#was originally going to make this a three-panel piece of stupid until I remembered the Batman slapping Robin meme XD

[weirdofish]

That one Egg Memo complaining about Maria in a nutshell

Imagine Gerald coming back as a ghost just to slap his overgrown brat of a grandson after hearing him gripe about Maria. The Robotnik Bitch Slap is no joke, but the only ones who can withstand them are Robotniks, so lucky for Eggman, right?

[iphoenixrising]

More on the Robinpile Soulmate au

You know, babes, people and their wonderful, encouraging comments on that work in progress are fucking beautiful, so.

I’m going to put a little snippet down that’s probably going to rip at your heart strings and spoil the story a bit for you if you decide to read this small bit. So, just FYI Spoiler. 

But, if you’d like a little more on how that story is going to go, welp. here you are *bows*

Note: not formatted or beta read. 

After so much careful planning and preparation, Plan C is a go. 

Robin is running over rooftops, scanning every shadow for a hint of Red Robin in Gotham. Nightwing and the Red Hood, Black Bat, Batgirl, and Signal are all in crucial parts of the city, on the lookout as well.

He, Jason, and Dick have spent weeks preparing for this, hoping their last-ditch effort would be enough to convince Tim his time as Robin hadn’t been in vain, that he was still, would always be a Bat. 

That is the goal tonight, not to try convincing him to give them a chance as soulmates because that is likely impossible, but they could start a much more important mission, to try in their own ways to give him back something they’d all taken. To try to show they knew what they’d done to him, and perhaps could start them on the road to make it right.

(He hopes there’s still a chance.)

Fabrication didn’t take long, but the coupe de gras certainly did. 

Word Red Robin would be in Gotham on the down-low gave them a chance to finally act, and Oracle promised them she would do her best to stall their soulmate until Robin could get to him.

And it’s a pang of pain, a lightning strike, when he catches up with Red on the roof of the Wallstone Apartments. The memory of the cut grapple line in the foreground of Robin’s thoughts.

“Please help,” Robin makes himself fall off his grapple to his knees, bent over, panting. “Red Robin, please.” 

(Not all of it is an act, not with how hard he was running to get to Red before he vanished into the city.)

The older vigilante kneels by him, out of immediate reach. 

“Where?” Is Tim’s Red Robin voice, a hand almost reaches out, clenches tight at the last second to draw back, and Robin sees the aborted move, has a flare of hope.

“Cannery Row–” and Robin rocks to the side, looks up at that closed expression, dares to let the fluttering in his chest give him strength.

Hands and arms around him, steady him, pull him up on his knees. He thinks about the grip Red Robin has on his shoulders to hold him up, how tightly Tim is able to hold on. A finger taps his mask so the whiteouts slide up, taking away some of his nightvision. He’s not concussed, is perfectly fine, but through his research, an injured (seemingly) teammate in need is one of Tim’s weaknesses. 

“Robin–”

“We need you, there is too much happening in the city tonight. We are all stretched too thin,” and there is nothing but the truth in his eyes, his demeanor, the way his gloved hand tightens in the cape over Red’s shoulder. 

“All right, stay here, call Hood or N to pick you up–”

But Robin staggers to his feet, “I can’t. I must get you to the safehouse. Everything we need is there.”

He keeps himself from a triumphant bellow when Red Robin paces him to the edge of the roof, grapple already in hand. 

Luckily, Cannery Row is close enough they don’t have to go far, just their past hanging between them, the connection that’s agonizingly cold and silent even when they’re side-by-side. 

Robin lands it this time on the roof of the familiar warehouse. He taps the comm unit on as he touches down, hopes Red won’t notice. 

They climb through a service elevator shaft, the two of them prying open the doors once they hit the underground floor. 

“Give me the details,” Red’s whole body tense as they lower themselves down into the darkness.

“Black Bat is in the Central Business District, Hood is by the Iceburg Lounge, Nightwing is in the Diamond District. Father is tracking down leads for a case, Batgirl is on her way to the Steel Mill. We still have no coverage for the situation in the City Hall District, but you cannot go alone.”

When they get the doors pried open, when Red Robin was close enough for his cape to brush against his, the underground is revealed in shadows, just as he, Jason, and Richard left it a few hours earlier.

(This is a newer Batman Incorporated holding. Robin is banking on the fact Tim might not know this, his heart starting to beat harder, faster when they get closer to the first stage of Plan C.)

The lights kick on as planned, and in the large expansive floor, a drop-cloth-covered something waits.

That’s all.

Red Robin is looking around for anything, searching for traps, evidence, something to give him an idea of what he’s walking into, back pressed against the elevator before he starts to step out. 

His vigilante instincts aren’t going crazy, but he stays close to the shadows as he sneaks out, leaving Robin behind in the elevator shaft to stay or follow.

(Where Damian has the next step in the plan waiting, a duffle bag he’d hidden in the panel of the elevator shaft. He’s fast and silent, throwing off his gloves, gauntlets, cape, and utility belt–)

His instincts still aren’t blaring dangerdangerdanger and his wrist computer isn’t picking up any foreign tech when Red Robin finally gets to the drop-cloth with a frown, wondering if they’ve come across a piece of shady tech or something. 

Which is really the only explanation for why Robin would come to him at all, everyone else busy in Gotham notwithstanding. 

He grips the cloth and pulls hard, muscles tense for whatever fuckey waits for him underneath. 

When he gets an eyeful, his knees go terribly weak for a long painful moment as he stares at–

The Red Bird.

“Oh...fuck,” because his eyes are instantly hot and full, making him blink rapidly behind the whiteouts.

And it gleams in the overhead lights, red and black and shiny, looks like it did the day Bruce showed it to him in the Cave, ready to tear into the night. 

His chest hitches and the possibility this could be a cruel joke hits him hard enough to choke.

(It’s because he rejected them. This sick shit is because he refused to let bygones be bygones.)

“Open the door, Tim. Everything you will need tonight is ready for you.” 

It’s Dami’s voice echoing behind him, not Robin’s, and Red can’t bring himself to look away, too many things churning in his brain pan around the shock and anger and regret and grief. It might be stupid for him to reach out, to make his wobbly knees work, to open the door with a bigger hand than the last time he did this. 

The inside is immaculate, even after years of disuse that Red Robin has to wonder how and why and what the absolute fuck is happening here?

But on the seat, folded neatly with all the bells and whistles, the shuriken R on the red tunic gleams bright in the halogen glow. His throat gets tight when he realizes it’s his original red, gold, and green–the colors of joy. 

The colors from the best years, before it all started to go horribly wrong.

A noise comes out of him, something low and pained before he can rein it in, before he can remind himself he’s already moved past the point this should still mean something. 

(But it does, it always has, it’s always meant so much, especially back when he was just a kid in a silent, empty house. It meant he had a place, a purpose, a presence at his back when things got to be too much, too overwhelming.)

And it’s stupid how helpless he is, how some part of him –small and weak as it is– can’t stop himself from reaching out to touch, to grab, to try to hold the fuck on.

(Not because of the name itself, never that, but everything he’d lost the second it had all been taken away. A final nail in the coffin, back to being that boy in an empty house.)

When he reaches for the suit, he holds it in both hands like he’s seeing things, chest stuttering on a breath when the scent of new leather and Kevlar proves he hasn’t been drugged or the sleep dep severely fucking with him. 

Stepping from the shadows, no longer in Robin but a black suit of some nameless ninja, Damian Wayne is holding the hood and face covering he’s going to wear for the night, waits until he sees how his soulmate will react to this possibly disastrous plan. 

He takes careful, tentative steps closer, taking in the hunched shoulders, bowed head, reaching into the Bond when it is ice cold in his chest.

“Wh-what the fuck is this?” Hoarse and painful from his, their Tim. And Dami’s hands automatically reach out in desperation to comfort before he remembers himself and hesitates. 

Even if the Bond on his side is closed, cold, silent, Damian breathes in and attempts to send calming, soothing feelings, tries to let his own emotions, his hope, his affection, his protectiveness, his respect, his reverence for this man be available should the Bond at any moment open even slightly. 

His soulmate’s rigid control to close himself off from them comes from years of training, of trying to protect himself is such a point of pain that some part of him thinks the three of them together could crash through if they tried, could break down those walls by force. 

But he’s here tonight, had worked so hard with N and Hood and Father and Batgirl and Black Bat and Oracle to plan it all, set it all up, because he’s different now, has learned what his actions had cost him, has realized he can’t go back to the old ways. 

Instead, he hopes they will have this last chance, will give Tim enough reasons to open up without fear, without pain.

(“It started with taking the cape,” Dick thinks aloud once the three of them are together after a long night, finding comfort, “he thinks he was kicked out of the family, so...this shouldn’t have been about soulmates in the first place.”

“I do not understand, Beloved,” Dami yawns, buried himself deeper against Jason’s chest.

“It’s not about gettin’ him like that, Sweets,” Jay replies, stroken a hand through his hair. “Might never happen…” 

“But, we could give him back some of what we took. He could finally come home again–”

Dami’s eyes open, “we...could give him back his place in the family. Or at least try to do so. Is that what you are saying?”

“Hm,” Jay grunts out, arms stealthy when he wraps them both up, rolls to put himself in the middle, “sounds like we godda last resort, now don’t it?”

“We’ll call it Plan C since it’s our last chance.”)

Plan C, indeed.

“Tim,” and he gives them only a few feet of space, no domino, no hood, no face coverings, no masks, holds up both hands in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture. 

Red Robin spins with a growl, muscles tense in fight or flight, ready to throw the fuck down because why fix up the Red Bird and bring it here of all places? What game is this? Haven’t they broken him enough?

But Damian isn’t in the tunic he was wearing less than ten minutes ago, and Red Robin stops cold at the obviously planned costume change.  He takes a careful step away from the very familiar suit Damian is wearing now, one that looks crazily like B’s when he was Tengu, trying to get himself back enough to take the cowl from Jean-Paul back when shit was crazy but even then he still had Nightwing at his back and–and…

What is wrong with him? He hasn’t thought about any of this in years. 

But still. But still, his eyes go to the gleaming Red Bird, and those better times well up from within, a place so deep, he’d convinced himself he’d left all of it behind. 

(Nightwing and Spoiler, school and the Cave, new baddies in Gotham to throw more crazy into the Rogue Gallery mix, teenage angst and sidekick wins, people at his back and front even in the worst of times. Being Red for the Titans was good, so good, but not ever the same. Not like it was when he was that Robin.)

He’s still holding the tunic in both hands, fists clenching it tight like something would have to pry his hands open to take it away (again) when what he really needs to do is throw it back in the Bird and get the absolute fuck out of here. Because this isn’t his anymore, apparently never should have been if the last few years were any kind of indication on the Tim Drake policy. 

“This is cruel, even for you,” is snarly and low, is simmering anger trying to cover up old pain, pissing him off even more because he’d finally gotten to the place where he could forget for a while. 

(And he’ll get there again. Even after all this.)

He makes his fingers unclench, throws the tunic back on the driver’s seat, but none of that covers up how hoarse his voice is, how tight his chest feels.

Dami just moves one hand, slowly pulls out his phone, thumbs the pass code to unlock the screen, and turns the device around to show Red what’s doing on the main screen.

His brain doesn’t process the image that’s him, one of the few existing pictures from years ago when he was still with Young Justice, the one of the core four making stupid faces, torn up from whatever space battle they’d just come back from, half-insane with sleep deprivation and injuries, only back to the planet for moments to celebrate not dying with pizza and Zestis, arms thrown around each other with rips and bruises and blood still staining the uniforms.

Why the fuck it meant something to Damian is the real question. 

“I was wrong, when I came to the Tower,” Damian takes a tentative step toward him, still holding the phone out like a distraction that was really a message. “I told you I wanted to know this man you are now. The man that is one of my soulmates. However...however, I was wrong, Tim. You were my soulmate even back then. You were mine, and even if you weren’t, you were already part of the family when I came to Father, and I did not even give you a chance. I did not see how important you were, what lengths you went to make that symbol your own.  I was terrified, young, foolish, but that is no excuse. What I should have been doing all this time is learning who you were back then before I attempted to approach you. Only by knowing that boy could I hope to understand this man.”

Wait, what now? How is this happening right now? All the awful things he’d secretly wanted to hear from the blood son, another chosen one. Another crux of his tangled emotions.

“I already told you I don’t need fucking soulmates. I rejected you.” He bites out, trying to breathe, trying to shove those emotions back down where they belong, trying to pretend the sight of the car, the tunic, the things he used to call his own, can’t touch him anymore. 

(But it still has power, so much fucking power to break him down to this, that scared kid in an empty house.)

After all these years, he’s moved on...right?

“I know, Beloved,” Dami puts his phone away, green eyes never leaving Red Robin’s tense form. “But this? Tonight? This has nothing to do with soulmates.”

Which is absolutely not what he expects to hear.

“Tonight is about my predecessor, Beloved, not my soulmate. This is for the Robin that stood in Gotham before me,” and it’s gentle in ways Red Robin never imagined Damian could be, not with him. “This,” and Damian sweeps a hand over the car, the suit, “is for the brother we never should have driven away. The one who gave this name his own brand of honor and power, the one who carved a place for himself in the family. Not as the third Robin in line, but as the first Tim Drake.”

Red Robin’s hands fall enough to be less of a threat. Other than that, he isn’t moving, is listening even if it’s grudgingly, even if it’s with disbelief, even if it’s with skepticism, and Damian smiles softly, so softly, at this beautiful, broken man before him.

“My place?” Is hoarse, a warmer edge that isn’t blank coldness, isn’t so much control. “In case you missed it, my place hasn’t mattered in the last few fucking years–”

“Hasn’t it?” And Dami’s eyes are so green, dark jade that catches in the light, easy to pick out. “Hasn’t it mattered?”

The obvious drawback is an opening, a misstep in the detective’s assumptions that Dami takes the opportunity for what it is.

“I know how it must seem,” and he makes himself stop stepping forward when every instinct in his body screams to approach, to reach out, to take this man in his arms, to whisper endearments, to apologize until the tears dry, until Tim’s arms can unlock, until he can start with the smallest measure of belief with splashes of powerful violet.  

“I know the years we’ve let you draw further away. I know there’s been disdain and cruelty until that’s all there was between us. And I did not choose to acknowledge it, my wrongdoings. It was easier to hide, Tim, just as it was for Jason and Richard and Father. We were cowards, but not once in all these years have you ever been simply forgotten.”

And here is where preparation for their detective is perfectly done when Damian whips out his utility belt computer and quietly holds it out, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

The evidence is there in clips of Todd sneaking into a familiar penthouse apartment with a bag of coffee in hand or taking a First Aid kit from under the kitchen counter to restock it, it’s there when video shows Richard in the Batsuit, in Nightwing, in Officer Grayson, in workout clothes, in jeans and t-shirt with both hands always pressed to the glass case with Tim’s first Robin suit, it’s there when Father sits on the bed in Tim’s old room over the years with a familiar shining, shuriken R flipping over the fingers of one hand. It’s there in the attempted hacks of Titan’s Tower when the Batcomputer pings with alerts of a bad fight for the Titans. It’s there in all the protocols when Ra’s starts movement against Red Robin, when their worst enemies are cataloged to the nines and contingencies from each member of the Batfamily are so obviously ready.

(With some pride in himself, Dami is the one that came up with the plan to take down Brother Blood, while Jason’s shoot-now-ask-questions-later is crucial to dealing with The Light. Grayson’s  experience with the Fearsome Five, Father’s methodical touch to deal with The Insiders.)

It’s there in the smallest details they’d silently done over the years (these things happening without the need to point out how necessary and does Damian ache with the knowledge how easy it could have been to reach out so many, many times), could be enough at a glance to start the seedlings of doubt in Red Robin’s firm belief his place has simply been forgotten.

And Damian hears it in the catch of breath, a soft inward draw. He can’t see behind the whiteouts of Red Robin’s mask, but he hopes, hopes there might be a spark of indecision.

“You were never forgotten.” Gently, Damian reaches out slowly, just enough to close gloved fingers over the screen. “But, you don’t need to hear it from me, Beloved, you need real proof and that we shall provide tonight. Get changed. You’re needed.”

Conflicted as fuck, Red Robin processes as much as he can in that few minutes, muscles in his shoulders unbearably tight. “I’m not going to just patrol with the Bats, especially under your name.”

“It is not as simple as patrol, I’m afraid. We have several Arkham escapees, a possible gang war, and several other take downs lined up,” which is the absolute truth. “I did not lie when I said we needed your help with the overwhelming criminal activity in the last twelve hours.”

Carefully planned twelve hours for one night they’ve been putting into motion for months. 

With the computer in hand, feeling more vulnerable than he’s felt behind the mask in years, Red Robin grits his teeth because only the Bats can do this to him. “I can still help the hell out without the bullshit emotional manipulation. Let me guess, this is Dick’s idea.”

“All of us had a hand in it, actually. The Red Bird itself was my idea. Jason and Father helped to restore it to its former glory. Dick, however, had the idea to make it authentic with the suit.”

“Do you even know how messed up this is for me?” Tumbles right out when he wants cold fury, when he wants to snarl at the obvious manipulation at play–

(while being stupidly impressed they actually seemed to know him to put all the pieces in place, make him play right into their hands with a well thought-out plan. Fuck.)

“The point of all of this, Tim, is to give you one last Robin Ride.”

Cue being at a total loss here because what multiverse did he fall into? Seriously, this can’t be his world, not when those words popped out of Damian’s mouth, and along with it, so many possibilities looming right in front of him.

At the same time, dread crawls up his throat, spills bitter into his mouth.

“Even if you never want us, we will, as you said, learn to live with it.” Damian fights to keep it neutral as just the thought of continuing on in this way as they have for weeks, always aware of the empty spot where their fourth should be, makes him cold all over. Still, this cannot be for them, not if they are serious about setting things right in the only way they can. “Even if that is the case, Tim, I...we. We still want to give you this,” his hand sweeps over the Red Bird again.

Because it’s all so much in one go, things he never thought he’d hear, never could have thought would be offered. Unconsciously, his eyes go to the gleaming fender behind the whiteouts. “None of this is– I brought the Bird back years ago so B could remake it for you.”

And Dami chances one more step closer, “but it is yours, Tim. Father made it for you, to keep you safe, and it will always be yours, Robin or not. It should have been given back to you long before tonight, and for that, I apologize.” He tries smiling just a little, “but, better late than never as they say.”

Red’s got nothing for that, for any of this, stares helplessly while Damian pulls on the hood and face covering, only his green eyes visible. 

Red’s jaw is tight, clenching down because he finally gets it. He isn’t going to wake up in the Tower, asleep at his workstation, thinking this is a terribly embarrassing message from his subconscious.

“You will need this,” and Damian holds out a hand again. This time, a Batcomm rests in his palm. “The others are waiting for you, Robin.”

“I-I can’t–” because this is fucking real, this is really happening. As much as he’s sure Damian is bullshitting him about this not being a soulmate thing, his eyes are still getting hot, his chest aching, his throat tight. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” Damian counters gently. “We...I owe you this. Dick will argue he does also. Jason as well. We cannot give you the things we have taken, not completely. As much as I wish we could change things, overcome our own insecurities to remind you that you will always have a place…” Dami sighs, “we cannot go back, either. Not really, but in order to go forward, we can give you the proof you need to see you have always had a place. So, just for tonight, Tim, be our Robin again.”

Damian doesn’t give him time to formulate a reply while he feels like he just got fucking stabbed hearing that out of the current Robin’s mouth. 

“This is wrong, this isn’t–”

Damian lays the Batcomm on the top of the car and slowly backs away, melting into the shadows.

“On the contrary,” echoes around him and the lights go out in the underground, only a section of them lighting up the Red Bird. “This may be the one thing we’ve gotten right.” 

The flutter of paper he hadn’t noticed is on the ground from where he’d tossed the old/new suit. 

The chime on his wrist computer is a surprising upload of locations in Gotham pinging his algorithm, indicating a little vigilante action wouldn’t be amiss. Damian apparently wasn’t lying about too many fires and too few Bats. But, there’s too much happening in hot spots, and he won’t make the most crucial if he’s swinging. He needs a Ducati or–

His eyes go back to it, another symbol of his best days. Back when he could call himself a Bat, and it wouldn’t have been a lie.

Under the mask, Tim Drake breathes out, shuttering through the old pain that lights up his brain pan. 

He could turn right the fuck around and walk out of this warehouse with his heart still in check, with his emotions back under control. He could reject this attempt as sure as he’s been rejected for years. 

But the tiny part of him that’s always mourned the loss of his tunic is a stronger voice this time, and his hands twitch in his gloves before moving to pick up the discarded suit again, to look at those short sleeves, the green gloves, the shuriken R that was his design – not Damian’s or Jay’s or Dick’s but his. 

The suit blurs and Red Robin realizes it’s because his eyes are spilling over behind the whiteouts.

[motherfingtitan]

Hi! Big fan of your fics. I have a suggestion for one: the basic idea is that the Lower Decks characters (mainly the Warp Core Four) get involved with the ep. "Trials and Tribble-ations" Meet both DS9 and TOS crew in a subtle/not-so-subtle way (PARADOX!). Bonus: They are drawn and animated in TAS Filmation style, with some of them slightly aware. Maybe a bit of Mariner x Boimler? Hope you have fun with the idea.

Time Tribbles

The Warp Core Four decides to go back in time to the Enterprise to do some not-so-scientific research on Tribbles. They come across not one, but two famous Starfleet Crews

Tendi dragged herself to her bunk. She was absolutely exhausted from pulling double shifts in Medbay to make up for the influx of patients. Earlier today, some of the food replicators were producing food at extreme temperatures. They were also uncontrollably spewing food out, and in the case of ten forward, literally spraying boiling nacho cheese. Crew members had been in and out all day with burns. Just as she sat on her bed, she saw Mariner down the hallway. Both of them waved to each other.

"Yo, Tendi, what's up?" Mariner said as she walked up to her.

"Nothing much; I’m just exhausted from all the activity in Medbay. I did see somebody with a nacho cheese burn in the shape of an Orion continent!" She smiled.

"I have something that will cheer you up!" Mariner held up her finger and ran off, going to get her special piece of contraband.

After a few minutes, she returned with a Tribble in hand. It had brown fur and little white patches. She handed the Tribble to Tendi and sat down next to her. The cooing of the ball of fur filled the room.

"Personally, I would prefer getting drunk, but I thought this might be more up your alley" Beckett smiled as Tendi ran her hand through the fur, her eyes lit up.

"This is the cutest thing ever," Tendi squealed. She then spoke in baby talk to the Tribble, "Yes you are, you are the cutest little Tribble on this ship.”

She continued to pet the Tribble for a couple of minutes before finally speaking, "You know, I've always wanted to see a Tribble reproduce. I know that the ones they sell at the pet stores are neutered."

Beckett thought for a second before finally speaking. "Ok, so I got this really cool piece of contraband from the planet we did second contact with a couple of weeks back. I've been testing it, and I think it opens up portals to different times. We could go back in time to see Tribbles reproduce."

"But isn't that against the rules?”

"Yes, but it's for science, so it's probably ok. Come on, let get Rutherford and Boimler."

