimming much easier for her.

They swim like this for a bit, Kanan guiding Dia and moving them around the water. The more Dia gets used to holding Kanan’s hands, the less she wants to let go. She’s completely content to stay here if it meant holding onto the hand of the most beautiful being in the world. Kanan’s smile is soft and Dia can’t help but return it.

It’s then Kanan pulls Dia close, letting go of her hands very briefly and instead wrapping her arms around the form of the other girl, pulling her close and hugging her tight. Dia blinks in surprise but doesn’t object to the motion, only taking in the fact that she can feel the contrast of soft skin and scales against her. They feel just like a sharks, they’re rough one way, yet smooth when she brushes her hand the other way. She blushes slightly, holding onto Kanan in return.

“Dia, I wanted to thank you. For everything you’ve done.” Kanan begins in a soft voice, her arms wrapped around Dia. “You risked a lot to help me get back home and without you I really couldn’t have done it.”

Dia pulls away enough to meet Kanan’s gaze and she feels like she could melt. The silence is prolonged and Dia decides to speak.

“It’s nothing Kanan. It really isn’t.” She replies in an equally soft tone. “When I saw you I couldn’t just… let you stay there. You needed to be back here- back where it’s safest for you. As much as I would love to see you all the time, it wouldn’t be right for anyone to keep you locked away in some kind of aquarium tank or boat bay or.. or anything where you’re not free.”

Kanan’s gaze softens a bit and she smiles. There’s a playful glint in her eye and she lifts one of her hands up, brushing some wet strands of hair behind Dia’s ear. Dia almost leans into the touch of her hand but resists.

“Did you know that humans have interesting tales about the magical properties of a mermaid’s tear?” Kanan asks, keeping her eyes on Dia.

Dia blinks and shakes her head.

“No- not at all.” She admits honestly.

“Well- it’s a myth. Mermaid’s tears have no more magic than the tears of a human.” She explains, but leans her face a bit closer to her. “However they aren’t too far off. Mermaids do have something magical about them, but it’s not our tears.”

Dia is a bit perplexed and before she can ask Kanan what it is, Kanan’s arm falls and she pulls Dia close and without warning, she pulls the girl underwater. Dia’s scream is muffled, but not by water rushing into her lungs. Her eyes are screwed shut and she’s very much aware of something soft pressing to her lips.

She opens her eyes once the presence leaves and without thinking about it she inhales the sea water. Her hands shoot up to her mouth out of reflex but it’s only then she realizes that she isn’t choking. She looks to Kanan -who stays only inches away from her- and notices the tiny blush on her cheeks and the crooked grin on her face.

“A mermaid’s kiss can do many things, like giving a human the ability to breathe underwater for a small period of time.” She says, lifting her hands up to Dia’s cheeks and holding her face gently in the palms of her hands. “And this will be my gift to you, so we can enjoy our swim together for just a little bit longer. ”

Dia’s heart flips and she smiles as she moves her hand to find Kanan’s, intertwining their fingers together and letting the mermaid pull her along underneath the water’s surface.

[pruittwrites]

To Seek And To Save

The following is a message I was privileged to preach at our church, Point Of Mercy in Nashville.

Luke 19:10

10 For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.

Amos 7:14-15

14 Then Amos answered and said to Amaziah, “I was no prophet, nor a prophet’s son, but I was a herdsman and a dresser of sycamore figs.

15 But the Lord took me from following the flock, and the Lord said to me, ‘Go, prophesy to my people Israel.’

Acts 2:44

44 And all who believed were together and had all things in common.

Common:

Today, I’d like to talk to you about a common man. An ordinary laborer. One who knew what it was like to get his hands dirty. A man who knew more about wool than he did witnessing.

To understand him though, you have to first understand what the word common means. Common is a word that can range the spectrum. It’s range is a lot deeper than the surface.

First it can mean profane, or unholy. Common, also means Communion, and joint participation. A gift jointly contributed, the idealized state of fellowship and unity that should exist in the Body Of Christ. That last description didn’t come from Greek or Hebrew, but an English encyclopedia.

Pastor brought out the early Church last week. They had some things in common. Fellowship was common, faithfulness was common, and doctrine was common. The neat thing is, the word common, can also mean profane. This ordinary word can mean what is unholy, as well as the perfect state of Communion between God, His Church, and the members of the Church.

In the Old Testament, in 1 Samuel 21:4-6, a Hebrew word is translated as the word common, means both ordinary, profane, and it means sand. It’s a perfect picture of the potential of man, to go from the horrors of sin, to the Power Of God.

An Ordinary Man:

Such a man was one of the Prophets in the Old Testament, his name was Amos. Before I tell you what he did, let me share a little about his journey first. To be what we refer to as one of the Minor Prophets, he was an interesting man.

I believe that God attends the birth of every child. We know that He is All Knowing, and All Seeing, and if He, as The Bible says, attends the funeral of every sparrow, then surely He is there every time a baby utters it’s first cry.

I don’t know how it happened, but one day, or night, a baby was born to a herdsman in the village of Tekoa. A lot of children are named something that sounds good, or sounds different. Some children though, are given a name that is a glimpse at their purpose. This was such a baby.

I wonder if anyone had any idea. I wonder if God Himself whispered the suggestion in Amos’ parents ears. You see this child was named burden. Of all the neat meanings of Prophet’s names in the Old Testament, I doubt you could get a better name than that.

