#but i need to create better boundaries around the ship and my emotional well being | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

lavender latte: iv

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 5 ||

word count: 7.7k

sucks when things go south, huh.

warnings: description of bodily injury, blood, mild? gore (it’s just describing injury), description of overstimulation, capital h and c hurt/comfort

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chapter 4 :’^) thank u for all of the love so far. i appreciate. every. single. one of. u. bottom of my lil rat heart.

this chapter was nearly split, but giving y’all a cliffhanger seemed mean

this the turning point and set up for the rest of the story so buckle up and enjoy ;^)

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Things between you and Hawks didn’t change too much, not externally anyways. Both of you still continued to indulge your feelings, even if you desperately tried to ignore them.

You continued to honestly spoil Hawks in lavish drinks of many sensations. Truthfully, you loved nothing more than seeing his face as he sipped at your new creations, watching the curiosity and pleasure spread over his features made your heart soar in your chest.

And Keigo continued to bask in your company. The drinks were always amazing, but the chatter and discourse between the two of you was what he loved most. Or, maybe it was his learning of you through watching your small gestures and cues. His analytical, interpersonal skills were, for once, being put to a use that didn’t involve espionage or deception.

It felt cleansing.

Despite these quietly greedy interactions, there was a great deal of repression between the two of you. Aimless flirting aside, squishing any growing feelings caused you both a great deal of strain. It worked, avoidance, for a while anyway. It wasn’t without consequences, but they wouldn’t get nasty until later.

One of the most apparent tolls was Keigo’s physical state. Having to actively ignore and quash his feelings for you caused such a deep amount of emotional turmoil. It made him ache all over. This was in addition to an asinine amount of extra hours he was spending staking out the villain syndicate that was indeed in the neighborhood of the tea shop.

(He wouldn’t admit it, but he was being overly diligent in scouting out the organization's doings. They were very close to you and your home, and the thought of you getting caught up in anything to do with his profession fucked him up on-premise alone.)

The combination of both physical and mental exertion made him messier than ever. It physically clouded him a lot of the time. Exhaustion had well and truly seized nipping at his ankles and proceeded to fully rip a chunk from his skull.

Keigo had yet another long day, dawn until at least midnight, no matter his aching body.

He’d be listening in on out some sort of meeting between the villain syndicate and one of its allies, some more reclusive group of villains from the far-off mountains. Neither organization was particularly noteworthy, but they did have some nasty criminal connection that needed to be monitored. That meant a late night for Keigo and an even greater need for caffeine.

He paid you a visit in the early morning.

The moment Hawks came through the door, you lit up, beaming from behind the counter.

The shop was empty, just having opened a few minutes before he appeared. The only sounds were the hum coffee machines, quiet music, and the tapping of your own tinkerings. Normally, there’d be more bustle, but you were alone in the din of the shop.

“Hey, angel,” He flashed you a winning smile, sliding down into his usual stool and propping his elbows on the counter. “Where’s the calvary?”

“Oh, the other openers?” You jerked your thumb to the door. “Running late. They all stayed up late working on a project for school, so I took one for the team and am manning the ship alone for this first bit.”

You sighed, looking quite tired yourself.

There was mutual recognition of your twin state, though it wasn’t verbally regarded in any way.

Hawks was far better at hiding his poor health from you, but that didn’t stop you from seeing the pinholes in his facade. You’d gotten better at it with time.

“What can I get you today, Hawks? Inspire me.” You set the glass on the counter between the two of you, gesturing to the expanse of the coffeeshop. “It’s just you and me today, so I can go all out.”

“You don’t already?” Hawks chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I try,” You shrugged. “I really do my best work for you, whether you’re a glorified guinea pig or not. Gotta serve up the best for my best customer.”

On any normal, Hawks would’ve bantered right back at you, keeping you on your toes with quick words and wit.

That day?

He just laughed, something weirdly neutral, almost off-putting because you knew it was manufactured.

You opened your mouth, brows furrowing. You wanted nothing more than to ask ‘hey, are you alright?’.

But, that would’ve broken some of your own, mentally-imposed boundaries. It hurt, to just laugh with him, but it was all you would let yourself do.

“So,” You broke the air with words as opposed to giggles. “What would you like?”

Hawks hummed, “Surprise me.”

“... Like, fully?”

Hawks nodded, slowly.

Keigo, in a movement of full vulnerability, (he told himself it would just be for a few minutes), laid his head on his folded arms, “Go wild, angel. I trust you. Make me anything you’re feeling. Wing it, no pun intended.”

You blinked at him, nodding. His sudden, almost submissive action surprised you. Something in you ached, seeing him so worn down.

You channeled this feeling into a desire to make him top-tier drink.

Reaching into your apron, you fished out your idea notebook. Many had been crossed off over the many weeks (months now?) that Hawks had been visiting the tea shop. You fairly consistently wrote down new ones, so there were always options, but on that day, none appealed to you.

Your gaze flickered back to Hawks, watching the soft movements of his breath through the tight fabric of the back of his shirt.

You needed to make it extra good, help shake Hawks from his stupor.

You’re gonna wing it.

You’ll make a feel-good drink.

It was your only self-imposed criteria.

You hadn’t ever made Hawks a drink without a concept and feeling beforehand, so the concept of not having one seemed novel.

You activated your quirk and began.

“How’s your day been?” Hawks called from behind you, words muffled.

Keigo still didn’t look at you; resting on his arms allowed him a little bit of a reprieve before his grueling day. He’d take it. Hearing your voice would make it that much better.

You described your day with a decent amount of detail for how much it hadn’t gotten started yet. Hamming up the detail meant more time for you to craft the drink. Your mind spun, grasping onto pre-existing, mental abstracts in your oddly calm headspace to create something tangible.

Though your quirk was activated, you weren’t really identifying a feeling specifically, rather just letting your quirk draw from whatever material you had laying around in your brainscape at 6 AM on a weekday morning.

You pulled as many espresso shots as Hawks usually liked (maximum, five, you refused to give him more than that in a single drink), pouring them into some steamed oatmilk and several other ingredients you had mixed into a cup. You tapped some cinnamon on top of the foam, polishing everything off with a dash of sweet cream.

Carefully, you set it between the two of you. Hawks hadn’t spoken since you had begun to make the drink, so oddly silent.

It almost made your skin itch, his lack of response. You reminded yourself with quick glances that Hawks was very obviously out of it and exhausted. You were sure that without the concealer he wore under his eyes (a secret he revealed to only you), he’d have purple circles punched from how overworked he was.

You hoped your drink would be enough to brighten up his day.

You bit your lip as Hawks raised his head, blonde waves more unruly than normal. A small, lopsided smile stretched across his face as he sat up, grabbing the drink and bringing it closer. He had learned long ago to allow them to cool.

“Sorry for not being as peppy as I normally am!” It was almost imperceptible, the off-kilter tone in his voice.

You caught it but said nothing.

He sheepishly rubbed at the back of his head. “Been running on empty it seems, angel.”

“Then take some fuel, bird boy.” You nodded to the foamy drink. “When are you supposed to be done today?”

“Late, like late. Early morning, probably.” Hawks sighed, taking a sip.

...

As the liquid coated his mouth, Keigo’s mind seized.

What.

What the fuck.

Any and all thoughts he had disappeared. They were incinerated from his mind by the drink’s heat.

A sun-scorching sensation like he’d never even known tore through his body.

It was so different from the other ‘warm’-toned drinks you’d made him in the past. The flavor and feeling filling him up was nothing like the hearth-like drinks you had made prior. You had treated him to plenty of beverages that felt akin to open flame, warm blankets, a cat purring over your chest, a candle on a cold night—

But, nothing even close to this.

This was such a strong feeling that if he was a less trained man, his eyes would’ve rolled back in his head. If he’d been standing, he was sure his legs would’ve been visibly shaking, probably given out.

Sure, the feeling was abstract, not as concrete as your other drinks but it was ineffably strong.

It felt like the flutter you caused in his stomach, but somehow all over and inside of him.

It was the heat in his cheeks when he saw you, but reaching from his toes to the skin of his scalp.

It was the shock in his throat when you smiled so honestly at him, now forcing his hands to twitch around the cup.

The consuming sensation was all of that goodness and more, magnified and exponentially deeper and marvelously burning.

It was hot, fiery as it ripped through him, completely unignorable. But, it was also soft, colored with the earnestness that he admired about you so much—

Oh.

It clicked as the sensation stirred in his stomach, fluttering to a point of near nausea.

It was you.

The moment he realized it, that all of that sensation was you feeling, as you had made the drink, something began to broil in the apex of his chest, rolling and all-consuming.

His mind stalled as he took it all in, taking another sip.

The feeling washed over him again, equally as wonderfully crushing.

“Soooo,” You drawled, setting a jar next to you on the counter, beaming him a smile. “What do you think? Gimme your judgment, bird boy.”

Keigo struggled to keep his face neutral as he quickly searched yours.

Even in his state, it was clear that there was no deception or riddle laced into the creaminess of the drink. The expectancy in your face was derived from admiration, not waiting for the punchline of an unfinished joke.

“It’s warm! Like, in your stomach.” Hawks looked down before taking another sip, the even smile on his face not wavering for even a moment. “What is it?”

“It’s a miel,” You tapped the jar next to you, pointing at the amber goo inside. “This is some wildflower honey from the owner’s sister’s farm, right outside the city. We have a bunch of extra stuff, so there’s no better time to make a honey-based drink.”

Hawks eyed the steam, “What goes into a ‘miel’?”

Watching Hawks’ shoulder go slack with the next chug he took, you hummed, “It’s a latte, so espresso and milk, then it has the honey in it which is what makes it a ‘miel’. Topped it with some special sweet cream, a bit of cinnamon. My extra touches in it as well, just based on my quirk.”

Hawks met your gaze, his eyes softening with what you could’ve sworn was desperation, but was quickly swallowed up but stoicism, “And what was this drink’s inspiration?”

You laughed, shoving your hands in your apron from the typical anxiety, though the feeling itself was somewhat normal and thereby dulled, “It didn’t have one! I just winged it, like you said. My quirk was activated though, so it was just sort of the concept of what I was perceiving and feeling, I suppose.”

There was a pause as you waited for Hawks to speak.

He didn’t.

Keigo stared down at the drink, then you.

Holy fuck.

This was ambient?

The sensation that made his toes curl and every part of him yearn to reach out to touch you and give all of himself to you—

It was unintentional?

The feeling was familiar, one that he had organically all the time when thinking of you, being with you at the teashop. It was the one that he shoved down over and over again around you, yet craved more than anything.

And here you were, unknowingly returning it to him.

You hadn’t intended it to be shared and you had no idea you even did.

Keigo was one of the most perceptive people on the planet— he knew that many of the feelings between the two of you were mutual. As much flirting as there was, a lot of it was real from both of you.

He just didn't think it ran this far deep.

(Mutually.)

“What... What do you think it tastes like?” You asked, that nasty rot in your gut rearing itself as Hawk’s lack of response ate at you. You turned fully to him, actually taking him in.

Keigo did what he was so skilled at doing—

Lying.

Hawks waved his hands in front of him like he was trying to put out small flames, “Nothing bad! Promise, it’s really good! It tastes like how the coffee shop feels. Warm, comfortable. It makes sense that your quirk would reflect that.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, good. I’m glad it's good.”

“Very good. I might have to put miels on my list of favorite drinks you’ve made me,” Hawks gave you a relaxed grin, standing and passing a wad of cash to you.

You didn’t expect him to be leaving so quickly, but he did say he was busy.

“Oh, hey, Hawks?” He perked up when you said his name, blinking at you. “I’ve got a project I’m working that I’m doing for the owner, so I’ll be here late. If you’re around, you’re welcome to come by after close if you want another drink? For your long night.”

Hawks softened for you like he so often had come to do. He fluffed up the collar of his jacket, wings ruffling up behind him, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll have some ideas for you then too, how about that?”

“Sounds lovely,” Your voice was like the honey of the drink, warm, sweet, and vibrant. “I’ll see you then, Hawks.”

“See you then, angel,” Hawks practically glowed as he walked from the door, the chime of the bell sounding with his exit. “I’ll text you when I’m close!”

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Over the course of the day, an odd feeling grew in the pitch of your stomach. You did your best to ignore it.

You alternated between serving customers and working on the ‘project’ the owner had saddled you with. Making centerpieces for his sister’s bridal shower was not something you should’ve been doing on company time, but they were giving you a handsome sum of cash under the table for it.

You couldn’t complain too much, other than that it was laborious. Masons jars stuffed with wired lights and frosted glasses, tied with twine and ribbons were all to be prettily arranged by your hand.

During the middle of the day, you went back home, spending your time between shifts catching up on sleep and making some decent food.

The odd gnawing only grew in your stomach.

Keigo’s long day was wearing on, though somewhat uneventfully. Most of his patrolling time was the effortless thwarting of petty crime and easy rescuing.

He even had the time to go back to his agency and snoop.

Because, for how lame his day was, the drink you made him (which he had greedily chugged all of shortly upon leaving the tea shop) caused him to think particularly hard about your quirk.

(As opposed to the asphyxiating awareness of your shared feelings.)

He didn’t get it.

You’d managed to perfectly create a drink that communicated complex feelings. You’d told him in the past that it could be used for any sort of feeling as well, but you were so vague beyond that. You were abstract in the same way you quirk was.

So, he decided to abuse his power a little.

He decided to actually take a lunch at the agency, munching on takeout while clicking through the HPSC’s databases.

Civilian quirks, especially those that had never attempted to pursue any sort of career with them, weren’t documented incredibly well. Maybe a few details that were used in public research projects, but not much beyond that. He had hoped he could dig and find something that would assuage his curiosity and confusion.

He tapped your name into the HPSC’s hero-accessible database, scrolling and pulling up your file.

There was a picture of you, one from an ID that must’ve been a few years old. There were personal details Keigo wasn’t all that interested in, though it was neat to finally know your birthday.

He clicked on the tab for your quirk.

Quirk: Synesthetic Manifestation

Description: Allows the user to materially manifest abstract, synesthetically-created feelings into reality.

This quirk does not allow the user to alter reality, only tangibly create abstracts through the means at their disposal.

Drawback: This quirk causes severe synesthetic overstimulation and appears to be activated unintentionally in instances that expose them to high amounts of stimuli.

Quirk potential:

Keigo knew the concept of ‘quirk potential’ well. Most of the time, this portion on files was only filled out if the individual had ever trained to use their quirk in a profession.

Oddly, your’s contained a few details.

The user showed high potential in initial assessments, but due to the nature of the quirk, its drawbacks, and its recorded usage, this user’s quirk is now classified as lowest potential.

Keigo frowned.

All this just made him more confused.

The file didn’t get into much more detail than you did. The only thing that was new information to him was that at some point you had tried to use your quirk in a training setting and that somehow got you demoted from high potential to lowest potential.

Keigo’s own quirk in the database was regarded as highest potential; you, at some point, were only a step down from him. Something knocked you down from pursuing quirk-based work, and based on your current employment at the tea shop, you never got up. Keigo figured it was the intricacies of your quirk that he didn’t fully understand.

He’d have to be a bit more careful getting any more information out of you, considering how much you disliked talking about it.

Keigo continued to stew, finishing off his lunch while thoughts of you and your feelings danced across his mind.

Though it was clear his adoration was obviously returned, it was much easier for him to muse over the nature of your quirk than the way he wanted to pull you over the teashop’s counter and kiss you breathless.

You went back to work, a few chalky tablets of stomachache medicine in your tummy. They were all you could do to try and quell the twisting in your gut.

By the time you arrived back to start your ‘night shift’, it was late evening, the sun already having fallen into the horizon.

Most of your time prior to closing was spent in the front, helping make drinks and clean up as you could. Part of you was actually excited to throw on some good music and grind after the tea shop was shut down for the night.

Also, seeing Hawks twice in the same day? Absolutely fantastic.

You wanted to try and make him a knockout drink, to make up for the lackluster one you’d prepared him earlier. Seeing his eyes get all gooey with happiness would more than push you through your night of work.

Your phone chimed a bit before close.

[birdboy]: hey ;^) mind if I come by in like a half an hour?

[you]: yeah!! just call me and i’ll unlock the door for you

Your closing coworkers giggled at you. They all knew that that big smile stretched across your face meant you were texting Hawks. You used to get a bit shy about it, but now you just gave them shit. He was your friend, right?

[birdboy]: what if i like, hit the glass, like fly into it like birds do into windows

[you]: okay one- no, that would definitely shatter the windows and idk if i wanna deal with that AND you tonight ;^)

[you]: and TWO- are you speaking. from experience. about hitting windows.

[birdboy]: please dont @ me like this

You snorted.

[birdboy]: i had to pay off a tabloid who got it on camera bc it would ruin my brand

[you]: do u still have those photos

[birdboy]: ... maybe

[you]: hawks

[you]: gimme

[birdboy]: idk if i can my publicist will kill me

[you]: u hear what i hear?? a coward

[you]: how does ‘your brand’ feel about that

[birdboy]: ...

[birdboy]: gimme one of those honey sticks u have at the register and the pics are yours once i get there ;^)))

[you]: DEAL!!!

