#or he Does Not let anyone else do his laundry because it is a vast and Complicated dance of sniffing everything

[eldritchmochi]

it is absolutely wild the weird shit that throws me out of a fic like brain pls i would like something to do while i contort myself into Digestion Mode that ISNT daydream about writing my own fic because that is not conducive to staying in Digestion Mode

[rebelsandtherest]

*bernie voice* I am once again asking for your excellent headcanons. Okay NA bros this time. So we know that Matt is sometimes kind of a mom with Alfred, whether it’s making sure he’s not doing something reckless or keeping an eye on his more worrying habits. But does that go both ways? Does Alfred fret about Matt and what’s it about? I mean I’ve always thought of Matt as more of a mom but I’d love to see some of that in Al

Oh ho ho ho, you know how many feelings I have about the twins, this just ain’t fair. Get comfortable. This one got away from me, and is a long read.

So I think that you are absolutely right in saying that Matthew acts more like a mom for Alfred, whereas Alfred never seems to repay the favor. A large factor in this equation is that Alfred is, quite simply, more reckless than his brother and thus tends to land himself in hot water with significantly higher frequency.

However, I think something that makes the gap in their care for each other seem far more vast than it actually is is the fact that Alfred makes himself available to mothering very easily. Matthew does the exact opposite.

One way to look at this is through how the boys grew up. As I’ve talked about in my extensive headcanon about the twins’ parents and early upbringing, Alfred and Matthew were both extremely vulnerable, lonely children for quite some time in their earliest years. The end result of these early experiences was a deep-rooted sense of loneliness that never really went away. Even as adults—and successful adults, at that—both twins have significant hangups around abandonment, loneliness, etc that affect the way they deal with their problems. However, they have very different personalities, and respond to the same mental environment very differently. To summarize, I think Matthew focuses his struggles internally, whereas Alfred focuses them externally.

When faced with struggles, problems, or crises, Matthew’s gut reactions usually fall somewhere in the following:

Shut down, mentally and emotionally

Survive now, contemplate the root of your problems later

Keep your problems to yourself, staunch the proverbial bleeding before people know you’re hurt

You are the most reliable person you know, if you can’t help yourself, no one else can help you, either

If you do get in over your head, the only person you have to blame is yourself

Don’t let anyone know, for any reason, that you can’t handle it

Asking for help is a failure of personal integrity

Meanwhile, Alfred’s responses usually fall somewhere in the zone of:

Do not ask for help. Instead:

Panic

Panic loudly

Be obnoxious

Complain about your problems to those close to you—even if they really don’t want to hear about it—because if you’re obnoxious enough, eventually, someone will do something to distract you from your pain, or perhaps even solve your problems for you

If you’re extra obnoxious, once the crisis has passed, no one will want to stick around to dissect your darkest impulses with you. This is key: you need people to help you, but you want them to get away from your dirty laundry as quickly as they can

When people help you, brush off their help so as not to reveal that you ever needed help in the first place.

Obviously, neither of these approaches are at all healthy, but Alfred’s approach invites mothering, while Matthew’s approach actively discourages it.

Both brothers love each other very much, and would, at a moments’ notice, drop what they were doing to help their brother if needed. However, there is a breakdown when putting this care into practice because while neither of them ever ask for help, Alfred broadcasts his problems like a public radio station, whereas Matthew takes his problems and buries them deep, deep down, where they fester and ferment until they grow so large he has to ask for help. He prides himself on the fact that this rarely, if ever, happens.

Complicating the issue further, I think the boys view their relationship with each other fairly differently. Both of them assume the “older brother” role in their relationship in very different ways.

Alfred views himself as the “older” brother simply because he has always been more globally prominent than Matthew. He grew up faster, grew up stronger, stepped out on the world stage sooner, and is economically more prosperous than his twin. This perspective has also imbued him with a very protective streak when it comes to Matthew. Despite rumors, he does keep an eye out to help his brother when he needs it, and would step in at a moment’s notice, but Matthew is too good at hiding his problems. On the off chance that Alfred spots Matthew in a bit of trouble, he tends to go out of his way to offer help or assistance. Without fail, Matthew always refuses. Even if Alfred can tell that his brother really does need help despite protests, Matthew makes it incredibly hard for anyone—especially Alfred, who he views as incompetent in these matters—to come close.

Matthew views himself not so much as the “older” brother, but certainly as the more responsible one. He was the one who stayed with Arthur while Alfred went completely off the rails. He was one of the last bastions of European influence that could withstand the might of the expanding American Empire. He was the only nation left over on the far side of the Atlantic who could still speak sense to Alfred after Al’s lengthy stint of isolationism. Matthew has always been, in a sense, the person to “handle” Alfred on behalf of the entire world, because he’s always been geographically and interpersonally the closest. This is both a privilege and a burden. On the one hand, Matthew takes great pride in his ability to manipulate and charm the superpower that is his brother, and takes deep, shrewd satisfaction in the power he wields in their relationship because of this. However, it is also a massive burden on him, because his ability to mother Alfred and soothe his worst impulses have, at times, been the only thing holding them back from all-out warfare.

However, all politics aside, Matthew cares very deeply for Alfred. He looks up to Alfred in many ways (almost as many as he resents him), and genuinely enjoys being around him when they’re not trapped by politics and international snafus. When you mix these two realities together, you get an extremely long-suffering brother who will 1) always help the brother whom he loves and 2) gets asked to do so fairly frequently, both by Alfred’s obnoxiously loud helplessness, and the rest of the world begging him to step in and “handle” his brother.

TL;DR:

Both brothers love each other fiercely, but their capacity to ‘mother’ each other is severely lopsided because:

Alfred is more reckless

Though Alfred will not ask for help, it’s fairly obvious when he does need help and he will accept it without too much protest

Matthew will not ask for help, and will not usually accept help if offered

Alfred wants to be a protector when he can, but rarely gets the opportunity because Matthew is both self-sufficient and stubborn

Matthew knows exactly how to mother Alfred, because he’s been doing it to defend his own interests for centuries

[zawasscarf]

Void - Keigo Takami/Hawks One-shot

Warnings : none/ reader is gender-neutral.

Genre: angst! i got inspired from a tiktok I saw, the link for it is here.

Prespective: second person

Synopsis: Hawk's and you have been broken up after villians revealed his secrets to you, but having no time to drown in sadness, he forces himself to attend a press conference, where he reunites with you...but it doesn't go as well as imagined.

Void. Empty. Still. That's how he would describe the feeling in his heart when he woke up to his empty, cold bed. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, pumping blood into his veins, reminding him that he was alive for another day. That he had to suffer for another day. That he was just existing, barely even alive.

He lazily rolled from one side to another, his eyes gazing up at the alarm clock he had knocked off the counter in a fit of frustration when it started ringing early in the morning. Normally, he wouldn't need an alarm clock, knowing that you'd wake him up by peppering kisses all over his face. Knowing that you'd lay on top of him, and whisper sweet nothings into his ear until he is fully awake and motivated for the day. But you weren't there. You weren't, so he had to use this stupid, lifeless machine to wake him up. It displayed the hour. 12:30. He had to go. He was already late for the conference he had to be attending. So he got up, and headed to the bathroom, dodging the empty bottles of sake on the ground and the dirty laundry piles that were looking more like mountains. The apartment was never left in such a messy, dirty state before. Carpets stained, laundry gone unwashed for days, bed un-tidy, used plates in the sink, piling on top of one another. Hawks was for-sure forgetful when it came to his laundry and his chorus, but you would always remind him. And with you it was easy to do his chorus, even if you would be doing most of the work, while he sat there, distracting you rather than helping.

Hastily, he splashed water across his face and brushed his teeth. Then he looked into the mirror, and ran a hand into his hair. He looked miserable. Facial hair untrimmed, overgrown blonde hair on the top of his head, eyes worn-out, wings a dull colour of red. He couldn't remember the last time he looked presentable. He wasn't the only one who noticed this, the press also did. They noticed everything, that's why he didn't want to be seen in public. That's why he has been locked in his skyline complex for days, only going out in complete disguise to buy food or get groceries.

He dragged himself out of the bathroom, and moved to the way-too small pile of clothes thrown on the floor. Getting dressed in his hero outfit, he put his hand on his back to reach for the zipper.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to zip up my bodysuit, baby bird. What does it look like?"

"It looks like a chicken is flailing trying to scratch it's back."

"Well, if you stop being so sassy and help me, I wouldn't be flailing. Come on, I'm going to be late for work."

"Maybe I want you to be late.."

"Oh?"

He found himself staring at his messy bed. Where you would stare up at him, wearing nothing but his shirt, trying to get him back to bed even though you were the one to wake him up. For a moment, he could vividly see you. See both of you. Sitting on the bed as you helped him with his zipper, laughing when he pulled you into his lap to kiss you, to tickle you and shower you with love. He could still feel your tender hands on his tinted cheeks, caressing them oh so softly, telling him that he was the world's most wonderful boyfriend, that you would love him until the stars die, until the sky falls, until the world ends, and maybe even then, you wouldn't stop loving him.

His heart clenched, making it hard to breath. His eyes were on the verge of welling up with tears. "No," He thought, putting on his pants and his matching jacket. He had to go and say something. He couldn't hide like this any longer. Endeavor wasn't good with the press, and as the number two pro hero, as the charming one, he had to make up for it. The one that could handel all the talk, while also being an inspiration to everyone. He had to pull himself together. It's been too long. He had to accept that he isn't going to see you anymore.

Slipping on his black sturdy boots and fixing his hair and eyeliner, he opened the window and flew out, a few of his long red feathers fell, leaving a trace of him on every inch of the city. He looked down. The streets were busy, but peaceful. Buzzing with open shops, with traffic, kids were laughing, it was so tranquil, considering there was a villian attack on this part of town only two days ago. He bit his lip. He wasn't able to help that day. Too drunken and heartbroken to even pick up his cellphone. He felt like such a failure. He failed the pro heros that day. He failed the civilians. He failed you. He failed you, and now he was living in a limbo. A limbo that only you could get him out of, but you wouldn't. And he wouldn't blame you. He deserved this. He was a selfish bastard. He was too secretive. He was. And god, if he could just turn back time..for just one day..

Kids pointed up at the blue sky at the winged hero. They wore shirts with his face on it, one of them was even wearing a costume like his. They were waving, waving and waving, praying that he notices them. Hawks waved back with a slight smile on his sleep-deprived face. Like little chipmunks, they squealed, being noticed by him was a dream of theirs.

"Hey, would you ever want kids?"

"With you?"

"Of course with me. Anyone else you're seeing behind my back that's offering you to have kids?"

"Shut up," You laughed whole-heartedly, and put a hand on his chest, letting him carry you as both of you flew over the glimmering city. "But the answer is yes. I would love to have kids with you. Maybe a baby girl or a baby boy. It'll be our little cozy family."

"Little? I was thinking maybe we could have seven kids. I am ready to give you an entire football team."

"That doesn't sound very pleasant, Keigo."

"The process would be worth it, though."

His smile fell. The memories. The talks you shared when he picked you up and flew you over the city. God, they always meant so much to him. He always tried to linger a little longer in the sky, to share a few more laughs. To share a few more conversations. He lived for moments like that. Moments where it felt like time stopped. Where it was only you and him that existed in this vast universe. Moments where he could hold you close to his chest, breath in your scent and perfume. Fly with you up in the sky. Fluster you. Cuddle you. Hug you. Kiss you.

Forcing himself out of his misery, he landed down on the roof of the building he was suppose to be interviewed infront of. The press were already huddled up at the front door. There were civilians too, waiting for him to appear. He could see Miruko, Snipe, Endeavour and Gang Orca, all ignoring the press asking them about his whereabouts. Miruko had her phone pressed against one of her bunny ears. She was calling him. Hawks swiped left on the call, and took in a deep breath. He could do this. He just had to forget about you for an hour. Forget about how his heart was in shreds, how his rib cage was suffocating his lungs, how his brain felt all jumbled. He fixed his wings, calling all his feathers back to him, and then he flew down to the side of the building.

The camera shutters increased when he emerged from the shadows of the alleyway. Journalists squeezed each other, all spewing out questions for him already. Microphones were shoved at his face, but he deflected them, doing his best to give them his infamous million-dollar worthy smile, trying to pretend that the sadness in his eyes wasn't as visible as the sun on this summer day.

"Where were you?" The booming voice of Endevour cut his tracks. He looked up at the larger, much taller pro hero, and his smile disappeared. "I over-slept." His answer short and dry. That made the line of standing pro-heros all tense up. This wasn't like him. He would usually tease Endeavour. Tell him to take it easy. That the press wouldn't go anywhere even if he appeared three hours later. Not today.

Hawks made his way up the stage, and stood infront of the mic. His playful voice was dull, and he looked far more serious than when he first walked in.

"Alright, folks. I'll be taking all your questions today, but in order. I won't know what to answer if you all throw your questions at me." Hawk's sharp, golden rhinestone eyes scanned the crowd. So many people. So many people wouldn't make him anxious, but he could feel something was off. He felt..watched. Like someone was staring right through his soul. Goosebumps raised on the nape of his neck, but he chose to ignore it. It had to be nothing, everyone was staring at him all the time anyway. "Okay," He pointed at a reporter with dark hair in the very front. "let's start with you. Go ahead—"

"Hawks, if it's not a bother, can you tell us why you did not assist with the fire attacks two days ago?"

He tensed up. Not from the question. From a feeling. He felt something rumble in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was because he didnt have a bite to eat. There was no way he was feeling uncomfortable just because a bunch of reporters were looking at him. Or maybe it was the three glasses sake he had yesterday before heading to bed. "Uh," He paused, trying to think of a quick excuse. "I was..out of town."

Lying. That what he resorted to. No wonder you left him. He lied to you. He lied to you and hid everything about himself from you. He hid everything, and now you were gone.

"Next question." He pointed at another reporter. "Who do you think is the suspect of these attacks, Hawks?"

"The League of Villians." The answer came short and quick. He knew who was behind those attacks. "They may not seem much of a threat as Overhaul or the nomus Endeavour and I fought, but they are a dangerous organisation and I am sure they had something to do with this." Moving to a question to another, he answered almost a hundred questions, all of them filled with lies and excuses. He couldn't go through two questions without lying. What could he do? Tell them that the reason he has been MIA is that he was on his floor every morning, sobbing his heart out on his lost love, that he searched the streets every night for his lover to apologise. To make you come home, to him.

Hawks pointed at a tall man, who had his hand raised at the back. Oddly enough, the man wore a dark hoodie and sunglasses. The hood was up, and he was looking at the ground, as if to hide his identity. He didn't have a camera, a crew, or even a microphone, but his voice was still loud for Hawks to hear his question.

"You haven't been seen with the Pro Hero: Light Monarch for a few weeks now. Nor has they been seen in public. Mind telling us why..." The man looked up. Hawk's face fell, as he saw those fiery, glowing blue eyes staring back at him. His breathing rapidly increased, his chest rose and fell in unrythmic ways. His hands clenched the sides of the microphone stand, until his knuckles turned white. "..wing hero, Hawks?" The mockery in his voice. He was enraging him on purpose. He was mocking him. Mocking him for being unable to protect your relationship. For being unable to protect you.

Other reporters picked up his question and started twisting it into different questions. Ranging from 'Has your relationship fell apart?' to 'Is Light Monarch even a hero?', but all he could focus on was Dabi. Dabi, who was secretly recording all of this. Dabi, who was the main reason your realtionship fell apart. Dabi, who he strived to make suffer for what he did to him. Hawk's eyes were so fixated on Dabi, that when someone nudged him away, he immediately looked over to them.

They were wearing the villain's long coat, along with a hoodie similar to Dabi's. They were nudging him away, trying to make him move out the crowd. Dabi only put an arm around them, pulling them close to his lean body. That's when Hawks caught a glimpse of their face.

And that's when everyone saw the winged hero unfold.

He leaned into the mic, and closed his eyes. Possibilities flooding his mind, clouding his senses. Why were you here? Why were you wearing Dabi's coat? Did you come here just to see him? Why was Dabi holding you so close to him? Why does he have his arms on you like that?

"Because I'm an idiot." He spoke into the mic. A hush fell on the crowd, and you looked up. Both your eyes met, you could sense the hurt in his eyes, you could see the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. "Because I hid information about myself that I shouldn't have. Because I slipped and everyone was watching me. Because everyone just couldn't let us be." Hawks closed his eyes.

For a moment, a flash appeared before his eyes. It was you. You in all your beauty and grace. You comforting him after a long day of work. You smiling and laughing at his corny jokes. You running your fingers through hair and untangling it for him. You kissing his bruises. You sitting on his bed, tinkering with something you found in his house. You holding him after a nightmare. You. All he could think about was you. How your lips felt against his. How your foreheads touched whenever you finished kissing. How your hands felt so warm holding his. How he was a lucky bastard.

"So.." head raised, the first few strand of his hair falling into his tear filled eyes. He choked on air, his lip quivering. "So, baby bird, I am sorry for being such a selfish bastard." His voice was shaking. His hands were shaking. You were staring at him with those beautiful eyes of yours. The eyes that he would stare at for hours, without feeling a hint of boredom. "I am sorry for hiding the truth. "His voice got louder, louder and louder until he was yelling. "I am sorry for letting you go so easily. I am sorry for hurting you!"

"Hawks—"

"Bastards, all of you." He spat out, looking directly at Dabi and the frozen crowd of shocked journalists. They were the reason. They were the reason you weren't with him. They were the reason your laugh and your smile were stolen away from him. If they could've just let him explain.

"Songbird, I love you." Your breath hitched in your throat, your eyes that were full to the brim with tears were now spilling your emotions into view. Dabi only noticed when your figure started shaking in his arms. "Hey, let's go.." He tried to drag you away, but you wouldn't budge. Keigo was staring right at you, unfolding into a mess, a crumb of a man he once was. Tears streaming down his handsome face, eyeliner ruined. Your heart felt crushed. Like it was an ornament that was knocked down by a carless child. You couldn't imagine what he was feeling, but you were sure that he wouldn't be able to handel all that pain alone. So you stepped to the front subconciously, and if it weren't for Dabi's hands around your waist, you would've ran right over and reunited with your lover.

"I love you." He repeated, desperate. Memories were flashing right before his eyes. Your first meeting in that grocery store infront of UA. Your first kiss under the moonlight during a patrol. Your first dance. Your first date. Your cuddles on the couch in winter. Your odd sleeping positions in summer. Moments. The way you would lean into his chest when he sat you on his lap. The way you liked him to tuck his wings around your body because it felt warm and you like the feeling of feathers against your skin. "I love you! I love you!"

"Let's get out of here." Dabi grabbed your hand and squeezed just a bit, not too forcefully. You were surprised by his gentleness, but you couldn't take your eyes off him. "I love you. I love you.." He was staring at you with such desperation, such longing, such regret. You didn't want to forgive him, you tried not to. But you couldn't. You couldn't, because he made it so hard. He made it so hard to hate him.

"Till the stars die and till the sky falls, remember?" His voice was much lower now. He was leaning over the stand so much that it almost fell over. You clasped a hand on your mouth, and let out a silent sob. You could feel everyone's eyes on you. Cameras were pointed at you. That's when you looked away, after giving Keigo a long, parting look. That's when you followed Dabi into the crowd.

Hawks watched as you walked away, back given to him. He wanted to move, he wanted to follow you, he was telling every limb on his body to move, but he couldn't. He looked down at his body. It was glowing. Glowing with a white aura around it. You. You were using your quirk on him, forcing him in place, not letting him move and rescue you.

He didn't understand why. Why didn't you want him to rescue you now that you found each other again? Did you really loathe him that much? Did he really mess up that badly?

So, all he could do was helplessly watch you go. Watch you as you disappear into the crowd, with the flame user by your side, knowing that one day, you might reunite again.

And then when that time comes, he won't mess it up.

a/n: aaaaah! my first oneshot on tumblr. i hope you liked it. posting this is basically testing the waters, but i enjoyed it so i think I will keep writing on here!

[suitetarts]

𝔽𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘

Pairings: F!Reader/You x The Mandalorian/Din Djarin

Warning: You might die from how cute this is, honestly

Words: 6,984

AO3 Link

A/N: What was going to be a quick fic about the reader teaching Din how to dance became approximately 7k of fluff from Din’s perspective, with sprinkling of angst because this is Din Djarin we’re talking about. I had a lot of fun writing this, let me know what you think. 🥺

In the vast vacuum of space, it felt like one was in a state of unending desynchronosis. The constant hum of the Razor Crest’s yellow lights were a poor substitution for a proper day and night cycle. Stopping on Planet A at midday and going to Planet B to find it was the middle of the night was a daily occurrence. Or, at least as common as days could be when one’s sense of time was as out of sorts as Din’s. As natural as bounty hunting came to a Mandalorian, he was only human and he knew this wasn’t good for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt truly rested... But he was used to it.

What he wasn’t used to was travelling with others, namely you and his infant foundling. You two weren't used to his lifestyle either.

Din had been on the run with the kid for about half of a standard year at this point. After Nevarro, after losing Kuiil and IG-11 -- and nearly himself, for that matter --, he had asked Cara to recommend someone he could hire as a crew member. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he knew that he couldn’t continue taking bounty pucks, be a good dad for the kid, and be his own mechanic (for his ship or his body, really) all at the same time. He knew you were iffy about taking such an odd job, and who wouldn’t be?, but Cara insisted that you meet him before saying no. “This one is something else,” she had said, in reference to you. Cara had smirked at Din then, as they sat in the makeshift cantina on Nevarro waiting for you to join them.

Cara was right, too. Din was surprised you said yes; you were an exceptionally good mechanic (it was honestly overkill to have someone like you on crew to maintain a single ship, even one in such poor of health as the Crest), Din saw the adoring look in your eyes when you first saw his adi’ka -- even as you were hedging that look by saying you weren’t a big fan of kids --, and you could use a blaster and defend yourself, among other things. As Cara walked the three of you back to the Crest, the two women had talked about their time in service to the Rebellion, and how you were a dingy mechanic during the day but the military basecamp’s entertainment at night. Cara’s face was red at the memory, which only made Din more curious. Even on that very first day, while he went through the laundry list of buttons and switches to get the Crest into space, you were mindlessly explaining shield generator capacitors to the baby with a gentle sparkle in your eyes like you had been doing this for years. You were the perfect crew member, but…

If anything, in hindsight, Din was disappointed when Kuiil had turned down his offer of a job. He understood and respected the Ugnaught’s decision to remain free, but the idea of having a crew that Din could form coherent thoughts around was something to be envious of. No offense to Kuiil. Your expertise in your craft was one thing, but Din hadn’t expected you to be so… Funny, thoughtful, smart, genuine, and most of all, cute. You were adorable, graceful, attractive in everything you did, even on that first day when you met him covered in oil from your previous job. He could hardly look at you without his face getting hot underneath his helmet, and even though you couldn’t see how flustered you made him, he would flounder all the same. And Din really needed the full use of his mental capabilities at that time, or at least as much as he could muster. He was running on fumes.

With everything that happened on Nevarro, the child hadn’t slept soundly in weeks. He could hardly sleep for an hour or so without being awoken by shrieks and cries coming from the kid in his pram. That was the main catalyst for Din reaching out to Cara to find you. So when you first joined, after meeting with you and Cara on Nevarro and getting the Crest into space, Din was exhausted beyond belief and splayed out weakly in his pilot’s chair. He watched you settle in to the spare cargo cubby hole that was to serve as your room, just across from the cockpit and above the only proper sleeping quarters on the ship -- the one that Din hardly got the chance to use properly. The stars in the window behind him moved slowly as the three of you sauntered leisurely through space. He remembered hearing a faint sigh as you leaned down to pat at the admittedly thin foam pad that was to serve as your bedding. (He made a mental note to get you something better.) You didn’t have much to put away, which was good, considering how little space Din had to give you.

“Mando!” Your exclamation made him realize his heavy eyelids had fallen shut. “Is that how you sleep?” You giggled at him as you walked out.

“I have a bed,” Din huffed.

“Oh yeah? It doesn’t seem like you use it.”

Din gestured at the kid in his pram with a roll of his wrist. “It’s not easy with the baby keeping me up.”

Your eyes softened with something Din couldn’t quite place, and he remembered the heat dusting his cheeks with the way you looked at him. You quickly turned to the kid, and Din was grateful to be out of your view so he could breathe. In hindsight, it was laughable how quickly you had Din under your spell.

You poked at the kid’s chubby cheeks, earning a content chirp. “I’m assuming you’re feeding him, changing his diapers, keeping him clean, and uh…”

After Din didn’t give a reply, you looked back at him to find that he had responded with an incredulous tilt of his head. 

“You’re a big boy, use your words.” This was the first time you had said that to him, and in the months that followed, Din noticed that you said this a lot. It got on his nerves, but that only seemed to make you say it more.

He had closed his eyes to calm his temper, but his mouth betrayed a playful smile. “Of course I do those things.”

“Just thought I’d make sure.” You smiled innocently back at him before turning back to the kid, whose light, cheerful babble was in contrast to his adopted father’s dark and dramatic pose which took up nearly the entire cockpit. “Does he have a set schedule?”

“Not really,” Din responded flatly after a moment of silence. “He sleeps when he’s tired, he cries when he needs something else.”

“Babies need a schedule, a rhythm.” You checked the chronometer on your wrist before turning back to the kid. “It’s 22:00-ish in my home city, so that’s good enough. We’re getting you to sleep.”

Din watched as you pulled the kid up and out of the pram, all wrapped in blankets against your hip, and was about to sarcastically wish you good luck before it stuck in his throat. 

You had held your free hand out to him.

The blood rushing through his ears was almost unbearable. He was on his feet before his mind could catch up, having not taken you up on your offer.

You mouthed ‘OK’ around an awkward smile before rolling your eyes and pulling your hand back, using it to grab the data pad on your utility belt. As you fiddled with the pad and held the child against your hip, Din stepped back slowly until the back of his knee bumped into the seat of his chair. This cockpit was suddenly too small, and too warm. He looked back at you, at the way you leaned against the doorframe just a tiny bit, at the way your fingers threaded through the baby’s tunic,  and he remembers wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

“Here,” you said, pushing the pad and kid into his arms. His adi'ka beamed at him, raising his ears with a coo as you continued to speak. “I pulled up a video the baby might like. Just hold him and watch it with him for a while, until he sleeps.”

Din cocked his head again, not sure if he heard you right. “I’m not going to sleep, we just--”

“It’ll be fine,” you interrupted. “And the baby might sleep better with you.”

“I can’t do that, I have to--”

“You have to sleep.” You looked at him sternly. Too sternly. Din knew his effect on people was generally fear or intimidation, or at the very least curiosity. You didn’t seem scared of him at all and you hadn’t pestered him with questions about his creed. Did you know how dangerous he was? You either didn’t know or you were seeing right through his armor, both options being out of Din’s comfort zone.

The rap of a knuckle on his pauldron pulled him away from his thoughts “Are you listening to me, Mando? I’m just trying to help.” You spoke softly, only just more than a murmur, which caused the tension in Din’s shoulders to ease. You continued with a boast but kept your voice low. “I’m your expert crew. You should trust me.”

Truthfully, he hadn’t been listening and he didn’t trust you (just yet), but he wasn’t about to say that. He didn’t want to make you upset. He rather liked the way your voice sounded when you talked to him like this. Ever the talker, he kept his response short. “I know.”

Your eyes flickered between your fidgeting hands and Din’s visor, the two of you standing like that for what felt like forever, but was really only a brief pause. His right hand twitched ever so slightly when you cupped your mouth to hide a yawn.