…

A few hours later, the four Ensigns were in an empty part of the docking bay. All of them were wearing 2260s uniforms. Tendi messed with her holographic disguise, trying to find the right hairstyle. She felt odd with blonde hair and peachy skin, but there was no way she could go back in time looking like an Orion. Enterprise crew members would ask too many questions.

"Bangs or no Bangs?" She adjusted her holographic remote, letting it flip through different hairstyles.

"Definitely the Bangs," Rutherford gave a thumbs up before continuing his excitement-filled lecture about Constitution-class ships. “Did you know that turbolifts were not completely voice-controlled back then? You had to hold down a bar for them to work.”

"Mariner, are you sure we should be doing this. Time travel is against 253.7-" Boimler began before being cut off Mariner.

"Rules, Schmules. Come on, Boims, this could be your one chance to see Kirk in flesh and blood."

"Fine, but I'm keeping you in check," he spoke.

Beckett then pulled out the small blue stone from her trouser pocket. It glowed softly in her hand. She set it down and stated where she wanted to go "Stardate 4523.3, USS Enterprise 1701."

The store glowed brighter until it flashed, opening up a small portal to the other ship. Its corridors were empty, meaning the Ensigns could slip in undetected.

"Ready to do science stuff?" Mariner asked Tendi.

She bounced in excitement, nodding rapidly. Mariner was the first to step into the portal. She felt slight tingles all over her body as she popped out on the other side. The Enterprise looked much different than the ships of her time. The lights had colored tints, and more equipment was exposed. Rutherford came out of the portal next, slightly dizzy but extremely excited to see such an old ship. Tendi and Boimler followed. Once through the portal, it returned to its original gem form.

Boimler slowly stood up, trying to shake off how dizzy he felt. "I feel so stiff and kinda cheap too,"

"You look different," Rutherford pointed out

"Oh god! Am I phasy again?!?"

"No, but your eyes look smaller," Tendi looked at all of them. "We all look kinda different."

"Probably some stupid time travel stuff, come on, let's got find some Tribbles!" Mariner shoved the gem in her pocket and started down the hallway, followed by the other four.

Soon, they came to the main corridor that was bustling with people. The women styled their hair in extravagant bumps and wore earrings. Most wore minidresses, a popular style in the 2260s, but a couple wore the tunic style uniform, just as Mariner was. The sound of boots tapping filled the hallway, and the gold rank bands on the officer sleeve sparkled among the sea of yellow, red, and blue. Perhaps the most striking thing, however, was the lack of aliens. The vast majority of the officers were human, a stark contrast from how diverse the Cerritos was.

Suddenly, Mariner stopped and motioned to the other three to get against the wall. From just around the corner, two very famous Starfleet officers could be heard.

"Is that Kirk?" Boimler asked

Mariner nodded, feeling just as excited as the rest of them but doing an excellent job of hiding it. Kirk and Spock were speaking with someone through the communication unit.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk." A young man with a Russian accent spoke.

"Kirk here." The captain responded

“Mister Baris is waiting on channel E to speak to you, sir."

Mariners’ heart was beating fast. She may have acted like she didn't care, but she did grow up as a Starfleet brat, and though she may have seen Captain Kirk in a holodeck simulation, it wasn't the same as being a couple of feet away from him.

"Mister Baris is coming on." The young man spoke again.

"Yes, Mister Baris. What can I do for you?" Kirk’s voice was pleasant

"Kirk, this station is swarming with Klingons." A man by the name of Baris replied.

"I was not aware, Mister Baris, that twelve Klingons constitutes a swarm."

"Captain Kirk, I consider your security measures a disgrace. In my opinion, you have taken this entire..."

At this point, Boimler had lost focus on that conversation as his eyes drifted to the other side of the hallway. There, a man with a deeper voice and a tall woman spoke. Both looked as if they were doing routine maintenance. The woman kept glancing back at the captain and the first officer.

"I had no idea." The woman began

"What?" The man replied, fiddling with some machinery.

“He's so much more handsome in person. And those eyes."

"Kirk had quite the reputation as a ladies' man."

"Not him. Spock."

Boimler noticed that, just like him, they looked out of place. He continued to listen.

"I can't believe you don't at least want to meet Captain Kirk."

"That's the last thing on my mind."

"Oh, come on, Benjamin. Are you telling me you're not the tiniest bit interested in meeting one of the most famous men in Starfleet history?"

Benjamin? He thought as he slowly went through all the people he knew named Benjamin in his head.

Benjamin Anderson

Benjamin Taylor

Benjamin Sisko

Sisko!

It was Captain Sisko! And the woman next to him must be one of his crew members. Jadzia Dax, maybe? His face twisted in confusion. What was he doing in this time?

"Guys, look!" Boimler whispered and motioned his head to the other side of the hallway.

"Is that... Sisko?" Rutherford asked. "He looks different," he added, still getting used to how everything looked in this period.

"Two famous Starfleet Captains in one day?!?" Tendi bounced on her heels.

"Why is he here?" Boimler looked at Mariner.

"I don't know, something to do with a Tribble and a bomb,"

"A bomb?!"

She shrugged. "Relax, it's on the space station. We will stay on the ship,"

"How do you even know all this?"

"I have my ways,"

The Ensigns decided that it was time to get moving. They didn't want to create too much suspicion by huddling up against the wall. The halls were so crowded, Constitution-class ships were certainly packed, even without the hallway bedrooms of the Cerritos. The colored lights enthralled Tendi. She was so used to sterile fluorescent lights that the soft blues, purples, and yellows were dazzling. She had read about these types of ships, but reading about it and seeing it were two different things.

"Gosh, I love Constitution-class ships," Tendi said.

But there was no response. She twisted her head back and forth, slightly panicking that she had lost her other three friends. She wanted to yell out their names, but that would raise too many questions. She would have to silently slither through the confusing corridors of the ship to find them, all while looking natural. Looking back and forth one more time, she decided to continue forward. Turning down a hallway, she noticed that there was a turbolift at the end. Inside were two men. One was a bulkier man in a red shirt, while the other man with slicked-back hair wore blue with a single strip of gold on the bottom of his sleeve.

"Deck twenty-one. Deck twenty-one. I said, Deck twenty-one." The man in the red shirt said. He's getting more frustrated every time he spoke.

"Maybe if you said please." The other man replied

Tendi remembered from Rutherford’s conversation earlier that turbolifts were not entirely voice commanded at this time. She continued to walk towards the lift.

"Maybe it's jammed. Help me get this wall panel off." The redshirt was starting to open a panel when the disguised Orion walked in. She put one hand on the wall handle and crossed her fingers, on the other hand, hoping that this would work.

"Deck fifteen." She spoke, and the lift started to move. She breathed a secret sigh of relief.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't." The medical man, with a British accent, spoke.

"My lips are sealed."

"Guys, where's Tendi?" Rutherford asks, trying to find one of his best friends.

"Aw Sh*t, we must have lost her" Mariner looked some more. "Tend-"

Boimler clamped his hand against her mouth. "Are you insane? You wanna mess up history?"

"Ok, then how do you want to find her?"

"Constitution-class ships only held about 300 people, so it shouldn't be too hard to find her, especially compared to a Galaxy-class ship," Rutherford suggested.

All three realize that the only way to find their friend was to just walk through the halls and hope they stumble across her. They started down the aisle, maneuvering their way through the mass amounts of people. At one point, Beckett hit somebody with her elbow.

"Oh, sorry." She said

The woman smiled and replied. She was wearing an operations red dress, and her hair was teased on top of her head. Her sleeves bore lieutenant stripes. "It's ok," she said as she walked away. She was making baby noises at something in her hand.

Mariner craned her neck just enough to see that in the lieutenants’ arms was a small Tribble. "It can't be long now."

Tendi saw the first baby Tribble in one of the turbolifts she was taking back down. She was alerted when she heard soft sweet cooing on the other side of the lift, and she couldn't resist. She picked it up, so happy to see an unneutered baby Tribble. At first, she only saw one every once in a while. Maybe one would be stuck to a wall. Another was in an older doctor's hands, and he was scanning it with a tricorder. However, the amount started to multiply, and before she knew it, Tribbles were lining every single hallway. They came and all shapes and sizes. Some were white with gray spots, and some were a beautiful shiny Brown. They stuck to the walls and the ceiling, and cooing filled the hallway, along with the occasional screech when someone stepped on one.

She tried to resist the temptation and only grab one, but every time she turned around, she found herself face-to-face with another ball of fur, and soon she had an entire armful of Tribbles. Curiously, as she wandered about trying to find her three friends, she saw Sisko and that other female officer scanning Tribbles. Both looked frazzled. She realized that they were scanning for a bomb of sorts and remembered that Mariner said it was on the space station, not on the Enterprise.

Speaking of Mariner, she finally found her friends walking towards her in a hallway. The pep in her step grew as she walked towards them.

"They are so cute!" Tendi showed off her arm full of at least ten Tribbles.

"Let's get to a private room, watch how a Tribble gives birth, and then get back to our own time," Boimler continued. "I don't want any time travel shenanigans on my file. It's not very Captain-like."

"Oh please," Mariner replied, "you realize how much stuff was on Kirk's record?"

The four came across an empty meeting room. They all walked in, Rutherford closed the door, and Tendi set one of her many Tribbles on the table. With her pad on hand, she was ready to take notes.

Tribbles reproduce fast, so it was only a matter of time before the one on the table, which Tendi lovingly named Warpy, gave birth. The ball of fur soon went from cooing to screeching as it tensed up half its body. Soon from underneath the adult Tribble, baby Tribbles emerged. Tendi was so excited, but the other three just watched with confused and uncomfortable faces. After she finished taking notes, Boimler suggested they leave.

"I'm going to miss the blonde hair, but I can't wait to have my old body back," Tendi spoke as Mariner pulled out her blue gem.

"Tell me about it; my eyes are the same color as my skin. That can't be healthy," she replied

"Maybe people look like this because of issues with the older technology," Rutherford suggested.

Mariner spoke to the gem the time she wanted to go back to. The portal opened underneath them.

"No one's got any Tribbles, right?" Mariner asked.

All of them nodded, and Mariner was the first to jump through the portal. Rutherford followed, and then Boimler. Tendi turned around one last time to her Tribbles.

"Bye, Warpy," she spoke as she jumped through the portal.

"Much fu*king better" Mariner cracked her back in the Cerritos’ shuttle bay. Tendi glanced over her notes and deactivated her disguise. Beckett came over to her and wrapped an arm around her.

"You had fun?"

"So much, thanks" Tendi smiled.

"How about we change and get some tacos?" Beckett spoke as she walked towards the doors.

"Okie Dokie" Rutherford and the other two ensigns followed.

As they walked to the mess hall, Mariner spoke to Boimler, “Glad you could join us. Ya know, you actually look confident in that old uniform! And kinda charming.”

“Thank you, I feel confident” He did a cheesy smirk.

“Annnnd now it’s gone.” She said, trying to hide the slightest blush.

They continued to their bunks to change. Unknown to Boimler, however, was a small ball of fur stuck to his vintage uniform boots.

Three days later

Ransom woke up for his morning shift at the sound of his alarm. When he reached over to turn it off, he felt a ball of fur right on his alarm clock. Upon opening his eyes, he saw that Tribbles filled his entire room, all cooing.

"Who brought an unneutered Tribble on board!?"

[demonfox38]

Completed - Baba is You

I can't believe this is the first game I've perfected on Steam.

Like, I don't like achievement systems in video games, okay? I prefer to set my own goals. Sure, there are some achievements that are interesting, like learning to use a certain mechanic in a cool or efficient manner, visiting hidden rooms, or even running around with nothing but my character's default busted sword just to prove a point. Mostly, I just want to finish them. I don't go jumping through flaming hoops because I want people to think I'm cool. I'm from Iowa. I'm critically uncool by design.

If a game is good, I will put in the extra work. Like, getting 100% souls in "Castlevania: Aria of Souls" and 200.6% map completion in "Castlevania: Symphony of the Night" is now just routine for me. With "Baba is You"? Well, circumstances are just a teeny bit different.

"Baba is You" is a puzzle game from independent developer Arvi Teikari. Your primary goal in the game is to create statements out of nouns, verbs, and conditions and use those generated rules to complete levels. It's basically catnip to programmers. These puzzles are packaged in cute, scribbly animations and gentle music. Ultimately, its soft presentation is the figurative sheep's clothing under which the wolf of this game lives, dragging its players through increasingly more complex situations, sitting there, laughing, its whole world wiggling in its adolescent mockery of you and your sluggish brain.

You're not always even Baba. I know. The absolute betrayal.

I originally saw this game being streamed back in 2019. A frustrating feeling overtook me as I watched the player work through the puzzles. I could feel myself solving them before she could, and it was making me itch. I didn't want to have any more spoiled without giving it a shot myself, so I purchased the game, put in a few hours, and then dropped it for two years. Hell, the major reason I came back to it was that I was babysitting my mom's very needy poodle, and I was more or less trapped on the couch with her during her entire stay. Had to do something. So, I decided this was it.

"Baba is You" really is the ultimate "Yeah, I'll get back to this" game. You know what I mean? There's always a handful of games that you make a little headway into, and then you think, "Yeah, I'll get back to this" and then drop it. I try not to be this way. Video games are expensive, and I want to get as much value as I can out of them. But man, does this game get overwhelming.

I mean, the TAS for a 100% run is currently around an hour and forty-five minutes. That's for 226 puzzles. That is a lot.

Granted, you don't have to finish every puzzle if you don't want to. The game can let you slide free with your first ending after completing only three subworlds on the main map. You know how many people get to that first ending? Like, we're talking maybe getting through 3 hours of gameplay or so. As of this posting, it's around 7.8% of all players on Steam. In comparison, here are first time ending numbers from other games I own on Steam:

"Bloodstained: Curse of the Moon" – 38% (Cleave the Moon)

"Trine" – 29.6% (Completed!)

"Dust: An Elysian Tale" – 23.9% (…And the Dust Settles)

"Fez" – 14.7% (Kill Screen)

"Psychonauts" – 13.2% (I Thought That Was Unbeatable!)

"Typing of the Dead" – 12.9% (Experimental Fiction)

"Final Fantasy VII" – 9.4% (End of Game)

That's right. From a percentage point of view, more players will put 80 hours into a 20+ year old RPG than 3 hours in this game. So, what's up with that?

At first, I wasn't struggling terribly with the game. I was making a pretty steady clip through it, stopping occasionally to check out the game's wiki. (BTW—view that on a laptop browser, not a mobile one. The background makes it hard to read some of the verbs and conditions.) My first tap-out in 2019 happened around the "Forest of Fall" block, when the game started introducing teleporting puzzles. My second brain-snap happened about 18 hours in the game when I accidentally created the phrase "Level is Key" in the puzzle "Fragile Existence," and then I realized that I could both create this level as Baba and had to create another level as a flag to win the overworld map.

And then there was a submap.

And another.

And another.

Holy crap, my brain was not ready for the mess that was Depths and Meta.

At one point, I stopped myself and reviewed why I was overcome with despair at my own stupidity. A part of it is yes, the game looks very cute, and the language used in the puzzles is very simple. So, when you don't get it, it's like saying you don't get "Sesame Street." And hey, maybe you wouldn't if it was in Mandarin and you only speak English. But, I did want to beat myself up for my sluggish responses and my growing feeling of helplessness. Why couldn't I beat the simple sheep game for babies? Was I really that stupid?

I think it helped to know what troubles I had my playthrough harder. This included:

Using text to push objects past barriers. (Yes, text exists in the world, and unless it's floating, you can use that text to move objects around. It's like hitting a car with a stop sign.)

Assuming attributes on an object that weren't actually assigned (i.e., assuming a door was locked or a wall would prevent me from moving through it, even if that wasn't the case.)

Manipulating text to double-layer nouns or break up commands by wedging an inactive/non-solid object in them. (See: Prison.)

Realizing that "you" doesn't always have to go to a certain destination. Sometimes, "you" just need to have something move over there or push something into where you want to go.

Remembering to use the "Wait" button to let moving objects finish their paths.

"Defeat" is a condition that applies only to "you", not objects in your possession. (They may instead be destroyed by "Sink").

Some rules need to be created and destroyed in the same turn.

Things that move on their own can be used to carry commands through obstacles.

Sometimes, you've just got to count your steps when you're taking an action and see if you can reduce them.

And granted, despite my stupidity, there were some puzzles that really clicked! I particularly enjoyed using the "Word" condition, as it allowed for me to treat both words and objects as a noun to make assignments. There were also times where I had to spell out the commands I wanted from letters left on the map. Fun! Natural! And hell, who doesn't enjoy a good block pushing puzzle, now and again? Super easy. Makes sense. Key is push, door is open. Of course!

Ass is Hot! Of course! (Wait, that wasn’t the solution...)

I tended to lock up more when the "Defeat" piece was on screen. I mean, you can always undo your mistakes, and there's no life limit or anything like that. But, hearing your player character go splat when you mess up is flinch-worthy. Additionally, I hated having to build complex paths for objects to follow. Like, screw the entirety of Adventurers. Also, learning what the "Lonely" condition meant felt very unnatural. It was hard to even tell why I was splatting until I read up on what it meant.

Interestingly, changing the language of the game only affects the menu's language, not the game itself. (I was wondering if adding a layer of comprehension to objects would stop me from auto-assigning properties to them or not. Makes sense that it's all in English, considering the "form objects from letters" puzzles.)

I felt bad when I finally gave up on putting effort into solving the puzzles on my own. I did. But, I was also 18 hours deep into my file in a single week, and I wanted to get back to my other hobbies. I felt that if I gave up on "Baba is You" again, I wouldn't finish it ever. And then, those 18 hours truly would be wasted. Also, I felt sick that only 7.8% of people had gotten to the first ending screen. The game isn't bad! It's hard, but not bad! I wanted to at least give it enough dignity to finish it off, even if I was more or less reading what I needed to build with one eyeball and building it with the other.

And hell. Given all of the version differences of this game and the amount of time that has passed since its release, it is a teeny bit YouTube proof. Not completely invulnerable, but I did catch a difference or two here and there. And it's not like the wiki's the clearest with what you need to do, even when they're telling you exactly what to do. You've got to mind your space with your words. At the very least, don't push anything aside or wreck it until you absolutely must.

I can't emphasize how much I felt bad about giving up. I mean, it's one thing to look at guides for other game types. You can get knowledge on how to beat a boss or level, but you've physically got to develop the skills needed to vault through that goal. With puzzle games, knowledge is 99% of what you need to accomplish your task. The rest is just putting in the solution as elegantly as possible.

92.2% of players didn't bother to do even that.

I won't pretend to say I know enough about puzzles to make an excellent puzzle game. However, I do think brevity would have helped this game. Like, think of puzzle games people like. "Tetris," right? Even a long game of "Tetris 64" lasts me a couple of hours at most. "Portal"? That's a handful of hours supported by plot and fun dialogue. So is the sequel. "Panel de Pon" / "Tetris Attack" / "Puyo Puyo"? Those are like "Street Fighter" arcade campaigns. Like, 15-20 minutes. To have a puzzle game go on for hours and hours without any character motivation or plot in sight? Yeah. That's going to burn a lot of people out.

Like, this game could have just the over world, a single hidden world, and then the Center portion, and that would have been more than enough. And then you know what could have been done with the rest of the puzzles? Put them in a new game! "Baba is More!" Bam! A second game, now with extra "Inception"-styled mind screws! Twice the money earned! (Yeah, okay. This plan might stink of capitalism.)

Making 226 puzzles is impressive. However, brevity is the soul of wit. Sometimes, design can be contradictory like that.

But, its achievements? Perfectly laid out. Truly finishing the game is likely to net you everything. I only had to put in a couple of hours after the true ending, and really, only fifteen minutes of that was solving the puzzles. The rest was just finding what I had missed. (I've heard rumors that "Baba is Baba" is bugged, but I think you just need to look up how to get the Level is Win solution in Meta figured out. The rest is elbow grease.)

I don't know if I can recommend this game. Again, having a case of the bad feels over that statement, especially since it seems like the developer has his heart in the right place. I'm hesitant to recommend this because when I was playing it, I had a migraine that lasted three days straight. Granted, there were possibly some external factors to why I had that. A fat polar vortex. Stress from work. Some hormonal influences. Not enough caffeine or water. Just generally living in the United States in the early 2020s. Plenty of things to crush my skull. I don't think it's in good taste to recommend something that will cause others physical pain. I mean, I'm used to games cracking my hands, but that's not exactly healthy behavior. I certainly wouldn't want to give someone an epileptic attack. Why would I want to drive a nail through their skulls, either?

I do think the game is solidly designed. It's a smart little cookie. But, it is unintentionally discouraging to get through, especially if you feel like you can't ask for help. Like getting a clue or an explanation is cheating.

Look. Try. Try hard. Be as honest and earnest as you can be. Just don't expect to do everything in your life alone, okay? I mean, there are times you've got to get an external perspective. I frequently had to crash after school with mathematics teachers and badger professors to explain topics outside of class. You think I was going to come up with how there are different kinds of infinities on my own? Hell no. I'm not creative in terms of mathematical proofs. But, I sure as hell can explain how different infinities work now! Even post-schooling, I still research topics, particularly when building or fixing things. I wouldn't have learned half of the things I've learned about maintaining game cartridges or building dollhouses without suggestions from professionals and enthusiasts. It's just part of life. You ask for help so you don't burn resources—especially something as valuable as time!

[spaceskam]

79. “I’ll still be here when you’re ready.” Malex

warning: alcoholism

ao3

Michael always hated it when he woke up with no memory of falling asleep.

There was a vulnerability about not knowing how much time passed, about not really knowing where he was, about not intending to fall asleep in the first place. He wasn’t a fan. Still, he looked around and tried to remember the night before.

It’d been a sea of drinks and bodies, flashes of knocking back more shots than he should’ve. He’d been doing really good at drinking in moderation, but last night something just switched in his mind and he couldn’t stop. He remembered kissing one someone by the pool table and someone by the bathrooms, but he couldn’t be sure if they were the same person or separate. Whoops.

As he took in his surroundings, he realized he was on the floor of Alex’s living room. He had no memory of coming to Alex’s cabin or Alex picking him up. Did he break in instead of going home? He didn’t think he’d make the long drive when he was that drunk.

Michael slowly made his way to his feet, relying heavily on the furniture and the wall to keep himself upright. He noticed that the cabin was slowly looking more like Alex than it had when he originally helped him move his stuff into it. After his father broke into his house, Alex didn’t feel safe there anymore. Michael didn’t blame him.

“Alex?” Michael called, peering into the kitchen to see if he was there. It was empty, but the flashing clock on the oven told him it was barely 5:30 in the morning. That would explain the disorienting mix of hearing birds, but it still being kind of dark.

He kept his hand on the wall, dragging it against the wooden paneling as he went to find Alex’s bedroom. The door was closed and he gently knocked a couple times, pressing his ear to the door to wait for an invitation. When nothing came, he knocked again.

“What?” Alex groaned softly, almost impossible to hear. Michael smiled.

“Can I come in?”

“Fuck, sure, shut up,” Alex answered. Michael smiled even wider, slowly twisting the doorknob and pushing it open.

Alex was in bed, his face buried in his pillow and his blanket tucked between his thighs. He was shirtless and in nothing but basketball shorts, his back looking extra long and gorgeous. He closed the door behind him and engulfed the room in darkness again, the blackout curtains doing their job to convince Alex it was nighttime. As Michael moved closer, he caught sight of a tattered stuffed dog that Alex had tucked up against his chest. Again, it made him smile.