The trouble was, this boy wasn’t a Prophet. He was to be a herdsman, or shepherd, and a gatherer of sycamore fruit. Many commentators take it to mean his family was poor, with a small produce business on the side.

Jewish commentators say it meant he was rich, and had a vale filled with sycamore trees. Honestly, I don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. For one day, rich or poor, he would put down the sheep shearers, he’d leave the fruit baskets behind, to follow God’s purpose for His life.

He probably had the smell of sheep, and fruit stains on his clothes then when God called him. Amos said I was among the herdsmen when He called me.

Sycamore/Mulberry Fig:

We know that he was good at his job. God would not have called a man to speak to God’s flock, if Amos had not been faithful to his own. We learn that he gathered sycamore fruit, and you’re thinking what’s so important about sycamore fruit. As it turns out a lot.

You see sycamore fruit isn’t like picking an apple. If an apple isn’t ripe, it’s going to be sour. To eat a sycamore, about four days before you pick it, you have to prick it. That’s what makes it ripen. The wound it receives causes the fruit to be harvested.

Sycamore trees were important, of course in the Bible, they use two names for this tree. It’s called a sycamore in several places, but it’s called a fig tree in others. It’s a specific type of fig tree though, called a sycamore, or mulberry fig. The fruit grows in clusters on the tree, sort of like grapes.

Psalms 78:47-48

47 He destroyed their vines with hail and their sycamores with frost.

48 He gave over their cattle to the hail and their flocks to thunderbolts.

It was one of primary trees of Egypt, that God destroyed before the Exodus. In addition to the fruit, the Egyptians used the wood to make their coffins. I can imagine Amos, before he grows up, climbing those sycamore trees like a lot of kids do.

Racing Jesus Illustration:

They say these trees were throughout the lower parts of Galilee. Aren’t you glad that, even though Nazareth itself, was a city set on a hill, it was in lower Galilee. Jesus lived among the lowly, to give us a seat in the Heavenly. When I think of a kid climbing a tree, and somebody mentions Galilee, I think of Jesus. I wonder if Jesus ever climbed a tree? Just suppose for a minute that Him and James as kids wanted to have a race.

Maybe James said, “I’ll race you to the top of that sycamore Jesus.” Although, I wouldn’t try to beat Jesus at a race, would you? Just maybe it happened, and maybe they got hungry when they got up in that tree. Maybe James, being a kid and not knowing, said He’d eat a sycamore.

We know Jesus liked to eat from trees. Maybe He wanted one too. The difference would have been, James may have found out that you couldn’t eat it yet, and Jesus saved His. He knew you have to prick it, before you pick it.

Calling Of Amos:

Meanwhile, back to Amos. I wonder how God did it. Maybe it was a hot day, maybe Amos heard something that He didn’t recognize at first. Maybe it was a Voice, maybe it was a sign, we don’t know. What we do know is, Amos, the man named burden, was called to carry God’s burden to Israel.

Amos was just a common man. Yet God chose Him to call Israel to repentance. God chose Him to talk to Israel about The Tabernacle Of David. About the harvest of souls. Amos said that one day the harvest and planting seasons would have no gap between them. He described it as the plowman shall overtake the reaper.

If Amos was a gatherer of sycamore figs, maybe he was a planter too. He knew the hot sweaty work of raising sheep, and of harvesting fruit, maybe he knew what it was like to plant. He probably knew what it was like to go to harvest, and to see very little fruit.

A Continual Harvest:

Maybe that’s why it was so exciting to him, the thoughts of a continual season of going from planting, plowing, and reaping, with no gaps in between. You see, he knew first hand how precious that fruit was. It was more than about a livelihood, it was life itself.

This same tree that you invested in, could carry you from childhood to supporting you financially, to even your grave, the Egyptians proved that. He also knew though, there was something more important than what grew on that sycamore tree, it was The Who which caused it to grow.

Amos 9:15

15 I will plant them on their land, and they shall never again be uprooted out of the land that I have given them,” says the Lord your God.

Amos ends his book, the way he started it, talking about planting. He planted The Word Of God as sure as a Master Gardener planted sycamore trees. In the last chapter of his book, Amos gets to do what Isaiah got to do.

A Glimpse Of A Working God/Man:

He catches a glimpse of another working man, although as the old song says, He was more than a man. He looks ahead through time, this shepherd turned Prophet, this fruit picker, and He sees a God Who swung a hammer, a Carpenter.

Amos 9:11

11 “In that day I will raise up the booth of David that is fallen and repair its breaches, and raise up its ruins and rebuild it as in the days of old,

He sees a God who lifts up Israel, repairs the breaches, raises up its timbers, rebuilds it. He sees what Jesus did spiritually, but is it any wonder after this verse, why Jesus was a Carpenter? A working God, gave a working man, a glimpse, not just of the three and half year Ministry of Jesus, but His purpose, and the occupation which occupied His life.

Jericho And A Certain Sycamore:

As I mentioned, there were sycamores in Jesus’ days. One in particular comes to mind. Jesus was on His way to die for every common man. All had sinned, and come short of The Glory Of God. To do so, He had to pass through a certain place, and that itself was a miracle.