You flashed a tired smile before you twirled towards your room on your tiptoes. You practically sang, “Good night, Mando.”

Good night? Din had not been planet-side for longer than a few weeks since he started his, what you could call, career as a solo bounty hunter in earnest about 15 years ago. He was of course accustomed to wishing people good night or morning, but never in space. He’d never had anyone to wish a good.... anything to out here. It was far too lonely, but that’s not to say Din was lonely, he was just.... 

And by the time that he was back in the moment there with you, ready to wish you a good night on your first night on the ship with him, you had already closed your door. It disappointed him more than he could admit even to himself.

Luckily for Din, every single one of your suggestions proved to be wildly successful. The video you had queued on your data pad was of a couple dancing to some catchy, upbeat tune in a language he didn’t recognize -- which he would later learn was Paldese, your native tongue--, and the kid insisted on watching the video on repeat dozens of times that first “night”. The kid had eventually fallen into a deep, happy sleep in the crook of Din’s arm. Din had slept in his full armor that night, to avoid jostling the baby awake, but even he had gotten an incredibly peaceful five hours after all was said and done. With the imposition of a schedule, Din suffered through the dancing video like clockwork, but the blissfulness of regular sleep was worth every second.

It was… different, life with you and the kid. Different in the best possible way. As the months went on, you had only become more comfortable in your bossy attitude and quips at him, but Din didn’t mind. The jokes at his expense were worth hearing you laugh. 

One time, while the Crest was docked on Rodia, you had asked for him to hold up a piece of the ship’s outer hull while you re-welded it to the frame. As Din walked around you, you stuck a leg out and tripped him, his beskar helmet hitting the landing gear of the ship with a comically loud ping. His minor concussion was the last thing on his mind as you writhed on the ground next to where he fell, your body wrapped in on itself as you wheezed and laughed so hard tears came out of your eyes. And then Din’s heart simultaneously fluttered and stopped dead in its tracks when you composed yourself and crawled over to him on your hands and knees, apologizing in that soft tone he liked so much as you wiped your eyes and asked if he was alright.

Din thought about that memory a lot, as well as the time he comforted you in jest when the baby sneezed all over your face, when you squealed under the ice cold water of the Crest’s shower and he couldn’t help but laugh loud enough for you to hear it, and the time he let you paint his nails with a bit of the silver hull paint. He wasn’t keen on the idea, but being so close to you was… intoxicating. Almost as much as, if not more than, the paint fumes.

Din was not the most experienced flirt, but he did his damndest at first to try to make it obvious that there was… something more to you that he wanted to know better. He felt like a teenage boy again; every interaction with you was like wildfire on his skin and taxed his body as if he’d ran a marathon. But it never seemed like you noticed, and he couldn’t help but feel like a fool. Din wasn’t the best conversationalist either, but he was a fantastic listener. He’d taken mental notes of all of your favorite things, and when he bought soap scented with your favorite flowers and washed your bedroll, or made a real home cooked meal with your favorite spice from home, or any of the other things he did out of this indescribable emotion bursting from his chest, you smiled but never seemed to… You weren’t... Din didn’t know what he expected from you. He wanted more, but it seemed like you didn’t.

Yes, a million times yes, Din was happy to have you... as his crew member, he supposed. Any time with you was better than when he was out on a job, even if he couldn’t be as close to you as he wanted. The kid adored you, and you seemed happy, too. 

He could hear you at night, the pads of your bare feet echoing off the hollow metal above his head. He had your data pad with him and the kid in his bunk, so you were dancing alone to music playing in your head every night. Din had never been much of a music or dancing or frilly-fun-things-like-that person (no Mandalorian was, as far as he knew), and he had told you as much when you first joined him. He wondered if you intentionally hid your dancing, like you didn’t want to include him… Din tried to not think about sad thoughts like that. You didn’t owe him anything beyond what he paid you for, after all. 

But, even if he wasn’t thinking about it, he noticed that you never talked about your dancing with him. Perhaps it was in some attempt to not bore a warrior of his caliber with the details of fine arts, but little did you know, you could never bore him. Din would imagine sitting with you cross-legged on the floor, writing out all of your favorite songs on pieces of paper. One by one, he imagined that you two would pick a song at random, and you would dance for him as he laid back with the kid, maybe even get to hear you sing. It was a self-indulgent dream that Din tried to not dwell on often. But perhaps, if it ever came up in conversation, he could listen to the music that played in your head when you danced. Out of stubbornness or shyness, or something equally stupid, he never asked about any of it. 

Every night when he would start the dancing video for the baby, Din would watch carefully even though it was burned into his retinas. This was your video, after all. The dancers twirled and shook and slid to the music, and it was nearly therapeutic, if it wasn’t also so terribly familiar to him after watching it literally thousands of times. Despite the number of times Din had hit the repeat button on your data pad for this cursed video, he would find himself tapping his foot on the metal hull of the ship to the tune. He had grown bold over the months he spent with you and the child, and hoped beyond a hope that you were listening to him when he danced too.

On this “morning”, the kid began the day like most other days: by shrieking or slapping Din’s neck with a slobbery three-fingered hand. He could sleep without the helmet, since the baby was his adiik, but Din learned the hard way that the kid was not opposed to shoving his spit-covered fingers wherever they fit. So, for Din’s sanity and beauty rest, he kept the helmet on.

Din set the baby down on his cot as he went to wake you up and give you back your data pad, as he always did. And as always, he hesitated for a moment as he watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest, before tapping your shin with his foot.

You pulled your face away from your den of blankets, which Din had practically filled your room with to help you sleep better, and smiled up at him. “G’morning, Mando.”

The blackness of space reflected on his helmet like a shadow, but the smile underneath was bright and warm. “Good morning.”

You squirmed in your blankets, your toes nearly brushing his wool socks before you reached the apex of your stretch and sighed. You sat up and held out your hands expectantly, until Din gingerly took hold of your forearms and pulled you out of your soft nest.

As with any morning on the Crest, it was a delicately orchestrated tried-and-true dialogue between the two of you. A touch here, a joke there, a sigh or gentle puff of static through a voice modulator. A step out of line wasn’t illegal or anything serious like that, but… Din wasn’t sure how to act around you outside of this routine you two had happened to fall in to. He didn’t want to push things, to make you uncomfortable. You were always so nice to him and he didn’t want to take advantage of that kindness.

After everyone was awake, Din would do whatever bit of piloting needed to be done -- in this case, on this day, land the Crest in a nondescript shipyard in the jungles of Eriadu -- and then he would cook breakfast for everyone while you idly chatted to the baby. He watched you and the baby eat while the two of you stated your plans for the day, whether it was a bounty, taking this or that apart on the Crest to fix some capacitor or array, an information hunt for the kid, or just a quick jaunt in a market for spare parts or exotic foods. 

Today it was the latter, much to your delight.

As you got ready for the day up in the cockpit, Din scarfed down bites of his own breakfast in-between putting on pieces of his armor. He had been here before, to Leun, a hidden smuggler’s city tucked in the wilds. The city was heavily guarded by a cartel of rich merchants who called this place home, and the markets were as lively and diverse and secure as one could find out here in the Outer Rim. It would be a safe place to get out, stretch, and maybe even have a good time.

You stomped once at the top of the ladder. “You decent down there?”

Din found that his hands had slowed down in his thoughts, and quickly shoveled the rest of his food into his cheeks before pulling his helmet back on. He choked the unchewed eggs and peppers down his throat, muffling a weak, “All clear.”

You hopped down into the cargo hold like a loth cat, silent and graceful. Din’s eyes looked over you almost on their own, as if he couldn’t stop himself. Your long hair pulled back into a messy bun, the freckles on your shoulders and arms peeking through the sheer sleeves of your blouse, your skirt giving way to the smooth expanse of your bare thighs --

You bent your head down to meet his visor’s gaze, a laugh bubbling from the lips that were caught in your teeth. “Your big boy words, Mando…,” you gently chided.

Din had to fight back the urge to clear his throat as he turned his attention back to fastening his pauldrons. He was supposed to be honorable, for Maker’s sake. Din thanked his lucky stars that you gave him mercy and didn’t comment further on his stare. Shit, he really hoped you weren’t uncomfortable now. You seemed fine though... His thoughts were racing even faster than when he was looking at you; the way you looked at him, your eyes crinkling from smiling so widely, knowing that he was looking at you, and-- and you weren’t upset? Again, you seemed totally fine? And what ‘big boy words’ did you want him to use--?

He really had to stop thinking so much. He was going to give himself an aneurysm trying to figure you out.

“Let’s go,” Din called out as he opened the hatch and set security protocols with his vambrace. You clamored up to his side almost immediately, with one hand wrapped along the kid’s bottom and the other snaking through the crook of Din’s elbow.

It took everything in him to not melt in that moment, and every moment afterwards. As the three of you walked out of the shipyards and towards the markets, you kept your grip on his arm tight and he did his absolute best to not overthink the gesture and just enjoy himself. When your arm holding the child became visibly tired and Din reached in to take the bundle, his gloved hand brushed the side of your ribs and he sucked in a breath when he could have sworn you leaned into the touch.

Don’t think too much, just have a good time.

When you entered the food area of the markets, and came across a stand that sold massive jellied tauntaun eyeballs, you squirmed, hiding under his arm. Din idly hoped that you would stay there, that he could have his arm on your shoulders as you strolled. But you quickly ducked away, hiding your face from him. The blush on his cheeks only heated up at your sudden shyness.

Don’t think too much, Din.

By the time you and Din were fairly exhausted from all the shopping, flirting, and the ever-present moist heat of the jungle, he rented a small cart to haul back all of the various ship parts, tools, cloth, ammunition, household goods, and consumables the three of you had bought. It was still daylight, but your chronometer had beeped a good hour ago, warning you all that it was getting late as far as your internal clocks were concerned. The cart was fairly heavy, especially with you and the child laying on it and staring up at the colorful and bright canopy above your heads, but Din pushed it along the streets back towards the shipyards with an easy smile playing on his lips all the same.

When you two finished unloading the cart, Din closed up the Crest for the “night” and started the auxiliary engine just to get the climate controls going. The cool, dry recycled air coming out of the vents was a welcome comfort, with Din mindlessly pulling his cape away from his neck for a moment to let the air travel between his heavy layers.

“Uh, Mando?”

Din jumped out of his skin at your voice and nearly strained his muscles to stop his body from dramatically flattening itself to the wall. On the surface though, he seemed as collected as ever as he put the cloth back on his neck and held his hand over his feverish skin. “Yeah?”

You gestured to your utility belt, to the empty holster where your data pad usually sat. “Um….”

A pause, but then he realized what happened. “Shit,” Din sighed, the hand on his neck now serving to support his head as he leaned into it. 

“I didn’t even notice. I’m sorry.”

“What? Don’t be sorry…” Din wanted to say more, but it caught in his throat. Sure, your data pad being stolen was kind of shitty, but what made his blood boil was the fact that he didn’t even notice. He had let his guard down too much, and let himself be distracted. You could have been seriously hurt and it was his fault. He wanted to punch the wall, but the last thing he wanted was to frighten you. Or make you fix the dented hull panel. He sighed again, letting his hand fall from his neck lazily. “I should have been watching you more closely. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Your blank, apologetic face quickly turned up into a shy blushing smile. “Hmm… I think you watched me plenty close, Mando.”

It was as if Din’s brain short circuited and shut down. You had called him out twice now today, held his arm in the markets like the two of you were some sort of... pair? (Was he allowed to say that?), touched him so so much-- This was all more than he was emotionally equipped to handle, honestly. He quickly scrounged his empty helmet for any coherent, relevant thoughts before the blood rushing to his face killed him.

“We’ll need another data pad for the kid. I’ll go back out to the market,” Din rasped. He pried himself off the wall and began to move towards the closed bay door, but a hand pulling on his own stopped him dead in his tracks.

“No…” you started, facing his boots. You looked up at him through your lashes and it surprised him to find you so red. “No, we don’t need the data pad.”

This was the cherry on top of the sundae that was your unscripted touches. Din was undone, unraveled, broken under your tender gaze and warm touch. His hand suddenly ached, the heat from yours seeping through his gloves and straight into his bloodstream, and the only reprieve that felt right was to squeeze. He did so gently, carefully… as if to protect this blessed moment from shattering under his fingertips.

“W-we don’t?” he asked with an uncharacteristic stammer, his mouth suddenly parched.

Hearing and feeling Din’s reaction to your bold and admittedly uncalculated moves gave you the confidence to look at him fully, to take his other hand in yours as well, and to pull him to the middle of the cargo hold. He did so willingly, more than willingly, giving you the reins.

You began to trip over the words spilling out of your mouth at the velocity of a snail, which was very unlike you. “I know you don’t, uh... We could try... Do you want to...?”

Din was anything but frustrated with you, standing here in the middle of his ship with your hands in his and clutched to his chest, his ribs surely getting bruised from the jackhammering of his heart. However, his patience was uncharacteristically thin at the moment, wanting everything you were willing to give as soon as you were comfortable letting him have it, and so he embarrassed himself by squeaking out, “What is it?”

“We could dance like in the video,” you quickly blurted, as if you were thankful for him releasing you from your stammering torment. Din felt you tug at your hands slightly as you hedged your idea, but he didn’t let go. “I know you don’t like that stuff though, I just… I just thought it would be fun. T-to dance with you.”

Din was generally one to think over his words carefully before he spoke, making sure he was getting the right intentions across. He had learned early on in his training with the Mandalorians that silence was a powerful tool, and it became a tool he was expertly acquainted with. But with you, it seemed like Din couldn’t stop unfiltered words from tumbling out of his, well, voice filter. 

“Dancing? Th-that sounds nice.”

The way your eyes lit up, the way your tongue peeked out from your wide toothy smile, the way your arms trembled when you squeezed his hands as tight as you could… Din couldn’t breathe all the sudden, and he found himself on unsteady legs.

While Din was letting this all sink in, you were checking over your shoulder that the baby was laying down on his cot and looking at the two of you. Then, you loosely lined your feet up with his for the first steps of the dance.

“Alright, so put your hand here…” You pulled one of his hands down to the high waist of your skirt and, with the other, stretched yours and Din’s arms out to a point. Your voice was steadier now than before, and he realized you were teaching him the steps. 

Din all the sudden remembered that he couldn’t dance and that he was about to make a terrible fool out of himself. 

As you continued your quick rundown of the dance with you teaching him the man’s steps, a small part of Din wanted to retreat to the cold, solitary comfort of the cockpit. But his pounding head, his fluttering heart, the butterflies in his gut, his feverish skin, his chapped lips, and practically everything else rattling around inside his armor ordered him to stay. You had him there, and despite everything that Din was -- a Mandalorian, a cold-hearted bounty hunter, a murderer even -- he really wanted to know what you felt like in his arms. Were you as every bit as soft, warm, and inviting as you were in his dreams? The idea that Din could have that knowledge in real life was tearing him apart at the seams.

“Do you have the steps down?” you asked, the excitement obvious in your voice. “I’ll start singing once you say yes.”

“In that case, uh...” Din said breathlessly, buying himself a brief moment in an attempt to prevent a heart attack.

You flustered, mistaking his need for a break as unsteady hesitation. “Mando, you-- you don’t have to dance with me if you don’t want to. I’m sorry, I--”

“No, no no,” he murmured. Of its own accord, the hand he had on your shoulder found its way to your jaw, his thumb mindlessly tracing your cheekbone. Din would have been stunned into silence by his own body’s involuntary betrayal, but the way your eyes had watered from just the idea that he didn’t want to be here with you… It had him running on pure instinct, an instinct he didn’t know he had. 

“I don’t dance, you know that,” he started, and then subsequently paused as he searched for the right words, which made a strangled sound come out of your chest. Din immediately wanted to kick himself; that wasn’t what he should have said, this is why he needed to remember to think before he started running his mouth. Before he got too wrapped up in punishing himself in his head, he nearly bit his tongue as he quickly finished his thought, “B-but I want to! I want to. I want to dance with you.”

“Fuck’s sake, Mando,” you whimpered weakly, pushing him away but keeping your grip on his shoulders tight. You pulled him back in after a second, but even closer, until your chest was pressed against Din’s cool beskar and your hands clasped a hair's-width away from the nape of his neck. It wasn’t a tight, flush press or anything scandalous like that, but he was rigid as a board regardless. He had been overwhelmed a hundred times over today, and it appeared that you weren’t done shocking his system quite yet.

“Loosen up, this is supposed to be fun,” you scolded playfully.

“I am loose,” Din muttered defensively, rolling his shoulders underneath your forearms to prove his statement. You didn’t seem as convinced as he’d hoped you’d be when you rolled your eyes at him. His face was nearly in pain with how much he’d been smiling, and it only got wider at your silent rebuke. He added in a whisper, barely loud enough to be caught by his helmet, “... and I am having fun, really. I’m… I’m ready when you are.”

You pulled your lips between your teeth as you closed your eyes at his voice, the happiness too much for you to contain as you took in a few deep breaths. Din took the opportunity to breathe as well; he found that he kept holding the air in his chest with every little thing you did to him.

With your eyes still closed, you sang the first word and made the first step at the same time, pulling at Din to take the lead. He recognized the song immediately, which wasn’t surprising, but it sounded so… new. The data pad made everything sound tinny, the singer was a deep baritone, the instruments were intense, and the footfalls of the dancers were annoyingly loud. The way you sang this song -- with Paldese lyrics he could sing himself (if he dared), after the thousands of times he listened to it for the baby, but had never bothered to search the meaning of -- was slow, quiet, and romantic. The dance, which was a fast-paced cavort that required a wide open space, was slowed down and achingly intimate to meet the tempo of your voice. 

Din wasn’t a very good dancer, as he expected. He should have taken off his boots, as he’d stepped on your feet a couple times already, and he was missing steps more often than he remembered them, but you didn’t seem to mind. With a wide, mischievous smile on your face, you guided his resting arm to your shoulders and held onto him by his waist, leading the dance fully. Din could have sworn that his cheeks could be used as a cooking skillet when he realized what you did, but you couldn’t see his embarrassment and you didn’t seem to mind or have issues with taking the lead… And if he was being honest with himself, this was fine. More than fine. Fantastic, great, even. But even those words failed to match how he felt. He was lighter than air as you sang to him and led him through the dance, and it was everything he’d ever wanted in all the time that he’d known you.

After what felt like a blissful eternity of yours and Din’s bodies moving together to the soft intonations of your voice, you sang the last note of the song, holding on until your voice faltered and your chest fell with more than just an exhalation of air. He saw it on your face and he felt it too: the slightest tinge of sadness to what was otherwise the best five minutes or so of his life, because those five minutes were over. You two held onto the embrace for as long as you dared, lungs heaving to catch up despite (or because of?) the intimately slow dance you shared. Din was speechless as he searched your eyes for any indication that he should let go, because Maker knows he didn’t want to.

His body decided the answer to that unspoken question when the baby made a noise -- a sudden reminder that there was anything else in this galaxy outside of the warmth of your skin separated from his own by only the leather of his glove -- and he involuntarily jolted away from you towards his cot. The dance over, the trance broken, the moments shared between you and him only another memory for Din to revisit in his head… 

He turned towards the baby in a sense of duty, the only thing keeping him from running to you and pulling you close once more. The child was sleeping, which only proved to make Din feel worse even though it was why you two had danced in the first place. He looked back over at you -- still frozen where he had left you in the middle of the cargo hold -- with a sigh and a tired shrug in his shoulders.

You relaxed at his sigh, slouching forward with a chuckle. “I guess it’s bedtime.”

‘Only if you want it to be,’ he wanted to say.

What Din actually said was much more predictable, succinct. “...Yes.”

You blushed and smiled at him before ascending to the cockpit and your room, but he caught a look in your eye of something else. Like he had said what you expected, but not what you hoped for. 

Din dwelled on that look as he freed himself from his armor. He found his skin underneath to be cold, sweaty, and prickled with goosebumps. Whether it was from you or the climate controls, he couldn’t be sure, but it was definitely not as hot in the Crest as it had been (or as Din hoped it would be)… It was going to be more difficult for him to control his thoughts, wasn’t it? 

When Din finished up, he found himself stuck. The kid was in the center of the cot and there was no way he was going to be able to maneuver himself into a comfortable position without waking the baby up. Din wasn’t about to risk it either, since he was sans your data pad and he didn’t have the emotional energy to ask you to dance with him again just yet. 

He opted to sleep in his pilot’s chair. It was better than sleeping on the floor’s metal grates, and he could darken the visor on his helmet so that the light from the windows wouldn’t keep him awake. And… and it was closer to you, although that was only a tertiary bonus.

Din quietly climbed up the ladder and stalked over to the pilot’s chair, slightly dragging his feet so that his footfalls were muffled by his socks. Your door was still closed, so far so good. He set himself down in the chair slowly so that he could lean into where he knew the creaks and squeals would be. It was a valiant effort on his part to not bother you, but he quickly found that he’d failed when your door slid open, your head and shoulders peeking out from your nest of blankets.

“Mando?”

Din sighed and stood up, not trying to hide the loudness of his damned chair as he released it from his weight. He spoke in a whisper as he walked towards your door, and crouched so that he was at eye level. “Sorry, I didn’t want to move the kid. Or sleep on the floor.”

His tone indicated a thinly veiled attempt to get an invitation from you, although the second it came out of his mouth he wanted to stab himself. Thankfully, you were too sleepy to catch onto his forward advance.

“Ah, well… I never did thank you, for dancing with me,” you murmured shyly, hiding between the blanket and your eyelashes as you spoke. “It was… really nice.”

Having just mentally mutilated himself over his unfiltered words to you, Din paused to think of an honest and dignified response. How was he supposed to be a dignified Mandalorian when he wanted to rip off his helmet and lay down with you, though? How was he supposed to put his feelings to words, when those feelings would surely scare you off? 

Din didn’t notice it at first, but your eyes flitted back and forth between where you thought his eyes were, your shoulders inching up with bold anticipation with each sweep of your irises. You finally couldn’t take it anymore, jumping forward and kissing his helmet where you thought his cheek would be. You quickly slunk back into the safety of your blankets, your face pure red and stretched taut with an unmistakably impish and flirtatious smile.

Din’s first response was to freeze, which paradoxically went against all of his training and expertise as a Mandalorian warrior. Then, he felt the ghost of a touch where your lips would have landed, and the swelling of his chest threatened to bring tears to his eyes. His bare fingertips traced the receding warmth of your kiss on his beskar.

“Use your big boy words, Mando.”

Din tried to form a comprehensible thought that could even vaguely be relevant, but even just words by themselves weren't coming to him.

“It’s okay, big guy,” you cooed, wrapping your hand around the door. You pulled the edges of your mouth apart in a sort of excited terror as you added on, “I like you, too. Good night.”

The sunlight reflected off his helmet, turning the dull yellow of the jungle sun into fractals of shimmering rainbows against your skin as you pulled your door closed. Before your door shut completely, Din made sure you heard him as he softly wished you “Good night.”

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Robin and Gale Hood; Ben Hardy x reader Chap. 4

*Author’s note*

After thinking about how in some versions of Robin Hood they expand more on the Merry Man and how Disney’s only version doesn’t (just has Robin hood and little John) so I’ve decided to rectify that and add more members of the Merry Men.  Now these names are actually the names of other members (well except for one name I had along with keeping the original name) so here’s the final cast list of what I have in store for you all.

Cast list:

The Scotsman: Richard Madden

David of Doncaster: Jamie Bell

Gilbert Whitehand: Taron Egerton

Friar Tuck: Brian May (think early 1990′s Bri)

Chapter 4,

Sherwood forest

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@simonedk​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queensdivas​

@queendeakyy​

@wormzteef​

@geek-and-proud​

@queen-paladin​

___________________________________________________

Gale Hood was riding along back to Sherwood forest to meet up with her brother and Little John, and along the way three more lovely chaps came riding up behind her and called out to her.

“Oi Gale!” cried out a handsome dark haired, blue eyed Scotsman riding a pure black stallion.  She turned and smiled and said.

“I see you gentlemen have returned from your voyage. Tell me how were the other towns?” she asked the men.

“About the same as Nottingham is. I fear that if Prince John isn’t stopped he’ll suck the taxes out of not just Nottingham but all of England.” Said a young Welsh man with a tuff of brown hair riding a white horse.

“We’ll find a way Gilbert. One way or another. So how were the Sharpe’s Gale?” said the third gentleman with long shoulder length brown hair riding a brown horse.

“Veronica will soon be feeling better thanks to the medicine you helped me find David.”

Guess I should explain to you gentle readers.  These three dashing young men are also apart of Robin and Gale’s Merry men.  Sure there have been many tales of just Robin and Little John, but in this story we’re going to shed some light on some more members of the Hood sibling’s gang.

The Scotsman, well that’s really his name in the gang.  He was wanted for such crimes back in his Scotland home, that he rid his real name forever and just went by ‘The Scot’.  But every now and then he would be called ‘Kit’ by our gang of outlaws.  

At first he wasn’t even permitted to join the group (mostly because the Scots and the English didn’t really like each other) less he bested Robin Hood in fair combat (to which he did).

The second chap on the white horse is known as Gilbert Whitehand. He is really the only person (besides Gale) that is up to Robin’s skill with a bow and arrow.  He has a keen eye and it is said he can even shoot an arrow without even looking at the target.

He can be quick and rash at times, especially when it’s about protecting the poor people but when need to he can be reasoned with and is above all else loyal to a fault.

The third gentleman with the long brown hair is David of Doncaster.  He’s more like the voice of reason of the band.  Whenever tempers fly or someone’s about to get killed (and it has happened before on an occasion or ten) David is the one there to make the peace.  He and Gale were especially close since they both had a similar experience on how their mother’s were killed when they were kids.

He’s also been her confidant (basically he’s her Little John in a way) especially when James left for London and she was heartbroken.

“That’s good.” There was silence through the air, an awkward silence.  So much so that Gale stopped her khaki colored mare and turned towards the three men whose horses stopped and let out a few nickers and neighs at the sudden stop.

“I know what you three are thinking. And believe me I already know.”

“Know what?” asked David.

“Yeah we-we-we don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gilbert tried to play off.

“Don’t lie to me boys. I know that James and Marian are back.”

“What?!” they all faux out innocently.  They then each began to say how they didn’t hear about it.

But one look from Gale and they broke down and all said that they knew and heard about it from the town’s over.

“You lot are so adorable.”

“Well it’s just that…..we look at you as our own little sister and well—when James left never did I want to beat the shit out of royalty before.” Gilbert said.

“Yeah and that would’ve gotten you a front row seat to the hangman’s noose.” David said.

“Look we know how happy he made you and—how miserable you were the first few months lassie. So we—but secretly we’ve been thinking that maybe with him back in Nottingham you both could……”

“I’ll stop you right there Kit. It’s been over 6 years since he left. And in that time with him being the next in line he’s destined to find a woman of royalty to marry and support an heir. There’s no future for us anymore.”

“Gale…….”

“You know as well as I do David. Besides he’s probably forgotten all about me.”

“If he had Gale, then why would he give you his family’s ring?” Gilbert asked.  Gale clenched the ring around her neck into her fist.

“Robin and Little John are waiting for us. We can’t keep them waiting.” She urged her mare onward.

The three gents looked at one another sympathetically for their female leader but urged their horses onward.

When they got back to the entrance of Sherwood forest. Which lay right by a medium sized water fall.  They got off their horses and took the saddles off before sending them off back into the woods.

One by one they walked across the stone-cobbled path that stood over the water before entering behind the waterfall and walked through a tight cave entrance.