“Can I lay down with you?” Michael whispered.

“Shh,” Alex said, sleepily patting the empty side of the bed in a silent invitation as long as he stopped talking. 

Michael shucked off his boots as quietly as possible and did a quick smell test of the button up he had on. It smelled like beer, so he tore it off and dropped it to the floor. The undershirt he had on was much more acceptable and he climbed into the bed.

It welcomed him as he tucked Alex’s other pillow beneath his head. He stared at the man beside him a little bit more intensely, taking him in as he tried to will himself back to sleep. His eyes ended up stuck on the stuffed dog that was tight against his chest and stuck in the crook of his bicep. Michael had only really seen it twice before, once when they were in the shed and it was tucked underneath the bed in there and once when he was helping Alex move and it was stuffed in the bottom of a crate of blankets. He never asked questions, not wanting to make him embarrassed. Who was Michael to judge anyone for their vices?

But seeing him here, cuddling it like that, warmed his heart in a way that really only happened with Alex. He was so... Alex.

Hungover and still a little confused about the night before, Michael found himself falling asleep again. He didn’t fight it as it took over him, not when Alex was right there and letting him sleep beside him. He slept until he couldn’t anymore, waking up in a much more stable state of mind the second time.

“You’re awake,” Alex said. Michael looked over at him, rubbing his eyes a little to get a more clear picture of the man beside him. He was still rumpled from sleep, but he looked soft and open and didn’t seem to have anything in him telling him to hide his stuffed dog.

“Yeah,” Michael said, shifting to lay on his side. He mirrored Alex all while keeping necessary space between them. “I don’t, uh, I don’t know how I got here, but I’m assuming whatever it was wasn’t great for you, so thank you and I’m sorry for putting you out.”

“You don’t remember what happened at all?” Alex asked, tucking his arm beneath his head. He looked gorgeous even in the darkness. How the fuck was that fair?

“I don’t remember seeing you or coming here, no,” Michael confirmed. Alex nodded, staying silent despite the questions of what happened lingering in the air. “Do you... Do you remember?”

Alex huffed a little laugh, nodding his head. “You showed up at my door and asked to borrow sugar.”

“Sugar?” Michael repeated slowly, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, it took me a minute to realize you meant a kiss too,” Alex said. Michael eyes widened a little and he rolled onto his back, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Oh, fuck.”

“I told you no, but I wasn’t about to let you drive like that, so I force fed you some toast so you’d have something in your system other than alcohol,” Alex said. Michael groaned even louder. “Are you okay? Did something happen? ‘Cause I thought you were doing better.”

“Me too,” Michael huffed, looking over at him, “I’m so fucking sorry, Alex.”

“Don’t say sorry, you didn’t do anything too wrong. I’d rather you come to me than be sleeping on the side of the road or something. Though, next time, I’d appreciate a call so you don’t drive like that,” Alex said. Michael shook his head.

“No, it’s not fair on you. I shouldn’t be putting my shit on your shoulders, you don’t deserve that,” Michael insisted.

“Hey,” Alex said, reaching out and touching his arm gently. It was grounding. “Shit happens, we fuck up. I’d rather you be safe with me than hurt.”

“But I treated you like shit when you needed me,” Michael stated. Alex gently rubbed his thumb over his arm before pulling it away. It left him feeling cold.

“You weren’t in a good head space and you’ve been doing a lot better. We got a lot of shit to still work on, but we have to be good to ourselves and each other to make it happen. Yeah, you guys weren’t too nice to me for awhile, but me treating you that way back when you’re trying isn’t going to make anyone happy,” Alex said. Michael took a deep breath, shaking his head.

“You deserve better.”

“Yeah, well,” Alex sighed, “Sucks I really want you then.” Michael huffed a laugh, but the words gave him that little bit of motivation he needed to make sure whatever happened last night wouldn’t become a regular thing again. “Look, I’m not going anywhere. You are doing better. Last night was just a bad night.”

“Really bad.”

“Yeah, and I’m still going to be here when you’re ready to treat me right,” Alex said. Michael looked at him, at his pretty face and his unrelenting kindness. What the hell did Michael do to deserve a man who loved him like that? He didn’t feel worthy. “Maybe I’m stupid for it, but I think you’ve got it in you to treat me and yourself right. You just need a support system.”

“So do you.”

“Mhm,” Alex agreed, tugging his stuffed dog close to his chest, “And I’m finding one outside of the people in Roswell. But you? You I want to keep.”

Michael scooted a little bit close, hoping to shift the topic just a little so they didn’t have to have a talk so heavy right when they woke up. He reached out and gently tugged on the rough-textured ear of the stuffed dog.

“What’s it’s name?” Michael asked.

“Diné,” Alex answered, “Don’t ask why, I named it when I was, like, three.”

“You’ve had it that long? How come I’ve only seen it a couple times?”

Alex shrugged, “You clearly aren’t in my bed as much as you should be.”

Michael huffed a laugh, his hand leaving Alex’s comfort piece and dragging his hand over his arm before pulling his hand back to himself.

“Have I ever told you how incredible you are?” Michael wondered, “Because you are. You’re better than... than everyone I’ve ever met.”

Alex took a deep breath and nodded, “Yeah, I believe that. Your friends suck.”

“They’re your friends too,” Michael laughed. 

“Yeah, which is why I can say that,” Alex said before adding in a sing-song voice, “You need to get better ones.”

“I’ll work on that,” Michael agreed, smiling a little helplessly. 

It was difficult to not smile when Alex looked and acted like that, all warm and fuzzy and open. He was so happy after moving out to the cabin and, instead of going to Roswell all the time, going out to places in the town over. He was making friends and learning new things and it was making him even better than he already was. Michael didn’t even know that was possible.

But this was Alex and, with him, anything was possible.

[anthropwashere]

Phic Phight: set the self upon the shelf

Prompt from @five-rivers: Jack and Maddie acquire the pieces of Freakshow's staff.   

@currentlylurking @phicphight

Word count: 3,841

=

In hindsight, Danny should have expected something like this to happen. He'd been on a good streak; a really good streak. No catastrophes, no explosions, no be-all, end-all ultimatums with terrible creatures trying to squeeze the life out of some poor schmuck trying to go about their day. Heck, aside from a few toothy Day-Glo bright beasties waking him up just shy of his alarm and the usual irritation of the Box Ghost haranguing the nearest postal office, things have been easy. There hasn't even been any test to stress out over. So with how his luck usually is, he's overdue for a bad day. 

Today's that day, turns out. It's just not so obvious as bad days usually go for him anymore. It's insidious, creeping, sly. 

Worst of all, his parents are the ones to blame, and they're not even trying to take Phantom apart molecule by molecule this time.

It's a Wednesday, as dull as any other Wednesday can be, when he unlocks the front door of FentonWorks, leaving it open for Sam and Tucker to come in after him. They're all in the middle of another round of friendly bickering, some he-said she-said I-read-this-article goofing with no stakes or real anger in any of their threats to shut the others up. They're just goofing. Danny locks the door once they're in, punches in the pass code on the panel his parents had installed a couple months back so the trigger-happy security system doesn't take umbrage with whatever-the-hell just strolled in through the front door. Tucker's managed to bamboozle the security somehow—Danny can almost follow along with the concept of coding if Tucker's in the mood to skip the jargon, but sit him in front of a command prompt with nary a word of English to be found and his whole brain just fritzes out in self-defense—and point is, the security recognizes Danny's not very human, but it does the software equivalent of a shrug and dumps the notifications into a hidden folder his parents would need to get real creative finding. 

He means to lead them to the stairs to dump their backpacks off in his bedroom before raiding the kitchen. The Box Ghost had decided to ruin lunch today instead of Algebra, like a jerk, and Danny's starving as a consequence of his sandwich ending up on the floor and burning up a ton of energy chasing the idiot around the entire school six times. He's trying not to laugh as Sam keeps up her rant on how unreliable sad nerds on forums are for relaying what cocaine-addled movie producers in LA may or may not have agreed to, when Tucker says, "Danny?"

"Yeah?"

"Where you going?"

Danny blinks. He's halfway down the stairs to his parents' lab. He didn't even notice. "Uh," he says, turning around. Sam and Tucker are still on the top step, raising identical eyebrows at him. "Sorry. Habit."

"BG can wait, dude. I didn't get to eat either."

"Ha. Right."

They go upstairs, Sam picking up her rant again on the second-floor landing. They drop their bags off in his room and tromp downstairs again. Danny flicks the light switch on as he passes through the doorway to the—

"Danny?"

He blinks. Halfway down to the lab again, and he'd been sure he was in the kitchen this time. He swallows, putting on a sheepish grin for his friends as he trots back up to them again. Tucker looks amused so he almost thinks he's gotten away without worrying them, but one look at Sam tells him to dump that hope in the trash and forget about it. Her painted mouth is downturned and distinctly worried. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he says. The funny thing is, it's not even a lie. "Why?"

She hesitates, then shakes her head. So he's not worrying her enough that she needs to make a parade of it. That's good. That's great. All he wants to focus on right now is microwaving the entire box of taquitos his Dad snuck into the grocery cart the last time his parents went shopping, and then eating it as fast as half-humanly as possible. 

Jazz comes home while they're all splayed out in the kitchen, poking her head in to say hi and ask if he needs any cover stories drummed up with lunch having been so chaotic. "Nah," he assures her, "I'll just dump the Box Ghost into the Portal after Mom and Dad go to bed. Thanks, though."

"Patrol tonight?"

"Always."

"Let me know when you head out?"

"Sure."

She smiles at him warmly, and not for the first time is Danny glad to have her in on his secret. She's overbearing and controlling and way, way too worried about rule-breaking, but still. It's nice. He trusts her, he loves her, and he gets no small amount of delight at having her in on all the ridiculous excuses he concocts for his parents. He has no idea how he managed so long without her helping him keep his secret. 

"Don't let him do anything stupid," she tells Sam and Tucker. Tucker gives her a mock-salute without looking up from his phone. 

"That's a tall order," Sam says with a roll of her eyes. Danny elbows her. She elbows him right back, and hers are sharp.

Jazz laughs so hard she snorts. It's a sure sign she's comfortable around Danny's friends, which is a lovely relief all on its own. For all that they don't talk much about not-ghost stuff, Danny knows she's struggled to make friends for a long time, knows she's lonely, knows she's just as happy to be included in all the Phantom business as he is to have her there beside him. She waves a touch sarcastically at them and goes off to her own room, presumably to be a good straight-A student and do all her homework for the rest of the month somehow. 

Whatever. Danny's got a full-sized mountain of taquitos to plough through and nothing the least bit life-threatening on his radar for the foreseeable future. That's as sure to change in the next five minutes as it always is. He's used to having a tight knot of panic clenched around his heart and/or the funny little cold spot where his ghostly core leaks through to his human side. He's always on edge, always ready for something. It's half the reason he can't remember the last time he got a decent night's sleep, too stressed to do more than toss restlessly in his bed until the wee hours, and the proper ghosts all seemed to have unanimously decided that five a.m. is the best time ever to come charging through the Portal to cause a little pre-dawn havoc.

"Danny?"

He blinks, and he's halfway down the stairs to the lab again.

He licks his lips, swallowing nervousness. He... he doesn't even remember leaving the kitchen. He looks over his shoulder to find Sam and Tucker up on the top step again, equal amounts of concern furrowing their brow. Down in the lab he hears his parents' voices, just low enough that he can't make out individual words over the heady thrum of the Ghost Portal. "Uh," he says.

"Something's wrong," Sam says. it's not a question.

"I'm okay," he says automatically. "Really. Not lying. Just... I dunno. Let's go upstairs."

They go upstairs. Danny plows through his taquitos as originally intended, relaying through rude mouthfuls that he really does feel fine, totally normal (for him, shut up Tucker). He doesn't think he's losing time or anything as worrying as that. He's just... going through the motions so much that he doesn't even notice when he misses his mark.

Sam and Tucker do not like the sound of that, but he convinces them to let it lie. His parents are probably just working on some new gadget. He'll take a look at the lab later tonight. It's not like it feels evil or anything. It doesn't even hurt, which considering the trend of ghost hunting gizmos they've drummed up the last few months is a welcome change of pace. It's fine, really. He's fine, really.

"If you're sure," Tucker says, doubtful.

"I am. Give it a rest, will ya?"

They do, and they reluctantly bunker down to make a decent dent in their homework so they won't have to worry about it in that anxious gray waiting after dinner with their families and before they can sneak out for patrol. Normal kids do their homework after dinner. Not them. They're halfway between valedictorian and delinquent in their habits, toeing the line between abandoning homework entirely and only keeping up with it as best they can to avoid any unnecessary eyes. Danny can't afford the extra attention. 

The afternoon wanes, evening looming like an executioner's axe—Sam and Tucker are all too aware of how long they've gone without a proper catastrophe too—and sooner than they'd prefer it's time to part ways. Sam and Tucker gather up their things and hide away their patrol schedules and the like in the hollow space in Danny's ceiling as per usual. Then the three of them tromp down the stairs again to dump their plates in the sink and pay lip service to a goodnight until tomorrow in case Danny's parents are around. They're not at first glance, or at second glance for that matter, but better safe than sorry. Danny starts to follow them to the door, uneasy of the doorway down the lab yawning like a mouth, and this time he feels it—

(come here)

—but there's nothing for it. Knowing he's being bidden down the basement doesn't stop him from swiveling on his heel to start down the polished stairs. It's only Sam's quick reaction that stops him only two steps down, her hand a firm vice on his bent elbow. 

"Yeah," he says, a little breathless with surprise. "Felt it that time."

"Only that time?" Tucker asks in a tone firmly detailing how little he likes the sound of that. 

Danny looks over his shoulder to nod at them both. "It doesn't hurt," he reminds them. "It's okay. I can handle—whatever it is they're doing down there."

"Tell Jazz," Sam says, which is surprising enough that Tucker gawks at her too. It's not like she and Jazz get along, after all. Danny promises, too surprised to scoff or tease her for worrying over nothing. Maybe that should've been a warning sign too.

He waves them off at the door, locking it and punching in the code again with a habit so well-honed he doesn't even think about it, and before he knows it he's blinking harsh neon green light out of his eyes. Down in the basement, and he only remembers walking down the stairs after the fact.

"Danny-boy!" His dad shouts with his usual boisterous energy from over near one of the examination tables. His mom's off at one of the far counters, bent over a heavily modified microscope. Both of them have their hoods up, and Danny has to swallow a shiver when his dad looms too close. Something about the goggles always reminds him of how a praying mantis' eyes bulge; charmingly goofy right up until it snatches its prey up in its scythe-like forearms. 

"H-hey, Dad."

"Whoa, is it that late already? Baby cakes, it's almost six!"

His mom straightens up with a murmured groan as her back pops audibly. Her red-lipped smile ratchets right up into something uncanny and wrong without her eyes visible to soften the bright flash of teeth. "Is it? Oh, hell, I completely forgot to take the hamburgers out to thaw. Danny—hi, sweetie—do you mind calling in take-out? Your choice." 

"Uh. Sure, no problem." Funny. Never mind the taquitos he devoured an hour ago, he's always on the cusp of starving. Ghost powers or puberty, or both. He doesn't know and it doesn't really matter so long as nobody notices how much he puts away without gaining an ounce. He casts a wide glance around the lab, feigning bored curiosity, hoping to find some strange new device with his dad's face stickered all over it that will explain this weird urge demanding he be down here—

—and feels his heart and core both stutter at the sight of what's laid beneath his dad's broad hands.

"What," he chokes out. It's all he can manage. His usual anxiety—something's coming, something will come for him, any moment now, any moment, soon soon soon—transmogrifies into a full-blown panic attack so fast he feels the air in his lungs literally, genuinely freeze. He clenches his jaw against the coughing fit threatening to expose him as wrong, pointing at the long black staff laid on the table instead.

"Oh, this? You're never gonna believe it, Dann-o." His dad beams at him, proud of his work and glad his son's taking an interest in it. "We got a call yesterday on the 800 number. Some hiker found this thing absolutely covered in little ghosts down in Little Grand Canyon and figured this thing oughta have a proper once over from us instead of being left to lie where the river'd dumped it."

"It appears to generate a frequency too high for humans to perceive," his mom chimes in, walking over to join them at the table. She shoos a small sparrow-looking ghost away with naked disgust curling her mouth; it goes sailing on stiff wings off to settle on a sturdy crate off in one corner, red eyes leaving streaking after-images as it twists and ducks its little head, taking in all the strangeness of the lab. Danny pretends as hard as he can that he can't hear it asking, where am i? where am i? 

"That's right," his dad confirms, plucking the staff up with a frivolous little twirl that has his mom swatting his shoulder with a laugh. "There must have been thirty birds and snakes and the like swarming all over this thing when we got there this morning. We had to melt the lot of them to get our hands on this thing, and we've got no idea yet what got them so interested in this thing."

"At first glance it's only a simple iron-wrought staff," his mom says, tugging it free from his dad's hands to display the detailed bat at its top and the glittering shards of crimson-colored glass running down its back. "But see this glass? There's a tremendous amount of energy emitting from it—harmless to humans, don't worry. But that bird's the seventh ghost we've seen since we brought this thing down here. Something about the frequency is compelling to ghosts. They have to come see what's going on. Although why they feel such a compunction or what this thing's original purpose was is beyond me...." 

In the back of Danny's mind he hears an echo of an echo of Freakshow's voice urging him on. (take it. bring it back to me. come home. come home to me.)

"Yeah," he manages thinly. "Weird."

They ramble on for a while, too giddy to have him showing an interest in their work to recognize that his interest stems from something adjacent to terror. He musters a rictus grin, nodding like some wall-eyed bobblehead toy when they look to him for input. All the while the beady red eyes of the bat on the staff burn his skin like lit cigarettes, like brands, like red-hot manacles he might not be able to shake this time.

(come here,) the staff bids him, its voice so gentle it could his own mind assuring him that this is the best idea he's ever had. (take me. bring me home. bring me to him. it will all be so much better once we're his again.) 

"Dinner," he chokes out eventually, backing away toward the stairs. "I should—order. Order. Dinner. Pizza?"

"Sounds good to me," his dad says cheerfully. "You know what I like."

"My wallet's in the kitchen," his mom adds.

(stay,) the staff says. (take me. bring me home.)

"Nngh," he says, nodding dutifully. He doesn't know who to. It takes far more effort to climb the stairs this time, his grip white-knuckled on the banister, his gaze reluctantly dragged away from the basement and up to the living room. Once there he blinks, feeling the tug of the staff fade to something slight again. He can ignore it up here, but now that he knows what it is he can't stop hearing-feeling it. 

(come here,) it urges. (downstairs. i'm here. take me back. take me home. come home with me—)

He slaps his hands over his ears (for all the good it does), and stomps over to the kitchen where the landline is. Pizza. He. He's gotta order dinner. His parents will suspect him if he doesn't do this one perfectly normal thing. 

He dials. He orders. He fumbles around his mom's wallet for her debit card. He manages a stammered apology to the person on the line, who laughs indulgently and tells him "No worries!" in a tone that says she knows how young he is just by his voice. Underestimating him. Simple human. Stupid human. He could show her how wrong she is. He should show her. Scare her. Make her scream. Hurt her—

He drops the phone, breathing heavily.

Shit. 

Shit.

"Hello?" The girl's tinny voice asks uncertainly, a hundred miles away at his feet.

He picks the phone up. "S-sorry. Anyway, the number's...."

He finishes the order. The girl on the phone tells him to expect the driver to arrive in about 45 minutes. He makes a few incomprehensible noises that might translate to something like a thank you if the girl happens to feel real generous. He's never calling this pizza place again.

Once the phone's back on the receiver he bolts up through the ceiling, straight up to the roof, past the Ops Center, up up up until he feels the final sticky thread of the staff let him go, until he's skirting the scraggly cloud cover and thinking clearly enough to realize he really ought to ditch visibility while he's up here trying to figure out what the fuck he's gonna do next.

Freakshow's in jail.

Freakshow doesn't have the staff.

Freakshow can't control him now. He can't. He can't.

It's the staff. Just the staff down there, and whatever about it that makes it so—intoxicating? Smothering? Comforting?

He's far enough away that it's easy to recoil from that. It's not a comfort. It's not. It's not easy, or gentle, or good. It's piano wire tugging on his joints, turning his mind to so much waterlogged cotton. There's no knowing what the staff would do to him without someone at the metaphorical wheel. Just because what he remembers from when Freakshow controlled him is a warm, soft cocoon doesn't make it right. He put humans—people—in the hospital. He stole thousands of dollars worth of jewelry from eight different stores in six days. He nearly killed Sam. 

These are things he knows because he was told them secondhand. He read articles, watched news reports, listened to Sam shakily try to convince him that she was okay, really, just as he'd done to her a hundred times before. 

But the truth of the matter is this: he has no concrete memories of that week spent under Freakshow's thumb. He remembers warmth, and rightness, and glee. He remembers feeling a good so giddy it might be better than any description of any drug he's ever heard of. He knows the comedown was hard, and disorienting, and cold, and that he couldn't shake the ring of Freakshow's laughter in his ears for weeks. He knows that the majority of him hated every minute of not being himself. He knows that nine-tenths of him still feels a touch unclean in a way he doesn't know how to voice to Sam and Tucker, to know that he did those things without any semblance of self, and that last little part of him reveled in just... letting go. Running wild. In doing things for the fun of it and not caring at all about consequences, because what did consequences matter to a ghost?

There's a very, very tiny part of himself that wishes for the freedom of that feeling. Yoked and manacled in the sticky, impossible-to-resist way of magic, but free from the burdens of Danny Fenton. No expectations, no future, no what-ifs, no curfews, no algebra. Just Phantom. Just free to do whatever he pleases.

Skittishly he looks down at FentonWorks a thousand feet below, unsure if he's put enough distance between himself and the staff, unsure if he can trust his own thoughts yet. He doesn't know. He doesn't think there's any way to know for sure.

What should he do?

What can he do?

Just being within easy reach of the staff puts prickles all down his spine, numbs his hands and feet and tongue. He broke it. That's how he got free of Freakshow. He dropped it to save Sam because she was more important, and it broke, and now he's free. He's free. He is.

Maybe the orb-thing wasn't the source.

Maybe....

He doesn't know.

He can't let his parents keep it. That much he does know. If they figure out how to utilize it, even at a fraction of what Freakshow was capable of, then there'd be no winning. Phantom could barely fight it with Sam begging for her life right in front of him, and that was with a stranger at the reins. If his mom or dad told him to come down to the lab and lay down on an examination table....

He can't.

He can't.

What can he do?

His hip buzzes, so unexpected he drops twenty feet before catching himself with a yelp. His first instinct is that it's an attack, and he switches to Phantom and throws up a shield faster than thought, twisting around in the dark trying to find the source, trying to see who's coming for his throat next—

It's his phone. A text. That's all. No more, no less.

He changes back, not trusting his shaky hands with gloves on. It's from Jazz, asking where he's at. He calls her back, and she answers on the third ring.

"Hey, Danny," she says, relief audible in her voice. "Was there a ghost?"

"Uh-uh," he says. "Worse. Jazz, I—I need a favor."