You see, the place Jesus was about to go too, was a place that He had once destroyed. It was the city of Jericho. You all know the song, Joshua fought the battle of Jericho, or as the old timers said, He fit the battle.

Joshua 6:26-27

26 Joshua laid an oath on them at that time, saying, “Cursed before the Lord be the man who rises up and rebuilds this city, Jericho.

“At the cost of his firstborn shall he lay its foundation, and at the cost of his youngest son shall he set up its gates.”

27 So the Lord was with Joshua, and his fame was in all the land.

1 Kings 16:34

34 In his days Hiel of Bethel built Jericho. He laid its foundation at the cost of Abiram his firstborn, and set up its gates at the cost of his youngest son Segub, according to the word of the Lord, which he spoke by Joshua the son of Nun.

God had ordered the city destroyed. He told Joshua, “Cursed is the man that rebuilds Jericho. His firstborn will die at the laying of the foundation, and his youngest will die at the hanging of the gates. Every child in between would die in the process.

God wanted Joshua to tell all of Israel this, so no one would ever want to risk their family to rebuild Jericho. Yet someone had been shortsighted enough to do it anyway, and just as God had warned, lost his family in the process.

How many of us have rebuilt things that God once destroyed in our lives? How many of us have cost our family sufferings because of what we wanted to build. I’m not only talking about sin, I’m talking about work.

Work is good, Amos believed in work, so did Jesus. He also said, “What does it profit a man if He gains the whole world, and loses his soul?” Work should be part of our lives, but God’s work should be the focus of our lives. There came a time when God called Amos to a greater work.

Luke 19:10

10 For the Son of Man came to find and restore the lost.”

Jesus could have said I’m not going to Jericho, they wouldn’t listen to Me, but He didn’t do that. He walked into Jericho, and healed a blind man by the name of Bartimaeus. Jesus, that day, spoke the very reason He had called Amos in The Old Testament. He had arrived “To Seek And To Save.”

You see, it’s a two fold process, Seeking and Saving. We know that Salvation is a process, Pastor talked about that last week. To complete the process, we must do our part, to seek, not only for ourselves, but to seek to tell everyone about the transforming power of Jesus. God called us to go out into the highways and the hedges, and compel them to come in.

The word seek there, not only means seek, it means two other things, To Worship God, and to plot against One’s life. In the very act of seeking those who He could make part of His Kingdom, Jesus was plotting against His own life. He knew to save us all, He must do the work of the Cross.

God could call a working man, because He knew was a working God, who would become a working man, a Carpenter, to walk away, like Amos, from His occupation, to give His life for us.

God would never ask Amos to do what He was not willing to do, and more. God ask us, not to walk away from our labors, but to walk into a daily labor for the souls of those around us. We can never forget that, whether we go to an Insurance office, or welding shop, our job is to call others to meet Jesus.

Jesus spoke to a crowd that day, but more specifically, He spoke to one person. Zacchaeus was a wee little man, as the song goes. At Jericho, a place that wasn’t supposed to exist, he received something that he wasn’t supposed to get. Jesus didn’t give Him what he should have gotten, that as Pastor taught us, was Mercy. What He did give him, was Grace.

Jesus looked up, and said, “Zacchaeus you come down, for I’m coming to your house today.” The people didn’t like it that Zacchaeus, being a publican and a tax collector, received mercy. Yet Jesus, brought Him if you will, to the very Point Of Mercy, and extended Grace.

Zacchaeus walked into that Mercy and Grace, and began to learn about Faith. Jesus knew you have to prick them, before you pick them, but there is still a harvest involved. Jesus said that like He was going in the flesh, Salvation moved in to Zacchaeus’ home that day, to begin a process, not to complete it.

That’s why whenever another working man, Simon Peter, was called to speak, did the same. He had been present at the meeting between Jesus and Zacchaeus. On the Day Of Pentecost he preached about how the crowd had through wicked hands crucified Jesus, but God was extending Grace and Mercy.

When they heard it, they were pricked in their hearts, and began the picking process, the process that wasn’t just the act of plucking it from the tree, but the ripening that occurs with the sycamore, or mulberry fig over time.

Ordinary Men:

Amos 9:14-15

14 And I will bring again the captivity of my people of Israel, and they shall build the waste cities, and inhabit them; and they shall plant vineyards, and drink the wine thereof; they shall also make gardens, and eat the fruit of them.

15 And I will plant them upon their land, and they shall no more be pulled up out of their land which I have given them, saith the Lord thy God.

Amos, Jesus, and Simon Peter weren’t the only ordinary working men to be called. Men , who were called to go from the common condition of man, to the Communion of a Common, or mutual relationship as part of the body of Jesus.

Each of us was too, and while I do mean the Church as a whole, in closing, I’d like to talk about our congregation in particular. We’re not called to stop working, but we are called to focus on the greater work. Our jobs are our occupation, but seeking others to tell them about Jesus must be our priority. When we go out into our jobs, we must be concerned with a much greater bottom line than our budget.

A week ago Wednesday, we gathered beside of Pastor, and Pastor Jason, to pray at the new building. All of us were in common clothes, we had came from work, and we stood in a circle.

Each of us was asked to share what was on our heart, and to a man, we independently pledged to our God, and to the Men Of God he placed in our lives, to give our all to God, our family, our Church, and to the souls in the new field that God is calling us too.