And there in the middle of the vast extension of the forest was a campsite with laundry hanging to dry, a few tables and chairs, and a large fireplace surrounded by stones and rocks to keep the flames from spreading.

“YOU’RE BURNING THE FOOD!!” Little John’s voice exclaimed.

“Uh-oh. He’s at it again.” Kit muttered.  The four of them walked around a large tree and there was Little John fanning a smoking pot with one of his newly washed clothes.

“Sorry Johnny. Guess I was thinking about Maid Marian again.” Robin said as he wiped his shirt of the soot and ash from the burned dinner. “I can’t help it……I love her John.”

“So you’ve heard too brother?” Gale’s voice soon spoke up. Robin and Little John turned and when they saw the rest of their gang and family arrive, Robin nodded.

“Yeah. And I assume you—”

“Please not—I don’t want to hear another word of it.”

“Look why don’t you two stop pining and moaning about just marry those two already will yah?” Little John said as he tried to cool down and save the burnt food.

“Marry them?!” the siblings exclaimed.

“You don’t just walk up to a girl, hand her a bouquet and say ‘hey remember me? We were kids together will you marry me?’ No. It just isn’t done that way.” Robin said as he mimed out his first statement before turning away solemnly and going to check the laundry.

“Oh c’mon Rob, climb the castle walls. Sweep her off her feet. Carry her off in style.” Gilbert said.

“It’s no use Gilbert, I’ve thought it all out and it just wouldn’t work. Besides what have I got to offer her?” Robin sighed.

“Well for one thing you can’t cook.” Little John said as he sniffed the food before trying to save the taste by dumping some water into it.

“I’m serious lads, she’s a high born lady of quality.”

“So the lass has class. So what?” Kit said.

“I’m an outlaw that’s what!” Robin shouted as he hung the shirt Little John used to fan the food back over a tree branch. “That’s no life for a lovely lady always on the run. What kind of future is that anyways?”

Gale looked at her brother solemnly before looking down at Prince James’ ring and clenched it in her palm.

“Oh for heaven’s sake son!” a voice suddenly cried out. Robin fell into the laundry basket and when he looked up he saw standing before him was the good Friar of Nottingham, Friar Tuck.

He was a middle aged man that stood about 6’2. Surprisingly for a Friar, he had wild curly dark hair.  He was a kind hearted soul who not only gave his life into helping the poor people of Nottingham in this time of crisis, but he also was a father figure to our gang of outlaws.

In fact Robin and Gale’s mother had asked the Friar to watch over her two children before she died and he kept that word like it was the word of God.

“You and your sister aren’t outlaws. Why someday you both will be called great heroes.”

“A hero?” laughed Robin. “You hear that sister? We’ve just been pardoned.”

“Well that’s a gag. We hadn’t even been arrested yet.��� Gale said releasing the ring from her grip.  Friar Tuck walked up to her and gently ruffled her hair as he said.

“Alright laugh and doubt an old Friar you young rouges. But I swear to you there’s going to be a big to-do in Nottingham.” He then walked over to the stewpot, took the spoon that Little John was using and took a small sip of it.

Before anyone could have a chance to warn him that the stew was beyond repair, he started coughing and tears began to stream down his face.

“Well done ain’t it?” he croaked out.  David quickly prepped a cup of water and handed it to the good Friar who took it and rinsed out the bad after taste of the burnt stew.

“You’re lucky your cooking didn’t kill him.” Gale hissed lowly to her brother.

“Like you’re any better at cooking than I am.” Robin sneered back.

“No need for arguments children.” Friar Tuck gently scolded as he cleared his throat.

“Sorry Friar.” The two rebels said solemnly like two children being caught doing something naughty.

“Anyway. I bring news from the minstrel.”

“Ahh. And what does ol Alan O’Dale sing about these days?” asked Gilbert as he perched up along his favorite tree branch.

“Tomorrow, Prince John is hosting a championship archery tournament.”

“Archery tournament. Ha! Robin, Gale and I could win that standing on our heads with our eyes closed.” Boasted Gilbert as he fiddled with one of his black tipped arrows and gave a wink at the siblings.

“Oh Gilbert you flatterer. But I’m sure we’re not invited.” Gale said.

“No. But there will be a couple people who’ll be disappointed if you don’t come.” Friar Tuck said as he took another sip of the water.

“Oh yeah. Like ol bushel britches the ‘honorable Sheriff of Nottingham’.” Little John mimicked the Sheriff’s deep monotoned voice.

“And of course let’s not forget the ruler of this land Prince John. ‘Mummy!’” Kit mimicked as he began to suck his thumb.

“No……Maid Marian and Prince James.”

“Marian?” Robin said in shock.

“And James?” Gale whispered in the same tone.

“Yes. The prize along with a golden arrow is that she’ll also be giving a kiss to the winner.” Friar Tuck winked at the rest of the band before softly chuckling.

“A kiss to the winner?” Robin gasped happily. “Oo-de-lally! C’mon you lot what are we waiting for!?” Robin cheered ecstatically.

“Wait a minute now Robin! What if this is a trap? You know how both Prince John and the Sheriff both want your head for different reasons. What if this is some plot to lure you out?” David warned.

“You underestimate me my dear David. Besides, faint hearts never won fair lady. So fear not my friend, this will be my greatest performance!”

“Where’s Gale?” Little John soon spoke up.  As the six men looked around, they did notice that their only female rouge was in fact missing.

“I’ll go find her.” Robin said.

“Pardon me Robin, but allow me to go find your sister.” Friar Tuck offered.  Robin, secretly knowing that his own sister probably didn’t want to talk to him, allowed Friar Tuck to go search for his sister.

Further down the trail that Friar Tuck used to enter Sherwood Forest, he found Gale sitting among a field of veronica flowers.  Friar Tuck smiled solemnly and walked up towards her and said.

“It is said that the Veronica flower symbolizes fidelity and love. I even saw Prince James pick up a few of these flowers when he and Marian first arrived back to Nottingham. And I could tell that he was thinking of you.” Gale continued to look down at the flowers, fiddling with the purple buds within. “You doubt my words my dear?”

“No. I believe it.” She muttered.  Friar Tuck looked at her with soft eyes. “Friar Tuck……was it my fault for loving him?”

“Love is not a fault. Nor is it a flaw.” She looked at him confused.  He did sometimes like to talk in strange riddles and tongues and it sometimes did get annoying to her when he did that, especially to her. “I also seem to recall seeing the scar on his chin from when you first met and you knocked that rock against his handsome face.”

That at least got a smile out of Gale.  A real smile to which the good Friar softly chuckled.

“Listen my child;” he placed his arm over her shoulders and the two looked at each other as he continued, “Love is a deep magic that is the most powerful thing the good Lord has given us. It helps us define right from wrong. And governs all of our destines. Yours, mine, your brother’s, as well as Marian and James.”

“But what if he’s forgotten about me?”

“If he had then he never would’ve come back with Marian.”

“And what about forgiveness?” she said sadly as she looked down, tears filling her eyes.  Friar Tuck gently wiped a hidden tear from the corner of her eye and he said.

“My sweet Gale. I understand your fear about meeting James after what happened between the two of you. But I need you to also consider of what James has gone through. My good friend King Richard has told me of how depressed his son has become since that day.”

“You really think I should go see him, don’t you?” she asked after a long silence between the two of you.

“It’s not my place to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. You are a mature, beautiful young woman. All I ask is that you make the choice that you won’t regret making.” He tucked a strand of her wild black hair behind her ear before placing his hand against her cheek.

She nuzzled against his warm palm before Friar Tuck placed his forehead against hers.

The two of them remained in that position.  Gale Hood drawing strength and love from the good Friar who had been the only father figure she had ever known in her whole life.

He gave her a gentle and loving kiss to her forehead before standing back up and left her to return to the church.  Gale looked down at the ring and unhooked the chain from her neck.  She let it drop down to her palm and she looked down to admire the family crest.

The proud lion staring right into her very soul.  As tears poured down her face, she placed the ring to her lips before finally for the first time in years, placing the ring back onto her left thumb (since it was the only finger it would fit on her).

When she returned back to her camp, her brother was the first to look up at her.  The others soon followed and the men waited patiently for her to speak.

“Whatever you lot have hatched up—I want in.” Robin walked up to his sister and asked her.

“You sure?”

“I’ve been wallowing in self-pity and guilt for years. I—I want to finally clear my conscious and finally face my past head on.” Robin smiled at his little sister and pressed his forehead against hers, their noses grazing one another’s.

“I’m proud of you sister. We’ll get through this together.” Gale nodded and repeated.

“Together forever.”

“Never apart.” Robin whispered.  He then came around to her side, slinging his arm over Gale and he said. “Gents, slight change to the plan now. We’ve got ourselves a new actor in our midst. Here’s what will happen now.”

Throughout the night, our band of rouges rehearsed and rehearsed their upcoming performance and this time both Robin and Gale would get the closure they needed.  

Finally reuniting with their childhood lovers and hopefully rekindle the flames that they feared were long extinguished.

[bluepenguinstories]

Remoras Full Chapter XXXI: Treant

There wasn’t much interesting about me. Not really. That wasn’t me being self-deprecating or anything. If anything, I quite liked being in the background. Others around me have always been more interesting, and I was happy enough just to help those others out.

That’s why I worked from childhood through my adulthood in order to become a doctor. It wasn’t like a total dream of mine, and I wasn’t sure if I’d call myself “passionate” (one of my top qualities, I think, is that I’ve been called a dispassionate person. But I shouldn’t humblebrag), but when I was in grade school and saw one of my classmates get injured, I couldn’t help but be compelled to want to help them. Then there were times, like when my sister or my mom would get sick and I’d be like “gee, I wonder what would help them get better.”

Skip past many years of boring details, and the rest is history. Got my own apartment after completing my internship at one of the nearby hospitals. When my sister helped me move in, we found a time travel device in the closet that I mistook for a Nintendo 64. It’s not as interesting of a detail as it seems. Anyway, that aside, there was still work to be had just about every day.

Skip ahead a few more years after that…

...And there was still work to be had.

It was about that time in the morning when it wasn’t yet bright and early and the coffee I poured tasted like sludge. When the showers were scalding and suffocating fumes filled the bathroom, yet when I turned off the shower, I shivered like a nudist at the north pole.

Towel was too small. Quick shimmy and I groaned and threw it in the laundry basket. No one else was around to see me naked, so whatever. Even if there was, my bedroom door was closed. On the bed were my work clothes, which in my groggy state, I tried to fit the shirt on my legs and the pants on my head. After a few tries and tired moans and groans, I got it right. Still, my tie was a little loose.

I’ll fix it on my way there. Or I won’t and I’ll just say I’m setting a new fashion trend.

I glanced down at my limited edition Kamen Rider Black wristwatch and my blood pressure spiked upon noticing the time.

“Fuck,” I cursed, though in my hoarse tiredness, it sounded more like a donkey braying.

Yes, it was ‘fucktime’, that universal concept of that time of day where one looks at the time and exclaims “fuck!” There were many reasons for cursing at a time of day, and it didn’t have to be any time in particular, but the most common reason was due to the situation I was in: I was running late for work.

In a state of fight or flight (which I am always in flight since I could use the exercise), I put a couple of bagel slices into the toaster, wished that my toaster had a turbo speed button, and paced about until those two slices popped up; they weren’t crispy enough, but they’d have to do. Like the skilled painter that I wasn’t, I swiped across the two halves of the bagel with a messy gloop of cream cheese.

No more time left.

I ran out the door, or whatever constituted as a run in my mind, with the bagel halves held tight in my mouth.

This ridiculous display persisted for about...oh, to hell with it, let’s just skip all the embarrassment. Fast forward to when I got to the hospital, drenched in sweat and cream cheese on the cuff of my shirt.

“Ran late again?” The receptionist, I think her name was Wormwood, looked up from her computer. Her thick brown hair was in a bun and she didn’t just have bags under her eyes, but bags under those bags. That’s okay, I’ve had those days as well. From the reflection of her glasses, it looked like she was playing an intense game of Tetris.

“A doctor is never early nor late,” I huffed, trying to sound more self-assured than my short breath would allow.

“Yeah, you wish. Go change your shirt. You’ve got a patient waiting for you in room 413,” she clucked. Was clucked the right descriptor? Well, it was a vague chicken-like tone, so cluck was good enough.

“Why’s it always patients with me?” I joked. She didn’t so much as give a half-hearted chuckle. She could have at least said, “A for effort,” but I guess everyone was a critic. I hurried over to the hospital’s resident dry cleaner, who always had a spare pair of uniforms, scrubs, nice shirts, you name it. Our dry cleaner guy was a typical average dude with stringy red hair, named Marion or something. He always had that strung out look about him that gave the impression that he was pretty trustworthy. I showed him the cream cheese on my shirt and he made an OK sign with both hands, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

“Say no more,” he assured me in the most endearing bored-out-of-your-mind voice imaginable.

As I waited for him to grab me a spare shirt, I looked up and saw a couple of green scrubs hanging around.

“I can’t do this on my own. I’m no superman,” I hummed the tune. Marion (that might not have been his name, but it was pretty damn close to what I imagine his name was) turned and asked, “what?”

“You know, Scrubs? It’s a reference.”

“Oh, man, I don’t know the first thing about references,” he bemoaned in both a disinterested tone and a disoriented one.

Man, nobody appreciates a good reference these days.

After I received my change of shirt, I went into the nearest bathroom and speedran the Trent Dress Up game. Not to brag, but I might have set a new record that day. Okay. Moving on.

Up four flights of stairs I lumbered up, each foot dragged behind the other. Yes, I could have used the elevator, but then that wouldn’t have been very doctor-like of me, would it? I mean, plenty of doctors took the elevator, and there was nothing wrong with that, but I always tried to do healthy things. It didn’t really matter much, I mean, I was already healthy, I was just a little chubby, was all. So what? I was a big ol’ teddy bear in a lab coat. At least I rocked the look.

Twelve rooms down. Then the thirteenth: that was where I heard the assistant.

“Dr. Bark will see you now,” the assistant informed the patient. After she left, which I didn’t really get a good look at, but I’ve probably worked with her before, I opened the door and greeted the patient.

“Woof, woof!” I made my best dog voice, which probably sounded closer to a howler monkey than a dog.

My patient just looked at me, not amused in the slightest. He was an elderly man who looked like a bad caricature of an elderly man. Not one of the kind ones, either. No, more like the grumpy kind who would yell at you if you so much as lived in the general vicinity of the same neighborhood he lived in. Then again, I knew looks could be deceiving and if anything, his face was probably contorted in pain.

“Okay, so I’m not that clown doctor, but if you honk my nose, I will still make a sound,” I gave a nervous laugh as I said. He just continued to stare at me.

It turned out that he had a small seizure just as I entered the room. Lovely timing, really.

Before I could take a break and have some lunch, there were a few more fun moments, gross moments, sad moments, silly moments, the whole gamut. Really, I loved my job because there were many opportunities to treat others and get them to better health. But also I hated my job because it was a job and I hated being the bearer of big bills due to the malicious concept of private insurance.

My sister-in-law was always going on about how I should be more ambitious. How I could try to start my own clinic and treat people for free, out of the kindness of my heart. Which I loved, that really was a dream if I ever had one. But there was the matter of means. Equipment costs money, I’d need more space, I’d have to get all those good prescription drugs that all the cool cats liked. I wasn’t even sure if I could do it, legally.

But hey, if it were possible, I’d do it. For sure. Maybe.

Once I made it to the hospital’s cafeteria, I grabbed a lobster salad with a garlic roll and a pink lady apple for an extra layer of irony. It was ironic because no matter how many times I ate one of those, I could never keep myself away from the hospital. Shame, too. The busier I was, the less time I had to play Monster Hunter.

Anyway, as I looked for a place to sit, I hummed a tune I heard over the radio.

“Don’t call my name, don’t call my name, Alejandro. Fernando,” I hummed. Or rather, mumbled. Because I knew for a fact that I said those words out loud, whether or not I should have saved myself the embarrassment.

“Yes?” Crooned the seductive and husky toned voice of a man I didn’t recognize. I looked around, then noticed that the owner of such a voice was seated all by his lonesome at a table in the middle of the cafeteria.

Oh good, finally a table that’s not crowded.

I made the no-brainer decision to sit across from him at the table. His head sported a vast field of curly black hair as well as the stubble-laden remnants of a rugged black mustache. He reminded me of the guy from that Just Cause series of games, though not sure why, as I’ve never played them, though I had to admit, grappling hooks were pretty cool.

“Did you say something?” I stared into his inviting rosemary colored eyes. Mostly because I felt it rude if I didn’t. Imagine if someone did that to me, just looked away when they spoke to me. Actually, that’s probably happened many times.

“You said my name,” he replied, more plain this time, without as much of a soothing effect, but no less friendly.

“Oh? Alejandro?” I blinked, unaware that I had said anyone’s name.

“No, Fernando, but you may call me Fern. Everyone does,” he smiled as he told me, a smile as soothing as his voice could be.

“Well, I certainly wanna do what everyone else is doing,” I chuckled. “I’m Trent, by the way.”

He gave a slow nod.

“What a beautiful name. Do you know who does the song that you were singing?”

Oh god, if ever there was a time to be embarrassed.

“I just heard the song on the radio! I don’t know anything about it, I just thought it was kinda catchy.”

“I’ll give you a hint: it starts with ‘Lady’.”

Fuck. I was bad at guessing games.

“Lady and the Tramp?”

“No.”

“Lady Marmaduke?”

“No. You have three more guesses.”

Wait. He never said I had a limit of five. Now I was really feeling the pressure.

“Lady Groudon?”

“Close.”

Oh! Now I knew what it was!

“Lady Goomy!”

“...No, not quite. But really close.”

Damn. I only had one guess left, too. The heat was really on now.

“Lady Gloop?”

He bit his lip trying to hold back laughter, but couldn’t, and it all came flooding out.

“Um, did I win?” I wasn’t sure what to make of that laughter, but I had to know. I just HAD to know.

After he settled down, he shook his head and with an aching calm assured me:

“It’s not important.”

“Well, what is important, then?” I grimaced, the answer not given to me.

“The lives of our patients are what’s important.”

Yeah, that seemed a little obvious, though, considering our professions and all. Actually, I wasn’t quite sure whether he was a doctor or not. I didn’t recall ever working with him.

“What do you do here, by the way?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m a nurse, mi amor.”

Once he said that, everything clicked into place.

“No wonder you’ve got that gentle voice,” I observed.

“I don’t have to be gentle if you don’t want me to be.”

“No, no,” I shook my head. “For the sake of the patients, I think you ought to be.”

We went back and forth after that, chatting about this and that, though nothing really important. Really, it was nice, I didn’t usually chat with anyone. Afterward, however, it was back to the grind. Oh joy.

Once said day one was done, I flopped on home and collapsed on my sofa. Next to me was a controller, and I had bought my copy of Final Fantasy XVI the other day, but haven’t had a chance to play it.

“My body...too feeble…” I wheezed out the words as my hands shook trying to reach for the controller. Just as it seemed like the controller was within my grasp, my phone rang.

When there was something in closer proximity than the item that I really wanted, the natural urge was to reach for the one in closer proximity instead.

“Hey Trent. It’s me,” came the sudden and to the point tone of my sister-in-law: Vesuvius.

“Oh, hey. What’s up?” I snapped to my senses and sat right up. “Is everything okay? Nothing too serious, I hope.”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I’ve got a nice little apartment with my beautiful wife. I just haven’t spoken to you in a while and wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Oh, what a relief. I was worried you were having another mental health episode.”

“Hey! I don’t go around pointing out the time you had food poisoning, do I?” She scolded. Yeah, okay. That was fair.

She didn’t have many mental health episodes, but ever since that incident with her and Juniper’s stalkers, she had been more sensitive and more on edge. That said, I really was happy for her and that she was at peace.

“You’re right. God, that was a rough time. Who knew blueberries could be so poisonous?”

“All things in nature can,” she stated. Gee, if anyone knew that, it would’ve been her.

“How are all things with settling into the apartment?” I asked. She hadn’t been there long, but it was a bold step for her, considering her social anxiety, which she tried to act like she didn’t have.

“You know, it’s an adjustment. It gets lonely when Juniper isn’t home. I’m not used to her having anything resembling a job. I hate to sound possessive, but I don’t like that she has one. I wish we didn’t have to make money to live.”

“Be as possessive as you want,” I chuckled. “Er...within reason. Say, have you saved up for anything?”

“No. Why?”

“Well, you always go on about wanting to do that whole ‘cottagecore’ lifestyle thing. So maybe you could save for that and go for it?”

She drew a deep breath, as if she were about to blow a gust of wind out of every orifice.

“First off, I don’t know what a ‘cottagecore’ is, but I’m cautious around anything with the suffix of -core. You know I’m a delicate flower.”

“And a poisonous one,” I pointed out.

“Yes, well, poisonous flowers can be delicate. And hey! Be nice to me!”

I coughed up a chuckle.

“Okay, well, second off,” she continued. “What I want is to live off the land, in a field of flowers. Growing my own field. Having peace and quiet in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah, that’s cottagecore.”

“Don’t say words I don’t understand to me!” She scolded. “It’s really demeaning.”

“Okay, okay,” I tried to settle down with the teasing. “But for real, it’s not like it’s impossible. Juniper could build a house, she likes making things.” Then again, she probably wouldn’t build a house very well, but I’m sure she’d enjoy the attempt. “It may take a bit of money for the resources, but it’s not like it’s impossible.”

“Yeah, well, first thing’s first is I want to see a therapist. Like, an actual therapist.”

“Oh, that could be good for you.”

“Yeah…” Her voice trailed, and the tone of her voice shifted to a more mournful one. “I still remember how I was during that time. I have trouble believing that it’s really over. All of that pain lingers with me. It’s not something I wish to remember, but it’s something I’m unable to forget.”

“Don’t beat yourself up too bad,” I tried to reassure her. I assumed she was referring to the whole stalker incident that occurred at the same time she dealt with her mental health episode. “Everyone has a breaking point. There’s nothing to be ashamed of there.”

“No, but there is. I was confused. Desperate. I hurt the most important person in my life. I hurt someone else that I could have helped. That I could have saved. If I had just known how. If my mind was more clear back then,” her voice shifted into a growl. “I hate it. I hate inflicting pain. Especially because it’s not who I want to be. No who I am anymore,” her voice then grew sharper. Harsher. “Yet I can’t help but feel like it’s still with me, buried somewhere, and I just want to punch a wall, rip my hair out, something! Something to cut this off from me!”

“Hey, hey,” I could tell she was working herself up. “You and Juniper are both sensitive people. Sometimes people lash out when their emotions are heightened. It doesn’t mean you’re bad or anything, but you can work on it. For what it’s worth, I do think you two are good together.”

“Thank you,” her voice quieted back to the mournful tone it was at first and I could hear sniffling and weeping in the background. “I’m sorry. I told myself I would keep composed and yet I went off into that rant. Gee, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a better therapist than the one I pretended to be.”

“Heh. It’s nothing. You’ve definitely been through a lot. Get yourself some tea or something, that might help.”

“Thanks,” she sniffled again. “What about you? Is there anything new with you?”

“Eh. Same ol’ boring stuff at the hospital. People get sick and die, some people get better.”

“To which?” She let out a weak chuckle.

“Oh, definitely the sick part. I’ve yet to someone get better from being dead, but anything can happen. Fingers crossed, right?”

“Heh…so there’s nothing new at all? What about at the house? I bet you’re glad to have Juniper and I out of your hair.”

“Eh. You guys weren’t that bad to deal with.”

“That’s a relief. Do you miss us?”

“Hmm...a bit. It’s a bit quiet now, but I like it. Means I can play video games in peace and walk around the apartment in my underwear.”

“Indeed, that is a positive. Though I didn’t need to hear the last part.”

I tried to think about anything of substance I could actually talk about.

“Oh! I met someone new at the hospital today! This nurse named Fern. He’s got these beautiful murky green eyes and maze-like curly dark hair. Oh, and his mustache. I bet I’d be ticklish if it rubbed against me,” I announced with a sense of excitement at the prospect of actually having something to say.

“Are you attracted to this Fern person?” She inquired.

While I didn’t quite know where she got that idea from, I wasn’t going to say that he was ugly or anything like that.

“I’m certainly not repelled by him,” I joked. Heh. Magnets. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious, since you described him in such exquisite detail.”

“Eh. Isn’t it normal to describe people you talk about?”

“Not in my experience. Not like that, anyway. But hey, what do I know?”

“Yeah, well, I just met him today, so I doubt I’ll describe him every time I talk about him. He seems nice, in any case. Hey, maybe the four of us could play D&D together sometime?” I perked up at the prospect of having someone else to play D&D with. That was the most important thing about meeting someone. If not D&D, maybe I could gush about 80s Sci-Fi movies or J-RPGs.

“I don’t know...that game always brings out the worst in me...I try to be a healer but whenever I encounter a monster I just want to grind them into dust and then I curse the fact that I didn’t pick a class like barbarian.”

“Heh. That is a problem. You could always just be a barbarian.”

“No. I don’t want to,” I could tell she stuck her nose up just by her tone of voice alone.

“In any case, we gotta get this going on! We never seem to finish a campaign!” I was SO pumped to get this thing going on.

“That’s because I always either quit out of frustration or you end up too busy and we decide to start over from a new campaign as soon as you have free time again,” she pointed out. At least she was honest.

“We’ll figure something out, I’m sure!”

“Mm...well, it was nice talking with you, Trent. I’m glad you seem to be doing well, and good luck with this Fern person.”

“Thanks! You take care too! Bye!”

We hung up and I spent the rest of the day being an exhausted nerdy Trenty bear who somehow did nothing yet time still passed.

As the days went by, I’d spend lunch having conversations with Fern and he said I could talk about whatever I was passionate about, so OF COURSE a bunch of nerdy shit came up.

“About halfway through the game, she dies, but you can get her final limit break later on. This is a way to show that she’s still with the party in spirit and the party keeps it as a memento, even though they know they cannot use it, OR they refuse to use it to honor her memory.”

“I see. And it’s not just the developers making a mistake?” Fern pondered. The gall.

“No way. Game developers wouldn’t just do that. In fact, you can hack the game to make it so Aerith lives, by coming back after she dies, but she’ll say at a certain point, ‘I’m not supposed to be here’. That’s because the developers knew that players would try to bring her back, so they were prepared.”

“Wow. That really is haunting,” he looked moved by my explanation. As he should be.

“The game devs were also brilliant for making her and Cloud be besties instead of a romantic interest. There’s a part where Cloud and Aerith go on a date on a ferris wheel and right before they go on the ferris wheel, Aerith turns to cloud and goes ‘wa...wassup homie?’ and Cloud says, ‘golly gee’ in response. By having them be besties, it shows the importance of friendships over romantic relationships. It’s actually shown in a prequel that Cloud had a boyfriend named Zack, but despite it being canon, many fans prefer to act like the game doesn’t exist.”

“That’s a wonderful message for them to show,” he nodded along.

“Yeah. So anyway, Zack dies in the prequel.”

“Damn. This Cloud guy just can’t catch a break.”

Before I was able to continue the conversation further, I received a beep on my pager.

“...And neither can I. I gotta split.”

That was how our typical conversations went. I did most of the talking while he stared and smiled the whole way through. Most of the time, I didn’t mind that, but it also meant that I didn’t know much about him. He hardly seemed like the mysterious type, and I should’ve known the mysterious type due to the people I’ve let in my apartment in the past.

So the next chance we got I decided I’d hold nothing back. We both sat together, once again with our lunches in front of us, and I popped the question:

“Do you have any siblings?” I was casual as I asked him, plain as day with an egg and lettuce sandwich in my hands. He tilted his head and rested it on his palm, looking even more radiant than usual.