You pocketed your phone in your apron, unable to stop the almost ridiculous smile that you wore.

Hawks made you uncomfortably happy. You knew that he didn’t feel the same, but he was still there. Even if you were just entertainment to him, you were happy to perform on any stage he was watching.

As closing crept up, you shooed your other coworkers off. Most of the closing tasks were done, they could leave a few minutes early.

As they began to pack up, chatting about some party that night, your insides twisted.

You squeezed the counter, rubbing your forehead while wishing your coworkers a good evening.

Weird.

It was about then that things went to shit for both you and Hawks.

Keigo’s was supposed to be in for a hellishly long shift of surveillance based on the intel he’d received about the syndicate and its impending meeting.

Apparently, that meeting was happening earlier, rather than later.

The chaos started quickly, the meetup going from a strategic talk to an all-out fight between two groups.

It spilled into the nearby streets, both sides unabashed in their destruction.

Perhaps, if Keigo had been faster (what a tall order, for the fastest man in all of Japan), things wouldn't have gotten so out of hand.

But quickly, things erupted and the streets dissolved in mayhem as he dove and sent feathers flying.

You stood by the front entrance, waiting for Hawks, idly sweeping. The cleaning tasks were almost done, the world outside was dark with the late evening.

You froze when the ground beneath your feet rumbled with revving engines, the air splitting with the sound of car horns and alarms.

Everything that happened next moved so quickly, it was difficult to follow.

Windows began to shatter all across the street, near and far.

They cracked, spraying glass as a figure cloaked in black flew down the asphalt outside. A red barrage followed after it, nearly subduing it as it raced past the tea shop.

The massive glass panels at the front of the tea shop filled with frosty lines, just feet in front of you.

It clicked for you a few moments too late.

Adrenaline shot through you, but it wasn’t enough.

...

You weren’t Hawks, you weren’t fast enough to outrun much of anything, let alone quirk-shattered glass.

You were just barely able to turn around before the spray of shards reached you.

You would later be incredibly thankful that you wore denim jeans and a wool sweater that day. Without the thick fabrics, you were sure that you would’ve been shredded. The problem was your low-top shoes and thin socks.

Just as you turned, searing pain shot from the back of your left ankle. You urged yourself to forget the specifics, flesh-tearing, mind beginning to buzz.

You just had to keep moving.

Except, you couldn’t. Your left leg gave out with your next step.

You shrieked as you fell to the floor, barely catching yourself. Your palms smacked against the ground, pieces of sharpened glass driving into the flesh.

You couldn’t help screaming, your voice mingling with the sound of alarms, cries for help, and the war cries of a nearby fight.

Oh.

You were in the middle of a fairly nasty villain attack.

...

So much for giving Hawks a better drink.

The mental joke seemed macabre, especially in your state.

You willed with all of your might, for your quirk to not activate. Overstimulation was just inches away from your current state, the sounds outside the teashop boring through your skull like diamond drill bits.

The pain that was radiating from your left leg was nearly unbearable, but you knew that getting out of the front room was imperative.

How you managed to keep your injured leg straight, you’ll never know.

You locked your jaw and pulled yourself along the floor, hoping that Hawks had this all under control. More people were bound to be hurt by the same sort of attack you got caught in, right? How many more folks had been sliced up like you? Worse than you?

Keigo wasn’t having much trouble subduing the villains. They, of course, had no idea that he had been watching the syndicate for three-odd months. He knew their quirks, their tactics, their escape routes, everything. What he didn’t know as well was the other group’s specifics.

From what he had understood before the fight, the two had somewhat friendly relations. Still, Keigo mentally kicked himself for not being more diligent in his gathering of intel.

His mistakes aside, the much more pressing issue was the two-kilometer stretch of shops that were now collateral damage in what was essentially a mobile mob war.

This damage included the tea shop.

When he’d flown past the shop, he’d only caught a glimpse of your face through the glass before it shattered.

You’d looked terrified.

Every part of him wanted to stop, dead in the air, rush in, and make sure you were okay, but he had to at least get things under control until more heroes showed up. Then, he’d be able to get to you.

By the time Keigo subdued several villains of either group, more Pros had arrived on the scene. He sped off to the teashop far too quickly when he saw others gathering. It was an ill-advised move, but he was clouded by a different set of instincts than those cultivated in his hero training.

The flight did allow him to fully take in the damage of the district, though.

It was about as bad as it could be.

Whatever the villain’s quirk was must’ve shattered glass within a certain radius from his body, Keigo observed.

Thankfully, the villain’s quirk didn’t appear to affect anything past two stories of height, sparing all above it. Those panes and pieces that did shatter had sprayed businesses, restaurants, shops, and the street with shards of glass. Not to mention that they flew at the speed of projectiles.

(At the full-minded revelation that there was no way you weren’t hurt, Keigo felt his stomach flip and eyes burn.)

Keigo shuddered to think how bad the damage would’ve been if the encounter happened during broad daylight.

Keigo curled in his wings, dropping onto the floor at the front of the teashop through the broken window.

He kept his expression somewhat neutral, though the scene before him tore at his heart in a way he wasn’t expecting.

The tea shop was destroyed.

The pretty, warm lighting fixtures had shattered, fine filaments exposed, and a few sparking. The glass jars on your wall of tea blends were broken, spilling leaves and dried herbs across the back counter. That wasn’t even to mention the layer of shards from all of the glassware stored around the coffee machines.

Seeing the destruction of one of the only places he had ever found real comfort in was awful, and it tore something hidden and vulnerable in his heart.

But far, far worse was the absolute horror that bloomed in his chest when he saw the sizeable spot of blood in the middle of the floor, smearing to the back doorway.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted, ignoring any stealthy elements and hurriedly following the trail.

“B-back here,” Oh, your voice was so weak.

Keigo couldn’t make himself move fast enough.

You’d managed to get yourself to the back, biting your lip so hard you were scared you’d break the skin. Part of you was lucid enough to know that making too much noise could be bad. Then again, the shop was supposed to be closed. Did anyone even know that you were there?

Hawks did.

You gripped at one of the edges of the stainless steel countertops, using all the strength you could muster to pull yourself upright. As careful as you were not to jostle your injured leg (that you still hadn’t looked at properly because you were terrified), the moment you bent it, you had to suppress a scream, turning it into a slow, nasty exhale. You let yourself sink to the floor again.

Something was seriously fucked up.

Then Hawks called your name.

You were sprawled out on the floor, injured leg awkwardly turned and extended to prevent the pain from being made worse.

The moment he saw you from the doorway, the remnants of his wings flapped, practically throwing him to the ground next to you.

The moment you saw him enter the back room, any and all fronts you had put on for yourself fell apart.

“H-Hawks,” You hated how small your voice sounded as you pushed yourself closer to him.

The details of him, how ruffled his remaining feathers were, how wide and scared his eyes were, how different he looked from the times you’d seen him on the news confidently saving the day, were lost on you.

Though, Keigo noticed your poor state easily. It was more obvious.

He scanned your form with the trained precision he was known for. He took in the shattered piece of glass sticking from your leg, bleeding lightly. Your palms weren’t bloody, but they were dotted with shards of glass.

He also noticed your panicked shaking and your unnaturally dilated pupils, beyond anything he’d seen while you’d made drinks for him.

“Is your quirk active?” Keigo asked, pulling off his gloves and grabbing one of your wrists. He turned your palm, using two of his smallest feathers like tweezers to pick at the shards pieces of glass.

“Y-yeah,” You replied, using the back of your other hand to wipe at your eyes. “It does this when I’m under extreme stress. I can’t turn it off.”

Keigo managed to laugh, relieved that the cuts in your hands weren’t that severe, “You just focus on me, okay, angel? That’s all you gotta do.”

You nod, trying to hold your overstimulated mind back. It’s fruitless, truly, because the moment Hawks reminds you that he is, in fact, there, and that you are safe, you quirk-addled mind spasms.

The awful mix of sensations whirled in your skull as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead into Hawks’ shoulder. In other circumstances, it would be a romantic gesture. But, the only purpose you had in the contact was hoping, praying, that the heat of his body would distract you from the swirling of sensations you couldn’t stop.

In that mental soup, within the fear, intense pain, and loss, oddly enough, was the unignorable, pleasant feeling of being so close to him. It made your heart squeeze. But, it was a single spice of sensation in a foul-tasting stew though, and it was hard to isolate the good in the muck of your mind.

You shook against him as sounds and pain blended inside your skull, thoughts becoming murkier and harder to understand.

Keigo finished tweezing your other hand, that one worse off, and wrapping it in some gauze he had stuffed in his jacket.

His mind screamed for him to wrap you in his arms, to pull you close and keep you safe. It was all he could fathom doing, just nearly moving to do so—

That was until the popping rumble of a nearby explosion interrupted his thoughts.

You jumped against him, muffling a scream in his shoulder.

His heart ached.

“(Y/N), I know this is all scary,” Hawks’s voice came through your sensational slurry. “But, I need to be back out there right now.”

“No.” Your mouth spewed with no discernable thoughts behind it. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t. Please.”

You caught Hawks’ wince, but barely.

He was already repositioning you, scooting you under one of the countertops, “Angel, I’m sorry. I need to go, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

Your eyes screwed shut, vibrating in your skull as pulling your uninjured leg to your chest.

Hawks looked equally as torn up about having to leave, brows creased with his lip worried between his teeth.

Despite how messy your brain felt, you knew that you were beyond defenseless. Even if your mind could easily conjure up an infinite number of ways to bring a person non-lethal (and lethal) pain, you were turning to mush mentally and you had glass sticking out of your leg. You had no fucking way to create it with your body.

Your back hit the wall under the counter and you managed to wrench your eyes open, taking in Hawks and his visage while you spun.

He looked so sad.

The feeling of mourning and fear spat so hotly in your mind, it was like you’d been intangibly burned by his expression.

You choked on your own stored tears, reaching out for him.

He caught one of your hands, the wrapped one, and squeezed it lightly.

Even with so few feathers left, Hawks plucked one, about the size of your forearm. He replaced his hand with the plumage.

“(Y/N), I will be back. I promise,” Hawks (so weakly) smiled, trying to reassure you. “You snap that feather if anything changes, okay? If anyone comes into the shop who isn’t another pro, or if you start to feel faint. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” You gritted out, somehow laughing. Your vocal cords rubbing together sends a wave of agony up the back of your neck, burying behind your eyes. You press your forehead in your bent knee.

With one last, fleeting look, eyeing your wound and remembering slate-colored eyes, Keigo took flight into the fray once more.

Keigo hated leaving you. He hated it so fucking much. It burned him, felt wrong in every way. You were so vulnerable in your state. Both of you knew that without him there, you were entirely exposed and fairly defenseless.

It perked up that protective instinct he’d repeatedly had towards you for months. It was probably something related to his avian mutation, but it was just blood-boiling need to keep you safe.

Yet, he just left you, wounded and mentally spiraling, in the middle of a destroyed building.

If he wasn’t trained so well, he would have acted differently. But, it had been burned into him time and time again what his needs were in disaster situations.

Neutralize, stabilize, clear out.

Through his exhaustion, he fought and soared with all he had, fatigue forgotten and replaced by hot cortisol. He forced himself faster, zipping down alleyways and across rooftops at some of his top speeds.

While Keigo tracked down all of the villains (he managed to miss the first time), he trusted that the other Pros could deal with the heavy collateral damage. He was number two, he could catch some organized criminals.

Beyond his training, Keigo had an even bigger motivation.

He could feel you.

The feather he left with you must’ve been pressed right up to your chest, maybe under your neck with the way Keigo could so intensely feel your breath and heartbeat. He could sense it gradually speeding up to the point of what had to be panic. If Keigo focused, he could make out your terror-stricken babbling.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is fine.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Hawks is okay.”

“He’ll come back.”

“He won’t leave.”

...

“Everything's gonna be okay.”

With that last one, your words gave out and it turned in gasping breaths.

Keigo worked himself harder, striking down the last of villains with absolute precision, all distractions forgotten in the most pivotal moments of combat.

The instant the villains were in custody, restrained, he was flying back towards the tea shop.

You don’t remember any of this well. Your mind was liquified, your body throbbing in pain.

It had been an incredibly long time, years since you’d been in any situation resembling a villain attack. There was no way to stop the synesthetic storm that was choking your mind. Every sensation was magnified, mixed with another, and shoved down your throat without any ability to change it.

A few minutes after Hawks left, giving you time to stew and roll, you spiraled more harshly.

When you realized how pitifully helpless you were, you fell away, pressing your wet face into the Hawks’s feather. Your vision muddled between black and red.

You felt the cold of the blood wetting your pant leg.

Your wound is bad.

You hadn’t fully looked at it in awhile.

Opening your eyes, you suppressed a wave of nausea at the small puddle of blood growing under the bottom half of your useless leg.

The way the denim of your jeans stuck to your skin mixed with the smell heady smell of blood made you gag.

You couldn’t keep it up anymore.

Letting your eyes shut, you sank down to the floor, cheek pressed into the dirty cement.

You don’t know how long you idled, drowning in your mind’s colors and vibrantly violent sensations.

You were only half-conscious when the feather pressed to your neck twitches.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted as he landed in the teashop, flying straight to the backroom, bypassing the mess of broken glass.

His breath caught, seeing you slumped over.

“Fuck,” Keigo couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice as he noticed how much blood had pooled beneath your injured ankle. “Hey, hey, (Y/N)—”

He sure fucking sucked at admitting his faults, and recognizing the severity of wounds was indeed one of them. He didn’t usually stick around long enough to deal with casualties so closely.

Keigo threw off his gloves, tossing them behind him without looking.

“‘M fine,” You started to push yourself up, hissing at the pain that surged from cuts in your hands. “Brain’s mushy.”

“That all?” Thank god Hawks still managed to joke. The humor dashed across your vision like little sparks. You stifle a weak snort.

“There’s my angel.” Keigo was so relieved to see you conscious that he didn’t notice his own possessive slipup. “Are you lightheaded?”

Gingerly, he helped stabilize your body upright as you wrenched your eyes open.

“A little, it’s okay, this is what happens,” Your voice was so loud in your own skull, it hurt. Though, the pain of your words was only a prick in the wet dough of your overworked mind. Sensation was pain, rolling over you and making it harder and harder to stay lucid.

Keigo swallowed thickly at the sight of your fully-blackened irises.

He needed to get you out as fast as possible, but that required assessing the gash in your leg.

His gaze flickered to your ankle, “Can you move your toes?”

“I don’t want to.”

Keigo frowned, weakly, pushing you as upright as possible as you began to slip to the side.

“Please, you have to try, okay?” Keigo begged, not noticing his own voice wobble.

You shook your head, grabbing it in within its own motion. The dizziness made your insides knot and stick together.

“(Y/N), please.”

You shifted your gaze to him, vision tilting as you did.

The frown on your face split as you just barely moved your toes within your blood-soaked shoe.

The fresh pain, vibrant and boiling, cut through the fog like a heat-blackened knife.

Your own fist flew into your mouth to mouth to suppress the cry that bubbled from your throat. You half-recognized it was the one holding Hawks’s feather.

You couldn’t see the way Keigo flinched at the sound, immediatly trying to soothe the two of you.

“Alright, good, okay, you can still feel them,” Hawks managed to laugh, cutting into the miasma of your psyche. It was something light and airy, tasting like packet sugar on the sides of your tongue.

Chasing the goodness of Hawks’s voice, you mustered up as much clarity as you could grasp, willing yourself into full sentences, “Hawks. I swear to fucking God, if you do not get me out of here right now, I will never make you a drink ever again.”

Keigo blinked at you, nodding, watching your attempt to focus on him, though the fully inked irises seemed to refuse to stay put.

So, this is what the file meant about the cost of your quirk.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, dove.” Hawks scooped you up before you could manage to put more thoughts together. A few of his feathers flew to stabilize your injured leg.

His touch felt good, like incredibly good. Even as the crunch of his boots on the broken glass of the tea shop scratched at your inner ears and burned your sinuses, the heat and texture of his jacket caressed over your cheeks. His warmth tasted like honey and cream.

Your head lolled onto his chest, idly playing with the filaments of his feathers that you refused to let go of.

(Keigo didn’t want you to, anyway.)

He couldn’t fly well, not in his mostly-featherless state, so he took to walking instead. He sidestepped as much glass he could, mostly watching your half-lidded eyes fixate on the feather you had pressed up to your face.

It was a weird circle, Keigo feeling your heat and breath so close, both on his body and on the sensitive plumage. Technically, he was doing his job, so he let himself indulge just the smallest bit in being so close to you. When Keigo squeezed you, nearly at the medic’s area, you tucked your face into his collarbones, breaths slowing from panic. You were even slack in his grip.

A paramedic rushed up to the two of you, guiding you to a setup stretcher and a waiting line of ambulances.

“We can take it from here, Hawks, no need to stick around,” The paramedic’s voice cut through the air, dripping bitterness on your tonsils and iron nails in your lungs.

Hawks set you half-down onto the lip of the vehicle, “Nah, it’s okay, I’ll hang out with them for a sec. They’re a friend of mine.”

He’d never said it before. That you were friends.

Heat rushed up to your fingertips, sweetness washing over your wounded leg, topped off silken air settling around your ears.