There were tears, there was hope, and there was most definitely a burden. Common men, ordinary working men, who stood beside The Men Of God, and said we are with you, and we, and our families, are ready to work. We’re ready to plant, we’re ready to harvest, we’re ready to be Disciples Who Make A Difference.

from To Seek And To Save

[phynxrizng]

NEW MOON IN SCORPIO, INSIGHT AND HOROSCOPES

New Moon Breakthrough

a message from Selacia To read more of Selacia's insight, please visit her website, Selacia and the Council of 12 This week with its New Moon is an opportunity for a significant personal breakthrough. Consider now specifically what you would like to shift and what your ideal outcome looks like. Continue reading for suggestions of how to tap into the energies for beneficial breakthroughs and how to focus your mind for optimal results.

With so much going on in your external world, it's easy to lose sight of your personal goals and your larger soul mission for being alive now. It's essential, however, to regularly come back to yourself and refocus your energies.

New Moon Opportunity This is especially true now during the New Moon opportunity window. What's needed is to be present to the opportunity for breakthroughs, and focus on what you want to create on a very personal level. As mentioned, do this with specifics in mind -rather than intending you have a great job or happy relationship, intend the specifics of what it looks like and feels like. And, of course, visualize yourself in the picture.

Intend now that you will rise above the tendency to get so caught up in outer world dramas and the annual holiday rush that you neglect your inner self and personal path.

You are not meant to be living on automatic, simply going from one experience to the next. Even though it's in your conditioning to live on the surface - letting circumstances carry you to the next situation - this is not your authentic way of relating to this life experience. To be authentic, you must strive to be present to each moment and situation. This means being consciously at choice and considering the ramifications of choices before making them.

The more that you can do this, the greater your abundance and the happier you will be.

Mercury Retrograde Shadow Since we now sit in the beginning of the Mercury Retrograde shadow phase, factor into your plans the need to take care of things like technology backups and contract signing ahead of the actual retrograde. Travel plans you make now may go more smoothly than if you wait to book during the Mercury Retrograde December 2/3-22.

Letting Go to Be Free This Scorpio New Moon is a perfect time for renewal, reflection, regeneration, and revitalization. The energies also support being able to put a magnifying glass on thorny issues that you haven't been able to resolve. This can help you to see what you didn't see before. Also, importantly, it can help you in accessing buried feelings that need to come to the surface before breakthroughs occur. As you let go of these old energies and feelings, you can be free.

During internal process on your own and with others you trust to work with you on the deeper levels, you can take a very big leap in these moments.

DNA Akashic Records Keep in mind that many of the seemingly immovable obstacles have roots in the past. These could be ancestral, your early life, or even past lives. These can be accessed and addressed within your DNA akashic records. A general energy guideline for accessing the deep buried roots is this: you must have on some level invited the deeper look, you are ready, and the timing is right.

Another part of the New Moon energy opportunity is having flashes of helpful insight about your current life and path ahead. You also may discover that a doorway opens for meeting new people, creating new business partnerships, and having closure with a loved one on the other side. I mention this here because already this month in my 1-1 DNA sessions, clients are receiving messages from departed loved ones - helping with understanding and an ability to let go of hurts and misunderstandings. This alone can be one of the most powerful breakthroughs right now.

Wherever you are in your process now, give yourself the gift of space and presence during this New Moon gateway. Invite a knowing of how you can utilize it in the highest way. Ask your Higher Self to give you clues and also help you in the dream state over the next few days - bringing to your conscious awareness what you need to know.

Trust that in the truest sense, you are never really stuck or blocked. It can feel like that with some issues, yet that's because you haven't yet accessed the deepest roots that need to come to light. Know that this is a process, and in the divine orchestration of things, you will see what's hidden so you can address it and be free.

New Moon in Scorpio: Claim Your Power Read your sign's horoscope for the New Moon in Scorpio now

By Tarot.com Staff

Videos, Scorpio, New Moon, Horoscopes, Astrology

The New Moon in smoldering Scorpio on November 18 sets a dramatic stage for an epic battle between resistance and metamorphosis. The struggle is real, as co-stars (and co-ruling planets of Scorpio) Mars and Pluto square off at the start of this new lunar cycle, intensifying feelings, provoking battles, and triggering ultimatums on global and personal fronts. Mystery and magic hang intoxicatingly heavy in the air at this New Moon, but suspicion, jealousy, and revenge are lurking in the shadows.

Four planets conspiring in the watery realms of Scorpio leave little solid ground to stand on now, prompting the fainthearted to run for the hills. But thanks to a trine from intuitive Chiron in Pisces, this transformational lunation offers limitless potential for healing and growth. The trick is to stop resisting change and instead consciously choose to evolve. The process isn't pretty, but the possibilities are endless if compassion wins out over fear: painful secrets acknowledged, hearts softened, relationships repaired, trust rebuilt, and faith in humanity restored. Resist at your own risk

The current planetary intensity can be both empowering and overwhelming -- and it's only human to consider hiding or escaping as a viable option if you hope to avoid drama or sidestep emotional displays. The problem is you can only run for so long, and feelings have a way of catching up with you when you least expect it. Your heart is traveling the seas of seduction and subjectivity now, and you can either decide to go with the flow or you can refuse to swim. But one thing is certain: denial and repression only amplify the power of your buried truth. Whatever is hidden may remain hidden, but secrecy comes with a cost. Isolation keeps you safe but not satisfied. Walls do not let love in. The call of the phoenix

Shining the light of truth into the dark corners of your subconscious can act as a cathartic emotional detoxification, especially if you acquire awareness and forgiveness on this journey into your soul. Go deep-diving in uncharted waters, exploring all the caves and crevices; face the monsters and angels you encounter with courage and curiosity. Embrace your frailties, fears, and frustrations as you let your feelings wash over you, and give yourself permission and the privacy to cry or scream until you run dry. Confronting your pain opens the doorway to true healing. At the risk of mixing elemental metaphors, you can't rise from the ashes without a fire.