“Why yes. I have four sisters. Two of them are engaged. One of them’s married. The fourth one is still looking for love.”

“Oh wow,” I replied. “You know, you could tell her that she doesn’t have to find love. It’s not the be-all and end-all, after all.”

“I think she already knows that. Still, she wouldn’t mind the experience. What about you, Trent?” He spoke my name with such a delicacy that it made my heart tackle the walls of my chest.

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “I’ve got a sister. I don’t even know why you mentioned relationships since I just asked about siblings, but she’s in one. I mean, she’s married, so I guess I’ve also got a sister-in-law. If that counts as another sibling, then I’ve got two sisters, maybe?”

He coughed up a chuckle against his fist.

“Love is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

I shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess it can be.”

For some reason that simple exchange reminded me of an early memory when Juniper and I were kids and we shared a room, bunk beds, in fact.

She hung upside down from the edge of the top bunk of the bed. I always did tell her to be careful, but she never was good at listening to me.

“Hey bro, bro, bruh, bruv,” she pestered me.

“What is it?” I looked up from the book I was reading.

She held down a magazine with pictures of women in hiking gear.

“Look! Aren’t those girls cute? Aren’t they your type?” She pressed it up to my face. Or as well up to my face as she could. Her aim wasn’t the best when she hung upside down. Nevertheless, I took a glance. Of course, as I was more interested in the book I was reading, I didn’t really pay attention.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

Not satisfied, she grew in intensity.

“Come on! You didn’t look!”

“Yeah I did!” I shot back. “I’m just more interested in this book right now! You have no idea how cool the Shannara novels are!” Oh, but I wasn’t done. “Also, I’m pretty sure those are your type, not mine!”

She stuck her tongue out.

“What even is your type?” She teased.

I shrugged. Really, I didn’t know then, and even into my 30s, as a doctor, I had no idea if I even had a type. For anyone. After a pause, she then asked.

“Do you think you’d ever have a crush on anyone?”

I gave it some thought. Then, as if it was a no brainer, it clicked.

“If someone was actually interested in me, sure! But c’mon, I’m a nerd. You know how hard it is for people like me.”

She scowled at that.

“That’s just a myth. That shouldn’t stop you.”

She was right. Both back then, and in the present, if she were to tell me that again. But over the years, I grew to have a different excuse.

“Would you ever be open to the idea of love?” Fern’s question brought me out of the memory, back to the moment that I shared with him.

I shrugged.

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind. If the opportunity were to occur. But then, I’m always too busy to think about things like that, so it’s never really crossed my mind. I’m sure you can relate, seeing as you’re probably about as busy as I am.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “But it has its advantages.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like how we can spend the same amount of time together.”

Oh yeah. That was a really good point.

“Heh. It is nice to have someone to chat with,” I agreed.

It was a surprise how little time had passed, but I was glad for it. Considering how unpredictable this job could be, I had to be thankful for any precious minutes I got.

“Let’s not worry about that. If we run out of time, we can pick it up another day. So what do you say?”

“So tell me, how did your sister meet her lover?” His curiosity took me by surprise. Not something I thought would be worth asking, but who was I to say what someone did and didn’t find interesting?

All right. So I told him. It seemed he just had that kind of effect on me.

Maybe it was a little cliché, I don’t know, because I don’t know what constitutes as cliché, but it was a rainy evening. I had just gotten off work, I had my umbrella, but it seemed to do me little good as there was a mighty gust of wind and the rain just slid down the umbrella and managed to force itself onto my jacket.

On the way home, I took a shortcut through a side street. I guess it was like an alleyway, but more open. I don’t know, side street sounds appropriate. Curled up underneath the cover of a building’s awning was a homeless woman, a single orange striped blanket over her, damp. Her hair seemed covered in dirt, she shivered, but made no attempt to voice her discomfort. I couldn’t quite make out her face, but maybe it was pity that brought me to pay attention to her in the first place.

Yeah, typical “boy meets girl” story, huh?

At last, she looked up and croaked. Despite facing me, her face seemed to droop low and she looked downtrodden.

“You got money?”

I jumped. Startled. Yeah, not too dignified, but I really just didn’t expect for her to notice me. Once I composed myself, I dug through my jacket pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill.

“Here, it’s not much, but it’s what I got on me.”

“Thanks,” she replied and took it. No more than that. Of course, if that was the extent of the exchange, there wouldn’t really be anything to tell, now would there?

“Hey, I know it’s late, but there’s a cafe close by we can visit if you want a coffee or something. They’re not open forever, but it’ll keep you dry for a little while,” I offered.

She looked up again, scowled.

“I don’t trust strangers,” she stated.

“Oh, yeah, definitely. I’m a stranger, you’re a stranger. I get that,” I chuckled. “I just figured I’d offer, but you can decline. If you’re worried about me being someone dangerous, you can punch me. I’m not really interested in being cruel or violent or anything like that.”

She squinted. I would later find out that was less because of how ridiculous she may have thought me and more because she had poor eyesight.

“Are you that desperate that you would ask a homeless person out on a date?” Her biting remark might have gotten under the skin of just about anyone else, but I’ve probably heard much worse from some of my patients. Instead, I laughed.

“You don’t have to think of it as a date. I don’t. I’m not really the dating type, anyway. It’s just a spur of the moment thing.”

She shifted eyes, turned her head from left to right, then looked back up on me.

“I can’t believe I’m going to agree to this…but sure,” she heaved out the words.

“Cool,” I stuck my thumb out, then continued, “it’s just a couple of blocks away. I really like the place, since I sometimes don’t get off work until real late and it’s open past midnight.”

“I don’t care...when it’s open...but I could use something warm...to drink,” she sounded lightheaded, in a daze.

Once we made our way through the door of the dim lit cafe with neon lighting, she wiped her shoes on the mat.

Oh. What good manners, I thought. As someone who often forgot to wipe their shoes when entering places, it was a nice reminder to see someone else do so. At least I remembered to put my umbrella down, but that kinda went without saying.

As soon as I approached the counter, I turned to her, still drenched.

“Don’t worry about the cost. Order whatever you like,” I assured her. After I said those words, she looked up, squinted, then closed her eyes.

“I would like a lavender mocha latte, but no dairy. Almond milk if you have it. Coconut would be even better. Give four extra shots of espresso, and if you have dark chocolate syrup, use that.”

Damn. It was like she had the whole thing recited and ready to go. All right.

“I’ll just take a black coffee,” I shrugged. I didn’t need all the sugar or any of that extra stuff.

“Oh. I should have went with that too,” she looked down, possibly embarrassed at her order.

I laughed.

“Don’t worry, I said you could order whatever. My treat.”

She made her way to the table nearest to the window, and took the seat closest to the window as well. As soon as she sat down, she lowered her head onto the table and her arms outstretched to cover her head. Behind her, raindrops slid down the window. It wasn’t much an interesting sight, but I wasn’t a very observant person, so I felt I ought to have taken note of something.

“Just so you know, you should probably forget about me after this,” she uttered and despite her words being muffled, I could still make her words out clear as a river.

“If you want,” I shrugged.

“I’m serious. You shouldn’t associate with me. There’s people after me. I’d rather not get anyone involved.”

I pondered if there was any validity to that. Maybe she ran from an ex, or there was some trafficking ring. That last bit was a little dark. As a middle ground, I thought that maybe she had run off from home as a kid (surprisingly, that part was sort of true, in a sense).

“You probably think I’m crazy. Paranoid, even. I get it. Some homeless woman tells you there’s people after her. You don’t have to believe me. Just so you know, I’m homeless by choice. It’s easier this way. You don’t have to believe that, either.”

“Well, if you’re on the run, maybe it’s not by choice?” I suggested.

She looked up, her face still semi-buried in her arms. Still, I could make out eyes through her bangs. Grayish-purple bags under her eyes, but eyes nonetheless.

“Yeah. You’re probably right. It’s been so long, it’s hard to tell anymore. My head won’t cooperate,” she seemed to agree with my assessment, and as if to confirm as much, she lifted her head up and rubbed her forehead with her palm. With one eye visible, she glared at me.

“Just so you know, even if you considered this a date, I wouldn’t be interested. I’m…” she looked around, then stated, “men don’t interest me.”

I chuckled.

“It’s okay. My sister’s a lesbian. You don’t really have to beat around the bush about it.”

Her eyes widened, then squinted again.

“I don’t know why you would tell me that. I’m not interested. My main focus is my survival, it’s just…” She began to glance to her side and down at the floor. “I’ve been running and hiding so long, I’m growing tired. Sooner or later, I might just give up. It’s a terrible thought, but I don’t think I can go on.”

My concern began to grow, even if I didn’t know the scope of her problem.

“I don’t really know what it is you’re dealing with, but you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

“No. I refuse to endanger anyone else,” she seemed adamant about that.

Maybe she was justified, but in a selfish way, that also made me want to help more.

“You can refuse if you want, but the weather forecast says it’s going to be raining over the next few days. I’ve got a spare room in my apartment you can stay in. If nothing else, it’ll keep you dry.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” she looked away once more.

“You wouldn’t be. I’m the one that offered,” I shrugged, a favorite gesture of mine.

“Well...maybe my head is just messed up enough right now, but...fine. As long as I reserve the right to leave at any time.”

“Of course,” I assured her, and I even lifted a feeble smile. Once our coffee was brought over, mine a regular paper coffee cup, hers a ceramic cup filled to the top, we drank in silence. Between intervals of me sipping the bitter bean, I peeked over and noticed how she held onto her cup with a sort of elegance; one hand on the handle, the other grasping the base of the cup, and slow sips taken, not a single slurp to be heard. It was probably a little weird of me to pick up on something like that, I admit.

“I’m Trent, by the way,” I told her out of courtesy. Depending on how long she’d stay, I felt it wise to tell her my name.

“Et...err...Vesuvius. You can call me Vesuvius. Or Ves. I don’t care which,” her eyes shifted and she stammered out the words.

After we finished our coffee, we headed out, umbrella up and ready to go. There wasn’t a long walk ahead of us, and she was silent the whole way through. Not that I tried to make small talk anyway, since the rain was kind of gloomy weather for conversation. She walked with a slump, something I should have warned her to be cautious about, lest she get a hunchback. Maybe she did so because she felt she was too tall to fit under the umbrella, or maybe she had been under such duress for so long that standing up straight no longer registered to her.

Before long, we made our way inside and I showed her to where the spare room was. She didn’t speak a word, not so much as a nod, just went inside. Before I closed the door, I told her, “if you need anything, just let me know. I’ll be down the hall and to your left.”

Still, no acknowledgment. That was fine. Just as long as she heard me. For whatever reason, it didn’t register until after I closed the door that I didn’t have anything like an air mattress or a futon for her to sleep on. That room was bare, empty. Not a single item to be found.

Despite that, I was too tired to do anything rational like look for some spare blankets or pillows, and decided it was high time for me to get some rest. At the very least, I turned the heater on and let it run. It wasn’t something I liked to do, and I didn’t think Juniper would be all that comfortable with it on, but screw it, I was the one who paid the bills.

“Well, time for me to get some shut eye,” I announced, thinking there was no one around who could hear me. However, I soon noticed from the corner of my eye a foam basketball being tossed up into the air.

“Who’s the babe?” Juniper, asked in a rather dull voice. I soon turned and saw her laying on the couch, flat on her back.

“Don’t be disrespectful,” I scolded. “I found her on the street. She’s just going to stay over for a few nights.”

“So now you’re picking up homeless chicks?”

Really, maybe she was just moody ‘cause she was tired, or maybe she just felt like giving me a hard time that night in particular.

“I just felt like doing a good deed, there’s nothing behind it,” I corrected her. Again.

“That’s rather nice of you. Just make sure not to overexert yourself. Your health is important too,” she reminded.

“Thanks.”

I thought I could just go to bed, but then a smile which signified mischief spread across her face.

“So, tell me about the babe,” she wouldn’t drop it so soon.

“Oh, come on,” I groaned.

“C’mon, the babe.”

“No,” I folded my arms on my hips. If she could nudge me from where she was at, she would have.

“You remind me of the babe,” her cheery voice returned, coupled with a sing-song tone.

“What babe?” I finally gave in.

“The babe with the power.”

“What power?”

“Power of voodoo!”

“Who do?”

“You do!”

“Do what?”

“Remind me of the babe! Ha ha ha!” she kicked around the couch and laughed. There were certain nights where I could just tell when she watched Labyrinth that day.

“Okay, okay, don’t stay up too late,” I reminded her. “You know where your room is.”

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Night.”

Ah, Labyrinth. Classic. David Bowie and his tights. Things didn’t get much better than that.

Somehow I managed to tell him all of that with time to spare.

“You have a big heart, Trent,” he told me, which kinda made me want to sulk.

“Yeah...I do try to have a good diet, though,” I pouted.

“No, no, I mean metaphorically,” he patted the air as he spoke, a sure sign of sincerity.

“You mean…?” I stared into his earthen rosemary colored eyes.

“Yes. You are very kind.”

“Oh, phew. For a second there I was worried you meant my weight.”

“No, no. Dear. You are adorable. When I first saw you that fateful day, I said to myself, ‘this is an adorable teddy bear’. I would never have anything unkind to say to a teddy bear.”

“Well, thank you. Does that mean I’m a cuddly looking teddy bear?” I let slip my curiosity.

“I’d have to find that one out for myself. Hey, your story about your sister’s wife got me thinking. How would you like to go out for coffee after work?”

Gee, the possibility never even occurred to me, but it was so simple. Of course.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. I’m pretty sure the place is still open.”

“And,” he leaned in a little closer. “May I consider it a date?”

I laughed a little at that.

“If you’d like to.”

“And,” a little closer still. “Would you consider it one?”

That time, my heart went “boing boing” against my chest. I didn’t know the answer to that one. It was too much being put on the spot, I was used to the attention being on other people.

“Um...not no, but maybe yes...I’m not sure…” Came my disgraceful blabbering until I managed to catch myself and re-compose. “Er...I’m not used to thinking about things for myself...but...sure. You’re a pretty cool guy. Let’s consider it a coffee date.”

So we did. Just a few nights later, after work we walked into the parking lot. He had a motorcycle, with enough of a seat for me to fit in the back. It wasn’t awkward in the slightest and in fact, it played out much the same as many of our conversations at lunch before. It all felt natural between us, like trees. He ordered an oregano tea latte and I had my usual black coffee.

As if by miracle, the sun had yet to set and there wasn’t the slightest hint of rain. We sat across from each other and immersed ourselves in the ambiance of the hums and smooth glitchtunes playing on the coffee shop’s speakers.

“So, if I were to come over to your place tonight, would I see your sister and her wife?” He posed the hypothetical question.

“Nah, they both moved out almost a year ago. They’ve got their own apartment somewhere else in the city, though they’re also saving up to move elsewhere again.”

“So soon?” He tilted his head.

“Well, it’s a dream of Ves’ to live in a field of flowers, open nature, all that stuff. Psychedelic drugs, flowers in hair, tie-dye, I could go on. Juniper’s already found a place a couple of states out, and she found an old beat up pick up truck in a ditch and decided to repair it just for fun. So now all they gotta do is assemble the wood, get some electric lining, plumbing, all that stuff. Which...I don’t have a lot of faith in my sister, she’s no architect or electrician, but she’s the type who gets insistent about doing everything herself, so it’s not like I could talk her out of it.”

“That’s great, though! They’re pursuing their passion. Isn’t that beautiful?”

I shrugged.

“I dunno if ‘beautiful’ is the word I’d use, but yeah. I suppose I’m happy for them.”

“What about you? Do you have any goals?” His eyes fluttered, almost like he wanted to lull me to sleep.

“Sorta, but it’s kinda dumb? I just don’t like the whole ‘charged ten thousand dollars as soon as you walk in and good luck getting your overpriced insurance that you can barely afford, if afford at all, to cover anything’ so I was thinking how it would be cool if I could run my own clinic. I don’t know, maybe it could be funded through donations, but in no way would people have to pay. Like, I doubt I’d be able to do the big stuff like surgeries or transplants, but it’s still something, right? Thing is, that’s kinda impossible, don’cha think?”

Rather than some kind of agreement, he reacted in a rather ferocious manner: he stood up, leaned over, and slammed his hands on the table.

“Trent,” while his voice grew in intensity, it certainly didn’t sound angry. More...motivating. “You must never be afraid of your passion.”

“Uh...okay…” I scratched my cheek. “But what about you? What are you passionate about?”

He sat back down.

“You. Of course,” he answered, so simple, so straightforward in his delivery.

“So, like, does that mean you’d want to play D&D with me sometime?”

He laughed.

“I’d love to.”

“Really? Are you sure? What if you don’t like it? I mean, I don’t even know what your hobbies are.”

“If I end up not liking it, then at least I’ll have found that out for myself. But all of your hobbies, everything that interest you, I want to immerse myself in. Because all of you...is my hobby.”

“Bro…” I leaned forward. “That’s kind of...uh...cool!”

“Oh, and I also like to ride around on my motorcycle. I like watching the sunsets, going hiking, mountain climbing, kayaking, and making ceramic cups.”

Hiking, mountain climbing, kayaking...he sure looked fit. Not to mention, those things sounded like fun, even if possibly dangerous.

“Do you think I could do those things with you?” I asked, hesitant, but I figured if he was wanting to do the things I liked, I may as well ask him in return.

“Of course. You can do whatever you want with me.”

“Then in that case, can I kiss you?” I joked, though it seemed to come out of nowhere. However much I meant it, it was out in the open now.

“Of course. Would you like to do it here, or at your apartment?”

“Err...at my apartment?”

To be honest, I’ve never kissed anyone before. Or been kissed by anyone before. That thought never even crossed my mind and I pretty much figured I’d be fine not having such a thought and continuing on with my life, but dominoes were falling or something like that.

“Let’s go, then,” he stood up and motioned for me to head toward the door. In a hurry, I chugged down my coffee.

I should probably brush my teeth first. Coffee breath probably isn’t a good taste. Then again, would he want to brush his teeth. Should we just use the same toothbrush? Or maybe he packed one with him.

When we shoved our way through the door of my apartment, those questions were erased from my mind.

“I’ve actually never kissed anyone before...I know, in my thirties and…” he put his finger on my lips and made a “shh” sound.

“Relax. I’ll take the lead,” he lowered his hand, then leaned down and spread his lips against mine. As he released, I wished that he hadn’t. But then the thought of my breath returned to the front of my mind.

“Sorry, uh, hope my breath doesn’t bother you.”

“Does it bother you?” He asked.

“Well…it’s probably good to take care of your teeth. I’m not a dentist, but I do think good health is important in all aspects of one’s health and --”

He pulled out a box of mint chews.

“Here,” he opened the box. I took a couple and popped them into my mouth. On instinct, I bit down on them and chewed, despite knowing that I wouldn’t be prepared for the icy hellfire that was the minty taste. After a couple of seconds of huffing, I looked back at him.

“Okay, I’m good now.”

“There is one more interest I have now,” he decided to pick back up from our conversation at the coffee shop for some final choice words.

“Yeah? What would that be?”

“Supporting you and your dreams.”

Then we kissed again.

So flashforward a year or so and through some sort of miracle, such a dream was realized: we converted the apartment into a clinic and moved upstairs to the apartment directly above. Both of us quit our jobs at the hospital so we could focus on the clinic. Really, I couldn’t have done it without him. Or, maybe I could have, but I’d like to think he gave me that sort of push, y’know? That little “oomf.”

There were many improvements that could have been made, and might be made as time went on, but I liked seeing the genuine attempt to help, and the look on people’s faces when they knew they wouldn’t have to worry about cost...worth it. What’s more, people donated freely, and often. We met several people around the community and even convinced some to play D&D with us. I think the biggest surprise was how much of a hit the game was with the elderly.

Oh, and also, Fern and I became boyfriends. Not really sure how that happened, but it did and I’m cool with it.

On one particular slow day, an interesting thing happened: see, it had been a while since any strange people walked through my door. After a streak of Ves, Blanc, and that weird stalker lady my sister hugged, I figured I’d see the last of any weirdness. In fact, I never even thought to tell Fern about any of the weird visitors (besides Ves, of course). But then as I was doing a solo hunt against deviljo in Monster Hunter on my PC in my office, Fern ran into my office.

“Hey Trent, dear, there’s someone outside the front door saying she’s your cousin,” he informed me. I looked up, a little perplexed.

“I have relatives?” I asked, even though it might have seemed like a pretty dumb thing to say.

Never mind the dumbness, I stopped what I was doing and rushed toward the door only to find a short lady with blonde hair who looked to be in her 20s.

“Hello, can I help you?” I asked her.

“It’s me, your cousin. Demetria?” She folded her arms and scowled.

It took a few seconds to click, and then I remembered.

“Ohhh. You were at my sister’s wedding. I think. Probably.”

“Yeah, I probably most definitely was,” she turned her head and spat on the ground.

Fern stood beside me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Who might this be?” He asked.

“Fern,” I gestured to Demetria. “This is apparently my cousin, Demetria. Demetria, this is Fern, my receptionist-slash-boyfriend.”

“You make me sick,” Demetria growled in response.

“What?” I blinked, and I was quite surprised to hear such a thing. “Are you homophobic?”

“No, I’m not homophobic, I just can’t believe you’re dating someone named after a tree! You were supposed to be the chosen one! You could have broken the cycle!”

That was an odd thing to focus on, but good to know it wasn’t too serious.

“It’s short for Fernando, actually, and technically, Ferns aren’t trees,” Fern explained to her.

“All right, buster,” she pointed up. “But you’re on thin-fucking-ice!”

Then she turned to me.

“Also, grats on being gay, I guess. That’s kinda cool,” she eased up her abrasive tone.

“Well, I might be bi. I don’t know. I haven’t been interested in women before, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be interested in any women. I think the real question we need to ask is, is it gay to be in a relationship with another man?” I suggested. Demetria just looked at Fern, who then looked at me.

“Yeah,” they both said at the same time.

“Well, in any case, what can I do for you, Demetria?” I shifted focus.

“Right. I need you to tell me where Juniper lives.”

“What for?”

“So I can go live with them. Why else?”

That was an odd thing to want to do, and I didn’t even think Juniper and Ves would agree to such a...oh, who was I kidding? Juniper was that kind of person.

“Right. Uh...I guess there’s no harm. I’ll write down their address for you. You got a way to get there?”

She shook her head.

“I make it up as I go. I got here just fine, didn’t I?”

Yeah, that was a good point.

I pulled out my notepad from my shirt pocket as well as a pen and scribbled down the address. After I handed it to her, she squinted and scowled.

“Shit. How am I supposed to read this chicken scratch?”

Right. Doctor.

“Here, I’ll just spell it out for you, so you can just type it in the notepad app on your phone or whatever you have.”

“Oh, great. More work for me to do,” she grimaced, but pulled out her phone and pressed the power button.

“Let’s see...a few missed calls from my mom. Typical. Also, a text from Ray. ‘If you ever consider coming back here, don’t. I don’t want to see you again.’ Gee, wasn’t planning on going back there, but good to see I’m not wanted. Typical...oh, here we go. Notepad.”

I didn’t really know what that bit was about, but I wasn’t about to pry. Wasn’t my business. As soon as I told her the address, she turned her phone back off and put it back in her pocket.

How are you going to know where to find the place if you don’t even look at the address?

Oh well. Juniper and Ves’ problem now.

“See ya,” she waved, then ran off. Fern and I waved too, then Fern turned to me.

“Well, she was interesting,” he remarked.

I shrugged.

“Yeah. It tends to go that way. I never really told you, but besides Ves, there’s been some strange people who showed up here a couple of times. First there was Blanc, this amnesiac who was missing an arm. Juniper decided to make a prosthetic limb for them after learning about Fullmetal Alchemist and we kinda let them live here until they just disappeared one day. Then there was this one stalker Juniper had who wanted her and I to leave town but didn’t really explain why and then Juniper hugged her and she freaked out. Not a clue what that was about, but we never saw her again, so I guess we never needed to leave town.”

“Wow, your sister had a stalker?”

I shrugged.

“Yeah, it was horrible, I guess. She seemed rather nonchalant about it, but I could tell it affected her in some ways. She was paranoid for a bit until she met this stalker in person, and then said stalker turned out to be harmless.”

“Still, I would’ve been scared too.”

“Oh yeah, and by the way, Ves is a time traveler. Yeah, you probably think I’m nuts now, but she was originally from the ‘60s and my sister and I found this time travel device that looked like a Nintendo 64 when we moved in. It apparently belonged to Ves’ father. So that time at the coffee shop when she was homeless? Yeah, apparently I met her before that actually and neither of us realized that. Of course, she was a teenager back then and only showed up to take the time travel device back but anyway…”

I realized I started rambling and the more I went on, the more ridiculous things probably seemed.

“...Anyway, you don’t have to believe me, but that was all to say that everyone else who’s ever been in this apartment has been more interesting than me. Including you. Compared to them, I’m kinda just...there.”

He shook his head and placed a firm grasp on my shoulders. He looked me in the eyes.

“No, you are very interesting. How could you not be when you’ve met all of these interesting people? Take it from me: I wouldn’t be interested in you if I didn’t find you interesting.”

“Gee,” I looked away, embarrassed. “Thanks. But also, there’s one more thing: my family has this weird tradition of naming people after trees. Yeah, I’m Trent, but I was named after Treant, this tree monster in D&D. My mom wanted to name me Ent, but apparently couldn’t because the Tolkien estate has the rights to that name.”

“See? Another interesting thing about you!”

“Ha. I’m glad I met you. My mom wasn’t exactly a nice lady, but it was cool that she was into D&D. That’s probably where I got it from. Maybe it’s genetic. Still, neither mine nor my sister’s personalities are like her, although Juniper’s probably closer, though way nicer. It’s hard to explain, but you’d just have to trust me.”

“Every time you tell me something new about yourself, I’m fascinated more and more,” he smiled wide.

We kissed once more before getting back to work. Our day hadn’t yet come to an end.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

A Flame For A Cabbage (Part 3)

Azula returns to her loft feeling delighted and dismal in equal measure. On one hand, she has coin enough for roast duck and pan-fried noodles and then some. On the other, she is down another crop of cabbages. She has no idea how she is going to get the wall sludge off of her stall. She pushes her stall back to its place at the edge of her cabbage field and sighs.

It looks like she is due for a trip to the public bathhouse. She hates the bathhouse, too many wandering eyes and clothing thieves. And that doesn’t even cover the occasional piranha-ray attack. Whoever thought it would be a good idea to replace the koi with those to cut back on spending is a fool.

She makes her way to the springs regardless. She scans the water for the piranha-rays, upon deeming the coast clear, she strips and slips into the water. She is going to have to do some laundry when she gets home. She exhales with the steam of the spring, a feeling like she will never be fully clean again begins to settle in. But she doesn’t have time to dwell upon that.

“Hey.” Speaks a low and raspy voice. And there it is, the other reason she hates the public bathhouse.

Azula groans.

“You owe me three fiddy.”

Azula grumbles and pulls out a few counterfeit coins and slides it to the Loch Ness monster. “Now leave me alone.”

The creature sinks back beneath the surface and swims away. Azula doesn’t put much thought into how little sense it makes for such an enormous creature to soundly occupy such a small space. She quickly shampoos her hair and soaps her body. She is growing hungry and that roast duck is sounding very good right about now.

.oOo.

Sie scowls. “I think we lost” echos in his mind. “Not kidding.” He frowns to himself. Not only did they lose but they are covered in wall juice. It comforts him little that TyLee remains outside building mudmen.