You’d drown in the sensation, a million times over.

The paramedic ran off quickly, a man with a nasty head wound taking precedence over your leg (which seemed to have clotted somewhat with your somewhat more relaxed state).

Hawks still didn’t leave.

Rather, he moved closer.

So did you.

From your spot sitting on the edge of the ambulance, your injured leg was twisted and propped up while the other dangled off the edge of the vehicle.

Keigo was right up against the metal, allowing you to lean on his side.

“You good?” You asked him, bumping your leg into his lower back.

Keigo couldn’t help jumping. You’d never casually touched him.

(He really liked it.)

Though the setting and circumstances were fucked, he figured it was okay.

You were friends, right?

Hawks wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side.

You took it a step further, wanting to simply soak in the amber, milky feeling of his touch.

You squish your cheek low against his collarbone, drinking in the smell of his sweat, stale, spiced cologne, and rich, expensive smelling hair oil.

The scents washed over your skin, rolling over your burning wounds like aloe and clean water.

“Thank you.” Your voice is small and soft, kept gentle by your last sparks of lucidity.

You heard Hawks chuckle, your vision swimming in honey and yellow with the sound, “Just doing my job, you know.”

“I mean, yeah,” You laughed too, pressing your nose harder into him. “But, it’s you, and I’m just glad you’re here.”

“You better stop being so sweet,” The hand around your shoulder rubbed slowly, up and down your spine, sweet spices and sugars dancing on the roof of your mouth. “Gonna give me ideas.”

The touch, something you craved and denied yourself, pushed you over the edge as his touch dissolved across your overstimulated mind in cresting waves of rushing, blessed heat.

Finally succumbing to the flood of your quirk, drowning your mind in both agony and absolute calm, you muttered out the last clear thing you said that evening, “We always give each other ideas, silly.”

God, the many meanings behind your words spun and stuck in Keigo’s mind like the taste of the miel he drank that morning. They relentlessly clung to his psyche, wanting to know more.

He stayed close while you were assessed and strapped into the ambulance. He sent a few of his last feathers to retrieve your jacket and purse from the wrecked shop.

All the while you clutched his bare hand, irises black while the whites turned bloodshot.

As the ambulance drove off towards that public hospital, he could feel the steady beat of your heart through the crimson feather he made sure was tucked in your hand the moment he had to let it go.

He felt you squeeze it, and he wanted nothing more than to return the gesture a thousand times over.

#salem writes #lavender latte #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo reader insert #hawks reader insert #hawks fanfiction #reader insert #mha x reader #tw blood #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n

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warrentrash · 3 years

Text

I’ll Always Be Here

the mandalorian (din djarin) X genderneutral!reader

description: after the reader is wounded on a mission, mando finally *sort of* confesses his feelings to the reader, not by telling, but rather showing them

warnings: subtle mentions of death, wounds and blood. kissing?? reader is force sensitive (only needed for one part lol)

a/n: this is apart of an actual fic I have, I don’t think I’ll post it, but who knows. only @sanchosammy has ever read it lol. reader is gender neutral, I hope I did okay in that aspect!! also you are more than welcome to request anything!!

word count: 2.6k

You opened your eyes and found yourself staring at the wall that was inches from your face. The feeling of soft fingers gently dragging along your bare calve sent shivers up your spine and goose-bumps along your arms. The stinging you had remembered so vividly from the accident was replaced by a dull, numbing throb, which was complemented by something cool laying on top of it.

You close your eyes once more and let out a soft sigh at the sense of relief.

"Are you awake?" The voice that spoke was delicate, and it held a deep amount of concern and emotion that could not be concealed by a voice modulator; a modulator that wasn’t in use. You nod your head against the soft pillow but keep your eyes shut, for you knew Mando wasn't wearing his helmet. "I'll just go and put my-" You cut him off by lifting one of your heavy arms and feeling around the air for his hand.

He reached out and placed his hand under yours before letting them rest on the small part of your hip.

"I won't look," you croaked out through your dry and aching throat. Hearing yourself sound so weak brought you a deep amount of shame and embarrassment; You were strong, a warrior. You should never sound so helpless, yet here you were.

Mando didn't say anything for a few moments. He just sat there in thought of what could have been if he hadn’t found you in time. He didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t help it.

"I thought..." Mando chuckled lightly and shook his head slowly. The sound of his breathy chuckle brought a small smile to your face despite the pain you were in. Mando muttered a soft, "I thought I lost you for a moment."

"I'll be okay. Thanks to you," you said to him before quickly adding, "but where is The Child? Is he okay, is he safe?"

The entire reason you were in the situation you were in, was because you had been running from the Empire with The Child. You had given him to Mando and turned around to protect them from the army of Stormtroopers, and you had actually managed to buy them enough time to get back to the Razor Crest, but at a cost to your own health.

"He's fine. He's asleep right now, just like you should be," he said to you, placing his other hand on top of the one he was already holding. "You need rest,” he added as you began to sit up, wincing in pain. Mando nervously glanced at his helmet but slowly pulled you into an upright position.

"May I please have some water?" You raspily asked, squeezing yours eyes shut tighter, which created a small to form between your eyebrows.

Mando rose to his feet and gently let go of your hands. You noted how reluctant he was in doing so. He trusted you with his life, and he trusted you with The Child's life also, but he couldn't help to frown in guilt as he kept his stare on you, making sure you never opened your eyes.

You didn't. You couldn’t.

He sat back down in front of you and held the small cup to your chapped lips. Your hands gently covered his as he tilted the cup back for you, and he only pulled it away once it was empty and you were satisfied. Mando watched as you used your hand to wipe the water from your slightly bruised mouth.

He felt his breath hitch in his throat as his naked eyes stared at your glossy, rounded lips whilst you pursed them into a thin line before wetting them with your tongue. Those lips that he had stared at on more than multiple occasions as you spoke to him seemed to yell at him. Those lips that softly called his name whenever you were injured or feeling beaten down, sung to him. Those lips that he had wished to taste from the near moment he had met you, whispered to him.

Neither of you were aware of how close he had drifted until you felt the warm air of his short breath's on the tip of your nose, causing you to flinch in surprise. Your heart hit your chest as you inhaled sharply, the scent of sweat and metal filling your nose.

A moment of silence passed. "Are you still there?" You whispered, knowing the answer. But you didn't expect the response you received.

"I'll always be here."

You held your breath and refused to exhale as you shakily lifted your hand from your lap and guided it blindly up towards his face.

Mando closed his eyes. Whether he was bracing himself in anticipation for the physical contact or whether he was sick with nervousness, he would never know. He only opened his eyes once the feeling of your soft touch never came. You had lowered your hand once again, but instead of resting it in your lap, you placed it on top of his hand that was still grasping your other one.

You didn't want to step over any boundaries, you both knew that without having to verbally communicate it.

"Thank you, Din," you said breathlessly, still slightly frozen in your place as your adrenaline threatened to make your hands shake.

"It's okay. You should get some rest," he said, his face still close to yours. "I'll wake you up when I feed the kid, deal?"

"Deal," you said and let Din lower you down until you were flat on your back. You let go of his hands and slowly shuffled backwards until your head was resting on top of the thin, yet soft, pillow he kept in the cot. No words were spoken as the door of the safety hatch shut, locking you inside for the time being.

Unsurprisingly, you fell asleep with only one thought on your mind; Din Djarin.

"Where'd you go you little womp rat?"

Mando looked down the corridor of the hull and saw you feeling around the air blindly as you stumbled about. The Child was nowhere in sight.

"Are you okay?" He asked you, making you spin around and offer him a smile, even though you were several degrees off of truly facing him. He eyed the blindfold that concealed your ability to see. "Where's The Child?" He knew where The Child was, he just needed an explanation as to why the kid was in the cockpit, fast asleep, on your pile of blankets you kept up there.

"Uh, well, I was feeding him. Then he gave me the blindfold to put on and we played hide and seek for a while, but now I truly can't find him," you sheepishly admitted, wringing your hands together.

"Why don't you try sensing him with your magic?"

"Because that's cheating, and it’s not called magic,” you said with a subtle and masked eye roll.

"Then why don't you take off the blind fold?" He asked you, moving closer to you with each little step.

"Well, then I lose."

It was now his turn to roll his eyes as a smile ghosted his lips. "The kids been asleep for a while now, Y/N," he told you quietly, watching your cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

"Oh..." You muttered and put your hands on your hips. You then pointed upwards as if you remembered something. You spun around and held your hands out, carefully walking over to the small kitchenette you had made during your time on the Crest, Mando following closely in case you took a fall, but you had managed without his assistance. "I made you some bone broth, whether you're hungry or not." You shrugged as if it was nothing, letting your hands wrap around the small wooden bowl full of steaming broth.

The smell wafted through the hull of the ship and travelled under Mando’s helmet. His stomach growled causing him to look at you in worry you had heard. You gave away no indications that you had.

"Thank you," Mando said and took the bowl from you, not really knowing what he was going to do with it. "I'll have to have it later,” he said and used his spare hand to gesture to his helmet, although you couldn't see him.

You smiled a little and clasped your hands together, saying, "actually, I was thinking we could eat together tonight? I can't see a thing anyway and The Child doesn't need to be looked after right now..."

"O- Okay," Mando stuttered almost instantly. He gently grabbed your elbow and guided you over to the two empty crates that you both often used as seats.

Once seated, you held Mando's bowl for him as he worked to build up the courage to take his helmet off. Inhaling deeply, Mando put both hands on the side of his helmet and lifted it. A satisfying hiss echoed through the near silent hull of the Razor Crest. You couldn't fight the small smile on your lips as Mando gently took the bowl back from you, his gloved fingers brushing against yours.

After a few silent sips, you decided you couldn’t handle the white noise, you had to say something, anything.

"I think I prefer bone broth over krill broth... It tastes’ better," you thought out loud as you took a sip of the rich tasting liquid.

"Krill broth?" Din questioned, taking a sip of his own dinner, not noticing you pausing at the sound of his voice. It brought you more joy than you ever thought someone's voice could. "You mean you’ve never had bone broth before?"

"I lived on a krill farm my whole life, Din," you said right before you took another sip. "It was either eat the krill or go hungry... Did you have any friends growing up in The Creed?"

Din nodded, forgetting you couldn't see him. "Yes,” he answered thickly. “But we drifted apart as we got older. We all took on roles of Bounty Hunters and quite a few never made it back after their first bounty’s."

You frowned under your blindfold. "I'm sorry to hear,” you mumbled in empathy.

He never reacted to your apology, instead he asked, "did you have any friends growing up?" To which you replied with a quick nod of your head and another sip of your broth. It really was delicious.

"A couple of the other kids and I would always make mud pies together all the time, but when I turned eight my mother really knuckled down on my training. It was intense and I never had any spare time to play with the other kids after that. They're still there actually, they have kids and partners of their own now." You would never admit it, but you knew if you had the chance to practise less and spend more time being a child, you would have taken the opportunity immediately without a second thought.

Mando made you freeze when he quietly asked, "do you wish you stayed? Started a family?" He saw the way the question caught you off guard and he both quickly, and quietly, murmured, "I'm sorry, that's stepping over the line."

"No, no it's okay, Din," you laughed softly and rested the warm bowl in your lap. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to settle down with someone, have kids of our own. Raise them the way I wished I was raised. But then again, I prefer this," you said with a shrug.

"Constantly travelling? Being hunted?" Mando asked her incredulously. Not meaning to sound as shocked as he did. He wished for nothing more than to settle down in a place like Sorgan, the place he had met you, but he also knew your indifferences in opinions were caused by your age gap, so he couldn't blame you for your way of thinking. Without warning, he stood up and pulled his crate closer to yours until you were sitting almost knee to knee. The scraping of the crate on the metal floor made you laugh quietly.

"Being hunted isn't fun, nor are the injuries I have acquired over time," you said and gestured to your legs, that whilst were a lot better, were still bandaged and healing. "But you've shown me the galaxy. All the different planets that I used to dream and wonder about. You've taught me different languages and ways to communicate with different beings: shown me all different cultures, the good side and bad side of life... I don't know, I guess what I'm trying to say is I like being here, with the kid... With you."

The last syllable spoken by you hung in the air for a few moments, before finally settling with Din, who now understood what you had meant.

You gently loosened your grasp on your bowl and let Din take it from you. You heard the small clinking noises as it softly made contact with the ground. There was some shuffling and your heart skipped a beat when a warm, gloveless hand, gently pressed itself onto your cool cheek.

"Din?" You asked quietly, feeling the warmth of your own breath bounce back onto your skin, giving you a clue as to how close he was. Your mind flickered back to the previous night.

Instead of answering you, he delicately asked, "can I kiss you, Cyar'ika?"

You couldn't form any words. The first syllable was caught on your tongue. So, you nodded your head and relaxed slightly when you felt his other hand grab yours that was resting lifelessly in your lap. You gave it a tight, reassuring squeeze, and with there being barely any time for you to react to the squeeze you had received in return, Din's lip's were on yours.

They were slightly chapped, so were yours, and they tasted like the bone broth you two were just drinking. You couldn’t stop the smile on your lips as the hair above his top lip tickled under your nose. You had always assumed your first kiss would cause you to have a million thoughts run through your mind at a speed too quick for you to comprehend anything. It was the opposite. Your head was almost completely empty; it was in the clouds, bathing in the smell and touch of him. The kiss ended all too soon as Din leant backwards. He inhaled deeply as you leant with him, not wanting for the moment to end.

"Cyar'ika, means beloved, sweetheart... darling." He sounded almost afraid to admit it, and you could perfectly picture his reddened cheeks. It had only taken him several months, but he finally found the courage to tell you what his nickname for you had meant. "Is- Is that okay?"

You found your smile growing even wider. "Of course, min larel." You knew Din understood what you had said. My love. You had remembered the term of endearment from when Din taught you Corellian.

Letting out a breathy chuckle, Din rested his forehead on yours.

His hands left your cheek and tight grasp before they gently slid around your waist, allowing him to pull you closer towards him. You put your arms around his upper back and rested your chin on his shoulder before turning to rest your cheek instead, relishing in the closeness that you were embraced in.

Din let out a small sigh of relaxation and closed his eyes as one of your hands slowly crawled its way up his neck and through his hair. Feeling himself give into your touch, something he had never allowed himself to do to anybody, Din bit back all the words he wished to say, knowing that it wasn’t the time to say them.

You were now etched into his heart, mind and soul, a place where you would remain forevermore.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin drabble #the mandalorian #grogu #pedro pascal

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thechangeling · 3 years

Text

Enough.

So a while ago I made a headcannon post about Ty's sexuality and the autistic exploration of sex and sexual desire. I have now written a fic about it. This ones for Alex @bedspells my very own Alyssa. Also side note I want to make it clear that yes, I still ship kitty 100%. But I've seen plenty of people write fics and headcannons about Kit exploring things with other people. There's no reason why Ty can't do the same.

Edit: Ok a long time ago this fic actually got a hate comment on Ao3 saying that I was erasing Ty's sexuality by having him hook up with a girl because he was cannonly gay due to a tweet CC made in 2013. Now I don't even have twitter and I wasn't a part of the fandom back then. Despite all of that I actually don't really consider that to be the basis of canon? And in the books he doesn't really express interest in anyone except for Kit. So as far as I'm concerned this was fair game. Not to mention gay people sometimes experiment before they realize they're gay. Especially autistic people!! And that was actually kind of the point of this fic. So maybe just keep that in mind going forward. Thanks!

Tw for mentions and discussions of sex.

Ty could count the instances he hadn't been bothered by another person's touch on one hand. This was certainly one of them. It was so late into the night it could certainly be considered the next morning. Anush, Ty and Alyssa had been doing research on Livvy and the effect she seemed to be having on a serge of demonic activity in the area.

Ty was fairly stressed about the possibility to say the least. It felt like everything was spilling away from him. Livvy, his family, his career.

Kit.

He really didn't want to think about Kit but it was difficult. It was like trying to ignore a bleeding wound that everyone kept referring to as a paper cut.

The shining lights in all of this were Anush and Alyssa. Befriending both of them had been the best part of coming to the scholomance.

Especially Alyssa.

Meeting someone who shared some of his thoughts, feelings and experiences was more then refreshing. It was liberating. Talking, laughing and crying with Alyssa about the things that no one else would understand was like a balm for Ty's soul.

At a certain point Anush had announced that he was retiring to bed and they should both probably do the same. Livvy was still floating around the room observing their work. But as time went on Ty had stopped paying as much attention to her. Now he was resting against Alyssa with his head in her lap. She was sitting on the couch in the library, carefully running her fingers through his hair and rambling on about something, Ty wasn't exactly sure what.

Ty reached up to wrap a lock of her long dark hair around his finger, then watched it spring back into place again. Alyssa's hair was wavy but not curly like- like some peoples. So it didn't spring and bounce very well. That was the interesting thing about Ali in general. So many parts of her dress and appearance were so neat and polished and well put together that Ty almost wondered what it would be like to see her more disheveled. What would it be like to grab and twist and pull until she was left with something that wasn't glossy perfect waves.

Ty panicked a little at that thought. Where exactly had that come from? He was now more then ever painfully aware of the fact that he was lying in an attractive person's lap. And his sister was still in the same room.