"What was that? You broke up."

"Oh. Uh. Hang on." He drops hundreds and hundred of feet in free fall, watching the Ops Center racing up to meet him, all its floodlights swiveling round and round on automated patterns. He halts on a dime, far faster than any human could endure, and feels only an irritating tug on his bones as he swivels to find balance again. "Can you hear me now?"

"Yeah, that's better. What's up?"

He takes a deep breath. "I need a favor. A really, really big one."

[oopshidaisyy]

May Fic Recs

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Crash Landers by gyzym In which Stiles learns to Stalk That Stalk. (Or, how to accidentally woo your unfriendly neighborhood alpha in roughly five hundred handwritten steps.) Derek/Stiles, 31k, T Note: i’ve never watched teen wolf i just think this fic is neat

[motleymoose]

Homecoming Pt. 3: Bits & Pieces Ch. 2

Chapter 2 Niceties in Flames

Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars Universe Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Gender Neutral Reader, The Child (Baby Yoda) Words: 3k+ Warnings: Panic, Anger, Angst Adjacent, FINALLY THERE’S SOME SIGNIFICANT FLUFF

Summary:

Panicking is not the best thing to do in these circumstances. But you know what? I'm going to do it anyway, any chance I get.

Notes:

Thank you for continuing to read this fear-fueled panic-fest!

Be prepared, all you polyglots out there - some of the Mando'a I made up using a combination of mandoa dot com and lingojam. It isn't perfect, and it probably makes zero sense. But until google translate has a Mando'a option, you're just gonna have to deal with the nonsense (unless, of course, you absolutely know your way around the language. I am all ears for some tips)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Homecoming Masterlist

Big green ears greeted me with a friendly waggle as the tiny, wide-eyed creature clawed its way out of the Mandalorian’s grasp and half-fell half-climbed down the beskar armor to the floor. It peered calmly up at the dumbfounded Mandalorian, meeping softly. At once, all of the resentment I had been holding dissipated. I had never seen anything like it, yet I wanted to safeguard it from everything else in the galaxy.

Perplexed at the sudden emotional assault, I took a careful step back. Maybe it was a creature that could influence my thoughts towards it? I didn’t know what those types of animals looked like, but I had heard stories. Stories that never turned out well for the beings duped into protecting the creature.

“Wh-what is that thing?” I asked, unease edging into my voice.

Looking over to me, the bounty hunter inclined his head in bewilderment. “He is a foundling.” The visor dropped my gaze, focusing on the thing at his feet. “He wants to - meet you.” And then, to the thing, quietly murmured, “You sure about this, kid?”

Huffing in answer, the critter - no, child? - waddled briskly up to me, stopping just short of my boots. He leaned back as far as he could, contemplating me with his immensely warm obsidian eyes. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I finally broke.

“Uh, what now?”

The child looked back to the bounty hunter one more time. The Mandalorian sighed in defeat. “He wants you to pick him up.”

I nodded nervously. Of course, that made total sense. The kid was short. If he wanted to meet me, he needed to see me face to face. Didn’t mean I was comfortable with the idea, seeing as he might be able to mind-control me. Anxiety began to eat away at my insides. I didn’t want to become some mindless, slobbering zombie to something as cute and puntable as the little green child in front of me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I haltingly took another step back. The kid followed, gaze intent.

Frag, frag, frag, it would’ve been better if he’d just get the mind controlling over with instead of waiting for me to do something erratic and stupid. It was as if he wasn’t -

Oh for Force’s sake! Barely able to contain my utter disbelief in myself, I facepalmed and groaned quietly. I still had all my normal paranoia. Logically, that proved the kid wasn’t trying to control. If he were anything like the stories, both the bounty hunter and I would’ve been dog food long before now.

“... you okay?” the bounty hunter grunted.

My head shot up at the noise. You’ve got to be doshing kidding me. In the onset of my panic, I’d completely neglected the fact that the Mandalorian was there.

“Yeah, I’m fine. So fine,” I muttered, embarrassed.

Right.

Mind made up, I lowered myself to sit cross-legged in front of the child. Now that I was at the little one’s level, I held out a hand, palm up, and smiled weakly. “Su’cuy, ad’ika,” I greeted him. The child’s eyes widened in wonder, and he grabbed a finger in each of his small fists, cooing animatedly back.

Glimpsing out of my periphery, the Mandalorian had moved closer, standing within arms-reach of the little one. His breastplate visibly moved with each breath, and I got the feeling he was very uncomfortable with the interaction.

The child, giggling at nothing in particular, dropped my fingers in favor of my knee. He clumsily grasped the wrinkles in my borrowed jumpsuit, pulling himself to stand on my thighs. Flat little feet, three-toed to match his three-fingered hands, curled into the fabric. The warmth of his little body was comforting in a way that I couldn’t recognize, and I had the sudden and all-encompassing urge to protect him with my life.

Chubby hands made quick work exploring my mostly-empty jumpsuit, only finding a clean rag and a half-consumed rations packet in one of the chest pockets. Disappointed in his discoveries, the little one tugged at the front of my tunic and with alarming dexterity, shimmied his way up to my right shoulder. He perched there, one foot in my face and the other kicking at my shoulder blade, happier than a mudhorn in the rain and giggling trilly.

“You little scamp,” I laughed, tickling the toes in front of me. The child tittered, wiggling away from me. He managed to swing his leg over my shoulder, clinging tightly to my back.

Chuckling, I reached behind me to find his little feet again. “Think you can hide from me back there?” I was met with a shrieking laugh when my fingers grazed the kid’s stubby legs.

“He likes you.” Startled, I released the child and halfway rose. I had all but forgotten about the bounty hunter, and his modulated voice was jarring after all the happy sounds that came from the little one.

“I bet you say that to all the bounties,” I replied dryly, the bite in my voice softer than what it had been before. Did I have to like the Mandalorian? No, a big ol’ negative no matter how many surprisingly nice things he happened to do.

But the child, well. I could rein in my attitude for a little while, just for his sake.

Shaking his head once more, the baffled Mandalorian stepped around me and the child and slipped silently into the cockpit.

“Is he always so chatty?” I asked the little one, gently scooping him into my arms and returning him to his original spot on my right shoulder as I stood up to follow my taciturn host.

The child burbled incomprehensibly, which I took as an absolute agreement, and held onto my ear as I settled into the co-pilot’s chair. His little green body radiated warmth, providing solace that I didn’t realize I needed up until now.

I snuggled my face into his little cloth-covered belly. The child squealed in delight, slapping the side and top of my head excitedly. Snorting like a dewback, I grabbed the little guy and pulled him to my lap, tickling him until he wriggled out of my grasp. From the floor, he practically rolled to the Mando, patting him animatedly on the knee.

The Mandalorian was at the controls, tapping something into the Navigation. He promptly stopped what he was doing and reached down to pick up the child. Cooing in delight, the little one set his tiny hands on the bounty hunter’s visor for a long few seconds before pointing at me.

“Fine,” the Mandalorian sighed. He got up from the pilot’s chair, setting the child carefully in his place, and disappeared through the door. I could hear the faint clanging and rustling coming from the back. Quirking my eyebrow at the kid got me a slobbery grin, so I made a face. I was still making faces at the child when the hunter snuck back in, a lumpy package in his hand.

“Here.” He dumped the cloth-bound parcel unceremoniously into my lap.

My hands closed on it automatically. It was heavier than its size suggested, and even though it was lumpy, I couldn’t tell what was wrapped inside. I didn’t know what else to do, so I gaped at the bounty hunter. “What-?”

With a sigh that could’ve extinguished a thousand flames, the Mandalorian picked up the child and plopped heavily into the pilot’s seat while nestling the little one gently in his lap. “Open it.”

Fingers curling possessively around the bulging fabric, I dropped my eyes once more before speaking. “Why?” My heart skipped a beat, clutching the bundle to my chest.

“Just, it’s yours, okay? Open it,” he replied gruffly.

For whatever reason, my hands trembled as I undid the neatly tied knot holding the fabric all together. After a few fumbling attempts, the Mandalorian impatiently reached over and nimbly plucked at the knot. It fell apart easily, and he settled back into the pilot’s chair.

Unfolding the fabric, I was greeted with a delightful yet disorienting surprise.

“I thought...?” There, neatly bundled in the rough fabric, were all of my tools and parts I’d had in my jumpsuit. I couldn’t believe it. He’d saved all of my stuff. Heart swelling in anticipation, I sorted through the jumble of wires and wrenches and screws, my eyes sharp for a familiar silvery glint. But the more I dug, the more my heart sunk. It wasn’t there. My pendant, the last remnant I had of my home, was gone.

“Where is it?” I gargled, my tongue suddenly much too big for my mouth. “Where’s my necklace?” Dread blossomed in my chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the hunter huffed in annoyance.

The little one cooed softly, catching my attention. He was slumped in the Mandalorian’s lap, snoring gently as he dozed, completely unaware of the tension spiking in the room.

I lowered my voice, frowning. “My necklace. It’s on an old silver chain. A Mythosaur charm.” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “It’s from my caretaker.”

The bounty hunter froze, one hand poised over the flight panel. The little one stirred in his lap, and he laid a light hand on the child’s back to shush him. “What do you mean.”

A little flame of ire licked it’s way up my spinal column. I remembered having it when we got back to the ship. I remembered the steady, solid thunk of it swinging against my collar bone. He must have had it. It couldn’t have just gotten up and walked away.

“I want it back. Now.”

Turning his visor to me, he tucked the dozing child into the crook of his injured arm. “I don’t have it,” he warned in a deep-throated growl. “Everything you had on you is either ash floating in space or there.” He nodded his helmet at the bundle in my lap.

“Then where is it?”

“It’s a big ship,” he replied, turning back to the controls. “Things get easily lost.”

In my haste to stand, I barely caught the bundle of tools before they hit the floor. I turned on my heel and stormed out of the cockpit and down the ladder to the cargo hold, clenching my hands so hard that the steel and wire and other debris bit painfully into my hands.

Why was he lying? Could he even lie? I couldn’t recall a time where he wasn’t truthful, but that didn’t mean this time couldn’t be different. I tossed my beloved kit onto the bed and began sorting through it in a more organized and methodical manner. My favorite multitool, tiny spools of wire, the odd screw. My entire kit, from the biggest wrench to the tiniest washer, was spread out before me. Everything I’d had in my pockets had been returned.

But where was my necklace?

The pendant was a relic of Mandalore, and any Mandalorian worth their salt would recognize it for what it was just by the shape of it. I didn’t know the history behind such a symbol, only the little piece of information my caretaker had told me when he’d fastened it behind my neck. ”Ibic cuun aliit. Ibic cuun aliik. Ad’ika, bic gaa’taylir gar o’r buruk.” I didn’t understand what he’d meant at the time, yet I knew that it was important that I got the necklace back. It was a sign of allegiance. And that could have value to an outsider.

As I turned these thoughts over and over in my head, the guilt heavy on my shoulders, I inspected my tools for damage. But no matter what item I picked up, I couldn’t find anything remotely wrong with any of it.

Which was super weird, considering I’d been captured, beaten up, caught in a gunfight and then injured while on the dustiest and most polluted of planets in the sector. Surely my tools would show some sort of blemish or stain - probably my blood, in all seriousness - but they were clean and sharp and repaired.

What the ever lovin’ frag?

I didn’t want to add a whole other question to the pile that was already massive.

That meant I actually had to confront the doshing bastard.

I clambered up the ladder, face hot with anger and humiliation. “Hey, Mando! Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?” I seethed when I entered the cockpit.

The bounty hunter bristled at the controls. A shiny domed pod floated motionless at his elbow, the opening facing the door. Inside slept the child, covered lovingly with a worn blanket, his soft breaths coming out in steady little puffs.

Swiftly rising from the pilot’s chair, he crossed the cockpit in one stride, reaching me before I could blink. With a rough shove to the chest, he pushed me into the engineering compartment and slid the door shut.

The room was full of wires and blinky lights and tubes of varying sizes snaking their way in orderly chaos to other parts of the ship. I took a short instant to gape and ogle in awe at all the shiny tech. For such an old ship, the hunter had outfitted the Razor Crest with some wickedly stars-quality mech. Enviously drooling over the fairly-new looking alluvial damper valves and definitely new motivator wiring, I almost forgot the reason I was back up here. Facing down a glowering Mandalorian.

Right.

“Why?” The spite on my tongue tasted off but pleasant, and it welcomed the rising ire with relish. “Why did you fix my kit? Frag, save it for that matter, after all the doshing kriff you’ve put me through?” I hissed. The anger was becoming its own being again, a beast uncaged and wanting to inflict hurt.

Standing like a statue in front of the door, the only sign of life was the tapping of his gloved fingers on the cuisses. Not a reaction I’d expected from a bounty hunter. I hoped for equal anger, shouting, maybe a sucker punch. Anything that allowed me to physically unleash the rage and fear and blasted confusion roiling unpleasantly in my guts.

A small sigh escaped through his vocoder, and he began to fidget with the wrist fastenings on his gloves, pulling at the fingers one at a time. The familiarity of the movement, such a little, almost automatic thing for a warrior, made my heart squeeze painfully, briefly tempering my anger, and I couldn’t help but picture my caretaker.

All of the things that reminded me of my warrior, the one who’d kept me from certain starvation and subsequent slavery, were all but nonexistent in this one. His brusque manner and indifferent attitude made me long for the kind words from the man I called buir. But he was gone, long ago abandoning me to the whims of the colony. More than anything, I hoped he was dead. At least that wouldn’t hurt as much.

Clearing his throat, the bounty hunter angled his visor to gaze at the converter panels blinking peacefully above my head. “Most bounties, when I bring them in. They - they plead innocence. Try to buy me off. Run. But you,” he paused, inclining his helmet to look me straight in the eyes. A shiver went up my spine. “You were the first quarry to ever accept your guilt. You didn’t fight back, you didn’t beg to be released. You just… took it so - so sincerely that I -,” The rumbling timbre of his voice, both rich and gravelly, cracked, making the vocoder buzz in protest. He took a shuddering breath, returning his gaze back to the point above me. “I knew the warrant was… off. No private entity pays that amount of bounty out of concern. I’ve done things like that before, awful things I can never take back but,” he stopped again, bare fingers tapping slowly and deliberately on the cuisses, gloves grasped tightly in the other hand. “I - I’m sorry. I about got you killed out of a sense of misplaced duty. You warned me, but I didn’t - couldn’t trust you, not then.”

I gawped at him in astonishment. Of all the things I figured would come out of that masked mouth of his, never in lightyears would I have thought it would be an apology. Closing my jaw with a snap, I swallowed and thought back to all of my tools he’d saved and repaired and cleaned.

My gaze dropped down to my boots. I still didn’t understand why he was being so… so… not a bounty hunter, but now wasn’t the time to question it. Never look a gift Tauntaun in the mouth, or something like that. A rustle of fabric was the only indicator that the bounty hunter was waiting for me to say something. I inhaled deeply.

“Th-thank you,” I whispered. My breathing came easier. My head felt lighter. Frag, even the atmosphere seemed brighter.

The Mandalorian didn’t reply. I mean, why would he? He’d saved my life - albeit being the one who endangered it in the first place, but that was neither here nor there at the moment - and patched me up. He fixed my kit without a word. He was bringing me with him on whatever he was doing on Nevarro, a decision that I barely understood to begin with. If anything, he deserved a little thanks for not killing me or letting me die when it would have been the easiest, and possibly the best, choice to make.

The Mandalorian still hadn’t made a sound by the time I was done with my internal debate. He was probably as surprised as I was at my capacity for gratitude. Maybe there was a way I could pay him back, and I decided to propose my services right then and there.

Steeling my nerves, I peeked up from under my lashes. The engineering room door was wide open, and I was completely alone among the blinking lights.

_____________________________________

Notes:

”Ibic cuun aliit. Ibic cuun aliik. Ad’ika, bic gaa’taylir gar o’r buruk.” - “This is our clan. This is our sigil. Little one, it will help you when you’re in danger.” (please forgive me for mashing a bunch of words together)

Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod? - Are you looking for a smack in the face, mate?

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

One Day At A Time - Jensen x Reader

A/N: Part Three! If you’d like to be tagged, please sent an ask or message. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Widower!Jensen. Grieving process. Age Gap. Character pregnancy. Unrequited feelings. Online personality problems. Guilt. I believe that is all.

Word Count: Roughly 2,700

“Hi, there,” The woman giggled into the mic as Jensen played up the flirty eyebrow bounce and cheesy smile that would be cast over Tumblr within twenty four hours.

He was finished after that final panel, for the trip. Nothing sounded better than a hot shower and catching some sleep. His mind was still reeling from the news he'd been given that morning, but he couldn't focus on that. So, he buried himself behind that charming persona he'd created.

“Dude, leave her alone...she wants me,” Jared smoothed his thick, long, chestnut locks in a way that caused thirsty cries from all around. He cackled as his friend mock frowned his way; unimpressed at the turn of attention. Earning the familiar high pitched laugh from the crowd in front of them.

It was easy to play into their hands. To take the nerves that came with being shy and put it towards acting like a dork with his best friend. He appreciated the disguise more than he'd ever say. Letting it mask the worry and fear he could feel churning inside of him when it was too quiet for long.

“Actually, my question is for Jensen-”

“Ha!” The mentioned man in question leaned forward at the barked utterance, pretending to gloat. Smugly bouncing his brows at Padalecki.

With a deep, regretful sigh, the taller of the two settled back in his chair; wrapping his arms around the back of it as he sat in reverse, “Okay, I guess.” The over dramatically stated words were coupled with a theatrical sulk that drew forth more giggles.

“I was wondering if Y/N and the kids are enjoying the trip to San Diego,” It was no secret that his family had been flocked around him. Until now, that is. The way he paused at that had every eye present turning towards him.

“Uh, actually...” He forced his lips to stay upright. “They're back home, right now.” Concerned 'awes' filled the air. “No, no. It's okay. They're living it up.” Jared turned his gaze back to the man he'd been brothers with for almost two decades. Not buying into the idea that he was really alright with it. “Last time I checked, they were having some kinda dance party. Again.” The way he clenched his teeth relaxed the fans a bit. An over emphasized grimace always seemed to break the mood. “It was wild. There was pink everywhere and a herd of little girls shouting to music.”

“Odette was leading the charge on the one I got,” The taller man joined in, having received his own recording. “Kicked Zeppelin over to my place for an old fashioned dinosaur night with the boys.” More awes filled the air.

“Y/N sent you something? I thought you two still weren't talking after you tried to drown her?” His brow crooked, finding something he could latch onto. Knowing that his friend had delivered that ammo on purpose. He really did love the moose.

“I can explain!” Jared held up his hand towards the 'ooohs,' and then stopped. ��No... no, I can't.” His head dipped in false shame, earning another set of rambunctious chuckles.

“I can.” Jensen easily took over. Turning to better face the crowd now that he'd successfully maneuvered around the original question. “This guy tortures my nanny. She's like the female version of Misha to Jared. It's endless.” The mentioned man's lips screwed up as he nodded proudly, accepting the label that was thrown onto you. “So, we were at a cookout over at his place. I'm flipping burgers and relaxing with a beer. You know...like a normal person.” His words only made his friend shrug. Zero shame in sight. “Next thing I know? She's screeching as he full on tosses her into the pool.”

“She called me old!” The roar that followed was deafening. “See? They get it!” He beamed at the response only serving to make Jensen over-exaggerate the roll of his green eyes. “And, it worked. What did she say after?”

“You're a child.” The admission was straightforward.

“Meaning that I'm young, and that she was wrong.” A round of applause made him get to his feet, and bow as the widower shook his head in mock shame. Cracking his own grin.

The mic was lifted back to Jensen's lips, “Dude...you started a war because she told the truth?” He knew what had been said, but the crowd was eating it up. Keeping him safe for a little while longer.

“That hurts...” A pat to the heart was thrown in. “That hurts me right there.”

“The kids all joined in. It was chaos.” Ackles explained the previous comment to the women, with a few men scattered here and there. “My kids and Y/N versus his herd and him. We needed an ark to get to the tables. They soaked everything.” His hand panned across the people in front of him, emphasizing how far the damage had spread. “Everything. Gen thought they were going to kill each other.” Jared cackled. Remembering the look on his wife's face. “Y'all know how we had to stop pranking each other, right? 'Cause it was so deadly? That's what they should be doing. Instead, she's become this...epic battle partner. I'm thinking they'll start the next apocalypse before this is over.” A proud nod confirmed it. Jared wouldn't give in until the world ended. Or, he had to go back to work. Whichever happened first.

“Do you prank Y/N?” Someone shouted, catching his attention.

“Do I... Do I prank her? Are you kidding? Do I look stupid?” More laughs filled the air as he shuddered something fierce. “Misha? Absolutely. He doesn't fight back.” His fingers tacked off each point. “He doesn't live in my house. Doesn't hang out with my kids. I like not having to worry about her sicking my spawn on me in retaliation. They'd do it in a heart beat, too.” And most importantly, it kept the professional barriers somewhat in place. “Yeah, no, Y/N and I don't....we're not...” Weren't anything other than co-parents, employer and employee, and almost friends in an odd sort of way. How's that for complicated?

“As fun as I am,” Jared finished, saving him, again. Hoping that the fans wouldn't take that last statement as he had started to. He covered his own look of interest before diving back into the panel. “Now, that we went way off topic....who's next?”

–

“How did the 'mom' thing even start?” You asked in confusion, scrolling through your Instagram notifications. Your feet thrown over the back of the couch as you sprawled. Making yourself quite at home in the Ackles house. The selfie you'd posted while cleaning the damage the girls had caused was packed.

Not that you weren't used to it by that stage. The moment Danneel had tagged you in a post, it had been over. You'd been stalked and fawned over by some. When she passed? You'd been flocked for updates about the Ackles family.

It had taken a year for you to gather the courage to begin posting again. Once you did? The fandom clung to you for offering small pieces of what life was like inside the Ackles' household. Needing to have that sense of closeness to the supernatural family, still, even with a member gone.

The simple image of you with Oscar resting his head on your lap as you sorted the makeup away had garnered the usual 'queen', 'mom', and 'I love yous' mixed with the occasional trash talker. Once Jensen had commented saying he wanted his dog back when he got home? It had grown worse. When you told him that he'd have to fight you for the golden doodle? The post had blown up. The fans demanding to know if you and him had something going on.

Apparently his panel had only cemented the idea, somehow. You hadn't watched it. Leaving you to only wonder what he'd said to garner that response. Sure it had simply been taken out of context.

You scrolled on, determined to find some answers. A few flicks of your fingers and fate intervened. The phone slipped to your face. Making you wince all the while. As if life had directly told you that social media was bad for your health.

With a sigh, you tossed your phone to the couch. Trying to not let the extreme Danneel and Jensen fans get under your skin. Too many 'you'll never be her' comments filled your mind. More than enough 'stop trying to take her place' had you questioning where you stood. You were doing everything you could to get what was needed done while not dancing on your deceased friend's toes.

Did the world really not understand? Were you really any better off than they suggested? The small crush said you weren't.

“No idea,” Genevieve stated seriously, walking towards the grey couch you were occupying with a pile of healthy snacks loaded up. Pulling you from the internal struggle. She'd been extra conscious of what she was putting into her body since she'd discovered the newest pregnancy. “I just kinda...roll with it.”