“I made you a mud pie.” She declares.

Sie doesn’t have time for these games. He doesn’t know how, but this is the fault of that cabbage merchant. She must have enchanted the cabbage with performance enhancing drugs. Yes, that is it. That is the only explanation as to how he might have lost. It doesn’t have anything to do with his own actions.

He finds himself a seat and pulls it into the corner. The left corner. That is his plotting corner.

“Hey, you’re going to have to leave now.” General Sung says. “We defeated you three hours ago.”

TyLee sticks out her tongue and spits at him.

“Listen, we can’t have you out here. There’s this secret government agency that is trying to keep the public from knowing about the war and if they see you…”

“What?” Sie asks. “What are they gonna do.”

“They’re gonna be really mad.” Sung says in a sing-song voice, one that lets everyone know why he is named Sung.

“How mad?”

“Seven.”

“Seven?”

“Seven mad.” Sung replies. He stalks off leaving Sie to wonder what exactly that means. Is it a rating scale?  Are they, whoever they are, going to be seven levels of mad? Are they going to be mad for seven reasons? “Mai, TyLee, what does ‘seven mad’ mean?”

.oOo.

Azula makes her way over to the Jasmine Dragon. On a normal day, she would offer the severs some cabbages. Ruefully this is not a normal day, they are going to be very disappointed. Azula finds her usual spot.

“What are you doing here!?” The waiter demands, furiously. He is always so angry, as though every ounce of teenage angst that has ever been put out into the world has come together and flowed into this boy.

“I am getting tea.” Azula replies. “And some roasted duck and pan-fried noodles.”

Through gritted teeth the scarred boy says, “really, what the hell are you doing here?”

What is she doing here? She ponders. What is anyone doing here. She was born, she supposes. By chance a cluster of cells had come together to form her instead of someone else. She wonders if it really is chance at all or if life has some sort of design. A design that intended for her, Azula, the cabbage merchant, to exist and exist as she does currently with the temperament that she currently has. By extension she wonders if any of her choices matter at all; would she still be sitting in the Jasmine Dragon no matter what decision she had chosen or was it already decided by the fates that she would end up here in this location. Perhaps in another life she would not be in the Jasmine Dragon. She might be dwelling in a drill. She might be something more than a cabbage merchant. But then, perhaps, even if she was the Fire Lord, she would still be waiting here, in the Jasmine Dragon, for some roast duck because that is life’s design.

Azula frowns, she hates it when people make her question her existence and the vast enigma of life and the delicate strings and laws of time and space that flow perpetually and primordially, keeping the universe together as it is now.

Having that train of thought so potent in her mind, she considers that maybe today should be the day that she finally asks the big question.

“Why are you here!?” The boy demands again. He hasn’t even asked her what drink she’d like to start with.

Yes, she decides. Today will be the day. “Can I speak to the manager?”

“My manager can’t change that your coupon expired ten years ago.” The boy growls.

“This didn’t even exist ten years ago.” Azula argues.

“It’s not my fault that your coupon exists on an entirely different timeplane!”

“Well you shouldn’t be handing out coupons that existed before your shop.” Azula replies. “I am a merchant myself and I would never give my customers time traveling coupons. I don’t give them coupons at all. Just cabbages. Only. Cabbages.” She pauses. “Anyways, that’s not what I want to speak with him about.”

“Sorry about my cranky nephew.”

“Uncle!” The boy says, “It’s--”

“He is going through a rough time. His father has sent him away, he’s trying to figure out who he is…”

“You’re only paying him minimum wage?” Azula puts in.

“...His date the other night didn’t go well…”

“And you’re horribly understaffed.” Azula notes.

“...And I made him clean out his sock drawer. Did you know that he only has one pair of matching socks and that those socks have pictures of Kpop idols on them?”

Azula tilts her head. “Pictures of what?” Before the man can answer she waves a hand. “I am not hear to discuss your nephew’s angst. I am here to discuss a business partnership.”

The old man blinks.

“I am cabbage merchant, Azula and I believe that we can help each other out. I know that you have just opened your shop about a month ago. I have been doing business here for years. As a well-established seller of cabbage, I know how to bring in clients.”

“Then why do I always see you with a full cart!?” The boy shouts from behind the counter.

Azula grits her teeth. “Because I work very fast. I replace a cabbage as soon as it is sold.”

“How does that work?”

“I simply tear a whole in the air around me, reach into the portal, and pull out a cabbage.” Azula shrugs. “That is how all cabbages are grown.”

“That was the worst lie I’ve ever heard.”

Azula narrows her eyes. She holds up a single pointer and cuts a small rip into the fabric of time and space. She leaves it there just long enough for the boy to see before sealing it up. “Why do you think I keep my nails so long and pointed?”

The boy only blinks at her. She understands his confusion, for he was right, she had been lying. She lifts her pointer again, this time she can’t seem to tear another rift. “Born lucky.” She mutters to herself. “What do you say…”

“Iroh.” The man fills in.

“What do you say Iroh, will you be my business partner? Together we will be the strongest small-town franchise in the world, we will dominate the earth!” Realizing that she might be coming on too strong she adds, more quietly, “or at least the food industry. We can try to weaponize our business in the distant future.”

Iroh strokes his beard as he considers her offer.

“Can we discuss it over pan-fried rice and roast duck?” She asks, realizing that she still hasn’t awarded herself for her hard work.

“Yes, let’s talk business over a fine meal!” Iroh declares. “Zuko, let’s prep a meal!”

Zuko groans. “You can’t partner with the Jasmine Dragon! Tea and cabbage don’t even go together, that’s like the toothpaste and orange juice of food service.”

Azula rolls her eyes. Zuko is such a child. A child and a pessimist. But she...she is a visionary. A conqueror. And she knows very well that the key to dominating the food sales industry is acquiring a formidable alley. Preferably one who has more than just a janky little stall.  

.oOo.

“Are we there yet?” TyLee asks.

Sie pinches the bridge of his nose. The question bothers him for several reasons. The largest reason being that it implies that there is a ‘there’ to get to, even though Sie as given no indication whatsoever that they have any one destination in mind.

“Where are we going, anyways?” Mai questions.

He likes that question even less because it implies that he knows where to go from here. That drill was supposed to have worked. Now he has no plans and no leads. He has nothing but the knowledge that his father is going to light him aflame if he doesn’t figure out something fast.  

“Are we there now?” TyLee speaks.

“Yes!” He throws his hands up in frustration. “We are! We’re exactly where we need to be! Right in the middle of an unfamiliar forest where we can hide from our shame and humiliation.”

Crawling in my skin, these wounds they will not heal! Mai hits a button on her phone. “Sorry, forgot to put it on silent.” She pauses. “But in my defense, I didn’t think we would even get service out here.” Another pause. “Actually, to be honest, I didn’t think that I had one of these. What is this?” She holds up the phone before it fades out of existence and she forgets that she had it at all. To fill the void left by its disappearance, a kumquat is penciled into her hand.

Sie squints, he can’t shake the feeling that something has gone amiss. But what?

“I want to help you. You're hurt. We can help you feel better.” A voice in the distance keeps him from contemplating it for too long. “And we can help you find Aang.”

Sie creeps his way closer and pushes some brambles aside to have a better look. It would seem as if his aimless meandering has led him to a new opportunity. Surely it will end with just as much humiliation as his prior attempt but it is better than going to face his father without doing everything in his power to complete his mission first.

He takes a deep breath and turns to Mai and TyLee, “it’s disguise time ladies.”

.oOo.

Azula drums her fingers on the table. She is growing tired of staring at the graffiti on the table. An etching captioned, ‘my largge peengus by Toph’ had only been funny for a few minutes. She wonders if whoever wrote that had meant to spell the word wrong. She also wonders why the image itself is so squiggly. Moreso, she wonders why she is putting so much thought into such vulgar graffiti.

The more she sits there, the more she considers trying to cover up the vile artwork with something more tea-shop appropriate.

“You!” Booms a voice from the doorway.

Azula looks up. The boy seems to be pointing at her. Azula stands, he must know of her renowned cabbages and is trying to get one for himself. She sighs, “I am truly sorry, but I just recently lost…”

“No, not you.” The boy laughs awkwardly.

“Oh.” She also laughs awkwardly.

So does Ozai, for he has just been caught reading a hentai comic at his own war meeting.

“Yeah.” The boy rubs the back of his head. “I’m looking for a firebender.”

“Oh, yes, that is not me.” Azula replies. “I cannot bend fire.”

The boy nods. “That’s good because I’d have to…” he slashes his hook swords through the air “you too and I don’t want to have to…” another swoosh of his swords “you too.”

Azula nods, “I would not like to be…” she gives him time to make the gesture a third time.

“I think that the guys who run this place are firebenders so I have to get rid of them before they allow the war to get into Ba Sing Se.”

Azula perks up. “You know about the war!?” Finally, someone who isn’t a complete and utter moron. Definitely a moron, but not completely so. She can work with that. Especially since the moron is more charming than the soldier she had met on the wall.

“YOU!” Booms another voice, this one belonging to one of two uniformed men.

She is amazed by her own popularity tonight. “Sorry, my cabbages have been…”

“Not you.” The man clarifies. “Him.” He points to the boy next to her.

The man next to him nudges him and mutters something.

The first man clears his throat. “Actually, you as well.”

Azula grins but only for a moment before she recalls the bitter facts. “I’m sorry, but I can’t sell you any cabbages because…”

“Yup, that’s definitely the right one.” Mutters man two.

“Both of you are under arrest.”

“Arrest?” Azula furrows her brows. “Look, I know that I wasn’t supposed to be on the wall but those soldiers enjoyed their cabbages.” A strong set of arms attempt to pin her arms behind her back. She ducks under and sweeps her leg under the man’s. He topples and his companion is on her in seconds. She wishes with more fury that cabbagebending were a thing. The first man to attack her now wrestles with the other boy. They encase his arms in a prison of heavy rock.

“Are you sure that you don’t just want to buy a cabbage?” Azula asks as she ducks under a rock. She wonders why it is taking Iroh and Zuko so long to make her food. She gives the man a swift kick but he catches her foot in a cluster of rocks much like the ones around the boy’s wrists. It throws her balance enough to land her on the ground. “What do you want with me?” She scowls.

“To help you.” The man says.

Azula tilts her head, quizzically. “To help me? You know how to make a profit off of cabbages?”

“Enough with the cabbages!” The man shouts. “No. We’ve heard tell that you and that boy are trying to spark panic via vicious lies and rumors.”  He elaborates, “there is no war in Ba Sing Se and the two of you will soon realize that.”

Two things happen at once; another man walks in. She recognizes him as the first man she had attempted to sell to before trying her luck with the soldiers. He looks truly and unapologetically smug. The weasley little snitch.

At the same time she sees Iroh and Zuko emerge from the kitchen. She can only watch longingly as the uniformed man drags her further and further from her hard-earned pan-fried noodles and roast duck.

“No!” The boy cries. “No! You’re arresting the wrong people! You need to go after them! They’re the firebenders!”

“There is no war in Ba Sing Se.” The two men repeat in unison.

Azula does not quite understand, all she wants to do is sell cabbagges. Why is it so hard to sell a few spiritdamned cabbages!? They pass by the man who ratted her out, “that’ll teach you not to question my spending choices.” He folds his arms over his chest with a humph.

Azula narrows her eyes. Next to her the boy is still thrashing and screaming. But not her. No, she is not a screamer. She is an opportunist. Perhaps she can sell a few cabbages to these men. Surly they will need nutritious sustenance if they are going to try to overthrow their current government.

[mnemehoshiko]

I Really Should Just Invest In Naps + TMI: HEALTH STUFF (x-posted DW/PF)

I'm so tired. I really need to think of a better way of starting these beyond, "hi hello. i am tired. ONCE A FUCKING GAIN."

My parents came Thursday evening to help my brother move on Friday. He's moving apartments and i'm lowkey jealous because he has

TWO ROOMS!!!

A REAL BATHROOM!!

a fucking washer and dryer in unit

all utilities covered except for internet

for fucking 950/month. T___T

The only con is that he's farther from things compared to his, now, prior apartment. Also it's carpeted which is a downside for me (and probably him). But ughhhhh.

But he did most of the movie on his own before they showed up on Friday? So they didn't have a lot left to move.

Mama brought me pillows?? Which are Nice and Lovely and I like the Color but it was also just weird to go downstairs to let them in and have the exchange of

Me: SALAAM MOM

Mother: Salaam, I have your pillows. *thrusts garbage bag filled with pillows at moi*

Me:*blinks* (thinking....when....did I....ask....for pillows??? In retrospect, it was probably one of those things I like claimed when grandma posted stuff to the family WhatsApp group?? And I probably?? Forgot???) Mother: *squints* you just woke up didn't you. Me, who got dressed in like 3 minutes immediately after she called saying they were here: *takes pillows* =__= (I had Not Just Woken Up. I had woken up and then rolled over. VAST DIFFERENCE!! ....there is no difference.) (In my defense, my period has literally Just Started and I'm like Not Happy By This. T_T) They ask if I want to come to my brother's place to move stuff and I'm like, "i'll go on the second round." (also known as attempt to clean my apartment, haahhahaha) I help with the second round of stuff and we all pile into the mini-van to go my brother's place and it's NICE and I am Not Envious but I'm Not Not Envious. =___=

He has Actual Windows. T__T (my bedroom does not. my apartment...has A Lot of Flaws but It's Walking Distance From Many Things So I'm Paying for Convenience) (is this my current mantra? MAYBE.) Anyway, afterwards we go to Costco because like That Is What I Care About. And we Costco'd up. And had minor rage that a pack of 3, clinical strength "lady" deodorants were 12.99 vs 10.99 for 5 pack of "men" clinical deodorant. My brother concurred and has like also read up on the "pink tax" before and like if he ends up marrying a lady, I'M JUST LIKE??? CONGRATS?? WE HAVE TRAINED SOME SEMBLANCE OF A WOKE BLACK MALE. PLEASE DIRECT PRAISE TO MY MOTHER AND MY SISTERS. (no really, he can cook, clean, grocery shop, basically function as a decent human being and like LISTENS WHEN WOMEN TALK IN A THOUGHTFUL MANNER. He also is willing to openly weep during movies, so like congrats.) Anyway, then we went to Sprouts?? Which is like the Large Hippie Grocery Store in Durham and I uhhhh had never been there properly and now I understand why little brother sometimes grocery shops there. There were So Many Types of Almond Milk I Was In Heaven. (update: have discovered that Sprouts....instacarts to my area......as does Sur la Table. This Is Dangerous Information.) Then we went to the hardware store to acquire somethings for little bro's apartment and then we popped back to my place and my mother was like LET ME HELP YOU WITH THINGS. Me, aware my apartment is still disastrous: "That's....not....necessary." Narrator: The mother was undeterred. She did not have a conniption but she did go into Deep Maternal Worry Mode with Bonus Overbearing and Meddling Steamrolling. Internal Me: She means well. She means well. She feels guilty that she's not Around More Often Even Though I Made The Choice To Move Down South. Mother: are you okay? I know you have the anxiety and depression but has anything else happened?? You know?? You'd feel better if this place was cleaner. Me: *pained nods* Mother: Has anything else happened that you haven't told us??? I know you have the health things but anything else? Me: ...no??? (Beyond health and like my inability to like sleep properly, nothing else has happened but stress of my grad life. =_=_ Mother: LETS TAKE JUST 5 MINUTES AND TIDY THINGS UP A LITTLE

Me, who's hungry and still Has Not Eaten In Spite of It Being 5pm: mother Mother, with broom and dustpan and trashbag: COME ALONG. Internal Me: She means Well. At Least She Is Here And Alive. Appreciate The Time You Have With Her. She Means Well. *grits teeth* We clean. WE ALMOST THROW AWAY ONE OF MY ROTHYS BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T LOOK INSIDE  BOXES BEFORE THROW SHIT OUT!!! And then we go to the restaurant for dinner....where the kitchen messes up my little brother's order and has chapati on the plate and he has a severe wheat allergy. So he takes Benadryl and my mother....goes into....deep worry mode Again. SHOULD WE LEAVE HIM AT HIS APARTMENT BY HIMSELF???? SHOULD WE TAKE HIM TO THEIR HOTEL??

my mother, once again, making plans without idk ASKING EITHER PARTY INVOLVED: MNEME, YOU SHOULD STAY AT HIS PLACE OVERNIGHT!! HE HAS A WASHER AND DRYER SO YOU CAN DO YOUR LAUNDRY THERE FOR FREE!!! me, a known cheap but is fucking exhausted and trying desperately to Not Snap At My Mother Because That Is Not Respectful But Also Looking Forward to Flopping on Her Fucking Couch and Maybe Even Getting A Waterbottle for my tummy: ....yes mother. =___= My dad upon seeing my mother and I exiting the apartment complex with my laundry: ???? Me, wordlessly pleading for salvation: o__o My mother, once we get to my brother's apartment: ....you know I probably should have asked before making this plan... My brother and I having Just Accepted Our Fate: *crickets* I give my brother the air mattress to blow up until he gets a Real Bed, (the place came unfurnished--which is the other reason I haven't moved because i'd need to like Get Furniture And At This Stage of My PhD, It's Just Not Worth It--so he has No Furniture At All). I sleep on the floor instead of telling my brother to just scoot over and let me ALSO SLEEP on the mattress which is a Queen-sized mattress. Nor does it occur to him to offer it to me. *stares into the void at my back* (In her defense, she did message us apologizing and I know she wasn't doing it maliciously and she's over zealous at times because she feels bad that like I'm a few hundred miles away. Alone. By myself. Single and thus don't have like anyone who's there for emotional support which like does suck but also I AM DOING... Not Amazing But Not As Bad As Undergrad? So...yeah.) I do all my laundry except for like One set that I do in the morning because my father is slow as molasses for Anything and I Know That While My Mother Wants To Leave Early they will not be here early and I have accepted this reality. Mother: WE'RE GOING TO BE THERE By 7:30 AT THE LATEST Narrator: They arrived around 10ish. We still managed to get to the farmers markets though? WHICH IS WHAT I WANTED HER TO EXPERIENCE. NC may not have Many Good Things but The Farmer Markets are So So Nice?? And big??? I have also realized if you wear a shirt that says "Ask me, I'm a scientist!" Shockingly, people read it and like ASK. Me, who slept in this shirt and threw a cardigan on because I was Too Lazy To Put On A Real Adult Shirt: ????? ! oooohhhhh... i do science. yes. yes, i do. Also got my brother to change his address because the voter registration folks were there and like IT'S EASIER TO DO IT THERE then like Figure Out Where To Go, so like We Did Our Civic Duty Today. *finger guns* Got some loaves of GF bread from the bread seller that sells Actual Edible GF bread. Sadly, they were out of raisin because it was 11am and like they open at 7am. T___T

Then we grabbed my dad, who went to the coffee shop....to work. It's been almost a full year since his open-heart surgery and he's back to being a Workaholic. =___=

Then we went to Lowes because he needed something and my parents FAILED TO COMMUNICATE PLANS and he was like...."oh I thought we were going to do it on the way back to MD??". Either way, I now have an adapter to make a three pronged plug into a two pronged one? So yay?

Then we took me, and my laundry, back to my place. My mother gave yet more instructions. I just smiled and nodded and reminded that she meant well.

And then ran back to the car because SHE WAS SO INSISTENT ON LIKE MOVING MY LAUNDRY BASKETS THAT SHE ALMOST LEFT HER MEDS BEHIND!! Me, ....this...is why....i said.... i could do it.......

But they are now back safely in MD, along with my brother because he has an orhto appointment. I was debating going back with them but I uh can't because I have a meeting with my PI on wednesday. And thus, I stay here. But I have a lot of article revisions and analyses to do so it sadly makes sense.

Maybe I'll try to go NY in Aug or mid-July?

IN FUN HEALTH THINGS, new game that I hate; "is this blood from my period or from my ass?" Spoiler: It's both~~~." Which now makes me regretting uh telling the gastro office that "no, I don't have symptoms so I don't think the steroid is necessary??" But in my defense, I DIDN'T HAVE SYMPTOMS ON WEDNESDAY WHEN THEY CALLED. Also they uh, usually are 3-6 months apart not 1.5 months...apart. So that was an unpleasant surprise which led to me pass out in bed when my parents left because ahhahahaha blood loss is v v exhausting and I forgot to pack my iron pills last night.

-____-

So, my mother is coming down again in July to take me to my sigmoidscopy. In which, they'll see things. Or they won't. I hope they see something? Anything? I don't want UC but I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW

- why i've been constantly inflamed since 2015?

- i know what hemorrhoidal bleeding looks like and uhhhhh i'm sorry but I shouldn't be dropping Actual Clots Out Of My Ass

*lies down*

i just want to not be tired and my intestines to not hate me as much. =_=

Okay, I am Going To Actually Sleep After I Knock Back Some Licorice Tea for my throat. (it's....super sore for some reason which is Not Great since I have D&D tomorrow most likely.)

[journeysintowebcomics]

Homestuck Liveblog #184

UPDATE 184: Individuality According to Dirk Strider

Last time Dirk took over not only Rose, but also the entire narrative of this epilogue. What will be the consequences of such a thing? Well, he can control the story to some extent, for one. One of his actions was to make Jade fall unconscious, from what I understood, so let’s now continue.

The next page has Jade, but it’s a different one. It’s the Jade that was in the fight with Lord English, the one who is now drifting in the middle of nowhere, near the black hole. I suppose she survived the shard of reality impaling her on the back. Either that or she’s on the verge of death, like John is. I’ll take solace on that the odds the reality shard is poisoned are pretty low.

For a moment, she has the feeling that she’s recalling something. Images and sounds in her head that resemble memories. But the memories aren’t hers, exactly. They seem to be someone else’s. There’s an older version of Roxy... someone with a cheerful green skull for a head, who was... Roxy’s girlfriend? Something about an election. No, this doesn’t make any sense at all. The memories are slipping away, anyway. Quickly, they dissolve, and soon they’re completely out of her mind’s reach, like she’s waking from a dream. Just like that, they’re gone.

That sounds like it could be what Dirk and Rose were experiencing, visions of alternate selves. I wonder, though, perhaps Dirk’s the one sending said vision onto Jade? Heck, maybe he’s been doing this for much longer than I thought, and he’s the one who has been tormenting Rose, all so she would go talk to him and he’d have the chance to take over her. It’s plausible, I’d say.

Since she’s floating around half-dead, she has some time to think, and among the thoughts that may or may not be all hers, there’s something that gets my attention.

And she just fought Lord English after being plucked out of a doomed timeline.

For a while I had forgotten that those from doomed timelines are, well, doomed. John took with him a bunch of doomed people to fight Lord English. No wonder they died, really. Not that recruiting everyone from Earth C would have been more palatable, because he’d be placing at risk the versions of his friends who live in a peaceful Earth. There just wasn’t a perfect choice here.

For a moment I thought maybe Dirk had manipulated Rose and gave John instructions to make things go the way he wanted – including John most likely dying, given how Dirk thinks of him as useless and unremarkable – but then I remembered it was stated Dirk took over Rose during their conversation.

Something’s calling for Jade, right from the center of the black hole. It’s beckoning her, so she gets flying towards the black hole. Is that a good thing?

Oh! A red word in middle of everything! Dave red. I’m surprised! I didn’t think Dave would have the ability to mess with the narration too, but it makes sense. Striders, go!

She considers asking who is speaking, but her mouth stays shut, powerless against the forces transfixing her. Jade has no way of knowing who this voice belongs to. She has no context for understanding the true nature of this being, what role she has played in bringing about the end, and how long she has been waiting for this. She has no idea. But I do.

The dead cherub is making her move.

Hm. I’m a liiiittle bit concerned. The text is red, indicating it’s Caliborn. However, it’s not on ALL CAPS, like I remember Caliborn writes. Calliope is the only other option, and she’d write with green if she used color. Odd, hm...I guess I’ll know for sure which cherub this is when a word with U is shown.

You know a page’s not going to be fun when the very first lines are about someone being xenophobic – supposedly. It’s not like it was shown what it was. Sigh.

Apparently what caused potentially xenophobic comments was the mother grub being generally unpleasant to see. Cultural shock, I’ll say, it really was insensitive. I sure wouldn’t think a mother grub doing her thing is a nice sight, but you just don’t say that kind of thing aloud! Inner monologues are such a blessing. But hey, it’s the rebirth of trolls, this pretty much marks the success of everything Karkaroni and the rest of the trolls worked for. Only three of the original twelve are seeing the final result, but it’s worth it anyway.

So, why the description of the mother grub laying slurry from its ovipositional sphincter stuff is somehow less disgusting than the description of John eating meat? It’s kind of incongruent.

Ah, right, Kanaya is here, watching over the mother grub, and questions why they’re here, if it wasn’t to make quips about the mother grub’s performance. They’re here to convince Kanaya to join them into their political adventure, I figure. I’m not sure how Kanaya will react to that, but I don’t think she’ll eagerly support it. If she does it’ll be because of Karkaroni, though.

DAVE: im dropping a beat

DAVE: like im using a turntable and scratching one song into another

DAVE: all smooth and shit

KARKAT: IT LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE TRYING TO FOLD LAUNDRY YOU FORGOT TO IRON.

This amused me so much because that’s such a fun description of Dave’s gesture. It all reminds me I like Karkaroni a lot, what a colorful character he is.

Of course Kanaya was already aware of the election, and is impressed Karkaroni didn’t burst into flames with everyone watching him. Hah! Karkaroni replies to this gentle jab with a harsher remark about Kanaya’s like-blooded ancestors. Kind of a low blow, but nothing Kanaya can’t deal with what after so many years of being friends with Karkaroni.

She says Karkaroni has her utmost faith but that’s not the same as wanting to endorse him. I think if necessary she would, but it definitely isn’t a promise. She admits everything Karkaroni said concerns her, and Dirk takes the time to give a compliment about how Potential President Karkat can’t take compliments directly. The warm feelings cease when Kanaya mentions Jane already passed by to talk, though.

KANAYA: You Know I Do Like Jane

KANAYA: In Some Regards She Reminds Me Of A Friend We Had Who Sadly Did Not Survive Our Time On The Meteor

KANAYA: She Was Unfailingly Kind To Everyone She Met But She Also Happened To Be The Heiress To The Throne Of A Vast And Bloody Empire

KANAYA: And While She Had A Lot Of Opinions On Reform She Had Already Wrenched Some Of Her Power From Our Last Empress In The Traditional Manner

Feferi? Yeah, she was rather sweet, for troll standards. That said, I don’t think she was ‘unfailingly kind’. I mean, one of the few memories I have of her is she calling Jade stupid in a dream because she didn’t realize Feferi was dead. Hard to say someone’s unfailingly kind when the one interaction with somebody who wasn’t a troll was that, from what I remember. To her credit, she did show concern and care towards most of the trolls, so there’s that, at least.

KANAYA: By Which I Mean That Jane Is Perfectly Pleasant And I Believe That She Has Only The Best Of Intentions

KANAYA: But I Cant Shake The Feeling That Deep Inside Her Lurks The Potential For Despotism

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, they say. The saying in its usual meaning doesn’t apply to this, buuuut even though Jane has bad intentions, the result of said good intentions may not be the best for everyone. It’s a shame that so far it’s increasingly clear Jane’s supposed to be treated like she’s 100% in the wrong and should be shunned. My opinion is that maybe it’d be more interesting if it wasn’t so...black and white. That’s how things seem to me from what I have read so far, at least.

KARKAT: BUT FUCKING FEFERI? SHE WAS HARMLESS.