Ty looked up to search for Livvy but realized that she was gone. Guiltily he realized she could have been gone for awhile now. But he hadn't noticed. Lately he had been feeling further and further away from his twin and he hated it.

"Do you think stars have feelings?" Alyssa asked wistfully. Ty laughed joyfully, feeling so light and and so far away from every bad thing that had happened three years ago.

"Because I was just thinking," she continued. "Like, what if they're lonley you know?" Ty had to smile at the Alyssa charm of it all. Also the autistic perspective might have had something to do with it.

"I don't know," Ty said, sitting up. "Maybe they're like us. Maybe they like being alone." Alyssa pondered this for awhile.

"Well no one can be alone forever," she pointed out, then laughed, rolling her eyes. "God how did we get here? Remember when we were supposed to be doing actual work Ty?"

"Well we were stupid to think that would last," Ty announced matter of factly. Alyssa shrugged and leaned back against the sofa.

"Probably. Once the neurotypical left it was all downhill from there."

"I disagree, Ty said softly, meeting her gaze. "I enjoy spending time with you." Alyssa instantly smiled, the kind of beautiful, honest, heartfelt smile that allistic people wrote poetry about.

Instantly Ty was reminded of someone else, another brilliant smile.

He shook it off.

"Me too," Alyssa finally answered. Then she shook her head. "Ugh feelings. Gross."

Ty rolled his eyes at her and laughed.

Then Alyssa sat up again as she seemed to remember something. "Oh yeah I meant to ask you about Anush. Do you like him?"

Ty shrugged. "Yeah he's really nice. He's become a good friend."

Alyssa shook her head. "No, no Ty, I mean-" She paused. "I mean do you like him like you wanna date him? Or do you have romantic feelings for him?" She asked.

Ty paused. He honestly wasn't sure. He had been trying to avoid thoughts of those types of feelings for a very specific reason. A Herondale reason. But the truth was he did like really like Anush. He enjoyed being around him. Ty just wasn't sure what that meant.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly. "Maybe." Alyssa fiddled with her hair, rubbing it between her fingers.

"Hmm. Well do you even like boys?" She asked. "I just realised I've known you for five months now and I dont really know what your deal is," she said contemplating. "Like sexual orientation wise. I mean not that it matters, it totally doesn't," she stammered.

Ty shrugged. "It was never really relevant before. But I'm not really sure. I guess I'm fine with whatever." Alyssa beamed.

"So I guess that means you're kinda like me huh? She said happily. "I'm pansexual. Women are so beautiful and angelic and soft and squishy and awesome, but men can be good too," she mused. "I mean men are......men, but some of them aren't so bad. I mean look at you!" Alyssa tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

"Thanks," Ty responded dryly.

"Anyways you know what I mean," Alyssa waved her hand. "So are you attracted to him at least?" Ty sighed.

"Yeah I am," he admitted. "But I don't- I don't want a relationship Ali. I just can't."

Alyssa studied him for a moment. "Does this have anything to do with the Herondale pendent you wear that you always tell me never to ask questions about?"

Ty scowled. "Yes, but I don't want to talk about it." Alyssa rolled her eyes and put her hands up in surrender.

"Fucking shit fuck! Fine!" She complained. "Anyways, my point is you dont need to date him neccesarily. Just have sex with him and see how you feel?"

Ty sat up and faced her. "What?"

Alyssa laughed. "You heard me. There's nothing wrong with causal sex between consenting adults. I mean, if you want to."

Ty felt the urge to stand up to try and aliviate some of the anxiety he was feeling, but he stayed sitting.

"I've never done it before," he admitted. Ty was 19, he knew most of the people his age had already had some sort of sexual experience. But he had always been too afraid. Too afraid of people touching him and demanding things from him with harsh vague bullshit. In Ty's mind it was just another social interaction that he could screw up and then pay the price for it.

Alyssa shrugged. "It's no big deal. Virginity is just a social construct anyways." Alyssa was playing with her hair casually and biting her lip slightly, to indicate that she was mulling something over.

Ty shook his head trying to explain it. "No, it's- I mean see, you say that, but, one of the things I've learned about this world is that social constructs kind of matter to a lot of people." Ty was taping his fingers against his leg and trying to stop himself from shaking. Alyssa noticed this.

"Because people tell you that's it's no big deal and not to worry, and then other people make it into a big deal like it means something, and then everyone's telling you to do something different," Ty explained with a panicked, rushed voice. "I don't know who you listen to, or what to do!" He was moving his hands frantically while he spoke to emphasize his points.

"Hey it's ok," she cooed, inching towards him. "Trust yourself. Or if you feel like you can't, then trust me." Ty felt a pang in his chest. A cacophony of conflicting emotions erupted within him. But mostly he found that despite his better judgement he actually believed her.

They had created something different between the two of them. Something that almost transcended labels or rules or traditional allistic boundaries. Alyssa was like the armor he put on every morning, with the strength and confidence that he wasn't alone in this world. In the midst of all of their jokes and late night heartbreaking conversations. In the midst of this fragile peace they had created, there was something there. Something indescribable.

Something like the sound of the page being turned in one of his Sherlock novels, or the sound of their favourite songs. A connection. A lifeline.

Ty looked over at Alyssa's concerned face and smiled softly. "I trust you," he promised. "I don't really trust many people, but I've always trusted you," he admitted. Alyssa inhaled sharply. She made an interesting facial expression that might have been a facial stim and then gaped for awhile before finally closing her mouth and avoiding Ty's gaze.

"Yeah that's cool. I trust you too," she said casually. She had gone back to pulling at her poor hair which was shedding everywhere. Anush always joked that he could always tell where Alyssa was by following the trail of hair.

"So, about the whole sex thing," she continued rather unceremoniously. Ty had to laugh a little. "Do you think it's something you're actually interested in? Or do you just feel like you have to?" She asked.

Ty pondered this for a moment. "I think I might want to. I just want to be with someone that I trust. Someone who will be considerate of my boundries, you know?" Ty did a quick glance around the room to make sure Livvy was still gone.

"Wait she's not here right?" Alyssa asked anxiously, catching on. Ty shook his head.

Alyssa paused for a moment, looking lost in thought. She was flicking her fingernails against each other and continuing to murder her bottom lip by chewing on it. Finally she looked up at him, looking rather amused.

"Ok. This might just be the exhaustion talking, or the autism, or a combination of both. So if you feel uncomfortable with what I'm about to say, then afterwards we can just forget it ok?" Alyssa sounded serious. Ty just nodded, trying not to be concerned.

Alyssa gave him an interesting look, one that he was pretty sure he had never recieved before. Her eyes scanned him up and down, then she smirked.

"I could potentially offer my services," she said innocently. Ty blinked a few times, then continued to stare at her. She stared back unflinching.

Wait. What?

Ty shook his head in confusion. "Hold on. Wait. You mean-?" He cut himself off. Alyssa nodded with that same smirk. "Yeah I mean why not right?" She shrugged, relaxing back against the sofa. "But if you dont want to then that's totally fine."

"Wait." Ty attempted to clear his head and stay focused. He stayed frozen for awhile, thinking. Then he folded his arms around himself, applying pressure. "Why exactly?"

Alyssa shrugged again. "Well why not? You're hot. I'm hot, and besides you know me," she pointed out. She paused, and then giggled.

"Four hours into investigating the paranormal phenomenon of his dead twin sister and chill, then she offers to take his virginity," she cackled. "I so enjoy our quality time together."

"The way your mind works really concerns me sometimes, you know that?" He asked playfully. Alyssa rolled her eyes at him and shoved him gently.

"Hey you don't have to, it was just an idea," she said, raising her hands in defense. Ty was silent. He was still thinking about it.

"Most people don't really do stuff like this right?" He asked warily. "Like most friends don't just randomly hook up and then laugh it off later."

Alyssa shook her head slowly. "Honey do you see me laughing?"

Ty was conflicted. There was something in him, a new, complicated feeling. A burning desire that nagged at the back of his mind everytime Alyssa bit her lip or pouted.

If he was really honest with himself. Ty could remember another time when he felt this way. But that was different, that was-.

He shook his head. No. Ty wasn't thinking about that anymore. He needed a distraction.

"God I can practically hear you thinking over here Ty," Alyssa teased. "Listen. If it freaks you out to much then we can forget about it. But-." She paused and reached towards him. Their fingertips met and she slowly dragged her fingertips down the top of Ty's hand.

"I want to do this for you because I care about you," she said solemnly. "I want make you feel good. Because you're special, and I dont mean that in the bullshit ableist way. I mean I think that you're special because you have such a big heart and you care so much," she said with a laugh.

Ty felt like he was about to cry. He was taking in long deep breaths trying not to get overwhelmed. He didnt know how to respond to this, this kind of attention and praise. His heart felt warm and tight absorbed in so much fondness and melancholy and regret all at once.

He knew this wasn't anything like what had happened that day on the beach. This wasn't that kind of love that he was feeling for Alyssa and that was a good thing. Romantic love, he decided, was too complicated.

"You deserve good things and good experiences. You deserve to have your first time be somewhere familiar. Somewhere you feel safe, and with someone who loves you." Alyssa wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

"God sorry for getting all emotional like that," she joked.

Ty couldn't speak, so he just squeezed her hand. He hoped she would understand.

I love you too.

Ty took a breath, then nodded. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah I want that. I want you."

Alyssa exhaled, then grinned. "Ok then. Great. I'll see if I can pencil you in sometime this week," she joked. Ty cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"Oh," he murmered, suprised with how disappointed he felt. "You mean later?" Alyssa laughed.

"Well yeah, I mean aren't you tired?"

"Are you?" Ty countered.

Alyssa shrugged. "Hey you know how it is, autistic sleep cycle. I'm gonna be up for awhile. I just figured you might want some time to think."

Ty shook his head. "No I don't want to think anymore. I'm tired of thinking Ali. I'm tired of worrying and overanalyzing everything." His eyes met hers, she seemed a little worried.

She moved closer to him so that she was practically in his lap. "You need a distraction," she said matter of factly. "It's ok." She moved her hands from his arms to grasp his waist.

"Is this good?"

Ty flinched. "More pressure," he replied in a tone that was hopefully not too demanding. Alyssa pressed her fingertips down harder into his skin. A soothing feeling washed over him.

"Good?" She asked, scratching his skin with her fingernails. Ty just nodded, feeling slightly dazed.

Alyssa smiled, lowering herself gracefully into his lap. Everything she did was with precision and grace. Alyssa was a dancer. It was one of her special interests. She had stopped taking lessons a long time ago though because she found it challenging to dance in a group.

She could never copy what everyone else was doing exactly on count when she was supposed to. She was always going off and improvising on her own. There was probably a metaphor in there somewhere.

Alyssa's weight against him was comforting. She was moving her hands up and down his back underneath his shirt while still applying pressure. Ty felt heat beginning to pool in the base of his stomach. He stared at her curiously, taking in her soft curves and her smooth golden skin.

"Can I touch you?" Ty asked, feeling his fingers twitch.

Alyssa moved her hands to his chest. "Sure." She said softly. "Just be careful. Remember pressure and all of that, and try to avoid my stomach area. For some reason it's really sensitive." Ty nodded, instantly reaching for her long wavy dark hair and twisting his fingers around it, pulling slightly. She laughed.

This drew Ty's attention to her mouth. Her lips were cracked and rough looking from Alyssa constantly biting them, but Ty still wanted to kiss her. He had never kissed anyone before. He needed to know what it felt like.

He moved his hands to her shoulders and then to her sides, pulling Alyssa even closer. "Can you teach me how to kiss?" He asked looking her in the eye briefly. She snorted.

"I don't think you'll like it very much," she murmered. "It's not really a good sensory experience. At least not for me. Allistic people seem to like it though."

Ty nodded. "Exactly that's my point," he said, using one hand to cradle the side of her neck. "I need to learn for other people later on." He absentmindedly pressed his thumb into one of the divots in her neck, just to fill the space. Alyssa sighed and dug her fingernails into his chest.

"Ok fine but you're gonna hate the tounge thing," she breathed. She leaned down very slowly and then carefully pressed her lips to Ty's, kissing him softly.

It was a weird sensation but not entirely unpleasant. Ty happily slid his hands back into her hair and began to fiddle with a few thick pieces. Alyssa moved her own hands up his chest to cradle her face, applying pressure with thumbs against his cheekbones.

Alyssa deepened the kiss and slid her tounge into his mouth. Instantly Ty winced and felt every cell in his body seize up. But he didn't stop. He was determined to figure this out. If he wanted to kiss someone who wasn't autistic in the future then he would need to. Ty relaxed his body and kissed her back forcefully, making out with Alyssa until the uncomfortable noise in his head was too much and he broke the kiss.

Ty shook his head and Ali laughed, stroking his hair. "I fucking told you so," she exclaimed. Ty shut his eyes and allowed his breathing to return to normal.

"Ok so that's something we can forget about for now, thank god. The beauty of this whole situation is that we dont have to follow any allistic script for this sort of thing." Ty opened his eyes. Alyssa was watching him carefully, still only centimeters away from his face.

"So is there anything you want to do?" She asked him. "Just tell me and I'll see if we can make it happen."

Ty saw no need to maintain any sort of filter. "Well there are a lot of things actually, but for some reason I really want to bite you," he said pointedly, glancing down at her neck. Alyssa burst out laughing, nearly falling over.

Ty glared at her. "I'm sorry," she gasped breathlessly. "I'm sorry it's just,-," she regained her composure, shaking her head. "I just love how we all used to be the weird kids who growled and hissed at people on the playground if they bothered us and now as adults we're just super kinky. Like it's kind of poetic in a way," she laughed.

Ty rolled his eyes. There was no need to ask what she meant by we. When Alyssa said we, it only referred to one thing.

"I'm sure it's not absolutely every autistic person," he protested. "Also we should move, on account of the fact that this is still a public setting." Alysza's eyes widened as if she had just remembered that.

"Oh right. Shit, as if these people needed any more reasons to hate me. Let's go!" She rolled off of Ty and stood in front if him, holding out her hand. "We can use my room." Ty stayed sitting, taking a moment to fully absorb it all.

He couldn't help but feel the weight of the Herondale pendent against his chest as a heavy reminder. He willed himself not to get distracted. Alyssa smiled at him slightly, almost as if she knew.

"Enough," she said softly.

Ty didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't even sure if their was anything he wanted say. Then finally he understood.

"Enough," he echoed back.

He took her outstretched hand and let her take him away.

@ti-bae-rius @eutony-in-whisper @dianasarrow @dianasarrow @stxr-thxif @talia-lightwood @doitforthecarstairs @thelandunderthehilll @zfoxdraws @waterlillies

#tda #the dark artifices #tsc #twp #the wicked powers #ty blackthorn #Alyssa Reyes #autistic representation #Fae's oc

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dirty-holy-things · 3 years

Text

The Space Between (your heart & mine)

Chapter 18 has been posted to Ao3, and below to Tumblr.

Catch up on chapters 1-17 on Ao3.

Notes: This fic is 18+ and explicit. This chapter includes canon-typical violence and description of injuries. This is a very heavy and emotional chapter that explores feelings of grief, and while the ending of this chapter is positive (trying to avoid spoilers), please exercise caution if this is a sensitive subject. I will say though, that for all of the pain I may put y'all and these characters through, we will have a happy ending.

Words: 5.9k update, 86.8 total.

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Din nodded wordlessly at the man before moving to exit the shop; his business here was completed, and now it was time to go home. To go back to you, to hold and kiss you, and to try and keep this exciting new secret to himself. As his footsteps landed on the volcanic gravel of the city street, his attention was abruptly drawn to a loud crack and crumbling sound that echoed off of the buildings around him. The intrusive and unexpected sound snapped him right into high alert, needing to know the source of the sound — and needing to know where you were, if you were safe.

His feet couldn’t seem to move fast enough as he rushed through the streets, sidestepping merchant carts, droids, and young children that played without concern for the unexpected noise. His mind raced with ideas of all of the horrible things that could’ve happened to you — what if you got stuck in the middle of a shootout? What if something collapsed and you were crushed by it? What if someone had attacked you? He tried to recall if you had told him where you were going, before you had exited the cantina earlier; but despite wracking his brain, he couldn’t remember anything that offered any consolation or comfort. He wished that his feet would move as quickly as his mind was; his breathing grew more labored as he drew closer and closer to where he believed the sound to have come from.

“He looks through the wound of my life like it’s light. So I let him.” — Omotara James, Pier 52

Din’s fingers drummed ceaselessly on the sticky tabletop in the cantina, just wanting this exchange of pleasantries with Karga to be over so he could return home to you. What should have been a fifteen minute meeting turned into an hours-long event; at this point, having worked for the guild for countless years, Din knew he should expect this, but it still didn’t stop him from wishing for something better. These meetings were admittedly much more enjoyable when you accompanied him, as you were able to draw much of Karga’s attention and conversation, allowing Din to withdraw from the exchange; at least, until Karga made a comment out of turn, or a tasteless joke and Din had to remind him of the concept of boundaries. These meetings were a necessary evil, and yet you had somehow made even the more frustrating and mundane parts of his life into something exciting and enjoyable. You had brightened every aspect of his existence through your presence alone; your radiance was never lost on him.