She and the kiddos were bunking with you. Tag teaming was so much simpler when the baby exhaustion hit. And it gave the both of you some grownup time together when the men were away.

“It's so strange,” You picked up one of the grapes with your fingers before plopping it in your mouth. Giving up on trying to understand the fact that you'd become an icon of sorts- and the ramifications- for simply nannying some, albeit great, kids.

At your friend's next words, you choked, “So...what's the deal with you and Jensen?”

“It's the same as its always been,” Came the broken words as you got back a hold of yourself. Brushing it off. “Why?”

“Just curious,” That wasn't it. The cool, actress's poker face she wore said as much. But, you were too sensitive to call her out on it, just then. Luckily, she changed gears. “I can't believe that this is it...The last season is being filmed this year.”

The CW had finally pulled the plug on the Winchesters once it had hit adulthood. The boys had found out in a meeting that morning. They'd known it was coming. Had even agreed to it. And yet? Hearing the finality of it? Was another nail in the coffin.

“Eighteen seasons...It's crazy.” Your hand ran through your hair as you looked at the old episode on screen. Sister Jo stood off against Michael!Dean. The tension in the scene was palpable. It didn't hurt to watch it, anymore. Instead, you focused on the fact that she'd been doing what she loved with the man she'd been head over heels for. “How's Jared holding up?”

“He's zeroed in on the kids. Telling himself that it's going to be good for us in the end.” Her hand rubbed over her still flat stomach. “But, he's definitely feeling it. He's been Sam for so long... Saying goodbye is hard.”

“That it is,” You agreed, frowning at the screen. Wondering how Jensen was taking the day.

He hadn't said a thing to you when he'd checked in. Simply had asked for an update on the household before he crashed. Dean had become his crutch. Without the Winchester in his life, you weren't quite sure what he'd do with himself.

Ackles had a passion for directing and acting. There was no doubt about it. But, Supernatural had become everything when his life had turned upside down. It had given him the consistency he'd needed to get through. And while things had been okay for a time? It would be just another major thing he was losing.

Your socked foot rubbed over the soft fur of Icarus. The cockapoo was up there in age. He'd been diagnosed with congestive heart failure at sixteen years old. The white, fifteen pounds of floof didn't let it deter him, though. A couple of pills a day kept him comfortable and loved for as long as he could be. But, it had gotten under Jensen's skin, too.

It made your stomach churn to think about how fast the negative could pile up on already weakened shoulders. And yet, he wanted you to step back. Having time away from him had cleared your head. Allowed you to see his side of things. Maybe it was time to give him some room to breathe. To let him process everything on his own. After all, you were just the nanny...

–

“Dad!” Three voices shouted in unison when the door opened. Ditching their place at the table as Jensen stumbled in with a wide smile on his face. Each kid got a big hug, and a kiss on the cheek.

When they tried to talk over each other, he slowed them down, gently with a, “One at a time.” And, miraculously? It worked. He was informed of everything he'd already had reported to him. Only this time? In child perspective. Which made it dramatic. Completely over the top. Just the way he liked it.

A nod your way was all you received as you slipped past the scene; lifting his bag for him so that no one tripped over it. Including the bumbling dog that was trying to get a kiss in, himself. Oscar had missed his human while he'd been gone.

The dog had been with Danneel's brother during her last pregnancy. She'd been too sick to handle the energetic buffoon while Jensen had been away, filming the show. Gino had fallen in love with the pup. Keeping him...until he thought Jensen needed him more. Returning him back to the Ackles' home solemnly. Oscar had, once again, latched back onto the head of the house with a fierce loyalty that most wouldn't expect from a fluffed up mixed breed. The affection was mutual. Jensen's hand stilled the squirming beast with a simple pet to the top of his curled head as you left the chaos.

Jensen's room was clean. A feat that wouldn't last long once he started unpacking. Bed made up, clothes lined nice and neat, with just a hint of his cologne still lingering in the air from before he'd left. You dropped the duffle on the mattress and turned away. Only to catch sight of the image beside his pillow. It held the dogs, his wife, and the kids all surrounding him. Everything he loved in one picture. His family.

Slowly, you slid the door shut and returned back to the reunion, “Dinner's ready if you're hungry.” You smiled softly at the way he ensured each kid knew that they were loved before climbing back up to his feet. Lumbering after you to get the food while it was still hot.

“Spaghetti,” The actor rumbled in excitement, sniffing the air as he approached the table. His lips smacked hungrily. He was a sucker for a pasta with a good meat sauce. “The wardrobe ladies are gonna be mad at me, later, but I'm piling it up.” He hadn't exaggerated. The flight had left him hungry. “God, this is good.” Came the Dean-like groan as he chowed down. Forgetting that he didn't have to eat like a man who had lived off of nothing more than pizza and beer.

“Dad!” The tiny, disapproving tone left J.J with ease. “You're not supposed to talk with your mouth full.”

He gulped down the food, and smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, J-bird.”

“It's okay. Just try to remember,” The words were so Danneel that you couldn't help but to smile gently at them. She was going to be trouble as she continued to age. But, you had faith she'd be pretty great in the end. Hell, they all would if the night was any indication.

If he was upset about the show ending, he didn't show it. Even after the kids retired for the night and he helped clean up, he didn't say a word. The only thing you got was a pat on the back and a low “goodnight” that made your skin prickle before you returned your own.

Part Four

ODAAT: @winchester-ofthe-lord​​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @ima-be-a-mongoose​ @briagallen​

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278​​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​​

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon​​ @supernaturalginger​​ @lilulo-12​​​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @malfoysqueen14​​​  @michealneedssomemilk

[fic-for-fic-sake]

As Long As You’re Mine

A/N: This is the follow up to “I’m Not That Girl”. This second part now follows the song “As Long As You’re Mine” also from Wicked. Hope you enjoy...

Pairing: Steve x reader

Warnings: Smut, angst, fluff

Six months ago Steve Rogers left you for his ex, and you were handling it. How well you were handling it was debatable but you were moving on and making progress. Which is why when Bucky said there was a new mission you jumped at the opportunity. You had been out of the game way too long, it was time to get to work again. 

Ever since the time tech had been used, people had a way of getting their hands on it, or something similar, and using it for nefarious purposes. Most of which involved giving Hydra a leg up years in advance. Telling them information they shouldn’t know about events that hadn’t happened yet. 

This time, some Hydra newbie, probably trying to prove his worth, used the time tech to go back to 1954 Miami. Some top Hydra execs were meeting and your intel told you that he intended on meeting them there. Your team was unsure of what information he would pass on but Fury said any information out of time is too dangerous, especially in the wrong hands.

You wanted in. This mission would be perfect for you, it would allow you to get back into the swing of things and be relatively undetected. Since he went back alone and it wasn’t your time, people wouldn’t know to be on the lookout for you. Plus security was way more lax in the 50′s so you didn’t have as much to worry about on that front. 

After some internet searches, Bucky’s personal input, and same day Amazon delivery you were ready to go. You marched up to the platform, cream colored heels clacking on the flooring. You felt ridiculous. You wore a white dress with red roses on it, the kind that cinched in at the waist and flared out at the leg. The halter tie of the dress sat uncomfortably at the base of your neck, but your bouncy decade appropriate curls hid it well. The tulle underskirt you had on made a swooshing noise every time you dared move an inch and it drove you crazy. Your white short gloves felt too snug on your hands and you placed one of your many guns in your small silk clutch. The pearl earrings felt too big and your red lipstick made you feel like an overdone Marilyn Monroe. 

Bucky noticed your scowl. “Don’t give me that look, I thought you wanted to go on this mission.” Bucky chided, trying to stifle his grin. 

“Yeah I did, until it involved me dressing up like Mrs. Maisel” You protested, holding your wrist out for Bucky to secure the time bracelet on. 

“Listen doll, you’ve gotta blend in okay? Can’t exactly have you turnin’ up in your normal gear.” He side eyed, referring to your catsuit. Okay, he had a point, that didn’t mean you were enjoying it anymore. Despite yourself, you chuckled. “What’s so funny?” He asked. 

“I mean the fifties is pretty close to your time. I might hear a lot of people talk like you.” You said, thinking about how you liked the way Bucky spoke, still used darlin’ and doll and all that stuff. It reminded you of someone else who used to sweet talk you like that. No, don’t even go there. Steve’s gone and you’re moving on, this mission is what matters. 

“You remember the mission?” He questioned, going over to where Bruce was flipping switches on the control panel. 

“Yeah, go to the beach party, find our guy, take him out. No witnesses, no unnecessary bloodshed.” You repeated, fastening your gloves and getting ready for the mission. Miami, 1954, summer and sun. This should be a piece of cake, home in no time. 

After squinting the sunlight out of your eyes, you tried to catch your bearings by looking around you. Before you could see anything, you smelt them, cubanos. Your mouth watered as you remembered how good they tasted the first time you had one. Would they taste different in 1954? You wondered, but reminded yourself you didn’t have time for such luxuries, you had a party to get to. Just when you thought you would have a hard time finding the place you saw a throng of people heading out to the beach. You literally had to pinch yourself, it felt like you were watching an old movie. 

Guys in short board shorts and girls in high waisted bathing suits and apparently swimming caps, were headed to the beach without a care in the world. They had bottles of Coca-cola in their hands, and the women had straws so they wouldn’t ruin their lipstick. You almost laughed at the thought. If only they knew about the war on plastic straws in your society, you wondered what they would do. Somehow you didn’t think they would care. 

As you followed the people down the beach you noticed more peculiar things. Instead of sunscreen people were actually putting on tanning oil, nobody seemed to care about sun damage. Doris Day and Nat King Cole played in the distance and you wondered vaguely if this was how Marty McFly felt. 

Women in dresses like yours walked by and eyed you in appreciation. Kids ran around flying kites and asking for ice cream. It crossed your mind that those kids were old enough to be your parents now...weird. You reached in your clutch and pulled out the picture of your target. Granted, he probably went through his own Queer Eye 1950s edition makeover as well, so it may be a little harder than originally thought to find him, and to do so before he finds Hydra. You knew they had a meeting at 3:00 and it was 2:26 right now, you had time. 

You kept walking through the beach and your heart stopped. You saw a rope snake its way through the beach and even into the water, what the hell? You got closer and read the sign attached, “Colored swimming”. Damnit, 1950s in Miami meant segregation. Assholes. You really wanted to storm up to all the white people and talk about racial equality and Obama but it wasn’t any use. You knew that somewhere in the country right now, Doctor King was rearing up to do the same thing and it made you smile. Until it didn’t. The terrible thing about time travel is that you have to keep everything as it was. Kind of like snooping in your parents' room when you’re a kid. Even the slightest thing out of place and it was trouble. So that meant, even the bad things, had to stay the same. 

Feeling a little dejected and thinking you had some time, you decided to head back to the cubano cart and try one, you’re only in 1954 once right? You were walking back, head down, as you bumped into someone, literally. 

“Sorry doll, didn’t mean to hit ya.” Came a voice that made your blood run cold. A voice you hadn’t heard in six months. But that wasn’t possible, he wasn’t supposed to be here. 

“Steve?” You questioned, wide eyed and hopeful despite yourself. You took in the man before you. Even though he looked a little older, it was still him. Standing tall in front of you in khaki colored slacks and a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, fuck what that did to you. You felt your mouth go dry despite yourself as you saw his tousled blond locks, no doubt loving the Miami sun. He had a pair of aviators slung into the collar of his shirt, pulling it down slightly. His crystal blue eyes stared at you in a mixture of awe and confusion. 

“Y/N?” He questioned. The second his name left your lips the spell was broken. You wrenched your arm away from his hand and took a noticeably large step back from him. “What are you doing here?” 

“None of your business Rogers.” You replied coldly, as you stormed off in the opposite direction. 2:29, you needed to find your target, you did NOT need this. You could feel tears rushing to your eyes and you tried your best to dab them away with your stupid gloves. You pulled your fingers from your eyes to see the white material smeared with black makeup. 

“Y/N, wait!” You heard Steve call behind you and you knew you couldn’t escape him, couldn’t outrun Captain Fucking America, your ex. He grabbed your arm and forced you to turn around, to look at him. You felt your glassy eyes become devoid of emotion and hardened your stance. 

“What!” You practically shouted at him. Daring him to say something, anything, to break the silence. 

“Doll, what are you doing here? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He questioned, coming over to you and pressing both hands on your bare shoulders. He rubbed his hands up and down your arms in a soothing gesture like he used to do when you would get upset about something, his touch ignited something inside of you. Your body responded to him despite yourself. Remembering what he did to you, you shrugged his hands off of you.  

“You don’t get to ask any questions Rogers, you lost that privilege when you left me.” You seethed, turning on your heels and making a beeline for the bathroom, pushing the door open and staring at your reflection in the mirror. You tried to take quick, calming breaths, knowing you only had moments before Steve came rushing through the door. Sure as sunshine Steve came through no less than three minutes later. He dutifully checked under all the stalls before he turned to face you again. 

“You know what I mean, I mean what are you doing in 1954?” He questioned, face paling slightly. Looking like he’d seen a ghost and you guess for him, he did. He probably didn’t expect to see you today either, for obvious reasons. 

“I’m looking for someone.” You stated petulantly, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against the sink counter. 

“Who could you possibly be looking for?” Steve wondered, walking closer to you. 

“Some rogue Hydra agent came back to today to give important information to the higher ups and Fury wanted me to stop it.” You relented, letting out a sigh. “What are you doing here?” You questioned, nodding in his direction. “Shouldn’t you be in DC or something?” 

Steve shuffled from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. He brought his hand up to scratch the back of his neck like he did when he was nervous. You hated that you knew that about him. “Uh, I’m uh sort of on vacation...with, Peggy.” He responded, wincing at the last word like he dropped a bomb. Which he may well have. 

You scoffed, chuckled as you turned away from him to face your reflection in the mirror. Would rather look at the mess you’d become than him, anywhere but him. “Why am I not surprised? You enjoying your cookie cutter white picket fence life Steve?” You questioned, not wanting to meet his eyes in the mirror but doing so despite yourself. He looked sad and downcast. As if he had the right. 

“It’s not like that.” He defended, coming closer to you still. 

“Cut the shit Steve.” You snapped, turning on your heel to face him. “You know the worst thing about what you did huh?” You questioned, not giving him time to answer before you kept going. “No matter how much I drank or how much I cursed you and your fucking pathetic life, I never got any goddamn closure. Never got a why. Guess I wasn’t good enough to warrant an explanation.” You snarked, moving around him to leave. 

“Stop it.” Steve commanded, grabbing your arm and pulling your chest flush against his, it made your heart beat like a hummingbird was trapped in your chest. “It wasn’t like that. Do you know how much I thought about it? How many nights I sat in bed and…” Steve cut himself off, running his fingers through his hair. 

“And what Steve? Say it.” You challenged, leaning your body up against his. Feeling how his every muscle responded to you, like waking up for the first time. 

“And thought about you okay? God did I think about you, it was torture.” He admitted. 

“Torture?” You questioned, walking him back until he hit the counter top, “You wanna know what was torture?” You asked, as you unbuckled his pants and began to palm his hardening length, “the knowledge that you left me for a fucking fantasy, that’s what’s torture. That I never meant anything to you.” You accentuated the word ‘anything’ by giving his cock a generous squeeze which had him groaning into the open air. 

“You know- you know that’s not true.” He struggled to say as his hips began to buck to your ministrations. You loved that after eight years for him, you could still make him come undone like this. 

“Show me.” You breathed into his ear, a challenge. One he happily accepted. He pulled on your neck and pressed his lips firmly against yours. They were needy and hot and demanding and you gave. 

Kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight. I need help believing you’re with me tonight.

His tongue demanded entrance into your mouth and you opened up for him, swallowing his moans as you continued to stroke him. Your teeth sank into his glorious bottom lip and he sighed as his hips thrust into your hand again. His hands moved all over your body. Splaying against your back, teasing the top of your breasts, and finally working their way under your dress until he found his target. His lips sought the column of your throat as one swift finger entered you, making you moan, which you promptly tried to stifle. 

“Uh uh sweetheart, don’t you dare. I haven’t heard those precious sounds of yours in far too long.” He chastised lightly as he worked his finger inside of you, eliciting another groan from your mouth. You found your hips rocking against his palm and you suddenly pressed your hand against his arm, making him withdraw his finger. You slowly backed away from him, taking in his appearance. His lips were kiss bruised and his beautiful blue eyes were lust blown. 

“I’m gonna do something I bet Peggy never does.” You teased as you got down on your knees in front of him. He looked at you with desire in his eyes that went straight to your core. You grasped his length once again and teased it, dragging the tip over your red and waiting lips. “Does she do this for you Stevie?” you questioned, looking at him through thick lashes. He simply shook his head no in response and a triumphant smile spread over your face. Slowly, you dragged your tongue along the underside of his shaft. 

“Fuck.” He seethed, hands going to the back of your head and gripping your hair. You took as much of him as you could into your wet and wanting mouth. Humming around his length in appreciation. He bucked his hips into you, making your eyes water but you didn’t care. You were reveling in the fact that Steve Rogers hadn’t had a blowjob in eight years and you were giving it to him. 

The bathroom became a symphony of sounds. His moans and grunts and silent curses and your gagging and choking, trying to take as much of him as you could. You pulled him out of your mouth with a pop and rubbed the back of your hand across your mouth, smearing your saliva and his precum over your face and hand. He pulled you up and planted a scathing kiss to your lips, not caring that he tasted himself on your tongue. 

He moved you so that you were facing your reflection once more and Steve was behind you, lining himself up against your now dripping cunt. 

And just for this moment, as long as you’re mine. I’ve lost all resistance and crossed some borderline. 

He slowly sank into you inch by inch, filling you out as you hadn’t been in six months. You let out a groan of appreciation and he let you adjust to him, his hands fisting the skirt material at your hips, waiting for you to move. You wiggled a little bit and he took the hint. He pulled out so only the tip was left inside before he slammed himself back into you so hard you saw stars. He continued at an unrelenting pace, hips snapping into your ass as he fucked you. You looked at the wanton reflection in the mirror and almost came on the spot. 

Your hair, once nice and poised, was now a ruined mess. Your eyes looked utterly blissed out and half closed, your lipstick was a wreck and smeared all over your cheek. You looked back at Steve and he looked utterly blissed out. His mouth was slackjaw and pink from your lipstick and his hair was mused. 

“Like what you see sweetheart?” Steve questioned before he slammed back into you. Your hand came up to the mirror in an effort to brace yourself as you let out a garbled moan as a response. Steve pulled out of you and you whimpered at the loss of contact before he turned you around and sat you on the counter. 

“Need to see you babygirl.” He said, voice husky as he maneuvered himself between your thighs and sunk two fingers inside your weeping core. 

“Fuck Steve.” You cursed, gripping his shoulders as he finger fucked you. His deft fingers massaged your walls as his hungry lips sought out yours in a frantic kiss. You kissed him back with a fury, grabbing fist fulls of blond hair as your hips rocked against his fingers. You could feel your high approaching. “Baby, I’m close.” You whimpered into his mouth. You felt him smile against you as he brought his thumb to rub your clit. 

“You gonna be a good girl and cum for me huh? Cum all over my fingers baby.” He encouraged and his words sent you over the edge. You could feel your walls contract around his stilling fingers as he allowed you to ride out your high. Your hands went slack in his hair but only for a moment until he guided his member back to your core and sank himself in. 

“Goddamn baby you still feel so good around me.” He marveled as he fucked you. You could feel every vein in his cock against your walls as he stretched and filled you out. You could feel your toes start to curl in carnal bliss. He undid the knot at the base of your neck and the front of your dress fell down, exposing your breasts to him. He growled as he bent down and sucked a hard nipple into his mouth, nibbling on the stiff peak. Your hands scrambled across his back, looking for purchase. You hadn’t been fucked this good since he left and you didn’t think you would be ever again, making the feeling that much more intense. 

Every moment, as long as you’re mine. I’ll wake up my body and make up for lost time. 

He pulled your nipple from his mouth and worked on sucking on your sensitive spot between your neck and collar bone. You reached a hand down to massage his balls as he fucked you and his answering groan sent a wonderful vibrating sensation across your skin. “Stevie, I think I’m gonna…” You couldn’t make a complete sentence you were so blissed out. You could feel the coil in your belly tighten for the second time in this beach bathroom in 1954. You knew you wouldn’t last much longer and Steve knew it too. 

Say there’s no future for us as a pair. And though I may know, I don’t care. 

He brought his hand down to massage your clit, getting you there faster. “Come with me baby, you know you want to.” He urged you on. Seeing him so fucked out and the way he looked at you like you still hung the moon for him was your undoing. You let out a garbled cry as you came gloriously around his cock. He thrusted a few more times before you felt him spill inside of you. 

Just for this moment, as long as you’re mine. Come be how you want to, and see how bright we shine.

The two of you stayed like that for a while. He was growing soft inside of you as the two of you rested your foreheads against each other and tried to catch your breath. He slowly pulled out of you and cleaned you up, before pressing a somber lingering kiss to your lips. 

And if it turns out, it’s over too fast. I’ll make every last moment last.

You kissed him back, the tone sadder than when you started. He helped you off the counter and fixed you up. You were about to leave but he wrapped two strong arms around you, letting you rest your head against his chest and he rested his chin on your head, swaying you both in his arms to an invisible melody. 

Borrow the moonlight until it is through. And know I’ll be here holding you.

Steve gently raised your chin with his finger and pressed one final kiss to your lips. You knew in your bones, that this was a kiss goodbye. So you let yourself enjoy it, not wanting to spoil the last moment you two would be in each others lives. 

As long as you’re mine.

[dat-town]

beyond the horizon

Characters: Jongho & You

Setting: Star Wars au

Genre: adventure, action

Summary: They say the end is just a faraway beginning and running away from the planet you had known as your only home just to join the most famous smuggler of your generation in the entire Galactic Empire, you are sure up to one kind of an adventure.

Warnings: space fights I guess

Words: 2.6k

Happy b-day my dearest @lily-blue​! Please remember to take good care of yourself (both your health and mental being), keep smiling, try to be positive and look the bright side of things! Don’t forget I love you the way you are! (Also embrace the fact that there are handsome 00-liner boys out there as they are not that much younger than you than you are compared to me...)

The Horizon was one of the fastest spaceships in the galaxy and it happened to land on Xahar the day before. It was your chance to get the hell out of there. Perfect timing actually since the Galactic Empire's guards just found out about you getting your hands on information you shouldn't have. So  your plan was easy: sneak on board, hide until you land after a hyperjump far far away then get off quietly and start a new life under a new identity. Easy as pie, wasn't it? Too bad you didn't calculate with the captain of Horizon, the infamous Choi  Jongho.

You were minding your own business, swinging your legs as you were hiding in the control room while you felt the spacecraft lifting off ground, slowly leaving the sphere of planet Xahar with its deserts and three moons, the usual scenery of your home, the place you have never once left in your 23 years.

"Come on, petit, hurry up or they will catch up with us and cook you for dinner," a deep voice grumbled to which some animalistic mumbling was the answer. You didn't want to know what it was but it wasn't like you had any choice and yeah, maybe you could have found a better hiding place than the control room with so much handles and wires leading to the engines but it wasn't like you had a choice, you had to find an easily approachable, empty room on the spaceship. How should you have known that the owner was going to check this one specifically?