Remember to be kind to yourself and others, especially when experiencing emotional extremes. Moods are temporary, but your actions and words are permanent. Keep your lifejacket on near this New Moon as a tidal wave of self-analysis can send you down a detour of obsession or self-pity if you forget that your desired destination is personal evolution. The secret is knowing when it's time to return to the rational realms. Spiritual exploration can be life-altering, but only if you utilize what you learn. Here is a list of potential ideas to get you started on your Scorpio New Moon transformation. Pick one or more to use for your meditation focus or daily affirmation. Make your own list as an exercise to discover what you want to change in your world. Manifestation begins in the mind. 11 New Moon transformations: - Transform apathy into empathy - Transform ignorance into knowledge - Transform anger into ambition - Transform fear into curiosity - Transform greed into generosity - Transform vulnerability into strength - Transform hate into love - Transform pain into compassion - Transform sadness into gratitude - Transform regret into forgiveness - Transform dreams into action

Tarot.com is Part of the Daily Insight Group ©2017

New Moon Tools

Tarot card for this New Moon: Ace of Cups

New beginnings, emotional realization, & spiritual opportunity Crystals for this New Moon: Aquarmarine (pictured): aids in emotional exploration and encourages spiritual awareness, compassion, and speaking from the heart

Covellite: offers courage and intuition while exploring the shadows of personal mysteries and healing old wounds

Moldavite: a tektite that facilitates transformation and growth

Tarot.com is Part of the Daily Insight Group ©2017

Your New Moon in Scorpio Horoscopes

By Tarot.com Staff

This passionate Scorpio New Moon offers a not-so-gentle push toward self-examination and personal regeneration. Plant your seeds of intention provided below and then commit every cell of your being to the process of change. Read your sign's horoscope now: Aries Horoscope (March 21 - April 19)

The pull of freedom tugs at you like a kite in the wind at this New Moon, but your heart can't deny the importance of relationships to your current happiness. You might use anger as a weapon to keep others at a distance, and perhaps it is safer to stay out of the path of your wrath now. Unfortunately, breathing fire at anyone who cares enough to stick around to see if they can help is a self-sabotaging strategy. Stop allowing your fear of intimacy and all its perceived trappings to stand in the way of more meaningful connections. Revealing a secret or a dream enables you to test the emotional waters without getting too wet. Your seeds to plant: vulnerability and compassion Taurus Horoscope (April 20 - May 20)

It may seem as if the feelings of others are hijacking your plans for the future, but the truth is someone is likely acting as a reflection of you now. You are the first to admit you are not a big fan of swimming in the emotional deep end, especially when a crowd is watching. At this New Moon in Scorpio, drop your stoicism and ask for help if you need it. You don't have to do anything scary on your own when you have a solid support system in place. Resistance is a waste of energy when there is so much positive change waiting for your embrace. Your seeds to plant: trust and faith Gemini Horoscope (May 21 - June 20)

Asking a simple question seems like a harrowing challenge around this New Moon as drama simmers just below the surface. You want nothing more than to dance around the tension and keep everyone laughing, but someone may push you over the edge if you remain unwilling to examine your feelings. Reassess your current rituals, routines, and risks to discover where improvements need to be made. Your work is your saving grace as it brings stability and structure to your world. Your seed to plant: healthy patterns Cancer Horoscope (June 21 - July 22)

You are the most content when you can wear your heart on your sleeve without any hesitation. Demonstrating your affection in a myriad of ways brings you oodles of personal joy at this New Moon in Scorpio. Serenade a lover, paint your feelings, or write a poem for a friend. Expressing your feelings is so much fun you might not notice if you cross the line dividing reality and illusion. Your willingness to show up for others is beautiful, but make sure you feed your insatiable craving for spontaneity and adventure too. Your seed to plant: creative courage Leo Horoscope (July 23 - Aug. 22)

No one performs better than you in front of an audience, leaving the crowd chanting for more. But your star power feels disappointingly too weak to engage in the complex emotional drama of this New Moon, and you need to return to your roots for a regenerative boost. Set aside your infamous pride and dig deep to uncover your true feelings. Opening old wounds is easier to do in the company of someone who knows you well. Reveal what is hidden to find the prescription to your future happiness. Your seed to plant: emotional authenticity Virgo Horoscope (Aug. 23 - Sept. 22)

You feel slightly trapped by everyone's incessant need to talk about their feelings around this New Moon. You're clearly unhappy with the emotional noise infiltrating your bandwidth and postponing your productivity. You can run from the intensity, but you can't hide from your own heart. If you delay that relationship conversation now, you might sadly regret it later. Stop complaining about the irrational logistics of love and listen carefully when others speak their truth. Mastering the fine art of negotiation and compromise is key to creating partnerships that last. Your seed to plant: consistent communication Libra Horoscope (Sept. 23 - Oct. 22)