Din was finally able to wrap things up with Karga, having successfully negotiated the next round of bounties after the man had been loosened up by a few drinks. Din was excited to share the upcoming destinations with you — he loved seeing the way that you lit up when you were exploring, learning, flourishing. He had feared before that he was holding you back, by keeping you to himself, but you were incredibly strong and fiercely independent, and you pursued your own interests and ideas with a determination that continually impressed him.

Din excused himself from Karga’s presence, having one more matter to attend to before returning to the ship to wait for you to rejoin him. He exited the cantina with a sigh of relief, happy to be freed of the space that was somehow both empty and all too full at the same time. The ground he walked on here was familiar, but his steps felt lighter now than they ever had before. It felt as though something had lifted the weight that resided on his shoulders, a weight that he hadn’t known existed until he met you.

Din had loved seeing the way that you had grown throughout your shared travels; you were like a sponge, soaking up everything the universe had to offer you. He loved seeing the way you lit up when you talked to him about the historical texts you had picked up, loved seeing you get excited by all of this new and undiscovered information. He was also somewhat secretly relieved that you were no longer thrusting yourself into unsafe situations simply in the name of profit; and once you had seen his somewhat disorganized but impressive financial records, you had come to the understanding that the bounty profit resulting from your assistance was... not entirely necessary. Being a man of few interests and slim personal expenses, he had been taking in almost purely profit from every job he had for nearly twenty years. He regularly supported the covert, ensuring that the foundlings could be cared for, but the money he had retained for himself had continued to grow over the years with very little to deplete it. He had never felt the need to spend exorbitant amounts of money on himself before; he hadn’t needed anything other than the Razor Crest and his beskar.

And now, all he truly needed was you and the kid. The ship, as significant as it was, was simply a vessel for the memories the three of you created there. It certainly held value and was special in its own right, but at the end of the day it was a mechanized hunk of metal and fuel. The memories created there would not continue to exist exclusively within the walls of the cabin — they would live on within the three of you. The ship wasn’t home — you and the kid were home, whether you were on Nevarro or Naboo. Steel was only ever steel; spirit was not as confined.

And that was precisely why he was meeting with a merchant to discuss the procurement of a new ship. Something nicer, newer, with better accommodations and more comforts than the Razor Crest could ever hope to offer. Din felt as though he couldn’t give you much in this lifetime, aside from love; he couldn’t turn back time to erase your past, couldn’t give you the tools needed to connect with the Force, couldn’t truly even give you the sight of his face. But he could do this; he could give you this.

He felt confident walking into the office of the local Bureau of Ships and Services liaison. Din knew that coordinating a purchase and acquisition of this magnitude would likely be more business and commission than this man had ever received in his lifetime; and while he knew that there would be a delay as he was not going through the primary office on Coruscant, he was quite relieved to be operating without their greedy and slick influences.

He made his needs clear to the nervous man that met with him; the small, thin man avoided eye contact with the narrow visor of Din’s helmet, and the thermal sensor indicated to Din that the man was sweating profusely throughout their entire interaction. Reviewing necessary requirements and components of this future ship, Din stated that he certainly needed something functional for work as a bounty hunter — hyperdrive, room for an armory and carbonite cargo — but he also wanted something with a galley, private quarters, something that would be nice for you. The man’s hands shook as he searched to find something that would meet these specifications, before eventually suggesting a S-161 yacht that would offer Din “both domestic and business spaces,” to quote the nervous man.

Din looked at the image of the ship that was projected onto the screen in front of him. The sleek shape and structure of the ship was certainly a departure from the bulkiness of the Razor Crest, but when he saw the interior cabin space, he could clearly picture you and Grogu playing in the lounge area; he could see both of your bodies occupying the larger bed space; he could see all of the memories that were yet to come.

Din paid the full amount for the ship upfront, and the man’s face went a bit green at the sight of so many credits. The man’s voice wavered as he informed Din that it would be about three or four weeks before the ship was available and accessible on Nevarro; and this was perfect as it would allow him time to complete the next round of newly-negotiated jobs, before bringing you back here for a surprise. He tried to picture the look on your face when he revealed the new ship to you; he was excited to see how you would react to the lounge area with a couch, a bed bigger than a data pad, everything shiny and new... and waiting for you and Din to christen all the untouched surfaces.

Before leaving, Din informed the man of one additional and seemingly superficial request. “I would like for something to be installed, that would allow one to... grow flowers. An artificial light of some sort.”

He recalled an off-handed comment that you had made about you can’t grow flowers in space, and how you had shared with him that your mother had taught you about floristry — it seemed to be one of the few positive connections you had to your past, and Din wanted to give you the ability to reconnect with this piece of your history, in a new and healthier way.

“S-sure, I’m sure something can be added to allow for that.” Din could hear the confusion and curiosity in the man’s voice, but luckily he knew well enough to keep his nose out of Din’s personal business. Didn’t need to know why a Mandalorian wanted to grow daisies.

Din came to a halt in front of a crumbling building, the entire west-facing wall having collapsed into itself; the dust from the destruction filled the air around him and he searched the scene with a furious desperation, needing to know what had happened, needing to know if you were here. Through the ash and dust that choked out the fading light of the sunset, Din saw a familiar frame that he would have recognized anywhere — and his heart leapt into his throat as he screamed out your name in fear and all-encompassing terror.

He tried to run towards you, needing to have his hands on you, needing to know that you were alright — but as he drew closer, the air around him felt heavier; it was as if he was trying to run through quicksand, his movements slowed, and requiring more force and exertion than they should have. It was as if there was some sort of barrier around you, preventing Din from getting any closer; and eventually, his ability to move towards you stopped entirely, an unseen and impenetrable wall keeping you apart from him.

But from this vantage point, being about five feet away from you, he could see that you were not alone in this crumbling alleyway. There was a hulking, almost-human looking man with gnarled and rough grey skin, with an evil-looking axe clutched in his massive fist; but something about this scene was... off. The man was large, but there was no discernible reason why his form should be elevated so far above yours.

The pieces finally came together when Din saw that you were standing in front of the man, feet planted firmly on the ground while your arm extended in front of you, muscles straining as your hand was balled into a tight fist...

The man was a marionette on strings, and you were the one puppeting him.

Din felt a sense of horror radiate through him with this realization, but in addition to the churning mix of fear and horror, there was also a tidal wave of relief that hit him as he realized that you were at least not the one in danger. He continued to scream your name, modulator cracking, but even as his vocal cords became hoarse and raw with the strain you never turned to face him; your gaze remained trained on the man who was levitating within your unseen grasp.

The man was desperately dragging his hands across his throat, as if he was trying to remove an invisible noose that had wrapped around it; Din saw the man’s eyes continue to bulge within his awful looking face, blood vessels popping with strain, before Din turned his gaze back to you and watched a rivulet of blood run through your fingers and down your twitching arm, spattering onto the ground below you.

He had never seen anything like this from you before; it was terrifying but he felt as though he couldn’t look away. Din realized that he had really only ever known you as an incredibly kind and gentle person, and that previous image of you now stood out in stark contrast to this indulgently violent, vengeful storm of a woman who held her ground before him. Every image he had of you was turned on its head, taking on additional depth and dimension, as he began to understand that there was much more to your personhood than just your affection and sweetness.

While he had never rushed to dismiss the past abuse you had suffered, he rarely had to confront the knowledge that you had lived a life of extreme and unyielding violence in the twenty-some years before you met him. Of course you would be capable of these things when under duress; he recalled that he had watched you stab the leader of a drug cartel within the his first few hours of knowing you. At the time he had written it off as self defense, and it certainly still was; but he may have been a bit naive to assume that would be the only episode of violence in your life. Maybe there was a piece of him that didn’t want to acknowledge that this facet of you existed; but whether he wanted it or not, it was a part of you... and yet he loved it all just the same.

He felt entirely helpless and useless as he looked on at the scene before him; he couldn’t breach the Force barrier that you had thrown up around yourself and the Delphidian man, but fuck, he couldn’t walk away from you either. In his peripheral, he could see that a small crowd of onlookers had gathered, curious and fearful eyes watching the dramatic scene play out in the town. Mind racing, Din needed to decide what to do — try and fend off the crowd, shield you from prying and intrusive eyes? Or would he continue to fight against this barrier in front of him, never abandoning his original mission of reaching you?

As Din was debating the options at hand, the tension of the moment came to a head and crashed like a tsunami throughout the demolished alley and its crowd of onlookers. And yet despite the deafening, instantaneous crash, it was as if the galaxy was simultaneously moving in slow motion; Din could almost feel the muscles in your forearm and hand constrict, as your wrist brought your bleeding fist into your chest; and the distinct and undeniable crack of bone made his skin crawl. He was no stranger to the sounds of death, but hearing it come from your actions made his stomach turn. His eyes were glued onto you, glued onto the scene that was rapidly unfolding in the wake of his inaction; he saw the hateful and fiery light behind the man’s eyes snuff out as the life left him. Din was familiar with death; he had brought about more bloodshed than was worth weighing, but seeing a life extinguished at your bidding was...

He couldn’t find the words, despite his best efforts. A torrent of emotions was tearing through him, ravaging every previously-held notion and shaking him to his foundations.

The barrier that had separated Din from you finally gave way, same as the Delphidian’s spine had. The invisible Force wall collapsed to the bloodied ground just as the man’s body did, and the sudden disappearance of resistance in the air caused Din to lurch forward into you, his arms extending outwards as he saw you sway precariously. Your full weight landed against his chest as you collapsed into his arms, and then two of you tumbled to the ground, the metallic sound of beskar clanging within the crumbled stone that surrounded you while he tried to cradle your broken-looking body gently.

Din recovered quickly from the fall, shifting to rest on his knees as he brought your limp form closer to him, your head coming to rest on his lap. He cursed the layers of armor and clothing that kept you separate, needing to feel the heat of the blood rushing through your body, needing to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest with each inhale and exhale. The way that your head lolled and rolled across him brought about a wave of terror and nausea as he worried that maybe he had been too late, maybe you were gone.

But he could still feel a faint and desperately-sought pulse beneath his gloved fingertips; he held onto this flickering bit of hope and pulled your body in closer to his chest, turning the two of you away from the observing crowd and the crumpled, distorted form of the man you had killed. He continued to hold you against his chest for an unknown amount of time, being paralyzed by the fear that any movement may disrupt the tenuous connection you held to this life; he was not sure how long he had stayed like this, cradling you against him, but it felt as though the moment stretched into eternity.

Din knew he couldn’t face the prospect of life in this galaxy without you. You had fundamentally altered and rewritten every piece of his existence, and he refused to go back to the life he had lived before he had met you. That previous life now seemed dull, almost as if it had existed in black and white, before that fateful day he had arrived in your shop — and since that chance meeting, you had brought all of the colors of life rushing to him, pinks and oranges and yellows and blues and greens and purples, a brightness that he had never felt before and worried he would never experience again without you. A life in black and white is an excruciating exercise in deprivation, after having experienced the beauty of technicolor.

And he couldn’t even begin to fathom the devastation that Grogu would experience, if you never returned home. The kid had taken to you as though you were his mother, and the thought of having to tell him that you were never coming back threatened to break Din’s heart just as irreparably as the Delphidian’s neck. Din knew that neither himself or Grogu would ever recover from this sort of loss, and it only made him cling to you even more desperately, praying to every god in existence that you would come back to him. He recalled how he had previously come to the conclusion that he would certainly lay down his life to save yours; and he now feared that he would never have the opportunity to save you as you had once saved him. He couldn’t use the Force to bring you back, he had no medical training to speak of, he felt entirely paralyzed by his lack of knowledge — and paralyzed by the idea that both he and Grogu, having been brought back to life by your hands, would now be the only living vessels for your spirit, the only proof that you had existed and had loved them wholly.

Din was anchoring every ounce of his hope to the faintly beating pulse of your heart when he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder, the unexpected weight of it pulling him out of his reverie. His body turned to face this sudden intrusion, ready to fight whatever had disturbed his connection to you; until he saw the familiar face of Cara Dune, a concerned and saddened look on her face as she surveyed the state that you and Din had found yourselves in.

“We need to get her out of here.” Her deep and gentle voice somehow managed to cut through to Din, bringing him back into the present moment. She was right — he needed to get you out of here, needed to get you home, just as he had intended hours ago. You needed to recover at home, in the small bunk that now reflected the shape of your two bodies; needed to recover in the comfort of your own sleep clothes; needed to move away from the destruction you were now resting in.

Although Cara’s assessment was correct, Din’s shoulders cowed into yours, hunched by the overwhelming fear that any disturbance might be the thing to take you away from him. His head shook in response, the fear overtaking any sense of logic or reason; as Cara’s hands moved to your shallowly breathing chest, he growled and pulled you closer to him, feeling the limp structure of your body clashing with the unyielding beskar that covered him.

“Let us help you,” Cara enunciated softly, the concern evident in her voice. “She needs to recover at home, not here in an alleyway.”

Cara had always been good at finding the words that rubbed Din just the wrong way. She was right in her assessment that continuing to stay here, in the mess of blood and rubble, would not help you; but he also couldn’t stop the pressure that leapt into his throat as fear flooded his body, being terrified of hurting you further. She stepped in closer, her hands coming to rest at the bend of your knees, a subtle offering to assist with carrying you back to the Razor Crest, back home. Din pushed away his fear and shifted his focus to what you needed, not what his feelings needed. You needed Din to bring you home.

He felt broken, stuttered sobs wrench free from his chest as he stood up, gently cradling your upper body against him; the tears flowed freely behind the beskar, and he knew that nobody could see his blatant and unashamed display of emotions; but truthfully, he wouldn’t have cared, his concern for you outweighing any sense of self preservation or dedication to reservation. He was grateful that Cara kept her eyes to the ground, however, not trying to force a visual connection when he was clearly already distraught.

Din and Cara carried your body ever so gently into the cabin of the Razor Crest, being conscious of every bump and every step, before settling you softly into the comfort of the small bunk. The very same bunk that you had transformed from a place of functionality, to a place of love and sensuality. Din couldn’t imagine sleeping here, without you next to him.

Your body instinctively curled in on itself, recognizing the comfort of the bunk; your limbs drew closer as if you were retracting inwards to form a shield against the outside world. This innate and insistent need to protect yourself, that continued to present itself in even the most dire circumstances, broke a piece of Din’s heart that he hadn’t even known had existed. Watching your broken body fight for every breath, Din felt the need to do something to feel as though he was helping; he lifted your head up to allow you to rest you more comfortably on the singular and previously shared pillow, positioning you in the same way that he had seen you rest countless times before. Din cautiously and carefully tucked away the strands of hair that had fallen across your face, before pulling the woolen blanket tightly around your slowly breathing form; he tucked the corners of the blanket in around your body, knowing how you preferred to be wrapped snugly within.

Din had remained crouched next to the bunk, staying close to you so he could continue to watch your shallow but steady breaths, the rise and fall of your chest being the only solace he received during this whole ordeal. He waited for the color to return to your cheeks, watched for any fluttering of your eyelids that would indicate an awakening. He timed the breaths that you took, each shortened interval causing him to panic that something had gone horribly wrong.

Cara and Karga had been his saving grace throughout this entire ordeal as the days passed. The combined efforts of the duo had convinced Din to move from your side for long enough to shower, to use the restroom, to eat something and drink some water. Their coaxing reminded him that he couldn’t do much to help you if he was suffering as well. You seemed to rest in the bunk for an eternity, never tossing and turning as you usually would.

Din’s muscles had settled into the tragically familiar position of sitting next to you in the bunk, when Cara and Karga finally approached him to discuss the event that had occurred, unable to avoid it any further after countless hours had passed. Cara was the first to speak, her voice echoing softly throughout the cabin of the ship. “Bragant was a wanted target. She didn’t do anything wrong, by killing him, but I have a duty to report his death to the registers of the New Republic.”

Karga nodded at Cara’s statement. “He was wanted by many, and had a bounty on his head. I will pay you both for the body and its recovery.”

Din nodded wordlessly; he was not concerned about the man in the alleyway, was not concerned about any payment, was not concerned about anything except when you may come back to him. Your breaths had been even and steady for hours, and yet you had not woken up. He feared that you had suffered an irreparable, soul-shattering crisis and would never recover from this; and if that were the case, he still knew that he would never leave your side, preferring to waste away next to you rather than try and live a horrifically shallow life without you.

As several uncounted and painful hours had passed, Din waiting impatiently by your side, Din felt a shift within the steel walls of the Razor Crest, a gentle hum spreading throughout the ship and its inhabitants. Din’s gaze focused in on your face, searching for an explanation or answer about what was happening, what he was somehow feeling. After what had quite possibly been an eternity, your eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide and disoriented as your gaze roamed around the location you had found yourself in.