Because of course, a guy just opened the door of the control room, and his eyes found you frozen in place with your gun pointed at his chest immediately. Despite the silent threat of your posture, he cracked an almost amused smile.

"Alright, we will talk later about how you got here, now help me get the hyperdrive to work," he told you calmer than you had expected which made you dumbfounded. Was he really asking you, an intruder to help him?  Who was he at all? He was way too young to be the captain, wasn't he? Maybe he was the second pilot, although you hadn't heard that Choi Jongho was working together with anyone. And why did he had an ewok as his companion when those bearlike creatures originating from planet Endor could clearly not sense danger as this one started hugging your leg? You had too many questions flashing in your mind, but the guy mistook your silence as incompetence – though he wasn't that far from the truth with that; you knew nothing about space travelling. 

"You can't even do that? Hell. Can you at least fire big guns?" the guy raised a brow at you glancing down at the age old model in your hand.

"I can certainly shoot you," you claimed confidently, straightening your back, trying to erase surprise from your features. The guy just laughed.

"Then none of us would get anywhere," he shook his head. "Go up and start firing at the guards following us while I fix the hyperdrive, so we can get out of here."

He didn’t give you too many choices, so you had no way to say no such an order even if it hurt your pride. The spaceship was already getting unstable as you were getting surrounded by other aircrafts.

You swore under your nose while you run up to the shooter section and took a seat trying to figure out what all that buttons and wheels were meant for. After a few not so successful attempts (which resulted in turning down the heater and closing a door you weren’t supposed to), finally you found the button to ignite the guns and you took the aiming wheel into your hands turning in your seat to face the three fighter squadron after you. You grit your teeth and started firing at them by pressing the two buttons with your thumbs. You were surprised that you hit one gunship straight on and you wondered whether they were so stupid to think you weren’t fighting back just because they were yelling at you to land at that very instant through the radio.

You heard some cursing and the ewok running around when you got a hit but just after you managed to send another guard back to the ground, you heard the stranger guy yell at you to get a grip before the ship launched into hyperspace. You let out a long sigh before getting off the shooter seat to stump up to the pilot section where Mr. Can You Even Fire A Guy sat all so content. You wanted to wipe that stupid grin off his face but he was the first one to speak up.

“That wasn’t half as bad as I’d expected,” he admitted and only because it felt like a semi-compliment you didn’t call him out on his bravado and instead slum down in the second pilot seat, earning a cute grumble from the ewok that sat by your leg then.

“Don’t be too surprised. Girls can shoot, too,” you claimed confidently which earned an annoying grin from the guy. He had youthful features even under that dusty cheek of his, though his nose looked as if someone had punched him hard not too long ago. His hair had gotten pretty long too, it had almost got into his eyes, the brown of it reminding you of the colour of one of your planet’s moons. Although it wasn’t your planet anymore, you reminded yourself with a gulp and looked around in the galaxy in front of you. The world was so much bigger than you had known before.

“So… why were you hiding on my ship?” The guy asked and he sounded more amused than mad or anything, so you decided being honest wouldn’t have hurt then. It didn’t seem like he was going to kill you or hand you over to authorities after he himself had just run away from the Empire as well.

“I just needed a ride,” you shrugged, hand involuntarily slipping into your pocket checking whether you still had the map with you.

“And you didn’t care to ask?” The pilot snorted, tilting his head towards you.

“Not like it���s your ship to begin with. Isn’t it Choi Jongho’s?” You raised a brow challengingly. You thought you would have recognize the ship of the greatest smuggler of your time but you started to get a bit uncertain. The Choi Jongho you had heard of would have never let his ship taken away from him willingly. So you were half expecting the guy to say he stole it or wo it over in gambling but he just grinned.

“Well, it is. I am him,” he claimed which resulted in a scoff in disbelief from your part.

“What? No! You are too young!” you protested as if it was your only concern.

“I’m taking it as a compliment,” the guy, Jongho as he claimed, just grinned but you shook your head. You were not willing to accept the fact that he was the guy you looked up at as a twisted kind of role model when you had first gotten into the bounty hunting business.

“But… you’re famous! You have done so much stuff going behind the Empire’s back for years I thought you are a thirty-something guy at least,” you admitted the reason behind your confusion and he just laughed wholeheartedly.

“I don’t have to be old to break an imperial stormtrooper’s arm with bare hands.”

You supposed he was right although you still had troubles believing that you had been dead wrong about him so far. The picture in your head and him in front of you just didn’t seem to match and it caused you a headache, gosh. You let out a gosh, sliding lower in your seat fixing your gaze on the stars, Suns of other solar systems and whatnot.

“So where were you intending to go?” Jongho kept up with interrogating you though his voice wasn’t rude, just annoyingly arrogant enough to make you frown.

“Not your business. Just drop me off at the next stop and we will be alright,” you shrugged but he tsked.

“A-ah, you still have to pay for the ride, I’m a businessman, you see.”

Businessman, huh? If he slept better telling himself this, let it be. 

“Pff, me saving your ass while you tried to get this bunch of metal going wasn’t enough?”

“Hey, be nice to Horizon, she’s a sensitive lady,” Jongho scolded you as he caressed the control panel which earned an eye roll from you. But this said, he didn’t press you more. Neither of you talked about the reason why you were running away and why he was basically chased off Xahar.

You dozed off a bit only to wake up to you getting into an asteroid field. Oh, just what you were missing out on! You two were shouting each other’s faces off as you blamed him for getting in there in the first place while he claimed the ship had only clashed with one smaller piece of asteroid because you distracted him with complaining and in the end he had to perform an emergency landing on one of the biggest block of space stone to do some outer repair on the ship. You stood there with your arms crossed like a sulky kid while he was fixing some stuff.

“Hey, petite, hand me that Y-looking thing, will you?” he pointed at his equipment and you had to bite your tongue to not call him names too.

"It’s pretty offending that you call me petite just as you do with your ewok. I'm at least like 3 or 2 heads taller!" you argued which made him check you out from head to toe. It shouldn’t have made your cheeks heat up as much as they did.

"Still petite," he concluded with a grin and you threw that metal gadget at him hoping it hurt when it landed on his feet.

You played with the ewok that was unfairly good at card games on the rest of the way and refused to talk with Jongho until he asked you to sit behind the wheel for a minute. You were just about to whine when he explained that he needed to take a piss. Okay, you didn’t want to know that but also didn’t want to hit anything while he was minding his business, so you sat into the pilot section as he instructed you.

“So you have never learned to drive a ship like this?” Jongho asked as he leaned on the doorframe, looking over you.

“I have never been out of space, so I didn’t need to,” you shrugged which earned a hum from him. It was surprisingly non-malicious and rather understanding.

“Do you want to learn?” he asked and even though you had your doubts in the beginning but Jongho was a surprisingly patient teacher as he explained how the basics worked and let you land until you reached Goorouma’s atmosphere and the radio tower asked you to identify yourself.

“Captain of Horizon, AFLE-110 freighter, speaking. We’re bringing cargo to Lord Fahley,” he said and took to wheel from you to handle the landing.

Goorouma looked very different from the planet you had grown up on. It had hundreds of tall buildings reaching for the sky like needles sprouting from the ground. You barely saw any green as it was mostly blue glass and a fake illusion of sea waves beneath.

“I don’t have a good feeling about it. It’s too quiet,” you mumbled under your nose as the Horizon landed in the middle of a building’s rooftop and there was nobody waiting for Jongho there.

“Tell me about it,” the guy muttered through gritted teeth and he looked suspicious as well. He told the ewok to stay on board and grabbed his gun as he opened the ramp of the ship. You followed him because this was just what you had planned: to leave the moment you reach another civilization. But the two of you barely crossed the bridge leading to the tower’s entrance, it opened and a bunch of stormtroopers poured out of it.

The melody of gunshots echoed in the air as you were trying to make it out alive and at some point you saved him from a laser shot that burned a hole in the wall next to the two of you.

“How is it for a payback?” You raised a brow at the guy only realizing your closeness then. He grinned before pushing you off of him and started firing at the soldiers.

You were way too outnumbered but luckily Lord Fahley and his men came to save the day mumbling about how much he hated when the Empire got in the way of business. He invited the two of you to lunch after finishing the deal with Jongho but both of you refused. Although he did offer you to help you out if you intended to stay on Goorouma which sounded pretty nice.

“Hey, petite, do you still need that ride?” Jongho walked up to you because he didn’t plan to stay long, he had a lot more other business to take care of. While you didn’t want to be picky about where to stay, so you shrugged.

“Nah, I will pass.”

“Sure about that? There are countless other planets you haven’t seen yet,” he told you and it sounded almost as if he wanted you to join. It confused you a bit. But maybe he was just lonely on that ship with that ewok you had grown fond of so quickly. You weren’t sure about its owner/friend/captain though.

“Sure enough,” you said but it was mostly to convince yourself and when Jongho saluted to you as a goodbye, your heart made a silly little aching pause.

Watching him walk away it had drawn down to you that the chances of you meeting again was really low as he was always on the move and even though his fame would follow him around, you would keeping hearing stories about the Horizon’s marvelous escapes and his newest tricks but you probably wouldn’t get as lucky again as you had been on Xahar.

So in a split of a second you make a choice and before the Horizon could set off, you made your way up on it, waiting until you were already in space when you made your presence obvious with a few loud steps behind the cockpit.

Jongho turned around, surprised, aiming his pistol at your chest before he recognized you and smiled.

“You are getting better at sneaking up on me.”

“Or you are getting sloppier,” you retorted immediately as the ship tilted to one side when you got hit from some gunships that had caught up with you. But this time, you weren’t annoyed. “You will need a new hyperdrive at this rate.”

“Good thing I plan to get one,” the captain grinned signalling you to get into the shooting seat while he takes care of the rest.

“You mean steal one.”

“Oh come on, shouldn’t you know me?” he put a hand over his heart as if he was offended before grinning cockily. “Borrowing it.”

You laughed, genuinely and you knew it was just the start of an adventure.

[fly-underground]

six hundred and seventy five: 2019

The annual year in review entry. I’ve written this post nine times, one for every year of this decade. I reread the very first one, from 2010, aloud to my mother the other night. My writer’s voice is so chipper in it, so young. I had just started college. In so many ways, I had barely lived. I was about to list off all the things I hadn’t yet done, as an explanation. But the truth is, even now, having done at least a few of those things, I still have barely lived. I want to remember that, to bottle up that feeling of wistfulness for a younger self, that protective inclination to wait for things to get better and worse, because I know I still need it. There is still so much I haven’t done, so much I want to do. Ways to spend the next few decades, if I’m lucky enough to have them.

Last year at this time, I think I was home alone with Cory. I can’t remember it perfectly. The past few years have blurred together in that regard. Was this the year that Mariah Carey sang badly during Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve? I’ll look it up after I write this. The point is, I welcomed in the new year alone, but not really, and then received a flurry of text messages from my mother and brother and so many friends. January passed in New York for the most part. I went to my favorite bar every week, first with Liz and then with Vivian. I got bad news one night about a fellowship and the next night, I found out that my fellowship paper was selected for an academic conference. I felt like Even Steven, losing one thing, gaining another. By the time I made it back to Boston, for the spring semester, it was the end of the month. That last week became so important, especially in retrospect. I met a man from the past in one of my classes, someone I knew vaguely from my time at Swarthmore. February was about him. And so was March and April and May.

I used to keep details off my blog, because I was afraid of people reading and piecing together the truth. I wanted to be polite and coy. Now, I guess I don’t really know who is still reading this. And maybe I also don’t care. If you know me, really know me, you know what happened. If you don’t, well: in February, this blast from the past man sent me an email about coffee. I said yes and we spent hours together, walking around Cambridge, the pink sky of the new moon above our heads. Then he asked me to go to the Arnold Arboretum. We never went. Instead, we talked for hours in another coffee shop. Uncharacteristically, I asked to see his place and after I met his roommates, in-between bites of fig newtons, he leaned over and whispered: Can I kiss you? His tongue slipped into my mouth in the darkness of his living room. He kissed me again on his doorstep and my head spun on the lyft ride home. I threw up hours two hours later, from the hunger induced migraine. I didn’t eat at all that day, except for the cookies in his house and the lettuce wrapped in turkey at midnight in my bed. Of course I threw up. The next week, we went out again. Later, in my bed, wrapped up in his wiry, tattooed arms, I was just happy. That was when he told me, that he’s an alcoholic and an addict. It should have changed something for me, it should have set off an alarm. It didn’t.

Four days later, he relapsed. He had cancelled and then un-cancelled our date. I met him at a Starbucks and on the T back to his place, our legs touched. I felt bad, terrible in a way that I couldn’t name. We watched some Netflix original reality show and then, in his bed, we had sex. We kissed. He told me about his history of self harm and severe mental illness. I talked about my own trauma. It was not a good date. I couldn’t sleep after. In the morning, after he made me eggs and I realized he would not be going to his next AA meeting, I asked, trying not to cry, Will I see you again? He said of course, and then he backed me into a wall and kissed me with a boyish glee. I felt relieved and stupid. Three days later, he told me he couldn’t make it to my place for dinner. He said that he felt like he had encountered me in the wrong moment of his life, that he couldn’t stop drinking, that he was checking himself into a facility, that I meant something to him. I cried that whole weekend. I barely ate. No one could help me.

It was like this for months. Every interaction between us charmed and hurt me. When he was doing well, I was joyous. Otherwise, I was miserable. I skipped meals. I had nightmares. I cried alone in my room, on walks around campus. I lost weight and inches. I felt like I was dying. Somehow, in that strange internal darkness, I realized I was not okay. I wanted to be okay, more than anything. I felt bad all the time and I was tired of feeling bad. In April, I started seeing a therapist. In May, I started seeing a nutritionist.  I went to a support group meeting and read literature about codependency. I felt like it was my fault, my emotions, my own shit. I called my mother and Vivian and Michael. I was defensive about this guy. Addiction is a disease, an addict is not a Bad Person, but he can be a deeply troubled person. 

And then, after all of that, one day in May, he told me that he had gotten involved with someone. It was the way he said it. Two weeks before, in his bed, he had asked if he could undress me. I told him then, sitting outside the Harvard Square T stop, that he was a coward. He flinched, like I hit him. I said, I thought I loved you, but you aren’t who I thought you were. I guess, I didn’t really love you then. I also said, I’m sorry if that hurt you, I don’t mean to hurt you. And he told me, his eyes glassy, that I meant something to him. Of course, I knew that. Of course, it didn’t matter.

I skipped some stuff, or I made it seem small. In May, when I went to that support group meeting, I actually spoke in the group. I said, Every day I feel this intense pressure to try my best. I want to be kind and generous and patient and brave and good. But it’s so much work, being that way. Sometimes, I can’t do it. Sometimes, I just don’t have it in me. On those days, I want to give myself permission, to simply try. On those days, “best” is not the goal. The goal is to keep at it, whatever it is. So, I went to classes and socialized and asked for help. I told my therapist in April, that coming to therapy meant that I wasn’t hopeless, that I hadn’t given up on myself. In March, I presented my paper at an academic conference, as a single author. I was also on a poetry panel with Trista, Amanda, Cyrus, and Iain. How insane to be there with them, to be included in a family of poets.

In June, the man disappeared, moved away without a real goodbye. At the time, I was devastated. I can’t describe the feeling of abandonment, but I thought: love is not for me. I thought it through June and July. I went out with a series of inconsequential men. There’s a photo I saved on my phone, after one of those dates. He wasn’t a bad guy, just boring, just rude. I came home and cried until my mascara had spread across my face. I went back to New York in July, and in between visiting with friends and volunteering at camp, I had a hilarious summer fling, not a story just something for friends to gossip about. Even then, I was lonely. I didn’t run away from it, though. I recognized it. I thought, I should keep trying. Maybe I would find a good thing.

August had me dog-sitting and transliterating Sanskrit books and gearing up for the final year of my master’s degree and looking into various doctoral programs. It was also when I went on a first date with this handsome, funny, smart, and unbelievably kind man, who would eventually become my boyfriend— how weird that word looks here, how funny that it means something to me after all these years. It has felt like emotional whiplash, this year, loving two men. Looking back, it should be easy to say oh that wasn’t really love. But that’s not true. I loved two people this year, just so differently. If the first love made me nervous, the second makes me calm. I was on a bus back to Boston after Thanksgiving and the traffic was terrible and I felt an ugly irritation bubble inside me because of my seat neighbor. I thought about my boyfriend then, his easy smile, how he rubs my back when I cough. What a small thing, but I felt lighter just thinking about it. It sounds silly and cheesy, I know. But I don’t want to belittle it, not here. I don’t think I have ever really felt so good to be with someone before. It is so new to me, this joy, this stability. I don’t want to take it for granted.

I wrote in my journal a few days ago, that I’m not sure if this relationship is good because he is so good, or because I have done the work of trying to lead a healthier life. Is this just a byproduct of one or the other? Or, as Liz says, is this what happens when two Virgos come together? I don’t know, I loved a Virgo once before, and I don’t remember ever feeling this light. This is different. He is different.

In September, I went to Denmark for my ten year reunion camp reunion. I started this blog right after that iconic summer, 16 and strangely tan from all that northern sun. From October through December, I applied to doctoral programs. Yes, again. We’ll see what happens. For the first time, I don’t really know what I want in my future, but I’m trying to trust in the universe to guide me there. I know I want love. It’s hard for me to admit that. I used to scorn women who named that in their list of goals, but it’s important, as important as everything else. I want to feel close to someone. I want a life of meaning, even if it just means something to me. I want to write. I hate that I ever stopped doing that. I feel sometimes like I have wasted my potential there, in writing professionally. I hope that’s not true. I am not ready to give this up, this dream that could still turn into something.

Something that I said a lot this year: whatever happens, I’ll be okay. During a depressive episode a few weeks ago, I thought I was losing everyone in my life, that everyone secretly hated me. What I told myself then, was not that I was crazy or wrong, but that I could deal with it. It’s true. If that happened, I could deal with it. But I hate that response. I wish I fought more. I wish I didn’t turn over so easily. Not that I think I could change someone’s mind. But I wish I didn’t just accept the worst case scenario. Anyway, maybe it’s strange even to debate this. The truth is so far from the worst case scenario. In fact, right now the truth is I am so fucking lucky. Ten years ago, I was just a high school student whining on the internet. Today, I am a Harvard graduate student; I am an author; I have a publication list that makes professors raise their eyebrows; people care about what I write and think; there are people who love me, really love me; I am healthier and happier than I ever thought I deserved to be. I worked for this. I earned it. I didn’t give up on me.

I can’t predict anything about the future. I’m always so hilariously wrong. Mostly I hope I never stop trying. 2020 still sounds like a fiction, but it’s real, it’s happening, it’s here. It’s funny, I only ever feel that surprised by joy. I hope that never changes.

[egg-and-koji]

“Shadows of a Legacy” A LoK Re-Write - Ch 1

KORRA

“I’m the Avatar, you gotta deal with it!” 

Those were Korra's first words to the White Lotus when they came to investigate the claims of the new Avatar being reborn at the Southern Water Tribe. Sure it might have been a bit cocky but at age six she could already bend earth, water, and fire; although she wasn’t able to bend more than a short puff of flames and levitate a few stones, she did have a good grasp on waterbending thanks to father, Tonraq. 

The previous Avatar, Aang, tasked the Order of the White Lotus with safeguarding the next Avatar until they’d master all four elements. Little did Korra know she’d be locked away with almost no freedom at a compound the order built miles from her home village. Not even her mother, Senna could get the White Lotus assigned to her daughter's care to loosen their grip on said freedom. Korra was grateful, however, to at least have her parents there; she may have still been in the South, but their presence made it feel more like home. 

And since her father was her original waterbending teacher and she accepted his advice openly, it was decided there was no point in anyone replacing him. Korra was tasked with learning the more spiritual and medicinal aspects of waterbending from Master Katara. However, those lessons weren’t very long. In part to Korra lacking any sort of spiritual connection and to Katara’s...withdrawal from the world. 

During her years in training, Korra learned from the best earthbending and firebending masters. Many of them claimed she lacked restraint and discipline. They cited much like Master Katara that she would not become a fully realized Avatar until she mastered the spiritual aspect of the title as well. And yet, she continued to beat every task they expected of her, mastering three of the four elements at seventeen. 

Korra’s hopes of being free of her prison were shattered when her airbending teacher, Master Tenzin, had to, unfortunately, postpone her training. 

Which is why she took matters into her own hands and left the compound for Republic City. She had always heard stories from the fishermen coming back to the tribe after selling their hauls at the city’s port. They said the city had a glow you can see from miles and miles away. 

 And it was breathtaking! The light, the sounds. She’d never seen buildings so tall. They pierced the sky and she swears some of them never stopped growing. The streets were crowded with all kinds of Satomobiles and vendors and all types of people. She figured most who came to the city would abandon their roots, but she couldn’t believe the number of people wearing clothes inspired by the styles of their nations. Everything about the city was amazing and she found herself… a bit disheartened; Master Tenzin and The White Lotus had made it seem like the city was dangerous, but Korra hadn’t run into anything questionable yet.

She did get scolded out by a food vendor when she had no money to pay for a snack-in but her defense, Korra always had someone else take care of that. Then, she met her first homeless guy in the park, and surprisingly, he wasn’t the only one. He explained that it wasn’t unusual for people to live out on the streets. And there she thought everyone in the city was “living it up”. Then was when she met her first Equalist; an anti bender protesting in the park. How easily he got her riled up!

Korra paid him little mind and thought, ‘Whatever people like him are entitled to their stupidity. If you aren’t born a bender than that’s too bad.’

She continued her tour of the city. Momentarily struck by the distinct neighborhoods representing the three major nations. Little Ba Sing Se was not at all that “little” and the Arctic Heights were almost like home, except those buildings were made of white stone to look like ice instead. She wondered if it snowed in the city. 

When she got to the Fire Nation neighborhood, she honestly thought it was going to be “fierier”; at least with a better fitting name than Wuzho Village. But one could understand why the city decided against it. 

Even though Avatar Aang and his friends stopped Fire Lord Ozai and ended The Hundred Year War, the rest of the world needed time to recover and rebuild. After more than 50 years, some people were still mistrustful of Fire Nation citizens, more so firebenders. 

Still, some progress between the populations was being made as Korra met two brothers from a multicultural family; Bolin and Mako; an earthbender and a firebender. Bolin, she decided she could very easily get along with. His brother was in her thoughts, ‘a giant whale-walrus dick’. 

But that was before she stopped a group of thugs from harassing an older man’s business. ‘Listen, you can’t be the Avatar if you’re not ready to give an Avatar beat down’. After that, Bolin invited her to see one of their pro-bending games. 

And the criminals? Yes, she took care of them, but...might have been a bit too aggressive in the process. 

Which ended up with her destroying some prosperity…

And then getting arrested for it…

And almost being sent back to the South Pole…

But thankfully, Councilman Tenzin changed his mind. Korra thanked him profusely and expressed her excitement to begin her airbending training...until he said she had to make her first public appearance as the Avatar. 

And as best as she could remember, The White Lotus did not teach her “public speaking for Avatars.”