KANAYA: These Things Take Time To Gestate Karkat

DAVE: damn

KANAYA: Power Corrupts In Small Steps

KANAYA: Compromises

KANAYA: Concessions

KANAYA: Appeasements

KANAYA: And Leaders Follow The Example Set For Them

KANAYA: Look At What Jane Has Modeled Herself After Already

KANAYA: I Do Believe Its Important To Consider Precedent

I guess Kanaya would know better than me when it’s about troll culture, buuuut if I had to guess, Feferi would be a bit of an unpopular empress at first, given how different her policies of ‘don’t cull everyone’, but it’d be matter of time before trolls more amenable to her policies and ideas would exist, so I suppose at least for the first century or two she’d have to have a tough hand and maybe even use force to make things change. It’d be pretty close to fascism, admittedly.

Ooooh boy, Kanaya laughed, not kindly. That’s a no to the endorsement. Is she on Jane’s train, then?

KANAYA: Jane Offered Me “A Seat” On The “Board Of Responsible Troll Reproduction”

KARKAT: WHAT THE FUCK. HOW DARE SHE!

KANAYA: That Is Exactly What I Said

KANAYA: With More Tact Of Course

Board of responsible troll reproduction? That’s rather controlling. Jane, stop following the Condesce’s style, goodness.

The trolls are rather indignant at Jane’s tactless ideas, best intentions be damned, so it’s likely once anyone who isn’t human hears about it they’ll vote for Karkat. So from what I’m reading, this is starting to shape up into humans vs non-humans in general. That’s a rather delicate situation, no wonder it was said the peace in Earth C was so fragile.

I keep noticing Kanaya is dodging the topic of giving or not giving endorsement, even though that topic is touched she always has a way to go in a tangent. Look at her and learn a thing about smoothly changing topics, Dave, she’s good at this.

Apparently Rose has been distant with Dave, and he thinks she either is sick or she’s pregnant. Ah. Well that’s a thought I’d rather not to delve into, thanks for the weird thoughts, Dave. Take a hint from the trolls staring at you. Kanaya seems to feel guilty about something, and I’m not sure if Rose would have told her or not about the headaches and the unraveling of her powers and stuff. She even decides to call Rose right now.

Dirk answers, alarming Kanaya, who stays calm for diplomatic purposes. No answers come because John is doing something vaguely important to the plot again. Hah! Part of me is just imagining Dirk saw Kanaya was calling and because it’d be so awkward and bothersome to have to explain or make excuses, he made John do something just so he could get out of the conversation. But hey, no complaints from me! Moving the plot forward is good.

John’s vaguely important plot actions involve thinking about how everyone should become one powerful person, apparently. Is that your final objective, Dirk? Do you want everyone to become one person?

...

That kind of makes Jane’s presidential ambitions be a lot more sinister, since Dirk is so into them. I can’t rule out the possibility Jane winning the election would be an important step towards that goal, supposing he really intends to do such a thing.

Enough shoving strange thoughts into John’s head because he needs to focus on Meenah talking to him. She’s alive and not inside a black hole! Neato. What’s up, Lord English is dead. Rejoice!

There’s more silence than conversation here because they don’t know each other at all, unless you count John getting stabbed with a trident once or twice. Since this is a veeeery awkward conversation, he instead asks if she knows where Jade is, and Meenah doesn’t even know who Jade is. This conversation is just going nowhere.

This is without a doubt one of the worst conversations you’ve had in many, many years. And you aren’t just thinking that because I’m telling you you are.

When he’s right he’s right! More awkwardness ensues. They’re two strangers talking, pretty much.

JOHN: so what’s your plan now?

MEENAH: plan

JOHN: yeah.

JOHN: you just gonna hang around here, in the middle of nowhere, doing nothing forever?

MEENAH: thats what ghosts is most good at aint they

JOHN: you don’t have to stay here.

JOHN: i can take you back with me, to my planet.

JOHN: i mean, after we’re done looking for more survivors.

Is that possible? Can a ghost be among the living, just like that? Oh, right, John has the ring of life he took from Aranea. He could give it to Meenah and she’d be alive again. Is it a good idea, though? Do they want Meenah around? That’s what I’m not very sure about, because Meenah really doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who’d enjoy a peaceful existence with everyone else, or...as peaceful as it’ll get with everything that’s going on in Earth C.

Meenah points out correctly she’s a ghost and can’t exist over there in that planet, and she thought of her own plan, anyway. John gets close enough for her to whisper and then she leaves. John then thinks of checking his pockets and realizes the ring has been stolen. Pretty surprising it didn’t fall out of John’s pocket at some point given how much he was moving and getting bitten around. This is why you should captchalogue things instead of storing things in your pocket like some plebian, John!

Now that I think about it, captchaloguing simply stopped being a thing like in the middle of Act 6. Not that I’m complaining, really.

So, it turned out John’s vaguely important plot stuff was he getting the ring stolen by Meenah, so now that it’s done, Dirk can return to the conversation with Kanaya. How do you explain to someone her bride is unconscious after you pretty much started mind-controlling her? I suppose you don’t?

He totally isn’t explaining a thing. For someone who considers himself so clever and forward-planning what with the assimilation plan, he’s pretty awful at not keeping things going smoothly. Pretty bad traits for someone planning to possibly assimilate someone into one being.

DIRK: Sorry, Rose can’t come to the phone right now.

DIRK: She is otherwise... occupied.

KANAYA: Where Is She

DIRK: She’s at my place.

KANAYA: Im Sorry What

KANAYA: Rose Is Extremely Ill And Should Not Be Leaving The House Alone

KANAYA: What Is She Doing At Your Place

DIRK: Chillaxing, whilst we discuss the inevitable heat death of the universe and the unknowable, solitary nature of human consciousness.

KANAYA: I See

KANAYA: If She Is Capable Of Such Abstract Polemics Why Is It That She Cannot Speak With Me

DIRK: That’s a damned good question.

DIRK: One that will undoubtedly benefit from further exploration over the course of the next abstract polemic I have with her.

Goddamnit, Dirk. You could have just said she’s in the bathroom and that’d have worked slightly better than this!

Dirk’s taunting and messing around makes Kanaya decide she’ll get Rose, and once the call is over, Rose starts waking up. She doesn’t seem very under-Dirk’s-control right now, but she’s not okay. Maybe it’s a slow process or something.

John currently is wandering around, pondering if he should do surgery on the golden tooth stuck on his chest with a straight razor, and finding Jade’s shoes. He also finds Terezi. There she is! Wandering aaaaall the way out of the peaceful world, apparently. Either way, in this one paragraph I have compressed one entire page.

Apparently while they want for Kanaya Dirk’s making Rose discuss abstract polemics. I’m pretty sure that’s Dirk talking through her, because although Rose’s plenty verbose, I don’t think discussing philosophy while being sick is something she’d be eager to do. Also, she’s touching the topics of individuality, which is pretty relevant to Dirk right now. May as well listen, so I can understand a little better why Dirk’s doing all this.

Who the heck is Kierkegaard.

I’m going to be honest: reading philosophy being spouted with a straight face isn’t really what I was looking for in a liveblog. I feel a bit bad for scrolling through while all these orange and purple words fly over my head, buuuuut I don’t think liveblogging the intricacies of philosophical concepts is going to be interesting or fun, so I’m sparing everyone – and myself.

Oh, something I can bite into.

ROSE: I think free will is a thing, sure.

DIRK: Are you sure about that?

ROSE: ...

DIRK: Haven’t we spent the entire day having a feelings jam on how none of us got here by accident?

DIRK: Our lives were meticulously planned from clone-ception up through this very post-canon moment we find ourselves riffing in about the very free will we probably don’t even have.

DIRK: Don’t you think it’s all a little too convenient?

I mean, it’s a bit difficult to say there’s not a predetermined plan for these characters. If you don’t go through a series of actions, you’re in a doomed timeline and therefore you die. It’s hard not to go along the predetermined path when it’s either that or death. The only exception is John, who got powers of retcon and was able to jump around changing things to create the new predetermined path, but even then it’s possible the universe at a whole had determined that would happen and just nudged things in that direction.

Then again, when it’s about fiction there’s no free will. The author’s words and thoughts are the predetermined path. Authors are little gods creating their universe, so yeah, characters have no free will. Oh, look what you have done, Dirk, now I’m spouting philosophical nonsense, you sly fox. Won’t lie, typing all that just from a stream of thought was kind of fun. So that’s why the Striders enjoy being verbose.

Dirk keeps Rose lying down on the couch, proving he has full control of the narrative and therefore decides what happens and what doesn’t. He’s the author now and therefore the predetermined path is the one he creates. Oh there I go again, stop baiting me into philosophical hackneyed nonsense, Dirk.

The words ‘Ultimate Self’ and Dirk’s plan to possibly assimilate everyone into one god seem like they’re related, no? Maybe Dirk considers his Ultimate Self to be his goal, and it involves total assimilation. Pretty grim scenario, really.

Dirk makes Rose expand her mind, and she can see what John is doing right now.

ROSE: He could have made another choice.

DIRK: Then where would we be?

ROSE: Who knows.

The Candy epilogue, perhaps? I’m not sure how things would have changed based on that decision, but hey, butterfly effect stories are fun.

I’m not going to describe what she sees. First of all, that would be spoiling it. Unless you already know, in which case, I guess what’s taking place here qualifies as something closer to dramatic irony. But if you really want to see it for yourself, stop what you’re doing, flip the whole thing over, and begin again. I’ll be right here when you get back, waiting. Trust me, no one’s going anywhere.

Is this an indication I should go take a look at the candy epilogue now? It sounds like it is. I wonder if I should...but no, I have decided to see this through to the end. I’m already halfway done, may as well finish it.

If what Rose is saying is a reference to the events of the Candy epilogue, it doesn’t sound like they’re faring much better than the Meat epilogue. Sooooo the characters are generally screwed and are going to suffer either way. For people who spent three years in a game to create a new universe and get their happy lives that sure sucks.

Ah, here he is, I can see this is the moment where Dirk has finally assimilated Rose. It’s over for her. All that’s left is a condescending guy funneling pretentious thoughts into her. I liked Rose’s pretentious thoughts better. Next page!

Dirk’s narration when he’s talking about someone else’s supposed thoughts and actions is pretty exhausting. I find myself going faster and faster, and not because I’m invested in what he’s saying. Having Dirk as a narrator was a bad decision, he’s just on the same level than Doc Scratch was. Still not really enjoying the epilogue much.

He’s trying to stop her from going deeper into the black hole, and he’s failing. Not even the narrative is powerful enough to stop that, because there’s a stronger being trying to control parts of the narrative, the dead cherub trying to do this with red words. There was a U but it’s not any different from the rest of the text. The red text sounds courteous enough instead of Caliborn’s IRREVERENT SHOUTING so I suppose it’s Calliope, or at least a version of her. She beckons Jade deeper and deeper, until she’s irreversibly caught by the black hole and dragged in, much to Dirk’s frustration. There she goes! I’m curious what’ll happen with Jade, I admit!

Oho, the dead cherub is not only taking over the narration related to Jade in the black hole, they also are trying to take over the narration for the Jade in Earth C, the one who passed out in front of Roxy and Calliope.

ROXY: omg!

ROXY: jade

ROXY: jade u ok?

ROXY: callie hurry shes wakin up

JADE: j... john? rose??

JADE: is dave...?

JADE: wh...

JADE: what happened to.....

ROXY: yo its ok

ROXY: daves cool

ROXY: rose is cool

ROXY: everyones just straight chillin like usual

Huh! This feels kinda like the Jade in the black hole is being funneled into the Jade in Earth C. Are they fusing together, perhaps?

Dirk really doesn’t like that he can’t figure out what the dead cherub’s goal with the narrative is, and wastes his narrative grip by fuming about it while the dead cherub actually moves things along. It seems the Jade in Earth C is receiving the memories of her doomed black hole self. Maaaaaybe the doomed ghost versions of people getting caught in the black hole is that causes the headaches and visions. On the other hand, that’d require a lot of Roses and Dirks and Jades to be sucked into the black hole, and last I checked the ghost army was exclusively made of trolls. True, the black hole isn’t tied to the normal flow of time, so maybe it has expanded enough it has sucked a lot of doomed versions of the humans already.

Jade’s eyes are completely black. Alright, that wasn’t expected.

jade does not answer. the dead cherub scans her surroundings, expression neutral.

for the sake of clarity, the dead cherub is a phrase i am using in reference to myself. presently, i inhabit jade’s body, and through her i may influence this world.

Ah, nevermind, the dead cherub’s hijacking people around now. At least I can take solace on that it’s unlikely they have the same goal than Dirk. They even call him megalomaniac, which isn’t really wrong. They also call him a threat to the continued existence of the world and corporeal life, which is a tad worse than I thought it’d be. Was he planning to make everyone eliminate themselves once he got the complete takeover? Dirk’s goal is worse and worse with every page, seriously.

It doesn’t seem like Jade’s able to do anything, not even think. This is just as bad for them than what Dirk did to Rose, but it’s possible Jade’s current state is reversible once the dead cherub doesn’t need her anymore. On the other hand, what Dirk did seems permanent.

Aha, it definitely is Calliope doing things here in the narrative. Neat!

Dirk sounds so salty he’s losing the battle for the narrative, Dead Calliope even uses metaphors that are familiar to him to drive home the point: he’s outclassed. Thank goodness, I was getting tired of Dirk’s narrative.

in his haste to manipulate the events surrounding doomed jade’s ascent toward an outcome favorable to himself, the prince has unwittingly revealed several glaring weaknesses. by dictating the reality of others through expressions which he and he alone can relate to, he resorts to comparing all experience to his own. presuming his status on this side of my horizon would forever go unchallenged, his hubris went unchecked. he exposed too much of himself to all who could observe his wanton display of self-gratification. many of his personal biases and experiences have leaked through the seams of textual causality, leaving them vulnerable to exploitation by an adversary.

I’m not very sure what she means, but what’s clear is that Dirk brought this to himself, he’s the one who left the opening and enabled Dead Calliope to strike. He has nobody to blame but himself. A+ work, Dirk, try again. It also helps that Dead Calliope has more experiences with the vastness of metaphysical and narrative stuff than Dirk does, and isn’t as scared of it all as he is. If she’ll spend quite some time dunking on Dirk’s efforts I’m all for it. He deserves all the dunking he can get. Look at his tiny font, getting saltier and saltier. I’m enjoying this more, I have to say!

This seems like a good point to stop, now that we have a new narrator. Alright, until next time!

Next update: next time

[beaflower77]

Athlidon’s Choice

For Roo’s Classic Lit Challenge, I wrote my story with original characters, set in Rivendell, in the time before the Hobbit. They are all elves, with the exception of one special human; Beatrice. 

This fiction is a based off two quotes. “Some people could look at a mud puddle and see an ocean” Zora Neal Hurston. And “I look at you and a sense of wonder takes me.” Homer.  I certainly enjoyed writing this, and appreciate Roo’s wonderful, notable quotes. Thank you Roo. I know I could possibly do better, I may change things in this story later, but hope you enjoy it tonight.

And here we go …

 Athlidon’s Choice

She picked up her light basket of dirty linen, walked down the many twists and turns to get to her favorite washing spot, stopped, then decided instead, to go the long way round. And sat for awhile in her own personal garden, the small, private garden which Erestor had helped her with so long ago. How strange it was she thought, how had fate landed her here? How and why did she readily accept the change? How did they? How was she able to fall into place with it all and not miss…home?

Beatrice sat looking at the flowers. The many dots of colorful flowers looming her little garden, bobbing and nodding their heads in the warm breeze. Not so large, so vast a garden. For what would Beatrice do with such a big, voluminous plot? Nothing, she supposed. It would be a nuisance to keep up and she would not be comfortable asking for continual assistance with the maintenance. No, not really. She sat and stared, letting her mind drift off.

How strange, she thought, in a hidden valley, so deep, so secluded, there was such an array of sounds. Sometimes the cacophony was deafening, the tiny tinkling of horse bells, the wave of grasses, the thuds of hoof beats, the swish of skirts, plodding of particular boots. And the foliage. One would think nothing could grow in this craggy, rocky landscape, but for the miles and miles of land, the trees and green, dense foliage. The trees, the flowers, the miles of rushing and still waters, mesmerizing between sound and motion. Beatrice sat, admired and lost herself in her dreams. Until a small burble of sound, a giggle, a laugh or two invaded her silence. And she abruptly woke. Turned her head, and listened.

Shoving aside her hamper of clothes, Beatrice stood, crept, tiptoed to the dark, dense hedge. She could barely, but distinctly make out the silhouettes of Faelor and Angolien. Crap! she thought. They shouldn’t be here. Why? What would posses them to find, use and invade this place, my place, to sequester themselves for a personal, semi romantic, rendezvous. Angolien’s Ada, Athlidon, was going to squeeze the living breath out of both of them and blame me. Guilty by association no doubt. Poor Angolien, Beatrice thought, with Athlidon for her Ada, life was anything but boring.

“That is silly.,” Faelor insisted. “No. It is not.,” she insisted with all seriousness. “When someone loses an eyelash, you are supposed to make a wish and blow it off, into the wind.” And Angolien softly smiled, purposefully brushed the cheek of Faelor, causing him to still his breath in admiration for her beliefs, silly as they were. When the moment had passed, “Who told you this childish story?,” he politely inquired, picking at a blade of grass, for they had seated themselves on a thick blanket on the ground, protecting their pretty clothes. Smiling shyly, “Lady Beatrice.,” Angolien replied, with a little admiration of her own. Faelor huffed, smiled down into the collar of his tunic, “You believe everything Beatrice tells you?,” then he slyly looked up, upon the choice of his affection. “Of course. Do you not?, she asked. Angolien did remind him, “She acted as your ‘Mama’, for awhile…I’m sure Lady Beatrice was not about to tell you anything untrue…” 

And there, Faelor remembered and waited the silence out. “Yes. I remember.,” he agreed, giving his one ear a little scratch, a tug. “My brother and I…Galearan…our Nana was gone, and..Beatrice stood up for us. Acted as adoptive mother. She was kind, stern, but loving, sweet. It made the loneliness, the loss of our elven mother, that much easier to bear.” Sadly smiling, with sweet turmoil, Faelor sighed deeply, wet his mouth with his tongue, gave his love a grand smile. “Yes. I remember.,” Faelor insisted again. “She put up with us a great deal. Mostly with our behavior and such,” flicking a flying bug away from themselves. Smiling herself, “Faelor, if Lady Beatrice put up with you and Galearon so much, it must be because she wanted to.,” and here Angolien softly, with tenderness touched the knee of his leggings. And left her fingers there, and lingered. As they stared at each other in wonder, in lust and longing, Faelor had to break the silence, “Then if Lady Beatrice tells you a thing, it must be true.,” and he placed his hand deftly over hers. “Did you make a wish?,” he asked.

Crap! Beatrice stood back, rolled her eyes, young love. Sickening. They’ll be sickening up of this whole episode as soon as Athlidon hears of this. And it was at that moment, “Beatrice!,” Athlidon commanded, coming into view, Into view in her garden. “What?!,” Beatrice yelped, twirling round, staring back, caught in a panic. Oh, the bright lights of obnoxious red panic. “Have you seen Angolien?,” striding boldly cross the pebbles. Crossing the grounds, picking up her basket, standing in front of the little hedges’ hole. “Not at this moment.,” fibbed Beatrice. A moment ago, yes, this moment, maybe not, no. And Beatrice moved, sat down on her stone bench, causing Athlidon to train his eyes on her being and stop his own movement in the wrong direction.

For a moment, only a moment’s hesitation, Athlidon was about to turn away. Sighing instead, he stilled himself, looked down upon Beatrice on the bench and made a choice. He sat. Athlidon sat down next to Beatrice and Beatrice stilled herself, wondering why. Waiting him out, Beatrice glanced at her dirty laundry and wondered how long this encounter would last. Not wanting to be rude, but wondering what was causing Athlidon to linger, “Have you been having a nice day, Athlidon?” Coming out of his thoughts, ignored her question, “Angolien is interested in Faelor.,” he heavily dropped. “Oh.,” came her reply. “And…that is a bad thing?…,” Beatrice cautiously asked. “Yes.,” Athlidon most adamantly replied.

Beatrice sat and thought. “Why?,” she ventured to know. As if he were talking to a cow, “Do you not understand?,” he gasped. “Faelor is…,” he shrugged, “Faelor is..Faelor.,” he wisped his hand away in the air. “My daughter cannot interest herself in him. He is Faelor.”  And at that admission, Beatrice replied. “Oh.” And again the silence issued forth like steam rolling off a cliff, a very steep cliff with no possible end in sight. And the silence cut through the dense air, making the moment awkward.

“Athlidon, let me ask you something.,” as Beatrice turned and looked seriously at this bewildered yet overly proud elven soldier. “How old would you say an elf should be to..court? When would it be permissible? or when would you allow it?”  Athlidon huffed, “That is easy. For Angolien, never.” Beatrice made a face, “Athlidon!” Turning to Beatrice, pushing aside her laundry basket with his boot, “No. Listen to me Beatrice. My daughter does not need to court anyone. There is no need. I can protect her whenever there is danger, I can provide for her,  her wants, whatever she desires. She does not need any other elf. Especially Faelor.” Yeesh! Beatrice thought, over doting parental unit. Helicopter. “Rather controlling of you, isn’t it?,” she asked. Shrugging, Athlidon agreed, “Perhaps. However necessary.”

As Beatrice and Athlidon slung ideas and unreasonable reasons back and forth, “Faelor cannot see a thing Beatrice. His long term vision is short sighted. He only sees what is now, what he wants, his own desires, what is just in front of his nose. He has no long range plans. My daughter will suffer. His name shouldn’t have been Faelor, but Bathor instead. Faelor only sees…mud!”

“Bathor? Athlidon, that really isn’t very nice! He doesn’t trample all over everything! Not anymore at least.” Now this was Faelor they were talking about and as much as Faelor was sometimes a nuisance, he was still someone Beatrice spent an immeasurable amount of time with as a youngster. And he had matured considerable over the years. And well, Athlidon, even though a strong, capable, independent, thorough warrior, he was a bit of a…snob, when it came to overprotecting his only child, a daughter no less. At last, when all else was said, “Athlidon,” Beatrice asked, “How long would you give them, if they were to court, before allowing them to actually, officially court?”

“Two thousand years. No. Four.,” Athlidon countered. “Athlidon.,” Beatrice chided. “Seriously, how many?” Screwing his face, Athlidon heavily sighed, “Alright. Typically, as long as it takes, I suppose.“ And here is where Beatrice laid it down, “Suppose they take a few years, say a hundred. If, after a hundred, would you allow them, then to officially, court? Without interference?” “Yes.,” he gave without hesitation. Hmmm, thought Beatrice. He wasn’t so uncompromising an elf after all. “However,” he insisted, “There is no need.” Rising, Athlidon, bowed, “Our conversation has ended.” Turning and with purpose, Athlidon walked away. Beatrice slumped further down on the bench, kicked a pebble.

As the years wore on, the fifty or so many, Athlidon became more restless as each dark, fallen evening approached into a blackened, silent night. And each quiet nightfall rounded toward the morning’s remarkable sunrise and again, fell back into a crescent or full moon’s sleep.

“Gwingnis!,” Athlidon hissed one evening, approaching their bed. “Gwingnis! Do you hear them?!,” starting to raise his voice, flinging himself across the room. “Athlidon.,” quietly his wife insisted. “Come to bed, my love. The evening is almost over.” Striding across the room, tossing his long mane of straight, silken blond hair over his shoulders, placing one knee onto the mattress, indenting it, leaning, shooting his body forward, “He is out there Gwingnis.,” pointing behind him. “Do you hear them?! He is standing right outside her chamber doors!”

How long was his wife to bear this nonsense. “Come to bed Athlidon. Let us sleep. The night grows weary and full with such turmoil.” But Athlidon would not be undone. “Gwingnis! Listen to them! They are chattering like small animals that climb through trees. Can you not hear them?!” His body was thrusting itself as forward as possible, causing the bed to shake, bounce and indent. “How long will he persist in his attentions of our daughter?! Can he not find someone else? Someone less worthy?”  “Athlidon.,” Gwingnis tried. He lifted his intense bodily frame from the bed, ambled closer to the doors. “Athlidon!,” Gwingnis hissed. “What are you doing?! Leave them be!” Halting before the doors, keeping his hands off the handles, “I am only getting a handle on their conversations.,” he offered, trying to listen in on the whispers, sighs and happiness the two young elves gave each other, and how unaware his antics were becoming that much more alarming. “Come to bed Athlidon.”  “I..I can almost make out…he is saying…she said….” Gwingnis shot up, threw the covers back, and stood firm, “Athlidon! Stop it! For the sake of the Vala, stop it!” And Gwingnis, so unusually kind, calm, unburdened with triviality and gracious to all, became unmistakably angered. “I command you to stop this instant!.,” she harshly whispered in outrage.

Only once before had Athlidon heard, let alone seen his wife, his night’s moon, so enraptured with rankor, that the moment stilled his heart and life. She breathed deeply, abundantly. Steeled herself for a possible showdown with Athlidon. And as Gwingnis stood before her husband, she could feel the cool breath of the wind breeze and lift her sea green evening gown, causing the long, deep train of cloth to mist and flay against her legs. “You have given your promise to leave Angolien be! She is old enough. She is mature enough. She is capable enough. Faelor may not be your first choice of a love for our daughter, but Faelor is the choice Angolien has made. And you will leave her be.” Athlidon stood still, was caught off guard, and when a moment passed, still did he not make any attempt to move, nor expel the emotions swirling, encasing his being. So Gwingnis continued unhindered.

“Long ago,” she reminded him, “You likened Faelor to mud. That sticky, murky, dirty glob of nothingness. All these years Faelor has remained beside our daughter. He had followed her, he has followed when beckoned by her. Never has Faelor once stolen her from you. Or me. He is our daughter’s choice. And she will decide when the time is right.” Athlidon still did not move, he watched his wife, he breathed, he listened. He understood. It was hard, so incredible hard, his child, his daughter, his only one. He knew Gwingnis was correct. He knew, understood Angolien was well put together, mature, independent, capable, was made for Faelor. But…she was his only child, his daughter, his…If Gwingnis, his wife, was his night’s moon, then his daughter, Angolien, was his night’s moon’s enchanted glow, an incredible, enchanting glow against, beside his one night’s moon. How could he let her go?

He lowered his eyes. This mighty elven warrior, soldier. A trusted confident to Glorfindel. A mighty elf of his Lord’s city. He would follow wherever they choose, designed him to go. But still…this one weakness, well, two really. His wife was right. He breathed, turned, made for the door. “Where are you going?! Athlidon?!,” Gwingnis insisted. With his hand hovering on the knob, he gave his head a slight turn in acknowledgment, “I am removing myself from the equation.,” he said. “I will be back. Get some sleep.” He opened the door, not turning his head in the direction of the cause of his disturbance, and walked down the corridor. “Ada?,” Angolien whispered, half in excitement, half bewilderment. Again Athlidon gave half a head turn, “Go to sleep Angolien.,” he replied gently and continued on. Faelor felt him, said goodnight. 

He walked. He walked not knowing where he was taking himself. Not knowing till he finally had walked enough to let the confusion, the pain register and the cause of his misery to surface. Where he had ended up, was the exact same spot as he had placed himself so very long ago when he had deliberated, contemplated his amorous attentions of choosing his wife and actually pursuing Gwingins. Now, back in this same position, he must decide to let his daughter go. Not go really, just, step down. Hand her over to another male to love, to cherish and adore. Another being to take his place. And that was the rub, to take his place. Faelor.