Your natural admiration for aesthetics often crosses over into the beauty you see in others. Your affinity for peace leaves you feeling overwhelmed in times of change, and you tend to be uncomfortable with any emotional messiness, especially if it involves you. You may try to deflect the painful issues by focusing on material possessions or financial gains, but money can't buy you love or heal your heart. Look in the mirror of your relationships to see where you lost your way. Your confidence rebounds when you align your actions with your intentions. Your seed to plant: own your feelings Scorpio Horoscope (Oct. 23 - Nov. 21)

You are tapping into a vast pool of emotional energy at this New Moon in your sign, inspiring you to dance with all the colors in a wide spectrum of possibilities. Your intuition is plugged into a cosmic connection and your insights are otherworldly as you strive to create a personal masterpiece. A complete metamorphosis is occurring, but you must keep learning and growing during the process. Resisting change is natural with your Fixed nature but you will only impede your destiny. This kind of rebirthing takes time, but the beautiful butterfly you will become requires trusting the process. Your seed to plant: personal evolution Sagittarius Horoscope (Nov. 22 -Dec. 21)

You might try to convince anyone who will listen that emotions are overrated and it's actions that really count. Your strategy is to brush off any pain or regret with laughter and a philosophical shrug. But burying your feelings or cavalierly tossing your hopes aside will only cause wounds to fester below the surface now. Explore your personal history and search your dreams for clues to your pain. Reflective solitude is key to learning the lessons of your past, but practicing compassion opens the doorway to healing your heart. Your seeds to plant: kindness and forgiveness Capricorn Horoscope (Dec. 22 -Jan. 19)

Your spiritual foundation is a source of strength near this New Moon as you re-examine your place in the community. There is a practical purpose to your soul-searching as you ask yourself some difficult questions. What compensation do you receive from others versus the goods you supply in return? Does it feel like an energetically fair and equitable exchange? Whether you end up renegotiating an arrangement or renewing it without any fuss can only be answered with honest dialogue and serious consideration. Power struggles are unnecessary when everyone agrees to play by the same rules. Your seeds to plant: integrity and awareness Aquarius Horoscope (Jan. 20 - Feb. 18)

Your professional ambitions are pushing you to excel at every endeavor you undertake, casting you in a favorable light in the public eye. Destiny is calling at this New Moon in Scorpio, and it's your turn to step into a leadership role. Letting go of any conflicting illusions and preconceived assumptions regarding personal prosperity enables you to make money doing what your heart loves. You don't have to suffer to follow your dreams, but you do need to passionately believe in the intrinsic value of your work. Your seed to plant: unwavering confidence Pisces Horoscope (Feb. 19 - March 20)

More, more, more is the song playing on your intergalactic radio at this New Moon, and you can't help but turn up the volume as you hum along. You are passionate to the nth degree as you envision all the potential places you wish to explore and all the knowledge you hope to acquire. Your outrageously amazing ideas are overwhelming to everyone except you now, as you work on manifesting your dreams in your future reality. Wandering off on an emotional journey could take you down an unexpected path of healing, so there's no need to worry if you forget your map. Your seed to plant: infinite possibilities

Content written by Morgan Friday

Tarot.com is Part of the Daily Insight Group ©2017

This Weekend's Love Horoscope: It's Complicated Your love horoscope for the weekend of November 17-19

By Tarot.com Staff

Love, Horoscopes, Astrology

Your head and heart are buzzing this weekend! On Friday Mercury will be at a positive angle to Mars, which is currently in Libra, the sign of relationships. You can see possibilities for your love life now that you may have been unable to see before. With a little hope and self-reflection, you have an opportunity to overcome old patterns or and find new hope for the future of your love life.

The power to make changes gets even stronger on Saturday, when the New Moon happens in Scorpio, the sign of deep reflection, intimacy, and transformation. This is an incredible time to delve into your own feelings about love and what you give to and receive from others. The New Moon represents the beginning of a fresh cycle, and gives you the chance to see yourself and your love life from a new perspective. Just don't let the Moon's irritating run-in with Uranus take over your feelings! Allow the fierce and calculating energy of Scorpio to flow through you and keep you focused.

On Sunday, Mars butts heads with Pluto, the planet of power and control. You may get roped into a power struggle or stalemate with your lover that makes you feel frustrated or stuck. You may even feel that the positive changes you have just been inspired to make hit an immediate wall. The best way to overcome conflict is to be open and communicate the changes you want to see happen in your relationships. The Moon has moved into Sagittarius by Sunday, and if you embrace the optimism and hope of this sign, you can drive away from problems and toward solutions.

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Scorpio Love Compatibility: Intense, Jealous, and Magnetic Calculate the romantic potential of each zodiac sign with Scorpio

By Tarot.com Staff

Scorpio, Love, Compatibility

As a deeply emotional and passionate sign, your ideal partnership is with a fellow Water sign who can match your intense levels of intimacy. Sensitive Water signs like Pisces has the depth to nurture your soul, while frustrating Fire types like Leo will make you feel out of control. Scorpio and Aries

With such passion in each of your signs, it seems like Aries and Scorpio would make a good match. You both have a great deal of willpower and courage, but there are differences. You deal with powerful emotions by holding them in. Rams, on the other hand, have a shorter fuse and are prone to big explosions and fits of impatience. Aries' short temper and your resentful and sometimes unforgiving personality can mix like oil and water. The good news? All of that intensity you both feel will make for red-hot desire ... when you're not fighting.