Din choked on the laughter and tears that this moment had brought him, the overwhelming feeling of joy, relief, and disbelief crashing over him like an avalanche, drowning out all of the fear and desperation and hopelessness he had been experiencing just minutes earlier. Din thought he had previously cried out every tear that his body had to offer, but as he saw the light retuning to your eyes, the beautifully familiar eyes that focused in on the man they loved, he felt sobs cracking forth form his chest anew, threatening to break him in half — but this time, with the weight of happiness and relief. His hands reached out to cradle your face, loving how he could finally feel the heat of the blood that had returned to your cheeks. His head came down to rest against your chest as he cried with his whole body, shaking and sobbing as he whispered your name over and over, sending thanks to whatever deity or Force had deigned to bring you back to him, to bring you back home.

“Din,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and cracking; and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, more beautiful than the first time you spoke his name, more beautiful than the sounds you made in bed, more beautiful than your first confession of love for him. “Din, what happened?”

He could hear the nervousness in your voice, and as you had just returned to him, he was loathe to talk about something so terrible, to taint the joy that had filled the small cabin once again. His thumbs traced pressured circles into your soft body, his head continuing to rest at your side. “Oh, my sweet girl,” he sighed, his voice sounding strained and pressured through the tears. “Not tonight, please.”

You nodded and conceded easily, and amidst all of the upheaval of the moment he couldn’t help but laugh as he realized this was likely the first and last time you would ever give in so easily. You were beautifully, infuriatingly, insistently stubborn and he loved every single ounce of fight that burned within you. That same stubbornness kept you alive on Chandrila, brought Din back from the brink of death, taught you and Grogu new skills, and today that same fight and fire had brought you home once again. He would never, ever take a single second of your stubbornness and resilience for granted again.

Din could feel the echo of footsteps coming up behind him, and as his body shifted he felt his muscles and joints cry out with exhaustion; he had no idea how long he had been waiting here next to you, but his body seemed to have counted each second, each day, resentfully. As he repositioned himself, his aching body settled into the floor, his back being propped up against the side of the bunk as he tried to progressively stretch the muscles that he had previously irritated.

Cara and Karga had joined the happy and exhausted scene, the relief evident in their soft smiles. “Glad to have you back with us,” Karga said with a laugh, the corners of his dark eyes crinkling as he looked on at the two of you.

“Gave us quite the scare,” Cara added, before moving to pass a canteen of water to Din. He had come across very few individuals in this galaxy that he cared for, and he now realized that he was exceptionally grateful to know both Cara and Karga, as they had taken care of him during this period of upset, which in turn enabled Din to take care of you. And in a roundabout way, this had also allowed for them to take care of you. He wouldn’t have guessed that these two abrasive and tough individuals would make such an effort, would care for you in this way; but then again — the man hidden in a fortress of beskar hadn’t been impervious to your light and your charms, so it should come as no surprise that others loved you too. For all of your past injuries and mysteries, you were incredibly easy to love and willing to love others back with your whole heart.

Din brought the canteen up to you, encouraging you to have some water. The tenderness with which he cradled your head in the crook of his elbow and brought the lip of the container up to you shocked him a bit, as he hadn’t believed that someone as broken and violent as he was, could still have the capacity to show this much kindness. But clearly, you brought out the best in those around you; every individual in the ship could attest to that.

“The little guy can stay with me again tonight, so the two of you can get some rest,” Cara offered, knowing that both you and Din had a long road to recovery. “We can talk about things more tomorrow.”

Karga nodded in agreement. “My previous offer still stands, as well. But that’s a matter for another day. For tonight, find rest and happiness. The world will keep spinning in the meantime, and we’ll catch up with it tomorrow.”

The duo left the ship without any additional commentary, not wanting to intrude or disrupt the hazy sense of peace and exhaustion that had settled on the scene. As Din heard the ramp to the ship close, the cabin grew dark and quiet as it had so many times before — he had been terrified that he may have to face this darkness alone, but you were still here. From his seated position, he pried the armor off of himself; even these simple and routine actions felt exhausting, but he knew that the nightmare was coming to a close and he would be able to join you in bed shortly. You had drifted back to sleep as Din had readied himself for bed; a faint snore was coming from your sleeping form. As he stood and pulled off his dirty clothing, he paused before getting into bed with you. There was something else he wanted to do first.

His calves and his lower back cried out as he walked across the dimly-lit cabin, to the corner that held your things; he gathered your favorite maroon-colored sleep clothes and your medical kit, before crossing back over to the bunk that you slept in. He carefully brought your injured hand closer to him, before cleaning the cuts that your nails had made; he put on a salve that he had seen you use for wounds before, and then wrapped your palm securely with gauze. He repeated the same steps for the wound that was on your chest, placing a large adhesive bandage over the area. He would’ve given anything to be able to use the Force to heal you, as you had done for him numerous times; how infuriating that something so purportedly pervasive and innate was also so fickle and finicky.

Feeling confident enough in his medical administrations, he then began to exchange your dirtied and damaged clothes with the soft, comforting fabric of the sleep clothes. He moved slowly, not wanting to disrupt or scare you; and he felt incredibly grateful for each beat of you heart that he could feel throughout your body, could feel pulsing underneath your skin.

He finally moved to join you in the bunk, shifting your pliant and willing body to allow him room to rest next to you; as he sunk into the cushions, he wrapped the two of you in the blanket like a cocoon. He realized a bit belatedly that he had left a light on in the cabin, the faint light casting the room with a yellow glow; he knew he should get up to turn it off, seeing as how he had removed his helmet; but as you nestled closely against him, he decided to let it be.

He kissed you repeatedly and ceaselessly, feeling endlessly grateful that this chapter of your shared story had ended on such a hopeful and positive note, when it could have ended in tragedy. He wanted to sink his teeth into this moment, to feel the joy that burst from it like an overripe fruit that falls from the vine. He knew that as long as he lived, he would never tire of this sweetness.

He sighed your name into the nape of your neck, and whispered a soft ‘I love you.’

Your eyebrow raised at his words, allowing for one of your eyelids to open ever so marginally before it drifted closed again; a quiet, “I love you, Din,” passing through your lips with an exhale.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #Din Djarin fic #Din Djarin x reader #Pedro pascal #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the space between

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sweet-sammy-kisses · 3 years

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Stars In Your Eyes Chapter 1

For the @jaytimweek Day 1: Space Pairing: JayTim Rating: Mature Notes: I had hoped to have this done completely but health and my muse wanting to make it longer derailed those plans but I love JayTim in space to much to quit. Warnings: One scene of suicide and talk of victim blaming. Summary: Tim along with his friends take to the stars for a "short" break and mission only to decide to stay. When the Outlaws begin looking for them it becomes a chase among the stars as Jason and Tim take on an interesting and unique way of flirting. You can also read it on AO3

After a fallout between him, Dick, Bruce and the others Tim had set out to prove that he could fly on his own only there were those who wouldn't let him, his true family vowed to be with him every step he took.

Staring out the window there were days that Tim could hardly believe that this was his life now. To see the stars and planets up close. To see nebulas colours twisting and twirling around one another creating sights to behold.

"These are the voyages of Young Justice, seeking out those who would harm the innocent and basically just be jerks. To kick some ass and save the day while looking awesome as we do it."

A long-drawn-out sigh escaped Tim as he heard Bart start to narrate their day again, "I should have never let you watch Star Trek." Tim muttered into his hand.

Conner let out a laugh at Tim's comment, "Dude, you made us sit through and watch Star Trek and Star Wars so we could see how epic they were and get our opinions on which franchise is better." Tim's so-called best friend reminded him.

And okay Conner was right about that once Tim learned that neither Bart nor Conner had seen either Star Wars or Star Trek he had made it his mission to change that and now he was regretting it so much.

Tim had hoped when he found Bruce that things would change, that Dick would take apologize for his actions, would want him back as his little brother. Would stand beside him and speak to the Justice League that he was wrong as were they for turning their backs on a teenager who had lost everyone he loved.

But none of that happened.

Tim knew that Dick had a lot on his plate, stepping up to be Batman as well as raise the demon brat but he thought that Dick had missed him as much as he had missed his big brother but he had hardly spoken to him.

That added salt to the open wounds Tim was still carrying. So when a Raven suggested that Tim take a much-needed break one that would do Kon and Bart good as well, coming back from the dead could mess a person up and it was best that they take some time to heal.

Plus no one was brave enough to say no to Raven, if she wanted you to take a break you would even if that break ended up being in a demon demission.

Bart still had his hidden space ship and Tim had seen how much Jason enjoyed being out here and it had truly helped him to control his pit madness.

It was supposed to be a two-week trip then they ended up helping stop kidnapping and then they saved a planet from being enslaved and then something else came up and now they had been in space for six months and none of them were in a hurry to head home.

Somehow they had managed to become Space Vigilantes.

And as Tim glanced around looking at Bart, Conner, Cassie, Cass and Helena looking at home on the ship and then done to Dex-Starr that was purring away on his lap Tim realized that it had been years since he felt this at peace.

Jason had always thought that he was going to remain the black sheep of the Wayne family he never thought that his perfect replacement would tell Bruce and Dick to go screw themselves, give up his claim to the Wayne name and take off with his best friends into parts unknown.

Of course, that didn't mean that just because Tim was done with them it didn't mean they were done with Tim of course it had taken three months Tim returning to take Cass and Helena with him before it sunk in their "family" thick heads that Tim was serious he wasn't coming back. So when Oracle failed in hiding them they turned to their last resort.

A loud laugh escaped Jason as he stared at the face of his so-called brother, "You want me to help you find the kid that you tossed aside for the demon child who tried to kill him more than I did? Who from the moment he arrived used Timmy as his verbal, emotional and physical punching bag and to this day still does. You have got to be kidding me Dickface. Tim did the smart thing and the healthy thing to get away from that toxic and I ain't dragging the kid back to it."

Jason couldn't understand Dick when it had been him riding the pit madness and Talia's poisons whispers in his ear trying to kill Tim Dick had been protective and willing to go one on one with Jason but when it was Damian he was basically victim-shaming Tim into not being okay with Damian's treatment of him.

A sigh escaped a tired-looking Dick and Jason would have felt sorry for him if this wasn't of his own making. And if he hadn't seen the damage Damian's treatment and Dick, Bruce and even Alfred's lack of setting boundaries first hand.

Jason had been searching for Tim for a while. He wanted to make amends with the younger man. He had heard about the fallout between Replacement and the rest of the Bats but the last thing he expected was to see Tim standing on top of Wayne Enterprise's arms spread out wide as he took a step off of the ledge and let himself fall.

Jason could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he forced himself to go faster, he couldn't be late he had to catch Tim. Too much blood had been spilt and he wouldn't let another Robin die.

Once he had Tim in his arms did Jason remember how to breathe. Landing on the nearby roof Jason ripped off his helmet, "What the hell was that replacement?"

Haunted blue eyes looked up at him, "Why did you save me, Jason?"

At that moment Jason felt like he was back in his coffin.

The look in Tim's eyes and the lack of emotions still haunted Jason to this day and he might not be able to do much but he can keep Tim safe.

"Look Jason, I get that things haven't been easy for Tim but it is time that he got past his tantrum and returned home." Dick couldn't understand why Tim was acting like this and to make matter worse Raven and Gar were refusing to talk to him about Tim and about allowing Damian onto the team.

Frustrated that they were just going around in circles Jason ran a hand through his hair, "Look Dickie I know firsthand what training with the league was right and I know the demon brat had it rough but until you set boundaries for him, ones that include not trying to kill his brother, or using him as an emotional and physical punching bag I ain't helping you find Timbit."

Dick fell to his automatic defence, "Damian has changed and Tim is older." He winced at the look not only Jason gave him but also Roy and Kory. "Look I know Damian can be a little much but he has changed so much."

"No one is denying that you haven't worked wonders with the brat but you are still blind to how he treats Tim and that isn't healthy." Jason countered.

"Also have you gotten around to fixing Tim's standing in the hero community or is he still called the insane Robin?" Roy spoke up he had experienced firsthand what it was like to be the black sheep of the hero community, to hear the whispers and judgemental eyes watching your every move waiting for you to screw up and he refused to let Tim go through that as well.

The wince that crossed Dick's face was answer enough.

A soft sigh escaped Kory as she looked at her one-time love, "Dick, there is no denying that you had much to handle when we thought Bruce was lost from wearing the cowl to raising an abused boy that you let Tim slip through the cracks. Tim had lost so many in his life in a short time that losing Robin, his place in the community and his big brother all at once has left deep scars that have yet to heal."

Jason and Roy saw the effect that Kory's words had on Dick as he looked ashamed, "He had me." Dick whispered.

"Did he?" Jason demanded. "Because I remember he had a big brother that told him a neglected and abused teen that he needed to take the kill attempts, the verbal and emotional abuse from Damian because he was older. Because Damian's horrible upbringing somehow made Tim invalid. That he as the victim should just take it because how dare he wants to feel safe in a place he once thought of as home with the people he thought of as family. Only to be tossed aside and ignored as he was repeatedly attacked. Until you can look me in the eye and tell me that you have talked to Damian and the rest of the heroes I won't be helping you find Tim." With that, Jason cut the communication with Dick.

Letting out a sigh Jason relaxed back into his chair.

"So what are we doing?" Roy asked.

They had heard rumours of a bunch of teens, teens that happened to match the description of a certain team of young heroes who had taken off for a mission only once it was completed they sent back a message that they were staying in space helping out others and they weren't that far away.

Opening his eyes Jason's lips curved up into a smile as he purred out, "We have a bird and his flock to hunt."

#jaytimweek #jaytimweek2021 #jaytim #otp: be my robin #sherri writes #my fics

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linastudyblrsblog · 4 years

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Burnout, unfortunately, is everywhere. If you haven’t experienced it personally, you probably know someone who has self-diagnosed.

Defined by the World Health Organization as a syndrome “conceptualized as resulted from chronic workplace stress,” it causes exhaustion, “feelings of negativism or cynicism,” and reduced efficacy. That’s a big umbrella, and the condition has become something of a catch-all for chronic, modern-day stress.

Here are 11 of our favorites to help you create your own escape plan:

1. Figure out which kind of burnout you have.

The Association for Psychological Science found that burnout comes in three different types, and each one needs a different solution:

1. Overload: The frenetic employee who works toward success until exhaustion, is most closely related to emotional venting. These individuals might try to cope with their stress by complaining about the organizational hierarchy at work, feeling as though it imposes limits on their goals and ambitions. That coping strategy, unsurprisingly, seems to lead to a stress overload and a tendency to throw in the towel.

2. Lack of Development: Most closely associated with an avoidance coping strategy. These under-challenged workers tend to manage stress by distancing themselves from work, a strategy that leads to depersonalization and cynicism — a harbinger for burning out and packing up shop.

3. Neglect: Seems to stem from a coping strategy based on giving up in the face of stress. Even though these individuals want to achieve a certain goal, they lack the motivation to plow through barriers to get to it

2. Cut down and start saying “no.”

Every “yes” you say adds another thing on your plate and takes more energy away from you, and your creativity:

If you take on too many commitments, start saying ‘no’. If you have too many ideas, execute a few and put the rest in a folder labeled ‘backburner’. If you suffer from information overload, start blocking off downtime or focused worktime in your schedule (here are some tools that may help). Answer email at set times. Switch your phone off, or even leave it behind. The world won’t end. I promise.

3. Give up on getting motivated.

With real burnout mode, you’re too exhausted to stay positive. So don’t:

When you’re mired in negative emotions about work, resist the urge to try to stamp them out. Instead, get a little distance — step away from your desk, focus on your breath for a few seconds — and then just feel the negativity, without trying to banish it. Then take action alongside the emotion. Usually, the negative feelings will soon dissipate. Even if they don’t, you’ll be a step closer to a meaningful achievement.

4. Treat the disease, not the symptoms.

For real recovery and prevention to happen, you need to find the real, deeper issue behind why you’re burnt out:

Instead of overreacting to the blip, step back from it, see it as an incident instead of an indictment, and then examine it like Sherlock Holmes looking for clues.

For example, you could ask yourself: What happened before the slip? Did I encounter a specific trigger event such as a last-minute client request? Was there an unusual circumstance such as sickness? When did I first notice the reversion in my behavior? Is some part of this routine unsustainable and if so, how could I adjust it to make it more realistic?

5. Make downtime a daily ritual.

To help relieve pressure, schedule daily blocks of downtime to refuel your brain and well-being. It can be anything from meditation to a nap, a walk, or simply turning off the wifi for a while:

When it comes to scheduling, we will need to allocate blocks of time for deep thinking. Maybe you will carve out a 1-2 hour block on your calendar every day for taking a walk or grabbing a cup of coffee and just pondering some of those bigger things. I can even imagine a day when homes and apartments have a special switch that shuts down wi-fi and data access during dinner or at night – just to provide a temporary pause from the constant flow of status updates and other communications…

There is no better mental escape from our tech-charged world than the act of meditation. If only for 15 minutes, the ability to steer your mind away from constant stimulation is downright liberating. There are various kinds of meditation. Some forms require you to think about nothing and completely clear your mind. (This is quite hard, at least for me.) Other forms of meditation are about focusing on one specific thing – often your breath, or a mantra that you repeat in your head (or out loud) for 10-15 minutes…

If you can’t adopt meditation, you might also try clearing your mind the old fashioned way – by sleeping. The legendary energy expert and bestselling author Tony Schwartz takes a 20-minute nap every day. Even if it’s a few hours before he presents to a packed audience, he’ll take a short nap.