170AG - The Next Day

Korra barely ate dinner; not feeling quite herself.  A shame too as Tenzin’s wife made wonderful smelling food; vegetable seaweed wraps, sweet red bean buns, tofu curry. Hmm, I might have to sneak out for fish once in a while. But her stomach probably couldn't have handled any food then. Not unless she wanted it coming back up. She didn’t talk much either, as much as Tenzin’s youngest daughter, Ikki, pestered Korra with a million questions?

“Can you really eat a whole whale?  How does your house not melt if you have a fire in them? Do you have any siblings? Do you turn into a block of ice if you take a bath?”

“Uh, I dunno,” Korra shrugged. A few half-eaten pieces of food lingered on her plate that she pushes around with chopsticks then excused herself from the table early. Her heavy fur boots shuffled along with her steps as she walked out the main building to the female dormitory. The air acolytes bowed to as she passed before continuing on their way. 

Korra chews on her dry bottom lip. Give me someone to fight any day, have me talk in front of a crowd, and well…

She's careful with the sliding door to her room, and changes out of her clothes then flops onto the bed. A knock softly rattles the door to her guest room, pulling her out of worrying thoughts.

“Korra?” Tenzin’s voice comes through the paper panels, “I came to see if you’re alright, you left dinner rather early.”

She jumps up and goes to the door. “Uh, yeah all good,” she says, sliding and leaning on the frame. “Just, uh, wanted to get extra sleep,  ya know ... for the meetings and interviews tomorrow.”

She does her best to appear calm and collected. Her new mentor eyes her suspiciously; aging bluish-grey eyes searching for signs of doubt. “There’s no shame in being anxious to speak to the media. Although, I strongly recommend you stick to the notes we’ve written for you.”

“Oh come on, I’m pretty sure they’ll want to hear what I as the Avatar have to say instead of what somebody else thinks I should say.” She says with a flourish of her wrist.

“Given your  eventful  introduction to the city,” his greying bushy eyebrow arched as he spoke, “It’s in your best interest to gain the peoples’ trust.”

 “Pft,  who doesn’t trust the  Avatar ?”

Tenzin sighs, “As I’m sure you’re now aware that the situation between benders and non-benders has escalated in the past few years. The rise of the Equalists only serves to fan the flames.”

Eh, he does have a point. Remembering the protestor and his crowd at the park makes her veins boil. She grumbles, “Yeah, I know.”

Tenzin’s concern is clear on his face. He places a hand on her shoulder and gives a reassuring pat. She chews on her lip again. Sometimes I forget this whole anti-bender thing has him all worked up. Sure, I'm the reincarnation of Avatar Aang, but...Tenzin's his son; that pressure can’t be easy to deal with.’

She clicks her tongue and gives him a crooked grin, “I’ll do my best.”

With Korra’s confidence, Tenzin relaxes, looking a few years younger. He bows his head and turns to leave.

She throws herself back on the bed. Okay Republic City, let’s see what you got!

The next morning, a crowd of news reporters gathers on the steps of City Hall waiting for Korra to come out. Her polar bear-dog, Naga sticks her head through the open window in Tenzin’s office. The building has a strict “no animals allowed” rule. That’s seal crap. Her eyes follow Korra as she paces. Naga’s ears twitch occasionally and when Korra turns to face her, her tongue flops out the side of her jaws making Korra chuckle. She scratches behind her best friend’s ears, “Oh, to be a polar bear-dog and not have a care in the world.” 

Tenzin and the Republic City Police Chief, Lin Beifong are talking to a few White Lotus sentries out in the hallway. Apparently, they are working with the police to increase security in case any anti-bender protestors show up to disrupt the event. Korra grumbles and leans closer to Naga, “I say let them, I’d be more than happy to prove them wrong on any of their arguments!”

The door opens and Tenzin comes in. “They’re ready for us Korra.”

Korra gently nudges Naga to pull her head back from the window, “I’ll see you outside girl.”

Lights flash as Korra and her escorts walk out of the building. 

“Avatar! Avatar over here!” Several reports shout immediately.

Korra holds her arm over her eyes to block out more flashing lights. Being disoriented isn’t how I planned to make my big debut. Through her hazy vision, she can make out a podium with several microphones strapped around the edge set up at the top of the building’s main steps. 

Tenzin walks up and raises his hands, calming the buzz from the anxious crowd. “Good morning to you all. As I’m sure you’ve heard, the new Avatar has recently arrived in Republic City. We’ve gathered you all to hear her public announcement and to put to rest any... troubling  headlines that may be circulating.” Then he motions for her to step up and moves back to her right. Naga and the chief are at her left. 

Tenzin left the notes for her at the podium. She clears her throat before speaking, “Hello... I'm Korra, your new Avatar.”

More cameras flash and the barrage of questions come flying in faster than she can answer. 

“Avatar, does this mean you've moved to Republic City?” One asks.

“Er, well sort of-”

“Were you trying to send a message to the Triads yesterday?” Another interrupts.

“I thought that was pretty obvious-”

Then another, “Will you be fighting crime or the anti-bending revolution or both?”

“Both?”

“Will you be working with Chief Beifong and the police?”

Korra visibly cringes and whispers to herself. “Not unless I have to…”

She grips the podium, feeling Tenzin’s stress and Chief Beifong’s disapproval. Hoping to backtrack, she flips through the cards. The reporters continue their pressure. “I-uh am honored...to-” She gives up on that card and picks another. Then another. None of these sound like me.

Ugh, forget it!

She takes a deep breath, “Uh, yes, I am definitely here to stay, but honestly... I don't exactly have a plan yet. “See I'm still in training... but-"

Quite murmurs spread through the crowd. Korra continues, deciding on brutal honesty, “look... all I know is Avatar Aang meant for this city to be the center of peace and balance in the world, and I believe we can make his dream a reality. I look forward to serving you! I am so happy to be here. Thank you Republic City!”

Tenzin cuts off any more questions and ushers her away quickly. When they're in his office he pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “I’m not sure why I expected you to stick to the cues.”

“Eh,” Korra shrugs, “I thought I’d wing it. Isn’t that how Aang sort of dealt with things sometimes?”

“I suppose,” he gives it some thought, “but he did have trusted friends and allies for help.”

She bawls her fists to crack her knuckles, “Well, looks like I’m just gonna have to make a new team. And I think I know the first two members.”

[spaceiplier]

SPACEIPLIER: Origin

Mark stared at the note he had left for Bob and Wade on his pillow. It wasn’t much. Just an apology and an explanation of where he was going. Staring at it, though… he felt anger building inside him. He grabbed it and tore it up, letting the pieces fall to the floor.

If they wanted to know where he was then they could ask.

He glanced outside his dorm room, making sure no one else was out past curfew. He then stepped outside, carrying all his personal items and a small assortment of rations in a bag on his back. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough to get him back home.

As he quickly walked towards the docks, thoughts raced through Mark’s mind. This was what was best, right? With his grades dropping and the scholarship being pulled, there was no way he could keep going to the Academy.

You could always work hard and get your grades back up, something inside him whispered, but Mark pushed the thought aside. He was sick and tired of being the one who was good at everything. The pressure to live up to others’ expectations for him felt smothering.

If was being completely honest with himself, he had stopped putting effort into them ages ago. His grades had been going downhill for months, and his perfect attendance score had become… well… a lot less perfect.

It wasn’t that Mark hated being here. He loved flying. It was just… all these people expecting him to be something he wasn’t. Expecting him to stay at the top, all while plodding through each day doing things he hated.

It was just wrong.

Mark needed something different.

The docks were silent when he arrived, and the only security guard on detail was fast asleep. Mark slipped inside the pod nearest to the exit.

He turned on his vessel, the engine purring silently. He’d always hated these things. The controls were awkward and allowed for little actual pilot control. The fuel was inefficient, the steering relied to much on auto, and they always smelled like sweat.

Luckily, that meant the GAAP wouldn’t miss one if it happened to go missing.

.

.

.

“Log Date I-don’t-remember-how-to-do-this-part-three: There’s a planet in sight. I’m hoping I can land there before this piece of trash runs out of fuel. Hopefully there’s civilization that has transports headed back home. Um, yeah. Signing out.”

Mark leaned back in his seat, cringing as his stomach rumbled. He should have packed more rations. It had been three days since he’d left the Academy, and rations were low. He only had a few nutrition bars left, and his water was down to a few gulps.  

The dashboard beeped, yet again reminding Mark that he was running low on fuel.

Mark closed his eyes tight. At this point, he’d be happy if he crashed.

.

.

.

Mark was not happy when he crashed.

It had happened so fast. One moment he was entering the planet’s atmosphere, the next alarms were blaring and flames were streaming out of the left engine. He braced for impact… and then something hit his head and everything went dark.

When he finally woke up, red lights were flashing from the dash, and his ears were ringing. Something sticky trickled down his forehead, and shoulder was on fire. Pain was pulsing up from Mark’s arm. Everything felt numb and far away, but the longer he sat there, the sharper it became. The sharper it became, the more Mark wanted to go back to sleep.

He groaned, looking down at his arm. It twisted in a position it definitely was not supposed to be in. Gingerly pushing the sleeve up, swearing every time it touched his skin, he looked it over.

It could be worse. No bone sticking through the skin. Just bruising and the awkward angle. It was broken, that much he could tell. Basic medical classes back at the Academy told him to put it into a splint, since there there was no bone visible.

His shoulder on the other hand…

Every time he moved was pure agony. It was dislocated. That was something he was going to have to fix before he could move. Mark had never done this before, but it couldn’t be that bad… right?

Mark positioned himself against the dash, holding his shoulder with his good hand. One big breath in and… he pushed.

It snapped back into place.

Mark screamed.

.

.

.

He had landed on Talbos Prime. Facts from classes floated through his pain-delirious brain. Dominant species: Nuxoin, an omnivorous species. Main export: lumber and other natural resources. The entire planet was forest and a few freshwater seas. If he weren’t in so much pain, Mark might have actually appreciated the scenery surrounding him.

Mark had managed to get himself bandaged up, propping his arm with a splint kit. It wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing. Looking over his injuries, he was glad for once that his dad was alien.

Blood already soaked the bandages on his leg, and the ones on his head were going to need to be replaced soon. It was obvious the crash would have likely killed him had he been completely human. Having a slightly thicker skull than normal humans, with the ability to replenish blood faster, was coming in handy in this sucky situation.

It still sucked.

With the medical kit intact, he’d be able to keep himself alive until the ship was fixed. The ship was definitely fixable, but he would have to get to work soon if he wanted it to fly again. Talbos Prime didn’t have many populated towns, and the closest was over a day’s travel away. He wouldn’t make it.

Mark readjusted the splint on his broken arm and set to work.

As much as Mark hated these scrappy ships, they held their shape pretty well. He wouldn’t need to fix much, but what he did need to fix was time consuming. Hours passed as he worked. The first sun set and the second rose. A few of the local wildlife gathered to watch him at one point. When Mark was focused, though, he was focused.

The ship was already looking in better condition as the final sun disappeared below the horizon. Sealant held the tears in the wings together and covered the multiple cracks that littered the surface of the front window. The burnt engine parts had been replaced, and the fuel was slowly refilling. Thank god for GAAP adaptability fuels. As long as the planet had some form of fuel in the atmosphere, he could slowly refill.

Mark sat inside the ship now, struggling to screw a panel back in. The screwdriver fumbled in his hand, dropping below the dash.

“Fuck! Where’d you go now?” He cursed the tool as he bent over and peered below himself.

He reached for it, but in doing so pulled his injured arm. He gasped in pain, recoiled back and holding himself. Once it faded, he stared at the screwdriver with hatred. It was like it was mocking him. Too weak to grab a stupid tool. Too useless.

“I’m not weak,” Mark growled at it.

He lowered himself down gently, wincing through the pain. He took the tool and finished screwing in the panel.

“Not too bad, Mark,” he said, smiling at the interior of his ship. Only two more flashing lights to stop, and then he’d be homeward bound again. “Mark Fischbach: Pilot, mechanic, and genius.”

.

.

.

“Fischbach?” the flight instructor called, sounding incredibly bored.

A young Mark stepped forward, looking confident and eager. The instructor sighed and opened the top of the small ship. The model looked and functioned similar to most GAAP standard single person vehicles, but was unable to reach half the altitude of the real things. Mark jumped inside with ease.

“Just a few laps,” the instructor ordered, glancing at his clipboard, “and then land here. Remember, this is the real test. You will be scored on your take-off, speed, control, and, finally, landing. This test is the true determinant to see if you make it into the GAAP Academy. Do your best, and good luck out there, future pilot of the Galactic Assembly of Allied Planets.”

Mark grinned, giving his friends a thumbs up as the top closed over him.

It was easy. The test flew by in a blur of whoops and speed. Mark had been flying since he could reach the controls. This was nothing. As he approached landing, he felt tempted to show off. Just a little wouldn’t hurt… right?

He increased the speed.

Just before it became to late, Mark pulled up on the controls. The ship groaned under the sudden change, but it obeyed him. Gently, he set the ship down in front of his classmates. He hopped out with a grin.

The instructor looked furious.

“Fischbach!” They stomped towards him. “That was reckless and dangerous! Your flying was beyond GAAP regulations. I am surprised you made it past the entrance exams.”

Mark clenched his fists, “I’m the best pilot in my class, sir. My stats prove that.”

“Not when you fly like that,” They scorned. “Report to your commander.”

Mark turned and stalked away, anger clawing in his gut. He was a great pilot. He knew what he was doing.

.

.

.

Mark ruffled his hair and let it fall evenly over the bandages wrapped around his forehead. He was sitting outside of the ship, popping berries into his mouth as he waited for the fuel to fill back up. He figured out before he left that these ones were safe, and harvested enough to fill a small container he’d found on the ship. “Berries blue; good for you,” he hummed through a mouthful of the sweet treat.

The ship beeped and blinked to life, only slightly more jittery than it had been at the Academy.

“There you go, you piece of junk,” Mark sighed, getting to his feet to pat the nose of the ship. “Now we can go home.”

The ship rumbled as he took off, but Mark wasn’t about to complain about the ship now. It was certainly better than staying on Talbos Prime and paying off a Velm to not steal his last tank of fuel.

See you never again, Talbos Prime, Mark thought as the forest planet faded into the space behind him. From now on, it was smooth sailing to Ventos Beta.

Two days

It was going to take him two days to get back.

Once the adrenaline of crashing, frantically trying to fix his ship, and getting off that planet had faded his body finally caught up with how badly he was actually damaged. He was quickly running out of bandages, and black spots were beginning to dance in his vision.

He looked back down to his arm. He couldn’t quite tell if he set the splint correctly, but at this point a poorly set arm was the least of his worries.

“Log date... uh... I don’t even know: I can’t help but shake the feeling that I’m slowly dying, which I probably am.” Mark took a deep breath in, trying to not fall asleep then and there. “If I don’t put in another log tomorrow, I just wanna let anyone who’s listening to know that I’m sorry. Sorry, mom. Signing off.”

He missed the off button several times before he finally hit it, bits of blackness taking up more and more of his vision. Leaning heavily into the chair, Mark ran his good hand through his bloodstained hair, realizing he needed to change the bandages again.

.

.

.

“Log date, i-it doesn’t matter,” Mark’s words were labored and his words often slurred together. “Ventos Beta...I can see it, I don’t know if I’m gonna make it in time,” He paused, taking a shuddering breath and putting a hand on his chest. The heartbeats themselves were rapid, yet they became progressively softer and less pounding than they were in the beginning. “I-I’m still sorry.”

Mark didn’t even bother to say signing off, or even stop the recording.

.

.

.

“Why don’t you go meet our new neighbor?” Mark’s mother suggested.

Her son sank lower into the couch. His lower lip stuck out in a pout.

“I heard they have a son in your year.”

Mark let out a long sigh, and changed the channel on the projected screen again.

“It’ll be good for you.”

He gave his mom a glance. She was staring back at him with a look that said “You are going take these cookies and you are going to like it.”

Fine.

Mark took the cookies, trotting over to the door of his new neighbor’s house. He rang the doorbell and tapped his foot impatiently. If they didn’t answer in the next fifteen seconds he was going to-

Before Mark could finish his thought, the door swung open. A teenage Graeldur boy stared down at Mark, a single rocky eyebrow raised in confusion.

Suddenly feeling very awkward, Mark held out the plate of cookies. “My mom wanted me to bring these over as a housewarming gift,” he said.

“Uh… thank you,” the Graeldur said, taking the plate. “My name’s Tyler.”

“I’m Mark.”  

They stared at each, the awkward moment stretching out much longer than Mark liked it. Tyler finally looked down at the cookies, back behind him, and then back at Mark.

“My parents aren’t home. Do you want to eat all of these with me?”

Mark grinned, “Sure.”

.

.

.

Mark had never felt lonelier than he did now. Sitting in the pilot seat, watching the planet grow closer and closer, he felt like everything was collapsing in on him. He wanted his mom… oh god, his mom was going to be so mad at him. He could already hear his mom scolding him for being so reckless. He did completely deserve it, but that didn’t stop him from dreading it.

A sensor on the dashboard beeped at him, telling Mark that he was ready to make contact.

The autopilot on the GAAP ships might be one of Mark’s least favorite things, but now that he could barely use his limbs he was grateful. The ship lowered itself into an open field, gently setting down and then powering off.

Mark just had to use whatever bit of strength he had left to hobble over to Tyler’s place. Just get to Tyler’s house. That was all that mattered.

The sky was dark when he left. Each footstep echoed back in Mark’s brain and made the simple act of walking unbearable. By the time he made it to Tyler’s front door, he could feel consciousness slowly slipping away from his grasp.

Leaning heavily against the doorframe, Mark was able to give two, hard knocks. The few agonizing minutes it took for Tyler to answer made Mark want to let his muscles relax and slump down to the floor. In fact… he let himself slump farther down the frame. Oh, this was worse.

The handle jiggled a bit until the door opened with a far too loud creak. Mark managed to look up, meeting his friends eyes.

“Oh my god…” Tyler’s eyes went wide as he took in the state his friend was in, almost forgetting to breathe.

Mark pushed what little trace of a smile he could onto his face, “Hey Tyler.”

The world went black and numb.

.

.

.

Mark was back in the ship. Something beeped periodically, but no matter how much he searched the cockpit, he couldn’t find the source of the sound. His movements felt sluggish, like he was moving through a pool of jelly. The colors were either too bright or too muted. Perspective zoomed and faded. Everything felt like it was tipping over. Was he tipping over?

“...days now…”

Mark’s head swiveled towards the sound. Tyler? When had he gotten in the ship? He was on Ventos Prime.

“... didn’t tell you anything?”

Mark’s head turned to the other side of the cabin. Mom? She certainly wouldn’t be on the ship. She- she hated flying. Why would… why would she be here?

Mark’s mind felt as slow as his movements. Exhausted, he let himself lean back in his seat. The beeping grew louder.

.

.

.

Everything hurt. Especially his arm. He groaned in pain and tried to sit up, but as soon as he did, what felt like several pairs of arms pushed him back down, and choruses of “Please, relax,” “Don’t strain yourself, Mr. Fischbach,” and “You’re gonna be okay.”

Mark blinked his eyes open, flinching back against the bright hospital lights. God, he hated hospitals.

As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the figures of his mother, Tyler, two nurses, and a doctor standing at the sides of his bed, all staring at him. He had a few IVs attached to his left arm, and his right arm was completely bound in a translucent fluorescent green cast. Little nanobots moved around his broken arm, going into it to fix the bone. Something was wrapped around his head, but he couldn’t tell what.

Despite the results of the previous attempts results, Mark tried to sit up again. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice hoarse and nervous. “Where am I?”

The nurses gently pushed him back down again.

“His head was injured badly,” the doctor said, ignoring Mark and turning to his mother and Tyler. “He might be a little out of sorts for a couple of days. We’ll have to keep him here for a while, until then…”

Everything faded to black as the nurse turned up the IV drip.

.

.

.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Tyler said, following Mark carefully down the side of the canyon.

“We’ll be fine,” Mark insisted, nearly losing his footing again. “Trust me.”

Tyler didn’t, but that wasn’t going to stop him from making sure Mark didn’t injure himself. Again.

They were walking through the cliffs where everyone was specifically told not to go. The rocky trails had led to many accidents, and were regarded as dangerous. Mark had never cared about danger, taking chances that often made Tyler feel more like the responsible adult friend.

Tyler’s heart might have stopped for a second as Mark started speeding down the trail.

“What can be so exciting that you’d risk dying and going against your mom’s instructions not to go down here under any circumstance?” Tyler asked, trying his best to keep pace with his speedy friend. It was no use. Mark was already far ahead of him.

“You’ll see!” Mark called from the bottom of the canyon. “Now hurry up!”

Tyler sighed and picked up his pace, jumping the last piece and landing next to Mark. “Okay, show me, so we can get out of here without getting in trouble.”

Mark grinned and grabbed Tyler’s wrist, pulling him behind him and through a crack in the canyon wall. The pair was plunged into darkness, and Tyler was glad Mark seemed to know where he was going. Suddenly, it was bright again.

Mark spun around and spread his arms wide, “Ta-da!”

Tyler gaped in awe, looking around the small cavern that had been invisible a moment before. A small pond sat at the center, and a crack in the ceiling let a beam of light illuminate the area. A few cliff birds chirped from their nests in the walls. Soft moss covered everything.

“I thought it could be our secret hideout,” Mark said, tossing his shoes and socks off and sticking his feet in the pond. It was so clear is was almost like glass. The ripples moved across the surface, making the pond moss wave.

Tyler followed suit, and the two let their feet drag in the shallow water.

“I like the sound of that,” Tyler said, his usually stoic face splitting into a wide grin.

Mark grinned back.

.

.

.

Tyler sat in the chair in Mark’s hospital room, watching his friend with eyes full of worry. Mark had woken up several times, still mostly dazed and panicked. With the nanobots working to fix his body - including his brain - he was having horrible nightmares. Mostly he just whimpered, but sometimes he called out for Tyler… for him mom… for anyone. It hurt Tyler seeing his friend so… so afraid.

He knew Mark was reckless, but this was something else. What could have possibly caused Mark to so suddenly just abandon the Academy? He’d worked so hard to get in, and from their correspondences, Tyler knew Mark was a promising student with high grades and a near perfect attendance.

Tyler snapped to attention as Mark stirred in his bed. When Mark didn’t move again, he leaned back again.

When Mark had shown up at Tyler’s door just a few days ago, Tyler hadn’t known what to think. He hadn’t even had time to think between rushing Mark to the hospital, calling his mother, and talking to what felt like twenty different nurses and doctors. Now that things had slowed down��� Tyler was just trying to make sense of it all.

Mark had always told him everything that was bothering him. He should have known something was wrong when Mark stopped messaging him as often two months ago. He should have called, checked on his friend, made sure everything was really alright.

Can’t change any of that now, he thought, letting his eyes drift closed. What’s happened has happened. For now, he just had to make sure Mark recovered. Talking could come later.

.

.

.

Tyler watched from a distance as Mark’s mother yelled at him in that way only mothers could. Mark nodded along, apologizing and promising to “never do something so reckless again.”

Maybe it was just Mark still being tired, but he didn’t seem that focused on what his mother was saying. It felt more like Mark was focused on something else. He knew that stubborn look in Mark’s eye, and he’d known Mark long enough to know that was never a good thing. But maybe he was just imagining things.