Scorpio and Taurus

Taurus is secure and dependable, and you'll be happy to have someone who is so trustworthy. Bulls are your exact opposite zodiac sign, and in this case, opposites really do attract. While some signs are scared off by your intense emotions, this sign loves to be on the receiving end of them. The two of you spoil each other and enjoy it. All is not hearts and rainbows between you two, though. You both want the upper hand in the relationship. When power struggles inevitably happen, you both make worthy adversaries, and the resulting emotional meltdown will not be pretty. Scorpio and Gemini

While Gemini is fascinated by a trail of hot, bubbling lava, you want to know what's fueling the volcano. Brainy Geminis appreciate your thirst for knowledge, and they'll enjoy sharing ideas and debating issues with you ... until they realize they'll never win. It's not that you're smarter, it's that they're no match for your intensity. In fact, you just may scare the heck out of them. You just may be too serious for a flighty Gemini, and they might be too flirtatious for a jealous Scorpio. Making this relationship work won't be easy. Scorpio and Cancer

Scorpio and Cancer are both emotional Water signs, but you tend to hold in your feelings for different reasons. You know that your emotions are powerful and intense, and you consciously tone them down so you won't scare people. Cancers, on the other hand, keep their feelings to themselves because they're afraid others won't love them if they know too much. If you can gain a Crab's trust, they'll feel more comfortable opening up. One thing is certain: This won't be a short-lived affair. Scorpio and Leo

Leos are outgoing and flashy, often grabbing the limelight away from less showy signs. You want to be respected and recognized for your accomplishments, and if your Leo steals attention away from you, you'll find it unbearable. Scorpio and Leo are both Fixed signs, which means you can both be stubborn when you want to be -- and you often do. This isn't an impossible relationship, but it will require a lot of compromise and acceptance on both sides. If you can pull it off, you'll both be rewarded with a loving, loyal partner who is in it for the long haul. Scorpio and Virgo

Virgos are more analytical and practical, and you tend to be more emotional and raw. If you can both learn to accept the qualities that make you different, you will have a deep respect for each other. You can bring your Virgo into a world of increased feeling and passion, and you might learn how to be more logical and rational from them. Romantically, you're both too hot for many people to handle. Although Virgos seem cool and detached, they can focus passion like a laser. If they shine that light of love in your direction, you two can have a long-lasting, happy relationship.

Scorpio and Libra

A Libra can teach Scorpio how to find the perfect balance between head and heart -- if you can get past your differences. Libras approach life intellectually, while you see everything through the filter of your emotions. While Libra uses language and actions, you feel things intensely without finding it necessary to verbalize them. Together you can share a deep and abiding trust for each other. If you allow your partner to instruct you on the finer things in life, you'll be rewarded with a greater appreciation for beauty. Your Libra, on the other hand, will be rewarded with a sincere and lasting love. Scorpio and Scorpio

When you meet another Scorpio, you may not like each other at first. In fact, you'll probably dislike each other. You can be mirrors to each other, and you may not like seeing yourself so closely. You'll be deeply attracted to each other -- not that either of you know any other way to be attracted. You may be astounded by how intense you are when seen through another Scorpio's eyes. At times, the emotions will be so extreme that you'll both need to step away from the relationship, getting some fresh air from new people or experiences. Scorpio and Sagittarius

You're easily attracted to, and inspired by, a Sagittarian's confidence and love of adventure. Chemistry may not be enough to make up for your fundamental differences, though. You follow your gut, while your Archer just shoots from the hip. You instinctively know if a plan is going to work or not, and your partner is likely to ignore your objections to follow an idea he or she is excited about. Sagittarius also avoids dealing with anything negative at all costs, which might be a problem for someone who needs to process every emotion -- good or bad. Scorpio and Capricorn

Like you, Capricorns tend to be reserved. For you, it's a trust issue. For a Goat, it's about doing what's right. You see, Capricorns feel that sharing feelings is inappropriate a lot of the time. Because you have a similar demeanor, you have great respect for each other's personal space, giving each other room to process things on your own terms. Don't let your Goat's cool exterior fool you, though. Once your partner learns the steps, he or she will dance with wild abandon. And the best part? Your Capricorn will always let you lead. Scorpio and Aquarius

Scorpios value privacy, and would rather enjoy the comfort of home than venture out into uncharted territory. Aquarians, on the other hand, need to be out and around people. This difference alone may stop this relationship in its tracks before it even leaves the station. To add insult to injury, you're both stubborn Fixed signs, and your possessive and jealous nature can make Aquarius feel smothered. So why even bother? Because if you can give each other the space to be who you are without judgment, it will totally be worth it, that's why. Scorpio and Pisces

Pisces and Scorpio are both water signs, which means you're both intensely emotional. While you tend to spend a lot of time processing your emotions, Fishes are more interested in other people's feelings. Your Pisces is sensitive and compassionate, and can sooth your outbursts with their kind heart. If those outbursts are directed at him or her, however, they can be easily wounded. If you can be more sensitive to your partner's feelings, and if they can toughen up just a little bit, this can be a match that makes both of your dreams come true.