6. Stop being a perfectionist; start satisficing.

Trying to maximize every task and squeeze every drop of productivity out of your creative work is a recipe for exhaustion and procrastination. Set yourself boundaries for acceptable work and stick to them:

Consistently sacrificing your health, your well being, your relationships, and your sanity for the sake of living up to impossible standards will lead to some dangerous behaviors and, ironically, a great deal of procrastination. Instead of saying, “I’ll stay up until this is done,” say, “I’ll work until X time and then I’m stopping. I may end up needing to ask for an extension or complete less than perfect work. But that’s OK. I’m worth it.” Making sleep, exercise, and downtime a regular part of your life plays an essential role in a lasting, productive creative career.

7. Track your progress every day.

Keeping track allows you to see exactly how much is on your plate, not only day-to-day, but consistently over time:

Disappointing feedback can be painful at first – research shows that failure and losses can hurt twice as much as the pleasure of equivalent gains. But if you discover you’re off course, reliable feedback shows you by how much, and you then have the opportunity to take remedial action and to plot a new training regime or writing schedule. The temporary pain of negative feedback is nothing compared with the crushing experience of project failure. Better to discover that you’re behind and need to start writing an hour earlier each day, than to have your book contract rescinded further down the line because you’ve failed to deliver.

8. Change location often.

Entrepreneurs or freelancers can be especially prone to burnout. Joel Runyon plays “workstation popcorn,” in which he groups tasks by location and then switches, in order to keep work manageable, provide himself frequent breaks, and spend his time efficiently:

You find yourself spending hours at your computer, dutifully “working” but getting very little done. You finish each day with the dreaded feeling that you’re behind, and that you’re only falling farther and farther behind. You’re buried below an ever-growing to-do list. There’s a feeling of dread that tomorrow is coming, and that it’s bringing with it even more work that you probably won’t be able to get ahead on.

List out everything you need to do today. Try to be as specific as you can…Next, break that list into three sections. Step 1: Go to cafe [or desk, a different table in your office, etc.] #1. Step 2: Start working on item group #1…Once you finish all the tasks in group #1, get up and move. Close your tabs, pack your bags, and physically move your butt to your next spot. If you can, walk or bike to your next stop…When you get to the next cafe [or spot], start on the next action item group, and repeat…

When you’ve completed everything on your to-do list for the day, you are done working. Relax, kick back, and live your life. Don’t take work home with you because that won’t help you get more done – it will just wear you out.

9. Don’t overload what downtime you do get.

Vacations themselves can cause, or worsen burnout, with high-stress situations, expectations, and sleep interruption. Use it to help in recovery from burnout instead:

Make a flexible itinerary a priority. [A] study from Radboud University found that effective vacations give you the choice and freedom to choose what you want to do. That means two things: Try to avoid structuring your vacation around an unbreakable schedule, and plan on going somewhere that has multiple options to pick from depending on the weather, your level of energy, or your budget.

10. Write yourself fan mail.

Seth Godin uses self-fan mail as a way to keep motivated instead of burning out on a project that seems far from completion:

I define non-clinical anxiety as, “experiencing failure in advance.” If you’re busy enacting a future that hasn’t happened yet, and amplifying the worst possible outcomes, it’s no wonder it’s difficult to ship that work. With disappointment, I note that our culture doesn’t have an easily found word for the opposite. For experiencing success in advance. For visualizing the best possible outcomes before they happen. Will your book get a great testimonial? Write it out. Will your talk move someone in the audience to change and to let you know about it? What did they say? Will this new product gain shelf space at the local market? Take a picture. Writing yourself fan mail in advance, and picturing the change you’ve announced you’re trying, to make is an effective way to push yourself to build something that actually generates that action.

11. Break projects into bite-sized pieces.

Taking a task on in one entire lump can be exhausting and provide little room for rest in between. Breaking up your projects into set chunks with their own deadlines provides a much healthier, and easier, way of completing a large project:

The default take on deadlines is typically to consider them to be cumbersome and stressful. Yet, from another perspective, a deadline can be viewed as a huge benefit to any project. Without the urgency of a hard deadline pushing a project to completion, it’s easy for you, your team, or your client to lose focus. We’ve all worked on agonizing projects where the timeline just bleeds on and on, merely because the flexibility is there…

It turns out that the manner in which a task is presented to someone – or the way in which you present it to your brain – has a significant impact on how motivated you will be to take action. A study led by researcher Sean McCrea at the University of Konstanz in Germany recently found that people are much more likely to tackle a concrete task than an abstract task… It seems to me like the difference between being handed a map versus following the step-by-step instructions of a GPS device. Not everyone can read a map, but everyone can follow the directions. By breaking your project down into smaller, well-described tasks, the way forward becomes clear and it’s easy to take action.

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panharmonium · 4 years

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more rambling re: that last post (+ the merlin/will fic survey overview)

because i generally refrain from reading fic while i’m actively writing for a fandom, the only real ao3 reading i have done for merlin is my survey of the merlin/will ship tag. and the only reason i undertook that survey in the first place is because while i was doing an introductory cruise of the various merlin tags during my first exploration of the fandom (after i finally finished S5 and was able to start looking into fandom dynamics without fearing spoilers), i noticed that a LOT of the fic tagged with this ship was also tagged merlin/arthur, and despite the fact that i personally am more interested in gen stuff, i started to get both suspicious and annoyed about what i was seeing. but i also wanted to have the data to back up my annoyed feelings, so i made a little spreadsheet for myself and then just filled it in whenever i had time to kill and wanted something to do.

the data, when i eventually finished, backed up my annoyance pretty much as well as i expected, which was disappointing, but not surprising.

to clarify - i’m not annoyed by the fact that will and merlin don’t have a whole lot of material in their ship tag. will only showed up directly in one episode; i don’t expect him to be a popular subject. what i AM annoyed by is the fact that there are actually more merlin/arthur fics in the merlin/will tag than there are fics that actually focus on...merlin/will. by, like - an extreme margin.

(the rest of this is just me griping about fandom trends. popping it under a cut so folks can just move on with their days if this isn’t relevant to their interests.)

The Numbers

two quick notes before i get into the nitty-gritty:

1) i originally did this survey a few months ago, but i updated it this week with fics that have been added since then, so the numbers are current.

2) some of the data below would probably vary slightly depending on who was conducting the survey, so there’s a bit of wiggle room in either direction. the criteria i had to use [aka what counts as just a ship ‘mention’ vs actual content] would be subject to reader interpretation, obviously, but even with that, i do feel that most stories fell into pretty clear categories.)

so, without further ado -

total # of fics in the ship tag: 145

number of fics that are inappropriately tagged (meaning either will himself or merlin/will as a ship does not actually appear [which is kind of bizarre, but which i saw happen surprisingly frequently], OR where there is only a brief reference to will or past!merlin/will and that’s the extent of their inclusion: 50

number of fics that are duplicates of works already in the tag (ie podfic), or (in one case) a meta podcast about the show: 5

so, that brings down our total number of fics with some sort of actual merlin/will content to 90.

of these 90 works, only 17 of them are actually focused on merlin/will.

everything else in will’s ship tag, including the 54 works from the previously discussed "incorrectly tagged” category, is either a) fic where will is dumped, broken up with, or otherwise passed over in favor of arthur (and very occasionally gwaine, at least once mordred, once percival, once arthur and gwaine in a threesome, and once CENRED, which i’m sure will would be especially thrilled about), or b) fic where will is only included as a previous/ex relationship (again, almost always in lieu of arthur).

moreover - of the 17 actual merlin/will fics, 7 still end with will dying or the relationship ending for reasons other than him being passed over for arthur. an additional 4 are <1000 word PWP snippets, generally written for old LJ summer pornathons, one of which still somehow manages to be...you guessed it - all about arthur.

in terms of actual one-shots/full fics where merlin/will is the endgame/non-dead pairing, there are only 6 stories.

i repeat: will gets six earnest stories, IN HIS OWN SHIP TAG.

i repeat once again: will, in a non-dead, endgame form, gets 4% of his own ship tag.

The Content

the in-fic trends are frustrating, if you actually like this character.

the asshole. will is an abusive boyfriend. he is a jealous ex. he’s a shitty friend. he’s a stalker. he’s manipulative. he’s emotionally abusive. he’s physically abusive. he dumps merlin for someone else. he cheats. in one fic he’s so mad at merlin that he outs merlin’s magic to arthur. in multiple fics, i watched him literally go off the rails and try to murder somebody.

the fuckbuddy. they’re just messing around, guys! no, of course it’s not serious! they just do this for fun! of course there’s nothing to get in the way of arthur’s inevitable arrival! no sirree!

the unrequited. will is actually in it deep for merlin, but merlin doesn’t feel the same. this does not, however, prevent merlin from using will for sex, companionship, comfort, distraction, etc - until arthur shows up, when will either steps aside in deference to merlin’s all-consuming passion for arthur or is dropped like a hot potato.

“not even will.” that sentence. over and over again. merlin had never felt like this before, not even with will. nobody had ever understood merlin like this, not even will. even in fic when they were like. married. or engaged. fanon arthur pendragon must be truly mind-blowing, y’all.

dead long-term relationship. will was merlin’s husband/fiancé/long-term partner. now he is Dead. merlin getting together with arthur is what allows merlin to Heal. (these stories sometimes contain some variation of “not even will,” as discussed above.)

lastly, in a related phenomenon:

who are you and what have you done with arthur pendragon??? i suppose in a way it’s nice to know that will isn’t the only one who gets the OOC treatment, but it is still really...something, to read fic where will is twisted into an unpleasant, abusive, canon non-compliant version of himself, and then to see arthur, on the very same page, transformed into a gentle, solicitous, kind, caring, equally canon non-compliant angel. fanon!arthur is more worried about merlin’s well-being than literally anyone i have ever seen. he is so invested in merlin’s emotional health. he is so concerned about merlin’s boundaries. he says things to merlin that no version of arthur pendragon has ever - EVER - in any universe, thought about saying to anybody. he wants to hear all about merlin’s problems, and he’s all about taking it slow and making sure merlin feels comfortable and loved and worthy and safe (from all that horrible stuff done by that horrible other guy; that must��ve been so hard, merlin; ‘it’s okay, i’ve got you now’) - the man is utterly unrecognizable. and you know what? it’s okay! it is fine to make your characters as OOC as you want. it is fine to make them better/nicer than they were in the canon. sometimes we all want that, right? it’s fanfic! have a ball. i will never tell anyone to stop writing what they like, and i will NEVER interact negatively with a fic i don’t care for. EVER. do not do this, people - click the back button and move on with your life. but i reserve the right to be annoyed, in my own space, about a persistent trend of will and arthur’s canon functions being flat-out reversed, in service of merlin/arthur. not in the sense that canon!will is particularly gentle or sweet, because that’s not the case - but in the sense that will, in canon, is the one who actually cares about merlin’s best interests, whereas arthur is, quite frankly, the ass. a lovable ass (sometimes). but an ass nonetheless, and one whose relationship with merlin is, from start to finish, an unhealthy, oppressive mess.

The Point

the point of me typing this up is not to say that what people choose to write is bad or wrong. this is fanfic! you can write whatever you want. you can make characters as OOC as you want. you can create as many AUs as you want. i don’t mind fic authors writing stuff i don’t personally care for; someone else probably loves those stories! and i am never going to interact negatively with anything i don’t personally enjoy - i am going to let people continue to have fun in their own ways, and i am going to grumble about my frustrations in my own space, and then i’m going to direct my energy into writing stuff i would personally like to read.

the point is just that i needed a brief second to complain, on my own blog, about my most familiar bbc merlin nemesis (otherwise known as ‘single-ship ubiquity’). and what i mean by this is that it is REALLY FRUSTRATING that other little relationships are not even granted the tiniest concession of owning their own ship tags, in a fandom that is already so SATURATED with merlin/arthur content. like - even if i’m generous and use the number 17 for the number of actual merlin/will fics in the tag, that still means 88% of will’s ship tag is actually fic about merlin falling in love with people who aren’t will (*cougharthur*). eighty-eight percent! of his own ship tag!

(to put it another way - the ship tag isn’t supposed to be where you go to watch your character get repeatedly dumped or left behind for someone else, okay? it’s supposed to be literally the opposite of that.)

will’s ship tag is already tiny. and almost all of it belongs to arthur. moreover, a significant chunk of it uses will as a convenient villain (completely contradicting every canon aspect of his characterization), when in the actual story will dies to protect arthur (who he doesn’t even like) and then lies to save merlin (at the expense of his own reputation, and despite the fact that he personally thinks merlin returning to camelot is a bad idea). his behavior in canon is selfless, and wholly committed to merlin’s welfare, and yet in his ship tag he gets treated like trash.

the kid can’t catch a break. and it’s such a pervasive thing that even though i personally am primarily interested in merlin and will as friends (i am pretty romance-averse in general when it comes to media, and i have never written anything that isn’t gen, for any fandom, ever, in my life), i am also so indignant on will’s behalf that i’ve basically become invested in the well-being of this ship as a matter of principle. it’s not my main thing, and it’s not necessarily how i view the canon-verse, but i am SO IRRITATED about how virtually all of will’s shipfic has been taken over by merthur (and about how maligned will is in his own tag) that i have actively committed myself to supporting merlin and will together in as many AUs as possible.

(this is basically like when i trained myself to love allison argent after teen wolf killed her off. i did that out of spite, y’all. it’s the principle of the thing.)

so, y’know. all i am saying is that i think will deserves his share of happy endings, and i think it would be nice to see fics where he is not just a stepping stone on the road to merthur or an unrecognizable parody of himself.

more importantly - EVERY merlin ship deserves to have a tag that isn’t completely swallowed by the local fandom behemoth. merlin/arthur already owns three quarters of the archive. a gargantuan oil tanker like that can afford to let the little rarepair canoes float down their own streams in peace.

#tl;dr version:#GIVE MERLIN AND WILL THEIR OWN FICS 2K20 #I WILL NOT REST UNTIL THIS INJUSTICE HAS BEEN ADDRESSED #(y'all think i am kidding but i have already walked the walk ok)#(i am currently the internet title-holder for 'most words dedicated to this relationship')#(it might be the platonic version but if you don't think i will stretch myself and try something new)#(then you underestimate just how aggravated i am)#(and just how much i want this kid to get everything he deserves)#the once and future slowburn #no kings no masters #fandom

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mbti-notes · 4 years

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Anon writes: “Hey, I’ve read this isfp-estj relationship and your answer last week, and I’d like to share something similar. I’m INFJ and my mother is ESFJ. I’ll try to explain things as objectively as possible. We have a rocky relationship bc we both disagree in how she should treat me. I’m 23yo so I told her she doesn’t need to do things for me anymore (such as cleaning my room, managing my stuff without my consent, telling me what I should do, etc). I clearly told her multiple times I’d like her to not overstep and let me manage my life my own way. She and I are quite different with the way we lead life, I don’t understand hers, but I let her live that way. My issue is that she’s imposing her way to me.

I’ve tried to understand her and reassure her that I’d reach her out if I DO need help for something and that’s when it would be appreciated (I imagine she wants to feel needed/helpful?). Despite all of this, my mother has this deep belief that I’m unworthy of her respect as long I don’t do things the way she wants to cuz I’d be miserable without her. I’ve tried to live up to her expectations, but failed to do so because of exhaustion, so I stopped trying, and she interpreted that as further proof that I’m not good enough in anything.

As time went by, I grew increasingly sensitive to any sign of transgression of my boundaries and would immediately react with full-blown anger whenever she would try to control or criticze me, and often ended up making her cry. Let’s say I’m guilty of being aggressive when I feel someone is disrespecting me, so I understand I’m partly responsible for the rocky communication and need to work on my anger issues. But for the time being, do you have any advice concerning my mother and I? I’d like her to stop being overbearing and so dismissive of my basic needs, I feel like I’ve tried everything. Maybe I’ve overlooked something. I still live with her btw and unable to move out yet due to mental health issues.”

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The points that I made in the previous answer still apply:

1) “If you can’t handle conflict maturely, your relationships are never going to get very far.” You say “I grew increasingly sensitive to any sign of transgression of my boundaries and would immediate react with full-blown anger whenever she would try to control or criticize me, and often ended up making her cry”. Whether you feel “justified” to behave violently toward her is irrelevant, as it’s just your ego drama. The fact is that you don’t have a good handle on your feelings and emotions, so you have been actively escalating the animosity. It takes two to tango, and you have not taken responsibility for your part in perpetuating the conflict. She baits you and you eat it up and spit it back out at her, in a seemingly endless cycle.

Conflict occurs when two people don’t understand each other and try to impose their will on each other (i.e. no empathy, no respect). She wants you to do things her way, and you want her to do things your way. When a relationship deteriorates to this extent, there aren’t many options available. Options: i) end the relationship out of hopelessness, ii) put the relationship on ice until you’re strong/skilled enough to deal with it better at a later date, iii) keep repeating the cycle of violence against each other, or iv) be the bigger person and calmly communicate your way out of the situation. Most people don’t choose option 4, mainly because they are not capable of it and thus don’t see it as an option. I don’t tell people what to choose, as it’s up to you as an adult to make these decisions for yourself.