She had seen him walk up the hillside. She felt sorry for him. Athlidon was really a good elf. A little proud, somewhat prudish, yes persnickety, complicated, complex, but also dependable, capable, intelligent, empathetic and he held himself with a good sense of humor. Beatrice wrapped a warm shawl about her person. “I’ll be right back.,” she gave Lindir, as he looked up in surprise, then over, outside at her target. “Be careful.,” Lindir advised, nodding off in the distance. “He has been quite fussy and finicky these last few years.” She smiled. 

“Stupid hill.,” she muttered. “Why does he always choose this one?” Beatrice huffed, puffed, tripped over herself now and then, finally reaching the top. But what a magnificent view she found!  “Oh, wow!,” Beatrice exclaimed reaching the top, starting Athlidon in the process. “What are you doing here?!,” he reacted. Looking round the landscaping, seeing tiny twinkles of lights dotting here and there below, “Coming to talk to you.,” she replied truthfully. “Hmmpff.,” Athlidon snorted, turning his back against Beatrice, “Go talk to someone else.” He waved her off, crossed his legs. “I am busy.,” and cleared his throat. Well, that remark stung, but Beatrice sat beside him anyway. “Go awayyy.,” he insisted. “No.,” she said softly. “Their time is almost up.,” Beatrice whispered knowingly. He breathed deep. “Don’t.” And Athlidon curled his emotions inside himself in pain.

Sitting beside Athlidon on that hill, knowing she might not be wanted there, Beatrice couldn’t leave him alone. She knew his pain, she felt his anguish, as it sliced through his heart, curling hurt and silent tears within. However, Beatrice would not be deterred. “You must let her make her own choice Athlidon.” Shaking his head, opening his mouth, “Do you not think I know that?,” he mocked in quiet anguish, keeping his internal wounds at bay. So, in silent contemplation, Athlidon and Beatrice sat with nothing but the quiet wisp of air to keep them company. In time, when Athlidon seemed to get himself under control, Beatrice dropped the most excruciating certainty Athlidon knew, but would not bear to acknowledge. “I love her Athlidon. But not as much as you do. It will not cause me as much pain and hurt as it will you, to hold her still and imprisoned.” And she let that settle in. No reply came forth from him, he was bitter, pendant and careful. Imprisoned, Athlidon thought to himself. How dare she, so impudent, disrespectful of me, so reckless of her. Beatrice, Athlidon thought. And her words, her truth stung.

“She is young still.,” Athlidon tried replying calmly, falsely, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in his clothing, brushing it away. Beatrice gave him a half smile, tried not to let tears fall. She knew he was angry at her, knew she was hurtful, but…letting a child go, even if they are still with you, is biting, heart crushing, wrenching. You want them forever. And again, Beatrice couldn’t stop herself, “Remember when you told me once, Faelor was mud? Nothing but mud? That he couldn’t see beyond his own wants or desires?” Athlidon raised his brows, shrugged his shoulders. Beatrice continued, “Some people could look at a mud puddle and see an ocean with ships.,” and Beatrice smiled into a small laugh. “Faelor is just that Athlidon. He does see, he sees differently than us, than you, Athlidon,” Beatrice explained, “Everything in life in how we perceive it. We can either see it with a bright side or let it rip us apart inside forever. Everything Athlidon in this life depends on everything else. We are not islands unto ourselves. We can either choose to let go and be happy, or…suffer in solitary silence forever, choosing bitterness, defeat and hurt, over goodness and love. Letting someone else always have power over us, our being.” She let that settle in his heart. And another silence ensured betwixt them.

When the night became cold, when the sun let its’ grip lose it’s hold on the ground, when things crept and buzzed, causing Beatrice to shudder and cringe, “Go to bed.,” Athlidon reprimanded her. “I’m not tired.,” Beatrice fibbed. In all honesty, she was. Exhausted, cold, becoming stiff and cramped and wondered what Lindir must be thinking, what Gwingnis must be wondering. 

At long last, Athlidon stood. Stretched, looked across the darkened non existent horizon blending sky and land, and granted Beatrice a hand. “I’ll walk you back.,” he said. Looking up, wondering if anything had made sense, had helped him, Beatrice gave in, stood, stretched, rubbed her legs and arched her back. “Athlidon.,” she tried broaching. He waved her off. 

“Angolien is more than capable of picking the right mate. We must let her be. Walk back with me.,” he insisted. “Lindir must be a wreck.” And he gave her a serious study. “You are cold. I will tell Lindir you deceived me.” He gave a small smile. “I..,” Beatrice began. “Okay.” And let it be.

Helping her down the hill, avoiding unseen holes and rocks, Athlidon brought Beatrice down her corridor and walked to her chamber door. “I will talk to Angolien in the morning. I’ll let her choose whom she wishes. She will not have wait four thousand years if she does not wish to.” And Athlidon turned to leave. Stunned, Beatrice was entranced with him. What had changed? Why did he give in? Did he give in? She was enthralled by this stoic elf whom she trusted her life with, whom she showed respect for. Something changed. What?

“Athlidon.,” Beatrice called. He turned, came back to her. She gave him a sad, pitying, but lovely smile. “I look at you, and a sense of wonder takes me.” Athlidon smiled a grand, if not pained smile in return. Giving Beatrice a small peck on the check, “Goodnight.” 

“Where’d that kiss come from?,” Beatrice wondered. And turned to her room.

[evakuality]

At home with Isak and Even

Because I’m stuck in my writing, and the world’s greatest procrastinator, I’m taking time out from fic writing to start a series of meta posts I’ve been intending to do for a long time.  These are one of the reasons why I intended to make this tumblr in the first place so I should really get on to actually writing them.  Basically, I’m fascinated by and in love with Isak and Even.  That should come as no surprise at all to anyone who’s even glanced at either my fics or this tumblr.  So I wanted to explore some of the things I love about them, and some of the ways in which I sometimes disagree with the dominant narrative.   Adding a voice of agreement seems pointless, so writing down all the ways I agree with everyone else doesn’t seem necessary.  So, while I don’t want to fight with people, a dissenting voice is more likely to have something new to offer.  

So first up, because I’m in a squishy fluffy mood, is domestic Evak.  I want to look at what they’re like as homemakers and housekeepers.  Fandom tends to have them as ‘Even the cook, provider and housekeeper’ and ‘Isak the pampered baby who does nothing and demands everything.’  So let’s see how true that is.

Isak.

Of course, the first of the two we meet in canon is Isak.  He’s been with us from the start and we’ve seen him develop over a long period of time so he’s a little easier to pinpoint.  So, what do we know about Isak as a housekeeper?  Well, the early stuff is a little dodgy because it’s hard when we’re not in his PoV.  In season one we see him offering to help at the cabin, setting tables etc.  He clearly has more conscience about leaving it all to Eva than the other boys.  We know in season two that he lives in the kollectiv basement in something of a jumble, as shown when Noora chucks a pile of his stuff into Eskild’s arms.  It’s not folded neatly, and she likely just grabbed it as is.  Then, of course, we have his room when he moves in after she goes to London.  Eskild is vocal, often, about how gross it is, but the actual physical evidence doesn't support a habit of living in filth.  He doesn’t perfectly make his bed every day, and he does seem to have only one set of sheets (however, they seem clean so he probably washes them relatively often).  He leaves some stuff on his floor, but by no means vast piles of it.  By contrast to Noora he’s a mess, yes.  But he’s not a disaster.  It’s also worth it to notice that his mental health is in a terrible state at this point.  Mentally he has some serious problems, like insomnia plus possible depression and anxiety, and so I don’t think we can say with certainty that this is typical Isak.  Housework is unlikely to be his top priority and yet he’s still not a total write off, which suggests that he’s probably not awful in his natural state.  When Even first stays the night, we see towels etc on the floor where they clearly just dropped them and Isak’s obviously not the person to pick them up immediately, particularly not when he has a lovely boy in his bed and better things to do.  However, it’s important to note that there’s not much else on the floor at this point so he’s still not in the habit of leaving his junk lying around for weeks and months.  Other things worthy of notice (from the extras): when he didn’t pay rent and Linn dumped her stair washing duty on him because of it, he did it without much complaint.  He ditches time with the boys to have a ‘cleaning day’ at home before the neon party pregame.  And in fact, after that party he stays home to clean up.  While this is mostly an excuse to avoid Emma and not have to see Even and Sonja together, it’s worth noting again that even after everyone is gone (or he thinks they are) he still carries on cleaning up.  This isn’t a kid who does no work.  He’s reasonably responsible cleaning-wise.  Veering from actual canon, I can’t believe Isak never cooked.  He had to look after himself, and possibly his mother, after his father left and then even more so after he moved into the basement of the kollectiv.  I can believe he doesn’t enjoy it as anything more than subsistence level, but I can’t buy that he can’t make anything..  

Even

We see very little of Even’s living arrangements before he moves in with Isak.  In the one big scene at his house we can glean a few things.  He’s reasonably tidy, though that could be partly parental influence as he presumably still lives with them.  His room is reasonably sorted with not a lot in the way of visibly out-of-place things lying around.  We know he cooks.  He makes terrible cheese toasts and the counter is a bit of a mess while he does so.  When he hands Isak a beer he just drops the tops where they fall and doesn’t tidy them immediately.  He cooks at Isak’s place at the start of episode 8, and even there doesn’t seem to be perfectly tidy but we can assume that he (or Isak) cleans up after themselves as there’s no whining in the group chat about things left in a gross state.  Again, he’s not a disaster, but he’s also not one of those people who stays perfectly clean as he goes.  So far … kinda similar, except that we know Even likes to cook and we have no idea about Isak, by which we can probably assume that he’s not really into cooking.

Evak together

Of course, the biggest clue into what they’re like together is when they are living together.  The first hint we get of their cleaning/domestic arrangements is Isak’s post of himself cleaning out the really gross appliances at their new place.  Yes, Isak cleaning.  So, already, we see that he’s proud of their new place and wants to make it nice.  In the next domestic-related scene we get the infamous tea scene.  Now, contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t say he can’t make tea, he says he has no idea how to do it without a kettle.  He doesn’t drink it, so he’s never bothered to learn what to do.  In the same scene, we see the domestic argument over laundry.  Isak is insistent that it gets transferred quickly to avoid the stink of sat-around-in-the-machine-too-long laundry, and Even is the one who seems unbothered by the idea.  He says he’ll do it ‘if it’s that important to you’ and then promptly forgets.  Isak then does it himself because it is that important to him.  Our next clue is in the movie Even makes for Isak’s birthday.  In it, he documents the things about their relationship that are important to him, and what do we see in it?  Isak being domestic.  He washes dishes, he picks up and tidies clothes.  In short, Even shows Isak as the one who does the cleaning etc.  In fact, in canon, the only person we actually see doing chores is Isak.  Now, when it comes to cooking it’s a different story.  We see Even cooking on more than one occasion and Isak never.  The final clip shows them organising a time where Even is going to cook for Isak, and I can believe that Even is probably a better cook and actually enjoys it.  It seems to be something he likes doing, and Isak certainly never shows any sign of enjoying cooking.

So, the upshot is that they both have areas where they are more domestic than each other.  Isak is actually very hardworking in keeping their space livable and pleasant.  Is it perfect?  No, but he’s the one who seems most invested in keeping it at the level they both appear comfortable with.  Even seems to be the cook of the partnership, and this seems to work for them.  They have their own spheres and they work together.  Neither of them is spoiled or pampered in this context.  They both have strengths and they play to them in what each is shown to do around the house.  They’re equals, as it should be.

[emptyolivejar]

If I can impart some wisdom upon those who are going off to college just based on my own experiences.

Cooking- While it’s not hard to pick up the basics of cooking from cook books (or simple online recipes), learning how to safely use knives is a must, whether that means watching videos of safe knife handling or having someone show you. Don’t use metal utensils in pans, you’ll scrape off the nonstick coating. Safe food handling and storage is also essential to learn. You never know if the particular piece of chicken you’re making is going to give you food poisoning if you mishandle. If you live off of dining hall food, that’s all well and good, but the cooks are human. Learning to recognize when food is undercooked or spoiled can be essential to you avoiding getting sick.

Laundry- Your clothes will last a lot longer if you follow the instructions on the tags. In a pinch, if you want to wash certain things together but be careful because on the wrong cycle things will shrink, colors will run, and things will stretch. Always remember to empty the lint trap before you dry your clothes to avoid dryer fires (your clothes will also dry better). Many washers and dryers will lock until the cycle is over in public laundry spaces, but you need to make sure to come get your clothes when they cycle ends. People will move them to use the machine and nobody wants stranger hands on their clothes. Washing your sheets, pillow cases, and towels weekly is a good way to avoid breaking out.

Bills- Set reminders in your phone, calendar, whatever will help you remember to pay them on time. Missing payments can result in not only being fined, but they can even impact your credit. If you can, pay them ahead of time. Keep your bill and pay statements in case there’s an issue and so you have them in your records.

Finals- For the love of God start these are early as possible, even if it just means doing a little bit whenever you have time so that you aren’t having to write a whole essay or cram overnight.  It will help you get a better grade and avoid burnout. Read through your final draft at least twice and if you can, have someone look over your work. Listen to the professor what they tell you what will be on the test. Highlight those portions in your notes and study them.

Cleaning- Everybody has different preferences for cleanliness, but if your mess will attract bugs and other pests (like food left out) or post a safety hazard (like large piles of stuff on the floor) it needs to be addressed asap. Most dorms will also require you to clean to some extent before you move out and if you leave a mess you’ll be charged. Taking the time to sweep, dust, and clean the bathroom now and then could save you a lot of time when you need to move out.

Homework- Check the syllabus whenever class ends. Your homework will be there the vast majority of the time. Just because your professor doesn’t mention homework doesn’t mean you don’t have it. Set your student email to send alerts to your phone so you know immediately when a professor emails you about extra work, cancelled classes, extra credit opportunities, etc. On the subject of extra credit, it isn’t always necessary to do, but if you’re trying to keep your gpa up or you didn’t do so well on a big assignment, it can really help your grade to make yourself do an extra credit assignment or two, especially because most professors won’t offer you many of them. 

Friends- I’m probably one of the least social people that I know, but being in a new place away from everyone that I knew caused a pretty lengthy depression spell for me. Being willing to talk to people in your classes, sign up for a club, and/or attend campus events is a great way to meet new people.

Roommates- Some people become good friends with their roommates. Others hate their roommates. As someone who has dealt with both of these scenarios, let me tell you that the best goal you can set is to simply be able to live with your roommate. That is not to say that if you have a serious issue with your roommate that you shouldn’t talk with student housing asap. What I’m talking about is the roommate who has some rude habits. You have to compromise when possible and learn to change your own behavior elsewhere in order to make your life as easy as possible. One of my roommates was messy while I’m a neat freak. The compromise was that his mess never crossed onto my side of the room or into shared spaces and that nothing that could rot was ever left out. My roommate had the table manners of a wild animal while I have SPD. Since I can’t exactly tell him not to eat, I would put on my headphone and find something to keep my attention while he was eating. I thought he had a shit personality and he thought I was a sap. We didn’t really talk with one another unless it was important. On a brighter note, my other roommate and I regularly supported one another, joked around, and watched tv together. I consider him to be a good friend of mine and I’m excited to get to know him as a person rather than as a roommate this year. Roommates are a grab bag. Learning communication skills and being willing to set boundaries and respect the boundaries of others is an absolute must.

Homework- My recommendation is to figure out how many days you have until the assignment is due and then work on it in portions. If you have to read 100 pages in three days, reading 33 pages a day is a great way to get it done. If an assignment is small, getting it done the day you get it is advisable. Larger assignments need to be started as soon as possible. Taking the time to read through your assignments before turning them in can be the different between whole letter grades. Professors love seeing revision. If you’re struggling with an assignment, you’re probably not the only one. Trading numbers or emails with people in your classes can help when your having troubles or don’t understand something.

Burnout- It happens, especially around finals. Take naps when you need them. Try to aim for at least seven hours of sleep. Sometimes setting your homework aside for the day is necessary if you want to be productive the rest of the week. It’s very rare for someone in college to do 100% of the work assigned to them. Figuring out what the important assignments/readings are and focusing on those is a lot more realistic than doing everything on the syllabus. Having a relaxing hobby like watching tv, playing video games, or something else that completely takes your mind off of school work is essential just as knowing when it’s time to work and when it’s time to play is. Finding balance is difficult, but possible.

Health- Whenever you return to campus after a break, people tend to get sick. Starting vitamin boosts before hand can help in the long run, as does getting a flu shot if you can. If you have a mild cold, taking dayquil and going to class can help you keep up, but if you’re hacking or have a hard time getting out of bed, stay home! You’re professors expect students to have a certain amount of sick days. However, if you think you’re going to miss class, you’ll need to get in contact with your professor. Make sure to wash your hands regularly and avoid touching your eyes, mouth, nose, and face. Colleges are also notorious for offering free condoms and packets of lube. Personally, there was no freshman fifteen, but the dining hall food did spike my cholesterol. Little things like only eating bacon a few times a week can go a long way, but at the same time, making sure to eat enough is essential.

Anyone is free to add to this or correct me.

[aeliawrites]

Second Chances (Ch. 2)

Fandom: Stardew Valley Relationships: Shane/Female Farmer Summary: Sometimes moving to a small town puts you in touch with someone you never expected to see again. Previous Chapters: Ch. 1 (Read it on AO3)

It’s quiet on the dock, and it’s just far enough away from everyone that he can almost pretend he’s completely alone. Shane comes here a lot to sit and think. He opens a beer, drinks it fast, and then flops back. He crosses his arms behind his head, and rests on the old, scarred wood, staring up at the sky. It’s clear tonight, and he can see the vast emptiness of the void, with a sprinkling of stars. He feels so small.

It used to be comforting.

Now it just makes him sad.

Once, he had dreams.He’s nearly thirty.He’s stuck in a dead-end job in a town that’s so small that if you blink, you’ll miss it. He’s accomplished nothing in his life, and now one of the people he hurt the most is back.  Shane feels like a failure.

He’d give up on it all if it weren’t for Jas. But she’s depending on him. Sort of.

On his worst days, he feels like maybe she’d be better off if he were out of the picture. Marnie adores Jas, and would take great care of her. She’s practically raising her already. But Jas has already dealt with more loss in her few short years than anyone should have to deal with. He can’t be the reason she loses someone else.

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and bites back the scream welling in his chest.

When the urge passes, he sits up, and chugs another beer. And another. Until the pack is gone and his head isn’t so full anymore. It’s fuzzy and distant and he can almost pretend it’s not full of doubt and disappointment. For the first time all day, he manages to relax.

Shane lays back again, and stares at the stars. He lets the chorus of frog-song- still fairly quiet this early in the year, though by midsummer it’ll be cacophonous- wash over him. Moments like this, where his mind is quiet and the world is just loud enough to be distracting are what he craves.

His phone buzzes around midnight. A gentle alarm he sets for himself to make sure he doesn’t spend the whole night on the docks again.

It isn’t easy to get back to his feet. His stomach is churning and his head is spinning. He drank a lot of beer. Way more than normal, and his limbs feel far away. He manages to shove the beer cans back into the box, though when he stands, the world seems to shift on its axis. Shane nearly topples into the lake.

But he doesn’t, and he begins his wobbling, meandering course back to the Ranch.

The box of beer goes directly into the recycling bin. Shane doesn’t bring evidence of his late nights back into the house when he doesn’t have to. It’s better for everyone. Marnie doesn’t like it when he drinks inside her house, and this way he feels like he’s respecting her wishes.

Shane stands outside for a few more minutes, watching his breath crystalize in the cool night air and drift away. He’s tired, and drunk, and he’ll regret tonight in the morning, but right now he’s still in that happy place, where his mind is fuzzy and comfortable.

Finally though, the cold seeps through his hoodie, and he knows he needs to go inside. He tries to enter quietly to avoid waking anyone, but he manages to trip coming in the front door. He goes sprawling, and lands on the floor in the entry with a thump. Mercifully, Marnie doesn’t wake, and neither does Jas. He’s almost relieved, but the light in his bedroom clicks on as he pushes himself up off the ground.

“Hey there,” Chris whispers, hurrying over to help him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, swatting her hands away. He manages to wobble into his bedroom, and stands swaying in front of his bed for a moment. He’s not supposed to be here. “Shit. I’m supposed to sleep in the barn.”

Shane rubs his hand over his face, not quite regretting all the beer, but wishing he’d remembered this before he’d come all the way into the house. There are actually blankets and things in the barn already. His stomach twists with something resembling guilt when he remembers they’re there because he’s been too drunk to come inside before. He may be terrible at taking care of himself, but he doesn’t want to be a bad influence on Jas.

“No, Shane,” Chris says. “You’re sleeping in the bed.”

“That’s not right.” He turns, and smiles a little. He’s not sure right now that he deserves to sleep in the bed. “You’re the guest. You get the bed. I’ll uh…” he considers getting out to the barn and bedding down in the hay, but it’s more than he can handle. He runs his hand over his face, and lets out a long sigh. “I’ll sleep on the couch over there.”

He points at the loveseat. Chris looks at it, glances at him, and raises an eyebrow in clear doubt.

“Look, it’s fine. We can share the bed or something.” Chris says, not sounding as sure as she probably wants to. It’s not a large bed. The fact that both of them fit in it the night before is impressive, and was only possible because nearly half her body was on top of him.

It’s an uncomfortable thought. In another world, waking up with her beside him would have been pleasant, but as things stand between them it will never happen again. He wishes- as he has many times in the past- that things had been different.

“No. Chris, just… no.” He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “Sleep in the goddamn bed. I’ll take the couch. Last night was a mistake. It was all a mistake.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He doesn’t know if he’s referring to now, or last night, or five years ago. By the look on her face, neither does Chris. “I’m going to sleep on the couch. It will be fine. I’ll be out of here early tomorrow. You won’t even have to see me.”

“Okay,” Chris says. Her voice is quiet.

Shane can’t look at her. He doesn’t want to see her face. He can’t handle the pity or hurt or anger or whatever he might see there. Instead, he walks on unsteady legs to the linen closet in the hall, and grabs an extra quilt. He stands there for a few moments, catching his breath and trying to get himself under control.

It’s too much. It’s all too much, and those beers that offered him some comforting numbness earlier are the reason he can’t handle the surge of emotions. Seeing Chris has brought a whole lot of his bad choices to the forefront of his mind.

He’s an idiot who makes the same mistakes again and again. Mostly, he remembers bad nights with her. Nights like this one, drinking himself stupid and lashing out. He hurt her more than any person had a right to, and he feels right now like he’s proven that he never learned.

After she left, he tried to get sober.

Look at him now.

He wants to scream. To punch something. To lash out, and express his frustration, his pain, his disappointment. But he doesn’t. He’s afraid to wake up Jas and Marnie. Jas in particular doesn’t need to see him like this. She deserves so much better, but he’s what she’s stuck with.

Shane takes a deep breath, hugs the quilt to himself, and turns to head back into his room.

Chris is in his bed, her vibrant hair only barely visible above where she buried herself under his blankets. She’s curled up, her breathing slow and even with sleep already. It’s a relief that he doesn’t have to face her right now.

Shane toes off his shoes, and wads his sweatshirt up to make a pillow for himself. He contemplates changing into pajamas, or stripping down further, but it will probably just make the morning more awkward. He wraps himself in the quilt, and lays on the couch.

He’s slept here before, after a long night playing video games, and once or twice when he’d drank enough to pass out here instead of his bed. It’s not actually that bad to sleep on. But his mind won’t stop spinning, thoughts keep intruding, and he can’t relax.

It takes a long time for Shane to fall asleep.

It’s the middle of the night and they’re sitting in a Lenny’s Diner. Chris smiles at him from across the table, and his stomach flutters with excitement. Her hair is the same green as her eyes, braided into a crown on top of her head. Her lips are bright pink, shiny. He badly wants to kiss them.

She reaches over and steals a french fry off his plate. He grabs his spoon and steals some of her ice cream.

Shane says something, and her eyes widen in shock before her laugh bubbles up. She tries to suppress it, but she still giggles. He says something else, and her laugh grows, becoming something more as she throws her head back and laughs loudly.

She’s so beautiful it overwhelms him.

Morning, as always, comes far too soon. His alarm blares angrily from his pocket. Shane manages to tumble off the couch and onto the floor in his attempt to untangle himself from the quilt and reach his phone. Once he smashes the button on the side to snooze it, he lays there for a minute waiting for the throbbing in his head to subside a bit. He can’t help but stare at the mess beneath the couch.

There’s a couple beer cans, empty and half-crushed. A sealed can of Joja Cola. A lost sock. A dust bunny. A dirty magazine. The last makes him flush, grateful that in his sloppiness he at least kicked it under there, instead of leaving it out. He’d be mortified if Chris found it.

Chris. Shit.

He sits up quickly, but she’s still buried under the covers, snoring softly.

He breathes a sigh of relief, and pushes himself up off the floor. He grabs clean clothes from the pile next to the dresser, sniff-checking to make sure it’s the right pile. Again he’s struck with disgust at what his life has become. Once, he had been the sort of person who actually put their clothes into the dresser. Now he just heaps the laundry into various piles based on how bad it smells.

Shane shakes his head. He can’t do this right now. He doesn’t have time. Wallowing in self-loathing is strictly for after work.

He takes a fast shower, and gets dressed. He chases a couple aspirin with a glass of milk and a plate of scrambled eggs. Then he’s off, to another day in paradise.

[yer-a-nerd-harry]

John, I’m sorry.

hello, beings that still exist on Tumblr. I wrote a story a couple years ago and actually I’m kind of fond of it and would like to continue but I kinda want some feedback so here it is! Please tell me stuff... Also yes I know some of it is crap but I’m still working on it.

I am Sherlocked Blog Post # 156 11:37 P.M

It was a dark and stormy night. The rain pelted down on the windows of 221B Baker Street, where a sleeping Sherlock Holmes lay nestled on his tattered couch illuminated only by the light of a slowly dimming candle on the mantelpiece. It had been a long week. First the kidnapping of London’s premiere clothing designer, Elisabetta Valentine, just hours before the opening night of her new line at Burberry. Next the robberies at the Natural History Museum, where hundreds of priceless specimens had vanished overnight. And of course, Sherlock’s greatest foe James Moriarty was still terrorizing London and the boys at 221B Baker Street.

This time he had taken to picking off the members of the Baker Street Irregulars one at a time. To the general public this may have seemed like a service, but to John and Sherlock, it was a monumental problem. The BSI were their eyes and ears on the ground. They knew London better than the back of their hand, because who actually knows the back of their hand anyway? If Sherlock needed information on anyone or anything, from the Queen of England to The Tower of London, he could count on the Irregulars to get it for him in less than 24 hours in exchange for a warm meal or a new pair of socks. But now that Moriarty was on the hunt and taking out Sherlock’s favorite group of misfits like flies, the remaining members had disbanded and sworn off contact with Sherlock.Although he promised he could keep them safe with the help of Scotland Yard and his trusty “sniffer dog” Detective Lestrade, the Irregulars couldn’t help but think of all the times where Sherlock had been unable to keep his word. The bombings, the thefts, the murders, all things Holmes had promised to put an end to but couldn’t. He was just one man after all, and they could find their warm meals and new socks somewhere else.

So after an almost incredible week of attempting to solve all these crimes by himself, without the aid of John due to the influx of maimed and murdered Irregulars at Saint Bart’s, Holmes was exhausted and had fallen asleep at the ripe hour of 4 A.M. He wasn’t keen on the idea of sleeping either and had reminded John of that many times. In fact, earlier that night they had fought about it.