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FOUND IN, WITCHES OF THE CRAFT.COM

[dorjepadmeursidae]

skip mode

sitting in a (nearly) settled tree house apartment with my luck dragon ( he's a hound dog, but a luck dragon just the same) and my lover this morning, we started on breakfast and discovered a term for that thing that happens in life that is both universal and handled uniquely to the individual experiencing it.

that moment when the needle on a record gets caught on something- a blip, a scratch, an invisible dent - and the record starts to skip, repeating the same point over and over.  my partner nods his head in understanding, shares with me points in his life when this specific thing occurs.

 "skip mode."  

after weathering 2016, yet another difficult year on what seems a stack of other difficult years.  i've now reached a space in myself and my surroundings that feels just that - spacious.  my mind doesn't torture me.  i choose happiness.  and when i do have mental storms, i know how to stake out sanity and wait out/ talk out/ laugh out the ephemeral monsters in my skull.  

i love my hound, this incredible, soulful creature that seems the only good inherited from last year.  the love and consistency his company provides is a gift.  i tell my lover that the dragon has helped me through the recent skip modes, particularly last fall, while left in a pile of rubble of my own making.  i had mistakenly started to build something with the wrong person, and albeit a brief period, it was anxiety riddled, and got big and ugly and intolerable quickly.  after shattering that sand castle, i was left to reflect and rebuild, picking up that person's abandoned mess, including this dog, the only thing i've chosen to name as my own in all that clutter.  i had days where i couldn't eat.  i would clean and move things in circles, move boxes about, but i wasn't unpacking anything, wasn't making any headway or ground, and had to get the pressing issues sorted out first, (like, selling a giant hot dog cart) before i could reach the subtle things that can make the biggest impact on the day to day (like, where does this shelf want to live in my space?).   

whilst in skip modes, it's easy to get stuck in patterns of thinking and patterns of behavior.  it's as if the experience itself, typically stressful in nature, or a sudden drop off after a great high, can lead us to a plateau.  staying in a space of non judgment during a skip mode can be the best medicine.  i have a sense that beating yourself up during a period of beating yourself up, or during deep, often unconscious, healing work is not the best plan of action.  Plateau's can be wonderful places to rest, reflect and recuperate.

beautiful and encouraging things may develop during skip modes.  rest, mental repair, renewal and creation of a plan of action can all happen in this space between the before and after of a life event.   it's the choice to acknowledge the skip mode that allows for this healing.  one can not recognize a skip mode until it happens enough times and the pattern and experience are seen for what they are, while not being judged or pushed away as if the skip mode is not an acceptable part of life.

my lover and i sip our coffee and acknowledge our skip modes, giving them names and offering antidotes. we had many to discuss as we are both the type to stand atop a mountain and scream at the sky, calling to the universe to make us stronger, but also the type to forget to add on the caveat "in the most gentle way possible." 

he talked about a song, a remix of the "star wars" theme music, listened to on repeat for days on end.  the theme, the space and theme of the music brought him to childhood, to innocence, and to the strength of the storyline and helped him cope in dark places.  

i mention the hound again.  i'm not a mother (yet).  i've lived between des moines and brooklyn for a good part of my 20's into my 30's.  the only responsibility i've had toward other beings were plants and my relationships and a couple of beta fish.  it's mostly been me and my notebooks, beyond that, everything else has been interchangeable.

it's not that i'm too selfish to have a cat or something, it's that i was aware of not being truly capable of caring for much because it took me a long time to figure out how to love and care for myself.  i had to move beyond that first.

 aged seventeen and seeking, i had a sense of shouldering the world.  it's part of being an altruist, i feel, and what another friend of mine called "jesus christ complex" (this is meant in a most humble tone, not at all in jest) when one feel a naive and undeveloped need to save the world.  i asked a monk, a tibetan rinpoche visiting a town where dharma had barely scratched the surface, what he thought about this deep desire to help others.  in his thick, throaty, richly accented voice he told me that first we must be of service to ourselves - only then can we be of service to others.

the hound is mine to care for.  my palm tree ("smog" i call him), my jade plant, my succulence, a tiny winter cactus-- all mine to care for.  they bring me joy.  their presence, my need to care for them is the antidote for the darkest of skip modes.  the hound needs to be played with, taken outside for walks, picked up after, fed.  he pulls me from my darkness and reminds me to eat, to care for myself in turn.  my skip modes have morphed over the years, deep reflections of where and what i'm capable of.  they can look like television or sugar binges in childhood.  they can look like non-communication, periods of manic cleaning, isolationism.  there have been times where it looked like binge eating, binge sex, binge substance abuse.  it can look like self deprivation, non washing, non eating, non movement.  it can be too much sleep, not enough sleep.  woeful screaming tears or stints of complete cool detachment.  

skip modes have many manifestations.  we all have them, and it says a lot about ourselves when we can recognize them and pull ourselves from the flames of torment unscathed.  it is in our quietest times that we need to make noise, my partner says.  that we need to reach out, call someone, take the dog for a walk, dance naked in the living room or whatever it takes to endure a period of renewal without destroying ourselves, irritating or harming others in our potential state of non-awareness.  the key is being with that discomfort and acknowledging the space it takes to recover when life happens... which, inevitably, will always be.