Tyler really wanted to be imagining things.

.

.

.

“Mark, it’s nothing,” Tyler said anxiously, having to pick up his pace to keep up with his friend. “Really, I’m fine.”

Mark didn’t stop.  “It’s not ‘fine.’ I’m not going to sit back while these idiots treat you like nothing because of me.”

Tyler felt himself come to a stop as Mark marched on. There was that fiery determination in his eyes. Nothing was going to stop him. Nothing, especially anyone who would even try and hurt someone Mark cared for.

Tyler was far enough away that he only caught a few words. The one’s he did hear, he hated.

“You’re nothing, half-breed,” one of them snapped.

“Tyler would be better off with us than with a filthy grett like you,” the other added, spitting on Mark’s face.

Tyler flinched when one of the boys pushed Mark backwards. Mark said something that made the boys faces twist with anger. Mark managed to dodge the first few punches, but they were bigger than him. It wasn’t long before they had punched him out. Tyler starting running towards them the moment Mark got punched, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop them from giving him a few kicks to the stomach.

They sneered at Tyler before running off.

Tyler grabbed Mark, throwing him over his shoulder and rushing him back to his house.  

A few days later, Tyler was allowed to see Mark again in the hospital. Bandages were wrapped around Mark’s chest, and his arm was held delicately in a sling.

“I really showed them, eh?” Mark asked, laughing.

Tyler started to chuckle too before he noticed Mark buckle in pain.

“Broken ribs,” Mark said, smiling tensely at Tyler. “The nanobots are still working at fixing them.”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed one of these days,” Tyler shook his head, half-teasing. The other half seriously worried that Mark would one day get himself killed.

“No, I won’t,” Mark responded. “You won’t let me.”

Mark never explained why he dropped out, and Tyler didn’t push. After Mark got out of the hospital, he had to stay home for a week to recover fully. Tyler took it upon himself to make sure that Mark actually recovered and didn’t go try and steal another ship.

Spending so much time with Mark, he saw the difference.

He knew low grades and a pulled scholarship weren’t the real reasons Mark had stolen a ship and almost died just to get back to Ventos Beta.

Usually he was a joking, amicable, jovial person, but when Tyler was talking to him, Mark felt more reserved. Like he wasn’t really there. Once or twice, he even snapped at Tyler before immediately apologizing and laughing it off as “just tired” or “cabin fever.”

Tyler knew something was wrong, and it wasn’t whatever Mark was blaming it on.

As soon as Mark could leave, he did. Tyler felt like a lost dog, trailing uselessly behind him. He wasn’t usually so focused, and Tyler began to be even more worried when Mark’s trail led down to the docks.

“It just feels good to see real ships again,” Mark said when Tyler asked him why they were there. “They hardly let us get near the big ones back there.”

That was another thing. Mark never said ‘The Academy’ anymore. Always just ‘them’ and ‘back there’ and ‘my dorm,’ and never with any fondness. In all the years Tyler had known Mark, he’d never heard him refer to something with such contempt.

“Bad memories,” Mark said, smiling reassuringly. “It’s in the past now.”

The only thing stronger than his anger at the Academy, it seemed, was Mark’s anger at himself. Every time a headache made him have to slow down, or his arm started hurting again, Tyler noticed him become frustrated and seething.

“I’m fine,” he’d insist stiffly, avoiding eye contact with Tyler.

“Just tell me what’s wrong,” Tyler said finally. “I want to help.”

But Mark only brushed him off and walked down to the docks again. It wasn’t like Mark to bottle things up, and Tyler was half convinced his head injury had done something more than make him delirious for a few days.

Eventually though, Tyler had to go back to work, and he couldn’t keep a constant watchful eye on Mark. While he trusted Mark’s mother, he knew she wouldn’t be willing to follow her son all over the city every day until he finally returned home late in the evening.

When he was able to visit though, Tyler spent his time with Mark trying to pry more information out of him without pressing his friend too much. It felt like he was interrogating a rock.

.

.

.

The day Mark got his cast off, he was out of the house almost as soon as they got back from the hospital. Tyler started to follow, but Mark turned and stopped him.

“I’ll be back later,” Mark said, but something in his voice told Tyler otherwise. He wasn’t meeting Tyler’s eyes.

A few minutes after Mark left, Tyler followed. He knew where Mark had gone.

The docks were filled with people. Traders, scavengers, GAAP agents, and regular citizens. Finally, after almost half an hour of searching, he spotted Mark. He was talking to someone. Handing that someone a card. Shaking hands. Stepping onto a ship.

Tyler ran forward, shoving his way through the crowd, “MARK!”

He saw Mark freeze and start to turn towards Tyler before stopping himself. Mark didn’t want to look back.

Tyler’s hand caught the door just before it finished sliding shut, and he forced it back open. Once he slipped inside, it slid shut behind him and beeped cheerfully. He took a step forward, and alarms suddenly started blaring around him, lights flashing red.

Mark appeared just as suddenly at the end of the hallway, his face going from confused to upset.

“I told you not to follow,” Mark said, pressing a button and turning off the alarms. “This isn’t… this isn’t smart.”

“I wasn’t going to let you run off and get yourself hurt again,” Tyler replied, folding his arms across his chest.

“Who made you the protector of me?” Mark snarked, folding his arms and standing his ground.

“Me,” Tyler said. “Because I care about you, and you’re not thinking clearly.”

Mark heaved a sigh and leaned up against the wall of the ship. “Sure. Okay.”

“You have to talk about this eventually,” Tyler said, taking another step forward. Mark stared him down, but he was wavering. “I need to know what’s going on. What’s wrong?”

Mark looked back at his friend, steely determination melting into frustration.

“I couldn’t stay there any more,” Mark began, looking down at his feet. “There was always this pressure to be the best, and for I long time, I think everyone thought I was. The best at flying, at least. Even if I got in trouble for my methods all the time.”

Tyler knew that. Mark had often called him, upset that the instructors didn’t let him fly how he knew how to fly.

Mark continued, his knuckles white and his jaw tight. “It got suffocating. My teachers didn’t push me. They either gave up or thought I knew everything so why bother. Everyone looked up to me as this perfect student who could do no wrong, and I hated it. I felt like I had to live up to their expectations for me, and if I failed, they’d hate me. I didn’t want those expectations. I just wanted to blend in, not be forced into the spotlight.”

Mark gripped his arm tight, digging his fingers into the fabric of his sleeve. “So I stopped trying. I stopped doing my homework. I skipped class. I cheated on tests I already knew the answers to or just didn’t complete them at all. I let my grades drop. I could have picked them back up any time, and everyone would have just put me back on the pedestal I had jumped off of. When— The day they sent me a notice, saying they were going to pull my scholarship, I started packing right away. I hid the letter from Bob and Wade, and kept my plan a secret from them both. Once I had everything planned out, I ran away. I stole one of the student ships that they use for short flights around the school and left. I crashed on Talbos Prime a couple days later. That’s when I—”

Mark glanced down at his recently healed right arm. “Yeah. I did my best to keep myself alive while I fixed the ship, but I think my anger at crashing kept me alive better than any bandages or medicine. Once I got off of Talbos Prime, I flew back here, and, well, you know the rest of the story.”

There was a moment of silence between them as the story sunk in. Then Tyler closed the space between them. He pulled Mark into a tight hug, making sure to be careful of Mark’s arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, pulling away. “We could have talked about this, or at least found a better way for you to leave the Academy than running away on a stolen ship.”

Mark shrugged. “I needed to do this on my own,” he said. “I had to make a decision for myself instead of just letting myself drift through life without a purpose. I couldn’t stay here either. If I stay here… I stay stagnant. I become a farmer or I just… ugh, Tyler there is nothing here for me!”

He met Tyler’s eyes with fury. “As much as I love Ventos Beta, my life isn’t going to go anywhere here. It’s out there! Out among the stars!” Mark’s eyes lit up as he spoke, passion building. “I want to see new worlds! I want to meet strange species, make new friends, learn new things! I can’t do that here, or at the Academy. I need to do this, Tyler. You have to understand.”

Tyler shook his head, and Mark’s face fell.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever understand you,” he began, “but I’m not going to stay on Ventos Beta and let you go out there and probably die.”

Mark’s excitement began to return. “Wait, really? You want to come with me?”

“Someone has to watch your back,” Tyler chuckled.

Alright,” Mark said, already beaming. “I guess this is our ship then?”

Tyler allowed a smirk to crawl onto his face. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.”

[sippin-on-red-wine]

High Tide | Chapter 7: Please

Title: High Tide, Chapter 7 | Please Author: @sippin-on-red-wine Rating: NO SMUTS IN THIS CHAPTER SORRRYYYYY Characters: Ed Sheeran x Kendra (original female character) Word Count:  3,225 Author’s Note: Sorry in advance again?

I refused to cry, blinking back the hot tears as the taxi pulled away from the curb. I knew I shouldn't, but I looked back at Ed, standing there on the sidewalk, looking broken.

I'm the one that should look broken.

“Where to, miss?”

Shit. I don't know, Mr. Taxi Driver, can't you tell I've just been burned by my international superstar boyfriend and I'm in a country that's not my own and I have nowhere and no one to run to?

“Do you have any hotel recommendations?”

“Sure, plenty. Are you looking for something reasonable, or ritzy?”

“Ritzy, please.”

“Right away then, miss.”

My brain kicked into logistical-detail mode.

Okay, first step, check into a hotel. I have literally nothing with me apart from my little purse which thankfully has my wallet. No fucking way am I going back to Ed’s just to get a suitcase of clothing. I'll just buy some things to tide me over….. tide me over til when? Should I fly home?

The thought of leaving London like this made me shudder. The last few days had been crazy wonderful. How did it all fall to pieces so quickly? Stop.

My phone was vibrating in my little purse. I flipped it over to check -- Lauren was calling. I hit ignore. She called again - ignore. After rejecting her third call, I felt a bit guilty, she probably was worried. I tapped out a quick response:

*Lo, I'm OK, I just need some space. Please.

My phone immediately started buzzing again, and I just got pissed and turned the damn thing off.

I pushed all the worries and questions down, focusing on getting a room somewhere and checking in.

The driver pulled up to a large high-rise building and I handed him a bank note from my purse before spilling out in front of the hotel's main entrance.

I approached the reception desk, suddenly very aware that my dress was probably too tight and short for a place like this.

“Hello, how may I assist you?” The man was young, and dressed in a black suit.

“Do you have any rooms available tonight, please?”

“Sure ma’am. Will one bed suffice?”

I nodded my head. He went to work, clicking and typing in the hotel’s computer system.

“Ahh, we've got a lovely King-sized room with a view of the city. Would you like to reserve it?”

“Yes, please.” City view sounds nice. I mean, I'm in London for the first time, may as well wallow in my self pity in style -- “Wait. Do you have anything larger….. like a suite?”

It turns out, he did. Several options, actually. He pulled out a brochure that included a few photos and highlighted the amenities of each. Oh, and the price per night, which made my eyes bulge out of my head a bit.

I handed over my AmEx card, silently glossing over the dollar figure he had given me for the week’s stay. It didn't matter, really, but it was much more than I was used to paying. Fuck it.

And so he handed me a key card, and I walked unsteadily in my heels over to the Elevator, where they had an actual attendant stationed. He was dressed in a full bell-hop type uniform, an older gentleman with kind eyes.

“Hello, what floor, please?” He asked, ushering me into the lift.

“Penthouse, please.”

I handed him the special key I had gotten at reception, the attendant inserted it in the wall panel and I watched as the “P” button lit up, and we were on our way.

“My name is Thomas, I'm happy to assist you with any needs you may have during your stay.”

His laugh lines were deep-set in his face. I found myself picturing him at home, smiling and adoring his family, maybe bouncing a grandchild on his lap.

I felt my eyes welling up again. Lock it up, K.

“Is there anything I can help you with, miss?”

“Um… actually, yes? Maybe? I wasn't really anticipating my stay, and so I don't have any of my things… is there, by chance, someone who could run out and pick up a few necessities for me?”

“Oh, yes, miss. We've got a concierge service who can handle just about any request you could throw their way. Just give the front desk a ring and they will be happy to assist.”

I sighed a breath of relief. I desperately wanted some leggings and a soft t-shirt, and hadn't been looking forward to going out shopping, bright and early tomorrow morning, dressed in my club clothes.

“Thomas, thank you so much.”

The elevator Ping!'d and Thomas turned the key once more before removing and returning it to me.

“My pleasure, miss. Please do not hesitate to ask, should you be needing anything else. Have a lovely evening.”

I walked out of the elevator into the foyer of my new suite. It was… stunning. Opulent. Beautiful. I was at a loss for words.

It was a large and sprawling suite, with a full kitchen, living room, a balcony, and at least two bedrooms. There was a beautiful wrought iron spiral staircase over in the corner of the lounge area. I kicked off my stupid shoes and dropped my purse on the dining room table, below an ornate glass chandelier. My toes sunk into the cream colored carpeting as I wandered around the suite, peeking in doors. The master bedroom was grand, all done up in beiges and golds and rich accent colors. There was a desk in the master, with a phone that I used to ring the concierge as Thomas had suggested.

I requested a pair of black leggings, a black tee shirt, white sneakers, and a long trench-style lined coat, as well as a toothbrush and a charger cable for my cell phone. The nice lady on the phone assured me they could get all that to me very soon, and that the charges would just be added to my room. I thanked her and almost said goodbye before deciding to order three bottles of champagne, too.

I sighed as I placed the phone back into it's little receiver cradle. Now what.

I strode over to the En Suite, finding a rather plush bathrobe hung on the wall for the taking. I shucked out of my ensemble and slipped into the rich navy blue robe, feeling a bit more at ease. I washed the makeup from my face, wishing I had a hair tie handy. Should make a list of things to pick up tomorrow.

Or maybe you should just go home tomorrow.

The elevator rung out, alerting me that someone was arriving. The doors opened and a younger-looking girl stepped out with a shiny silver cart, with a large ice bucket holding the booze I had requested. I thanked her and she was gone just as quickly as she had came.

Need alcohol. I cut the foil and popped the cork on one of the bottles, plucking one of the flutes from the tray, the second glass staying put. 

I crept over to the large brocade sofa and plunked down right in the center reaching for the television remote. It was official, I was out of things to do. Which is precisely when my brain thought it would be a good idea to re-live the past couple of hours.

My eyes were hot and stinging with tears, but I pushed them back. I am not going to cry. I am fine. I am a grown ass woman. I'll be okay.

But goddamnit, why? I had found my station in life, content with being alone as long as that meant I would never be deceived by a loved one. And then, him.

I should have known. He had only recently broken up with her when he turned up next door. I thought back to the day that I had driven his friends to the airport, going over to Ed's the next afternoon to find him drinking and chain-smoking himself into oblivion. He was broken. And it wasn't your job to fix him so why did you even try?

Just then, I remembered that I had turned my phone off. I was sure there were texts or voicemails waiting for me, and so I gulped down the rest of my champagne and retrieved my cell from my little purse, powering it on.

The messages came in one after the next after the next. A whole slew of texts and missed calls from Lauren popped up:

- Missed Call

*Kendra, where are you??

- Missed Call - Missed Call - Missed Call

*Please answer

- Missed Call Voice Message (1:03) - Missed Call

*Ed is having a fit, Kenn, please, just hear him out

- Missed Call - Voice Message (1:16)

*Okay, I get it. Will you please call me tomorrow? I'm worried about you xx

I clicked on the first voice message, setting it to speakerphone. It was Lauren, rambling about what a “fucking idiot” Ed was and how “bloody worried” she was and offering her guest bed up for me and “PLEASE pick up, Kendra.” It was loud in the background, like she was still at the club, or standing right outside of it, the bass thumping through the phone.

The next voicemail had less chaos going on in the background. “Kendra -- please,” Lauren's voice was pleading on the other end. And then, the sound of Ed’s voice “Lauren, let me --” garble garble garble.

“Kenny, I fucked up, I’m so--”

His voice rang out through the speaker like a shot straight to my heart. I quickly ended the message, not wanting to hear him anymore. Hearing that silly nickname that was just for him and no one else, it was.. unbearable.

Just then my phone rang yet again - a number I didn’t have stored this time. I turned off the t.v., shut off my cell, and went and climbed in the huge bed, feeling utterly alone, and waited for sleep to take me.

Ed…….

I watched her, in the back of the cab, drive away. It was almost like an out-of-body experience. Every nerve, every CELL in my being told me to run after her, to scream, to fight, to not take ‘No’ for an answer. But I was just… stuck. Frozen. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

I kept my eyes trained on the taillights of that cab until it was impossible to see anymore. I heard my name, over and over again, but it sounded distant - like I was underwater and they were shouting from up on the diving board.

Lauren. It was Lauren. She was shaking my shoulders, trying to get me to snap to it. “Ed! Come ON, we have to get you back inside! Paps…”

Whothefuckcares--

But she gave me one good yank and I followed her back inside the club, all the blood rushing back to my head.

“Christ, Ed, why didn’t you tell her Poppy was going to be here?”

“Call her.” It wasn't a question.

“What?”

“Call her!” I was practically shouting. I winced, realizing how I sounded. “Please, Lauren. Call her. I don't know where she's gone.”

Lauren pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts, til she found her name. She set it to speaker, we could barely hear over all the commotion in the club but when it went to voicemail, I wasn't surprised that she didn't answer.

Lauren tapped away furiously at her phone screen, texting her.

“Jesus fuck, Ed, what happened?”

“I fucked up, Lauren. Can you please ring her again?”

Lauren called her three more times. I kept willing her to pick up on the other end, but she didn't.

“She texted--” Lauren threw her phone to me and I quickly scrambled to open the message.

*Lo, I'm OK, I just need some space. Please.

The tears were back, hot and spilling out from my eyelids despite my valiant effort to keep them in. I clicked into the text, bringing up her Contact info and with it, a silly picture of her and Lauren from the day Kendra had taken us out whale watching. It had been the very end of Summer, then. Her skin was tanned, her face sprinkled with freckles. She was wearing a white linen top, and my aviators -- I offered them to her when her shades had fallen and been stepped on. That had been one of the best days I had had in weeks, months maybe.

Seeing her face in the photo, silly, with her tongue sticking out and a peace symbol thrown up next to her head -- it absolutely gutted me.

What have you done?

I clicked the little telephone icon, ringing her again. Straight to voicemail this time.

My stomach was hot and sour as I raced to type out a message to her: Please answer.

“Ed, she said she's okay. Why don't I take you home, c’mon, there's nothing you can do from here.” I couldn't meet her eyes, but I nodded and handed the phone back to her.

Lauren grabbed me by the hand and dragged me back through the club, toward the back exit where Kendra and I had come in. She pushed the doors open and the cool night air flooded my lungs.

I felt numb. My mind racing, where is she? Will she come back? Is she safe?

I thought back to the night when she had told me about her past, how she had just up & left everything, not even saying goodbye. Will she do that again?

I braced myself on the stone exterior wall of the club, both hands out as I retched onto the ground between my feet.

“Christ, Ed.” Lauren was there, patting my back as I emptied the contents of my stomach, which was mostly booze.

A few moments passed while I collected myself, and Lauren pulled me into the car that was waiting there for me.

The ride home felt like an eternity. Lauren sat in silence beside me, her hand resting lightly on my knee. The lamplights blurred together, the whir of London at night dulled by the knot in my chest.

“Ed,” she spoke softly. “You gotta clue me in here, what the hell happened?”

“I… she didn't know Poppy was going to be there.”

“And?” She pushed.

“I was stupid, I wanted to look… good, in front of her.”

“Okay, well that seems pretty normal?”

“I… didn't tell her that Poppy would likely be at the party. And I… kind of, got a little handsy with Kendra after I noticed she had gotten there. And her fucking dress, I pushed that dress on her even though she didn't seem comfortable in it, it just looked so goddamn good on her and…”

“Oh, Ed.”

“I came out of the bathroom and I just saw her from the back, stalking down the stairs like a bat out of hell. Did Poppy say something to her? Did you see?”

“No, no, I don't think so. I had just gotten there and your lovely Ex was staring daggers at Kendra, and I, um, mentioned her…. She was definitely taken aback.”

“She's going to hate me.”

“Ed, I'm sure it will be OK.”

“You didn't hear the things she said to me outside. I used her, Lauren, I'm fucking selfish and childish and I fucked it up.”

“Hey. Take a breath. We’ll get her, alright?”

“Will you call her again?”

She granted my request, though we both knew it was hopeless at this point. Her voicemail message rang out of the speaker phone as Lauren inhaled, mentally preparing some new desperate plea designed to get Kendra to pick up the phone.

Kendra -- please,” She started, but I just couldn't listen to her ask, no, beg, on my behalf again.

“Lauren, let me --” I reached out for the phone, pulling it up to my face. “Kenny, I fucked up, I’m so sorry. I don't deserve it but please, please, just call me. I can't.. I didn't..” I struggled for the right words. “This is real, US, everything - it's all real, it's not… you must think… fuck, just, PLEASE, answer? I need to know you're okay.”

Kendra……

I woke the next day, feeling surprised that I had slept so soundly. I wouldn't say well.

I hadn't had any actual dreams, per se, but I just had this haunting feeling like I had re-lived the previous night over and over, unable to wake, stuck in that reality.

I yawned and stretched out in the massive bed, safe under the cover of the fluffy white comforter.

But the safety of the comforter couldn't protect against my own thoughts.

Alright, Kendra. Time to get up and figure out what you're doing.

I threw the covers back and got up out of bed, re-tying the knot in my robe. That reminds me….

I walked out into the main living space of my Penthouse Fucking Suite and saw a neat little stack of packages near the door. It felt a little… odd, picturing a young concierge clerk running out to the shops and choosing the things from my list. But I was more than appreciative to not have to get back in my dress and heels.

I grabbed up the boxes and bags, setting them on the chic metal & glass dining table, extracting all the things I had asked for. I unraveled the cord of the cell phone charger and plugged my phone in to charge up. I pulled the tags off of the few basic clothing items, then dressed myself in the tight black leggings and v-neck tee.

I powered up my cellphone and watched another slew of missed calls register on the screen, the last one had been a little past 4AM, from the number I didn't have saved in my contacts.

And a single text from that same number.

*K, you deserve so much better than me. But I can't let you go. Please x

And suddenly, those tears I had been battling all broke loose, rushing fast and hot down the front of my cheeks.

Did I overreact? Okay, so he wanted to make his ex jealous, I'd be lying if I said I'd never tried especially hard to look good in front of an Ex.

I shrugged off the bathrobe and tugged on the tight black leggings. They were the size I asked for, but European sizes must be a bit less… generous, because man those suckers were tight. I struggled to pull them up over my ass… which only reminded me of Ed being grabby the night before. He was very affectionate, but this had been different. And now that I knew his Ex had been sat there, ten feet away and facing right toward us, all you could see was the smug smile on his face which I had, at the time, interpreted to be happiness or horniness or tipsiness. But now I knew, it wasn’t any of those. It was Look What I Got.

The tears dried up and I buckled down on my resolve. Be honest with yourself. This, plus him wanting to sell his gorgeous fucking house, because it reminds him of her?

He's not over her.

It was time to go home.

Thank you for reading !!!!!!! And not killing me !!!!!!!!!