“Let’s go to bed Sherlock,” John whined from his spot on the couch while Sherlock paced the length of 221B, stopping in the kitchen and jamming his head in a cupboard.

“These crimes aren’t going to solve themselves John and the ordinary bumpkins Lestrade calls detectives aren’t going to do it either. Besides, sleep is for those who are disinterested in being awake and have nothing better to do.And I have something better to do John; there’s always something better to do. My mind palace isn’t going to fill itself you know,” Sherlock retorted his voice muffled and echoed from his spot inside the tea cupboard.

“If you think for one minute I’m going to let Moriarty get the upper hand then--”

“SHUT UP.”, John shouted, exasperated.

Sherlock jumped, his head smacking the top shelf, knocking several teacups onto the tiled floor with a great shattering noise.

“What was that for,” Sherlock growled through gritted teeth, pulling his head out of the cupboard to face John. His hand was gripping the back of his neck and his face the colour of Molly's lipstick last Christmas.

John rose from his chair and swiftly walked towards the window overlooking Baker Street. It was a quiet night, and only a few cabbies dared to drive through the rain-filled potholes down below. He turned to face Sherlock, their faces matching in colour. He opened his mouth and a voice deep and thick as the night came out.

“I AM SO SICK OF YOU TRYING TO TELL ME WHAT I DO, AND DO NOT KNOW. I AM SICK OF YOU TRYING TO ACT LIKE YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME AND THAT I DON’T KNOW YOU. OH, I’M THE GREAT SHERLOCK HOLMES AND NO ONE WILL EVER UNDERSTAND ME,” John mocked, pulling an incredibly accurate face and continuing on his tirade, “FOR GOD SAKE SHERLOCK I KNOW YOU BETTER THAN ANYONE.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. He had never seen John, his sweet and caring doctor act like this before. It was shocking, and if he was honest a little attractive.

“John--” Sherlock began.

“No, Sherlock, I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight. Tonight was supposed to be special.”

Sherlock looked around the room, taking it in for the first time this evening. The candles lit on the mantelpiece had long since burnt out leaving little pools of wax in their wake, the meal John had prepared had gone cold, the roses he had given Sherlock when he came in, left on the table to wilt.

“ I’m such an idiot,” mumbled Sherlock under his breath.

“You think,” retorted John, already halfway to the door, buttoning his jacket.

“Wait,” Sherlock whimpered, tears welling up in his great blue puppy-dog eyes.

“Happy Anniversary,” John said with a quiver in his voice Sherlock had never heard before.

The door slammed, and John was gone. Sherlock got to the window just in time to see John jump into a cab and sputter off away from 221B and away from him. Sherlock waited as long as he could for John to return, fiddling with a small velvet box in his pocket. He had found it under the cupboard after John left when he was cleaning the broken china, he knew he put it in there somewhere. It must’ve fallen out when he hit his head. He was so preoccupied with finding that little box, and it’s precious contents that he hadn’t paid any attention to John all evening, not to the candles, or the flowers, or the beautiful meal that was now packed away in the fridge. Just before he fell asleep on the couch waiting, Sherlock stole one last look inside the box, at the gleaming golden band inside engraved with the words “The Game is Afoot” and, although a proclaimed atheist, he prayed that his doctor would come back to him.

God, I think to myself, is this really what I want to write? I mean I love the story and the characters, don’t get me wrong. But what if people don’t like it? What if they think it’s boring, stupid, or cliche? What if my fans think I could do better, or write more thoughtful and exciting pieces? I mean puppy-dog eyes? Come on. I put my laptop at the foot of my bed and jump in. I look out my window at the vast expanse of the Vancouver skyline. Rain beats down on the windows of my apartment making it impossible to make out the buildings. The Sinclair Centre is my favourite. It’s old and historic and gives me such incredible wanderlust. Every night I look at it and dream of visiting London, seeing where Arthur Conan Doyle got his inspiration for my favourite boys, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Alas, that won’t be happening anytime soon. I’m broke, and Sherlock Holmes isn't even real. He's just a fictional detective and it's all just a story, and a heterosexual story at that. Even though they’re clearly meant to, John and Sherlock will never be, thanks for that one Steven! But I can at least provide the fandom with the first chapter of my next story.

I clamber out of bed and make my way to the kitchen, it’s late, and everyone is asleep. I turn on the tap and fill the kettle, placing it gingerly on the stove. Digging through the cupboards I find my favourite mug, it’s big and heavy and has a worn out Union Jack on it because of course, it does. Every time I’m about to post a new story or chapter I make a cup of tea first, it’s warm and comforting, and it makes me feel like everything is going to be okay. Tonight’s tea of choice is Earl Grey, quintessentially British and my favourite. The kettle begins to squeal just as I drop the tea bag in my cup. In goes the water, two sugars, and a splash of milk. I head back to bed scared of what awaits me. My laptop sits open where I left it, the upload page, mouse hovering over the submit button. Well, here goes nothing. Tea in hand I’m about to click submit just as my twenty pound tabby jumps into my lap, spilling tea all over the keyboard.

Fuck Stamford, I snarl, swatting away the fat cat and rushing to save my computer. I make a note to myself to put him on a diet and grab a towel from the laundry bag in the corner of my room, making haste cleaning up the growing puddle on my bed. Just as I’m about to clean my computer, I realize it’s still plugged in. Well, that would have been a disaster, I think to myself leaning over my bed to unplug it. The moment my wet hands make contact with the outlet, everything goes black. I feel a searing pain rushing from the tips of my fingers to my temples, but I can’t seem to open my eyes enough to focus on it. I fall back into bed thoughts whirring through my head. Am I dying? No, you overdramatic idiot, it was just a little shock! Why do I feel so bad, why can’t I see anything clearly? Is my computer okay? Did my story save? Who cares right now? Just try to focus on something. I try to open my eyes but can only see the faint outline of the city and a helicopter flying by in the distance before I pass out.

My dreams are weird. Must be from the shock. First I’m flying in the TARDIS with Jon Snow from Game of Thrones, then I’m a sheepherder in Ireland, then I am the sheep, then I’m Neil Armstrong, taking one small step for man and one giant leap for mankind. Then I feel a distinct wetness, must be Stamford licking my face. He does that when I don’t feed him on time. I try to push him away, but the moistness persists. It starts to feel more like a dripping than the sandpapery scratchiness of Stamford’s tongue on my cheek. I reach out to try and find him, but my hand falls through the air and onto something hard and cold. I pick up a handful of whatever lies beneath me, struggling to focus on the smooth, wet multicoloured ovals I find when I open my eyes. What the hell? I must be having another dream.

This time I’m laying on the shores of what looks to be the River Thames. I can see the Tower Bridge in the distance, all sparkly under the glow of the moonlight. I’ve had this dream before but never this vivid. It’s pouring, and something is digging into my back. A stick and it fucking hurts. Funny, I’ve never felt pain this acutely in a dream before. I try to stand up but feel woozy and sick. My foot catches on a lump of material plopped in front of me, and I face plant into the stones and knock myself out. I have an irrational fear of falling, from high places, low places, even just tripping on my shoelace so a fall like this in a dream should wake me.

But when I feel myself being shaken awake and the glow of the morning sun hitting my back, I turn to find not the gentle face of my mother but a man I’ve never seen before. He’s about six feet tall from what I can see from my spot on the ground. He’s wearing a dirty plaid shirt underneath a puffy hunting jacket. His blue jeans are ripped and muddied and almost as greasy as his hair and scruffy beard.

“Get up lass,” he says in a gruff and scraggly voice.

“We’ve got to keep moving if we want to stay out of the gutter.”

I must still be dreaming. I shake my head and pinch my cheeks but I’m still in London, and this smelly old man has still got a vice grip on my arm. I try to pull away, but he keeps insisting we move as quickly as possible. He’s dragging me now, but I’m not about to get abducted by some crazy old man with as many teeth as I have fingers.

“LET GO,” I shout, my breath emerging as a cloud in the crisp London air.

“Suit yourself then. S’not my problem if you’re the next to go.”

He turns away from me and jogs off down the path past a group of American tourists taking selfies with the Tower Bridge in the background. I’ve got to wake myself up. I look around, ahead of me are tourists crowding a paved walking path, taking photos of the river and sipping their morning coffees. To my left is a park filled with birds and old couples holding hands. To my right, about twenty feet away is the river. No wonder my back hurts, I think, as I look down at the multicoloured pebbles that line the riverbank.

I get up, still dizzy and make my way towards the water. It’ll be cold this time of year, but it should be enough to wake me up. I take my shoes and socks off, leaving them by the water’s edge and slowly wade into the water. I’m up to my knees, and it’s freezing, but I have to do it.<

“3, 2, 1,” I say to myself and dunk my head in. I struggle to breathe under the weight of the freezing water, but I force myself to stay under just a few seconds longer. Suddenly, I feel a hand grabbing the back of my collar, pulling my head up with a jerk. It's the old man and this time he’s not letting go.

“Come on girly, Moriarty’s men are close by, and they're not letting any of us kind get out alive.”

I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, it's hot and moist and smells like black coffee and day old bread. I rise out of the water, and for the first time since I “woke up” here I take stock of myself. I’m not wearing the pyjamas I went to sleep in but rather an ensemble quite like the old man, ragged black track pants and a baubled red sweater that has certainly seen much better days. The man is pulling me away from the water now and into the park. I look back towards my shoes, sitting on the rocks, just as two burly looking men with military haircuts and cell phones to their ears scoff and kick them into the icy abyss.

We finally stop, after running for what seems to have been miles, but in reality, it was probably only a dozen blocks or so. The sun is still high in the sky, but it has become shrouded in clouds, a sure sign of rain. A crack of thunder bursts through the air, and the downpour begins. Brightly coloured umbrellas start popping up all over the street as families and groups of students on term break rush into various teahouses and souvenir shops that dot the street. The old man and I take refuge under the awning of “Sir Lumiere’s Fine Chocolates and French Pastries”. A hand painted wooden sign dangles underneath, swaying in the wind. It reads “Try the Grey Stuff; It’s Delicious”. I chuckle to myself; I can’t resist a good Disney reference.

“Us Irregulars got to take care of each other,” the old man says after some time of heaving and panting. And that’s when it dawns on me. I'm not in a dream at all. The pinching, the falling, the ice cold water, it all should’ve woken me up. And once this old man, who’s now introducing himself as Wiggins, mentioned the Irregulars, it all comes together.

I’m in my story, and I’m being hunted by the greatest criminal mastermind of all time, James Moriarty. It must’ve happened when I shocked myself after Stamford knocked my tea onto my laptop. I turn to face Wiggins, but he has already gone. There’s only one person that can help me now, and I know exactly where to find him. After hours of struggling to understand the tube and London’s bizarre transport system. I finally arrive. The rain has let off, and the sun is setting, bathing the old brick building in a beautiful pink and orange glow. I walk up the crooked wooden steps to the black iron door. Taking the golden lions head knocker in hand, I knock three times and hope for the best. It seems as though hours have passed before the door creaks open. I can hear the TV in the background playing reruns of Bakeoff as I peer in and am eye to eye with an older woman wearing a knitted sweater and loafers.

“I’m sorry deary, but he’s not seeing any clients right now. You’ll have to find help elsewhere.”, she says and begins to close the door.

I’m dumbfounded, that’s not the detective I’ve come to know and love. I've come all this bloody way and I'm not about to be denied just because a certain moody someone is going through relationship troubles that I may or may not have caused.

“But I need him; he’s the ONLY person who can help me.”

“Like I said, dear, he’s not taking any clients, and he’s in a bloody state right now, so it’s best you go before we wake him.”

“Now shoo,” she says with a whoosh of her hands, waving me down the stairs. “You’re making a right mess of my porch.”

Just as she’s about to close the door, I shout the only thing I can think of as a last-ditch effort to save my skin and fix this mess.

“Sherlock Holmes, I know you're up there and I know about John,” I holler towards the second story window.

The woman rolls her eyes, muttering something about nutters and increasing the rent, and from the crack in the door, I can see a light flick on at the top of the stairs. A silhouette appears, tall and thin and from it, a voice emerges, smooth and thick and just as beautiful as I imagined, god he is beautiful.

“Get in,” he hisses. I step over the threshold of 221B Baker Street about to meet my dearest, darling, Sherlock Holmes.

[astromilku]

it’ll all be ok (steve rogers x reader) ALTERNATIVE VERSION

pairing: steve rogers x reader

summary: it’s been five years since steve has seen the love of his life.

word count: 3k

warnings: ANGST. ANGST. ANGST. ANGST. fluff. sad boi stevie. like really sad boi stevie. fluff if you squint. sum language may or may not be involved idk. fighting sequences!

notes: so i’ll have two different endings, one sad and one happy :) they won’t be toooo different, only the ending parts will be different. so this is the happy one! also, aou happens in 2015 while endgame happens in 2023 so, i’m pretty sure my math was right for that part! and on top of that, sorry if the formatting is weird, i’m uploading this on my phone

part one

requests are welcome!

Five years.

It’s been five years since the Battle of Wakanda. Five years since the Decimation. It’s been five years, and Steve has still been unable to comprehend it all.

Almost a month after Thanos had decimated half of the entire population, Tony and Nebula had made it back to Earth, courtesy of Carol- otherwise known as Captain Marvel. After Tony had gotten settled, Steve and the others went off to space to find Thanos. Only to find out that he’d destroyed the stones. Thor had then killed Thanos out of anger, and then everyone returned to Earth with empty souls. They had actually lost.

Fast forward five years. Steve wouldn’t say that everyone was doing great. But, everyone was slowly getting better. Tony was now off the grid with Pepper and their kid, Morgan. Natasha was still keeping some part of the Avengers going, constantly in contact with Carol, Rocket, Rhodey, Nebula, and Okoye. Steve now ran a weekly support group in New York, to help those that are still struggling with their losses. The world was still struggling with getting itself back together. Just like him.

“So I, uh... Went on a date the other day. First time in five years, you know? Sit there, dinner... I didn't know what to talk about.” A man in the support group spoke up, Joe, glancing around at the other attendees. “What did you talk about?” Steve asked, wanting Joe to continue with his story. “Same old crap, you know? How things have changed, and... my job, his job... How much we miss the Mets. Then things get quiet... He cried as they were serving the salads.” Joe continued, looking over at James when he asked if he’d cried. “I cried...just before dessert. But I'm seeing him tomorrow, so…” Joe finished, making Steve smile a little before he looked down at the ring on his finger. “That's great. You did the hardest part. You took the jump, you didn't know where you were gonna come down. And that's it. That's those little brave baby steps you gotta take. To try and become whole again. To try and find purpose. I went in the ice in '45 right after I met the person who I thought was the love of my life. Woke up 70 years later. Met the person who I was going to marry but she disappeared with half of the planet. You gotta move on. Gotta move on. The world is in our hands. It's left to us guys, and we have to do something with it. Otherwise... Thanos should have killed us all.”

Steve walked into the compound for the last part of Natasha’s conversation with Rhodey. “Please.” She pleaded with the holographic form of Rhodey, the man let out a reluctant sigh. “Okay.” Rhodey said before he turned his hologram off. Steve watched as Natasha tried to hold back her tears, deciding to make himself known. “You know I'd offer to cook you dinner but you seem pretty miserable already.” Steve tried to joke as Natasha quickly started to try and dry her eyes. “You here to do your laundry?” Natasha asked, looking over at Steve’s broad figure leaning against the bookcase. “To see a friend.” Steve answered, Natasha quickly coming back with a retort. “Clearly, your friend is fine.”

Steve decided to change the topic, knowing he wasn’t gonna get much more out of Natasha. “You know, I saw a pod of whales when I was coming up the bridge.” Steve informed the red-head, one of her eyebrows raising. “In the hudson?” She questioned, making Steve nod. “There’s fewer ships, cleaner water.” He replied, making Natasha shake her head a little with a sigh. “You know, if you're about to tell me to look on the bright side. Um... I'm about you to hit you in the head with a peanut butter sandwich.” She joked, the two of them sharing a smile as Steve walked to sit in the seat across from her. “Sorry.. Force of habit.” He speaks into the comfortable silence, biting his lip before he continued to speak. “You know, I keep telling everyone they should move on and... grow. Some do. But not us.” Steve said quietly, twisting the ring on his finger, thinking about how much he missed (Y/N).

“If I move on, who does this?” Natasha asked, looking around the room that she was in before taking a bite of her sandwich. “Maybe it doesn't need to be done.” Steve countered, looking from his ring to Natasha with a sad smile. “I used to have nothing. Then I got this. This job... this family. And I was... I was better because of it. And even though... they're gone... I'm still trying to be better.” Natasha spoke after a moment of silence, her eyes glazing over as she thought about her past, sighing a little afterwards. “We both need to get a life.” Steve said, trying to lighten the mood once more. “You first.” Natasha countered with a smile before a camera image of Scott Lang pops up in front of them.

“Uh...Oh! Hi. Hi! Is anyone home? This is Scott Lang. We met a few years ago, at the airport? In Germany? I got really big, and I had my mask on. You wouldn't recognize me.” Scott’s voice filtered through the dark room, a look of bewilderment on both Steve and Natasha’s face. Steve stood up first, looking at Natasha. “Is this an old message?” He asked as Natasha stood up as well. “It’s the front gate.”

“ Ant-man? Ant-man, I know you know that. I need to talk to you guys.”

But that was all a few days ago, Steve was getting tired. They had figured out time travel to get the infinity stones, they’d lost Natasha, Bruce had snapped to bring everyone back, and now Thanos was back. He felt like he’d been fighting for hours, but there was no sign that the snap that Bruce made had even worked. He held Mjolnir in one hand, as the other one held one half of his shield. Out of nowhere, Steve hears a voice he hasn’t heard in a long time cackle through his communicator. “On your left.” Suddenly, the dark battlefield lights up in a golden color as portals reveal the heroes that had been lost in the decimation. Steve’s eyes traveled around the battlefield, seeing T’Challa, Sam, Wanda, Bucky, and many others arrive. However, he couldn’t find (Y/N). Where was she? “What happened to the beard?” Steve heard a voice to his right, his face breaking out into a big grin when he saw (Y/N) standing there, her weapons in her hand(s) as she grinned back at him. Steve turned back to the front, his veins running with a newfound energy. “AVENGERS…” Steve called out, summoning Mjolnir to his hand before he finished his sentence. “Assemble.” He finished as he started charging towards Thanos, everyone else following his lead.

(Y/N) and Steve ended up being grouped together for a short moment, (Y/N) using her weapons to her full advantage as Steve did the same with Mjolnir. After they had cleared enough out to take a breather, Steve crashed his lips against (Y/N)’s passionately, still unable to believe that she was back with him. “I missed you so much Doll.” He murmured after he broke the kiss, looking at her with loving eyes. “I missed you too… let’s try and finish this quickly. We got a lot of missed time to make up for.” She murmured softly, stroking his cheek before running off to fight some more of Thanos’ army. Steve watched her as she left with a soft smile, before starting to fight himself.

(E/C)-colored eyes darted to Spider-Man, who was webbed to Mjolnir before Pepper caught him and passed the boy to Valkyrie. Her eyes then watched the sky as Captain Marvel flew down from the sky, destroying the ship that was about to fire at everything below it. (Y/N) heard a crash right next to her, instantly getting into a battle position before relaxing a little. Peter had landed right next to her, his body shaking as he kept a tight grip on the gauntlet. ”Danvers, we need an assist here.” The (H/C)ette heard Steve’s voice crackle through the communicator, Carol flying down to the other side of Peter. “Hi. I’m Peter Parker.” Peter introduced himself to Carol, the woman offering him a soft smile before replying. “Hey Peter Parker. You got something for me?” Carol asked kindly, Peter handing her the gauntlet that he’d been holding close to his chest. “I don’t know how you’re gonna get through all that.” Peter said, looking out into the vastness of the aliens. “Don’t worry.” Wanda said, appearing from the sky as she came down to hover a couple of inches from the ground. “She’s got help.” Okoye finished, a smirk on her face as she twirled her staff.

As Captain Marvel started forward, all the female heroes followed her lead, taking down any aliens that crossed their path. (Y/N) had abandoned her weapon(s), now solely relying on her powers as she blasted the aliens alongside the rest of the girls. Her eyes wandered to see how far Carol had gotten, only to see her get blasted aside by the Power stone. Quickly, (Y/N) burst into action, using her powers to propel her forward towards Thanos. She used her powers to land a punch on Thanos that was hard enough to disorient him. However, Thanos recovered only a couple seconds later, kicking her back against a broken piece of concrete from the destroyed base, before a mad smile formed on the titan’s face. He brought his gauntleted hand up and blasted Tony back before he spoke, not realizing the dark (F/C) strands of magic on his gauntlet.

“I am...inevitable.” He said before he snapped his fingers, waiting for the stones to do its work on the heroes. However, the only thing that happened was a loud ‘clunk’. Panic started to form on the Titan’s face, turning his hand to see that the stones were no longer there.

“Hey buddy, looking for these?” (Y/N) called out, a smug smirk on her bloodied face. Thanos’ eyes seemed stuck on her hand, which was covered in a dark (F/C) gauntlet shape, with the stones showing clearly. Thanos lunges for the girl,but doesn’t make it far before a loud clang echoed in the battlefield as a light (F/C) flash of light follows it. Slowly, the aliens start to turn to dust, a horrified look on Thanos’ face as he realizes that he’s lost. The others watched the army fade to dust before their eyes, Steve letting out a sigh of exhaustion, but he’s happy. It’s finally over. And he can be happy with (Y/N). Steve catches Thanos’ eyes before he disintegrates, confused as to why he looks smug. All of the sudden, Steve hears Sam call out to him. “Cap! It’s (Y/N)!” A cold chill runs through Steve’s veins as he makes his way over to where Sam is kneeling, his eyes widening as he takes in (Y/N)’s figure.

“No… No, no, no this can’t be happening.” Steve gasps out as he kneels down next to (Y/N) pulling her close to his body, brushing some strands of hair out of her face. “S-Steve.. It’s okay-” (Y/N) murmurs quietly, looking up at Steve with tears in her eyes. “D-D-Doll… Doll… I can’t lose you a-again…” Steve cried out, not noticing that Bucky and Wanda had come to see what happened. Steve took a couple of breaths as he looked down at (Y/N). “Doll… (Y/N)... It’ll all be okay baby. It’ll all be okay.” Steve said, realization flashing across (Y/N)’s face before the once bright eyes turned dull, making Steve let out a choked out sob. She was gone. The love of his life was gone. (Y/N) was gone.

Or so everyone thought.

---

A bright light clouded (Y/N)’s vision as she slowly started to come to her senses, a constant beep from the heart monitor being the only thing she heard. As her eyes fluttered open, she squinted as she looked around, her eyes landing on her lover that was sitting in the chair next to her hospital bed. It was Steve, who looked a bit worse for wear. His usually bright blonde hair was dull, he had a bit of stubble on his face, and crazy bags under his eyes. (Y/N) smiled sadly to herself as she looked at the man she loved, thanking whatever higher spirit existed that she was still alive. She looked down at her hand, seeing that Steve’s much larger hand covering her own. This caused a soft smile to spread across her face. The soft grunt that left Steve’s lips as he slowly started to wake up startled the bedridden girl. “(Y-Y/N)?” Steve questioned, unsure if he was dreaming or if he was a wake. “Hey Stevie… You told me it was all gonna be okay, didn’t you?” She said softly, smiling as she watched Steve’s eyes widened before he lunged out of his chair, kissing her forehead before looking at her. “Doll! Oh my… God.. I missed you so much! I- I should go get the doctor. She probably has tests she has to ru-“ Steve started to ramble, the (H/C)ette cutting the super soldier off with a gentle kiss. He returned the kiss, basking in the moment before slowly pulling away. “I’ll be right back baby.” Steve murmured before leaving to go get the doctor.

---

It'd been almost a year since Bruce had caused the snap to bring back everyone and since (Y/N) had risked her life to destroy Thanos. It’d had been a long year for her. She’d woken up a month after her snap, Doctor Strange being the one that had ultimately saved her by getting her to Helen Cho, one of the best doctors who had somehow been able to bring her back with her regeneration machinery. After that, she had to go through intense physical therapy for her arms. Of course, Steve helped her along as much as he could, being in every step of (Y/N)’s recovery process. Although, her arms will probably never be the same. But that didn’t matter, well, not right now at least.

“You look so beautiful (Y/N)... I wish that Natasha and Pietro were here to help with everything too.” Wanda murmured softly as she finished up the last of (Y/N)’s very natural looking make-up. “They are here Wanda, just not physically.” (Y/N) sighed, her eyes zeroing in on the necklace that she was wearing, that Natasha had given her a long time ago. Wanda stepped back, admiring her artwork before helping (Y/N) out of her chair. The woman smoothed out her dress, before giving the red-head a soft smile. “Thank you so much Wanda, it looks amazing.” (Y/N) thanked as she looked in the mirror. Wanda nodded, a soft smile on her face as well. “Of course, it is my duty as your maid of honor.”

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door, Sam peeking his head in after he opened the door. “Are we ready to get this show on the roll?” He said light-heartedly. You had decided to have Sam walk you down the aisle, since he had always been like a brother to you. The (H/C)ette smiles at the new Captain America, nodding softly before making her way over to him. “I’ll see you out there girl.. I’m so happy for you.” Wanda said as the two of you walked out of the door before she headed off to where she needed to be since the ceremony was starting soon. Sam looked down at you and offered you his arm with a goofy smile, of which you gladly took. “You know, Steve’s gonna like— bust a nut seeing how good you look.” He joked, making (Y/N) almost double over from laughter. “You’re such an idiot Sam.” She retorted, looking up at him before looking at the door were Wanda and Bucky had just walked through, since they were the maid of honor and best man. “Are you nervous?” Sam asked, easily able to read the telekinetic, who simply nodded in response. “Well, you don’t have to be, I’m pretty sure Steve cried twice as he practiced his vows as we were getting ready.” Sam revealed, making (Y/N) smile once more.

Next thing the (H/C)ette knew, she was walking down the aisle with her bouquet in one hand while the other held onto Sam’s arm. Her eyes, however, were glued to Steve’s ocean blue eyes— that were already starting to tear up at the sight of her. Sam handed (Y/N) off to Steve before he headed over to his spot next to Bucky, a big grin on his face as he watched his two closest friends fall even deeper in love with each other at the altar.

“Now you may recite your vows.” The pastor said with a gentle smile after he finished everything that he needed to say, stepping back a little to allow the retired couple have the spotlight.

“(Y/N)... God.. I had this whole thing memorized but as soon as I saw you start walking towards me I forgot what I was going to say…” Steve started, pulling a couple of chuckles out of the audience that they had. “(Y/N). We’ve been through a lot together in the nine years we’ve known each other. We’ve defeated countless villians that each proved to be more and more dangerous than the last. And I almost lost you to one of them, a second time. I’m so honored to be able to stand beside you and be your rock, as you are mine. Before I met you, I was having trouble fitting into this new world. But, I know that you had trouble too, when everything was said and done with Ultron. And I think that we both helped each other create a place for ourselves in this world; one that’s right next to each other. I couldn’t be the person that I am now, without you. God, I’m so happy that we’re finally having this wedding after six years. I’m so happy that I officially get to call you mine for the rest of our lives, and even after that. And I just wanna end it on this note. It’ll be okay. It’ll always be okay when you’re with me Doll.”

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Homestuck Epilogues - Meat - Page 21 (Epilogue 4 Page 4)