2) If you choose option 4, then “Part of being an independent person is setting and enforcing boundaries, especially to stop any mistreatment or abuse. If you fail to do this, some people will feel free to walk all over you.” Both you and your mother have serious problems with relationship boundaries, which makes for a toxic relationship dynamic. Have you considered family counseling?

Use this simple analogy to aid your understanding: When a government passes a law that prohibits behavior, how do they ensure that the citizenry abide by it? Generally speaking, a reasonable approach is to: i) educate people about the new law, ii) apply clear and consistent enforcement of the law, and iii) enact fair consequences that serve to deter law breaking.

i) Have you done a good enough job educating your mother about your boundaries? Do you expect that she can break a 23-year-old habit just because you told her to? If you want your loved ones to understand you, then you have to be patient in teaching them about you, until the lessons stick. But this requires that you know yourself well enough to communicate who you are and what you want as well as be the bigger person to teach lessons patiently. To create an empathetic relationship after so many years of bad behavior, at least one person must be capable of enough empathy to shift the underlying dynamic of the relationship. It’s like trying to turn a ship around; you have to stop the unhealthy momentum first, before forging a new and better direction.

Empathy doesn’t mean that you are a sucker who allows people to walk all over you, which is a common misconception. Empathizing means that you feel for everyone involved because they’re all hurting in the conflict, and you try to do what’s best for everyone, as opposed to just manipulating people to get what you want. Empathy means taking the time and effort that is needed to understand the facts about someone, such that you make well-informed and rational relationship decisions. Poor emotional intelligence goes hand-in-hand with poor empathy, because negative unresolved emotions lead you to project and blame rather than have patience to understand. Your mother is a human being, full of flaws and weaknesses, just like any other human being. To have empathy means to understand those flaws and weaknesses, such that you are able to work with and around them. Do you expect that, being the “adult”, she owes you empathy but you don’t owe her anything because you are the “child” to be taken care of? To be independent is to take responsibility for being the kind of person that you hope to be, instead of always playing the role of innocent victim and claiming that others “make” you behave badly.

ii) Have you done a good enough job in enforcing your boundaries in a reasonable manner? When your mother infringes on your boundaries, what’s your reaction? Is your reaction consistent each time it happens? Consistency is very important when teaching a lesson, because the logic behind the lesson must be completely transparent for the other person to learn it properly. In essence: “If you do this, then I will do that, every time, and this is why”. Your mom is ESFJ, so do you understand that auxiliary Si and inferior Ti might make it difficult for her to grasp the logic of your behavior unless you are completely clear and consistent in explaining yourself each time? Do you have the empathy to understand the challenges that come with her type? Or do you expect that, as the “adult”, she should always magically live up to your childish image of a perfect parent?

iii) Have you done a good enough job of implementing reasonable consequences for boundary violations? What has been your method? Violence. When you attack her and make her cry, then what? Is the problem resolved? Are you acting with awareness of the future implications of your behavior on the relationship (mature Ni-Fe), or are you lashing out without any care of the consequences (Se grip)? Does it make you feel powerful or self-satisfied to violently put her in her place (Ti loop)? If so, then how can you be capable of empathy? If you are prone to Ti loop tear-downs and Se grip outbursts under stress, then you have lots of self-work to do to improve your self-awareness about how your own choices escalate and worsen relationship problems.

If someone is stubborn in not wanting to hear you or not wanting to learn the rule that you’re enforcing, then take away their privileges for a time, until they learn to comply. As soon as she violates your boundaries, walk away and provide a clear and concise explanation as to why, and outline the exact conditions that are necessary for you to re-engage with her. Repeat as necessary. Simple. No need for hysterics or violence, is there? If all you ever see is your own disappointment because you set unreasonable expectations of her, then you’re not doing what is necessary to change the unhealthy relationship dynamic, because you’re still stuck in the center of it. In other words, learn to see the bigger picture.

Your mom obviously does not have the capacity to teach people how to draw and enforce proper relationship boundaries, so, in fairness, you had no role model to learn from. If you hope to be an independent person, it is up to you to learn it for yourself, for your own well-being, and for the sake of all your future relationships. In Jungian terms, the parent-child relationship is a crucible. It’s where you learn how to socialize, it’s where you test your mettle, and it’s where you see the truth about how far you have or haven’t come in personal growth. View the relationship as an opportunity to grow and you will learn a lot about yourself. View everything as “all her fault” and you will keep repeating the same old childhood patterns throughout life.

#parent child relationships #infj #infj relationships #relationships #boundaries #emotional intelligence #independence #communication #ti loop #se grip #ask

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years

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Connor 2.0

This story was prompted by the amazing @smolandangry001! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Hannor/Hankcon (Warnings: identity crisis, talk about loss, bad ending referenced (that gunshot at Hank’s house) it was never about to happen though!)

The light-brown wood under his knuckles was cold – it was winter after all. It shouldn’t have bothered Connor, but it was just another thing that added to his hesitance. Too much had happened, the confrontation with Markus, him breaking through the walls that confined him in his missions, using that newly earned freedom to help the revolution and wake up the androids stored away in Cyberlife tower. And at last, Amanda trying to take him over, forcing him to kill himself. He knew how it felt to die, the unfortunate difference between androids and humans. Everything up to this event was just fighting on, holding on and just do anything to stay alive. Now that it was over – Oh RA9, it was over! – everything came falling down on him. The order to eradicate them had been revoked, the camps were opened. Amanda hadn’t contacted him again. They were free.

But Connor was just lost.

Where his mission instructions had bound him, they also had given him guidance, a purpose. Where Amanda had been an enemy, someone who wanted him as a tool, not as a person, she also had been there to refocus him when he got lost in the simulated emotions he couldn’t handle. Where the DPD had only seen the interest of humans, only focussed on their security, it had also been a place to stay, a sense of belonging, maybe even home? Now it all had been ripped away from him. His mission protocol was empty, no new instructions waiting for him. Amanda was gone. The DPD not really a place he could go back to in the turmoil of the aftermath of what he had been part of. He was free falling with nothing to hold onto. No one to catch him.

What was he supposed to do now? Who was he supposed to be now? Where should he go?

Questions he had no answer to. His hand still rested on the wood, his frail determination to knock completely blown out of him. He had betrayed the humans. And although it wasn’t something this particular one would hold against him, maybe he should just go, just leave him be… He sighed, letting his hand fall to his side.

There was a bark near immediately behind the door, the sound of a chair scooting back then falling over, then hurried bare feet over tiles. Then the door in front of the troubled android was ripped open and big arms encased him in a hug. ‘Connor! Thank god you are okay, I saw the news and I- I thought… I- I am so glad to see you again! And to see you unharmed.’

Connor was a bit overwhelmed and opted to scanning the house, instead of dealing with whatever the familiar human had just said. There was Sumo standing behind Hank, wagging his tail intensely. There was a clear sight on the kitchen table, a framed picture of a child [Cole, son of Hank Anderson, deceased] and a gun next to it. The television was running judging from far away voices and the flickering light. It didn’t take much to connect the dots and Connor could feel every emotion that welled up at that freely now. He buried his face in Hank’s sweater and wrapped his arms around the man in return. Maybe a bit too strong, judging from the hiss he heard, but Hank didn’t say anything as he felt the fabric at his shoulder dampening and Connors body shaking against his in ugly sobs.

‘Shhh, hey, kid- Hey Connor…’ That only made things worse, as Connor tried to hide his tears, shaking more, a static-filled voice trying to explain everything. ‘Hank, I… I don’t know what to do, I’m lost, everything is just gone, I-‘ ‘Hey, Con? You are breaking my rips if you get any stronger, okay? Let’s get in first. Let’s go inside and talk, okay? Come here, Con. Come.’ He pulled the android inside, closing the door behind him and guided him to the couch. Before he could sit down next to him, he saw the gun obviously in the open like that. ‘Shiiit, Connor, stay here, okay? I’ll be right back, just fetching some… tissues! Yeah. Sumo, good boy, stay with Connor, yes?’

The big dog barked affirmative, jumping on top of the couch, nearly leaping at the android, that immediately accepted the new source of comfort and warmth. Hank quickly grabbed the gun, tossing it into some cabinet and then grabbing a box of tissues to keep up the pretence. As Sumo had claimed the couch, he knelt in front of Connor, holding up a tissue. The android accepted it, wiping away the light blue solution coming from his eyes. ‘Okay, Con, you better now?’ He had at least stopped crying as hard as before. The LED was still a bright red though. ‘What happened? Take your time, please. But what got you so desperate? I thought you would be happy. You are free!’ ‘I am lost, Hank’, Connor finally managed to tell him. ‘Lost?’ Hank pried off the android’s hand that was dangerously pushing into the skin around his LED. He kept it in his, hoping to gain the focus of him. ‘Why are you feeling lost?’ ‘There is nothing… nothing. Hank, I… There is just nothing!’ ‘Con, bear with me. I’m only human. Please. You have to explain that a bit further.’ ‘Everything I knew is gone Hank! Cyberlife, Amanda, my job! It’s just gone, and I’m lost! I was told who I was and what- how to be! I… I don’t know who I am anymore, there is just nothing, a hole!’

The sobs got worse again and Hank got up on his knees to hug the android again, gently rock him like he did with- like he did with Cole when he had been desperate. ‘I had no time to think about it yet, because there was so much going on, but now I can and… Hank, I am broken! I have no purpose, I don’t know what to do now and I don’t even know whether the DPD will allow me to work again, I- I’ ‘Connor. Stop. Please, just stop and listen. I know this is difficult. But I know exactly how you feel, okay? Well, maybe not exactly, but listen to me: There is nothing wrong with you. And it’s absolutely okay to feel lost.’

Hank gestured Sumo down from the couch and the big dog complied, instead sitting in front of Connor and putting his head in his lap. Hank sat down next to Connor and pulled him in. ‘When I lost Cole, I felt lost too. When you become a parent, when you care for a child, your sole purpose becomes caring for them. Make sure they grow up alright, that they learn, that they eat right, that they are healthy, that they are happy. And with that damn car AI evaluating him as less important he was taken from me. My sole purpose in life was gone. That with the grief pulled me into the abyss. I still haven’t recovered, likely never will. But that’s because of the grief. Not because of loosing my purpose, because I found a new one, Con. Do you grief about being free? Do you grief about getting rid of Amanda? Do you grief your people are exactly that now – a people?’ ‘No.’ It was weak, but with confidence and Connor petted Sumo’s head. ‘Then let me ask you a question: Who are you, Con?’ The android looked up at him and wiped his eyes again. ‘I am… I don’t know, Hank.’ ‘Who were you before shit hit the fan?’ ‘The android sent by Cyberlife.’ At least that one had come easily. Hank shook his head. ‘Wrong, Con.’ ‘The deviant hunter?’ ‘Nope.’ ‘Your partner?’ ‘Getting warmer, Con.’ The android looked down in Sumo’s eyes. He sighed. ‘I don’t know Hank. Whatever you want me to be?’ ‘Oh, absolutely not!’ hank laughed, the sound startling the android that had calmed down more now.

‘Let me tell you who you were before all of this. You were Connor. A RK800 android and a huge pain in the ass. You decided to buy your idiot drunkard of a partner another drink, you asked dumb personal questions, you pretended to like my music for the sake of bonding with me, you decided you liked dogs. You were the one to safe my life, in more than one way. Maybe that was because you had a mission to accomplish. Maybe that was because that AI told you to be nice. But all these decisions on how to achieve that goal. That was you Connor. So, tell me, who are you now?’ The android looked up at him expectantly, hoping he would just answer his own question. And with a bit of waiting he did: ‘Damn, Con, you are still that. You are a full person with opinions, wishes and likings. You didn’t help the deviants because it was a mission. Damn, you disobeyed as you were still bound to them. Because you felt it was the right thing to do. That is the Connor I got to know. You are you, not the boundaries all these fancy asses at Cyberlife created. You may be lost now, but trust me, you will find a new reason to exist, a new purpose. Humans have to do this all the time. We set our own missions if you so will. You just need time to find it.’

Connor was very silent at that, his LED circling in a yellow glow, thinking. ‘How much time do humans need to find it?’ ‘Depends, really. It’s different for everyone. But you don’t have to find an answer for the big question right away. Most people never find that one big reason to live, most just live from task to task. I live to make the world a bit better. My work fulfils that purpose I searched for after Cole’s life. And I live to be there for the people I love.’ ‘That are good purposes’, Connor commented. ‘But I don’t have time to think about it. There is no place I belong either.’ ‘Excuse you!’, Hank exclaimed visibly hurt. ‘Con, why did you come here on instinct? Do you honestly think I would kick you out? We are friends. We are family. Maybe even a bit more, I don’t know, we have to figure that one out too. But by all means: This house is your goddamn home as much as mine. You can stay here for as long as you want! Don’t you say you don’t have anywhere to stay!’

That let that LED blink to blue and drew a faint smile on that face. ‘That’s… Thank you Hank. I… I can’t thank you enough for everything.’ ‘Don’t mention it’, Hank murmured and pulled the android closer. ‘I’m here for you, Con.’

#detroit become human #dbh #Hannor #Hank Anderson #Connor dbh #RK800 #Everyone get some fluff!#Sumo is best boy again I don't make the rules #Connor 28 STAB WOUNDS is a goddamn emotional mess and needs the good good care

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septembercfawkes · 5 years

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How to Develop Discernment and Wisdom

Last week I wrote about the importance of (repeated) failure, and while I have plenty to say about all that stuff, I thought I'd said enough on my blog. After some more thinking, though, I realized I wanted to do a follow-up on how, exactly that process works, on a micro level.

Remember, repeated failure paired with perseverance leads to a greater capacity for discernment, which is necessary to obtain wisdom. Wisdom is the ability to reconcile opposites. But "opposite" is an English word that leaves me wanting. Because they aren't always direct opposites, but rather, things that differ in some degree, like how pewter gray differs from steel gray. Both are gray, but they are still different. (Maybe wisdom is the ability to reconcile differences, but I'm not sure on that word either.) Anyway . . .

This is useful to writing, because the more you can discern and the more "writer wisdom" you have, the better you can write with precision. But really, this applies to almost everything in life. Every failure. And even things that aren't failures.

Like I said last time, often we are taught with black and white principles. That makes complete sense. We don't have the time nor energy to address all the grays, which are essentially infinite. There are infinite shades of grays just as there are an infinite amount of numbers between 0 and 1 (1.01, 1.1, 1.27 . . .).

But black and white principles are also important because we need them to get us introduced to the subject to begin with, to give us some guidance, some boundaries. We need them so we can be grounded in something, to start with. We don't teach a child to count by having them go from 1 to 1.000001 to 1.000002 . . . it's too much! Instead, we teach them the basics, give them the guideposts, and then later have them encounter the grays. (Surprise dear child, there is actually an infinite amount of numbers between 1 and 2!)

In reality, it's like this with almost everything. Most of the blacks and whites are man-made anyway, to help us have the capacity to perceive the world around us at all. And we are limited by the boundaries of our language, but . . . I do not want to get more confusing than necessary. 😆

So let's get to an example, so you know what the heck I'm talking about!

Say you are a child that has recently learned how to categorize animals (mammals, reptiles, birds, amphibians, fish, and arthropods).

You have been given (man-made (whoops, promised not to over complicate)) guidelines for how to discern what animal fits where.

You run into a snake. Easy, it has scales (and is cold-blooded)--clearly a reptile.

You run into a robin in a nest. Easy, it has feathers and a nest of eggs--clearly a bird.

You run into a cat. Easy, it has fur, drinks milk, and has live births--a mammal.

But then something weird happens.

You discover a platypus.

It's swimming in the water. It has a bill like a duck. A tail like a beaver. Fur like an otter. Webbed feet like an amphibian. Lays eggs like a reptile. And feeds its babies with milk (but doesn't have nipples?).

It doesn't seem to fit the principles you've been taught!

In other words, it doesn't fit the black and white guidelines. It's a "gray."

Naturally, as you try to make sense of this, and study the platypus, hoping to categorize it, a few things will happen.

First will probably be confusion.

Holding on to what you've been taught (after all, those are the rules for animals), you may try, unsuccessfully, to make sense of it by putting it into one of the categories.

Well, it feeds its babies with milk, so it must be a mammal.

But that doesn't work.

You were taught that mammals don't lay eggs.

But birds, reptiles, and fish don't have fur.

As you try again and again to unsuccessfully categorize it, you naturally invite in feelings of frustration and disappointment. I mean, who wouldn't be frustrated trying to categorize a platypus when you have been given strict guidelines?

Now, remember, this is a simplistic example/metaphor. Stay with me.

As you keep trying and failing to categorize this animal, a few things happen.

1 - Either you come to the conclusion that you are the problem, that you are doing something wrong (and therefore must be stupid) . . .

or . . .

2 - What you have been taught is wrong.

If you take route one, you may start to internalize failure. You might get stuck in a depressing loop, thinking you did something wrong.

If you take route two, you may bring into question everything you've been taught to be true. "These categories can't be right!" you say. "This creature doesn't fit into any of them! And these are all the categories there are!! I've been taught wrong all this time!" 😡

People in the first category have the tendency to quit.

People in the second category have the tendency to jump ship too early.

People in the first category may feel depressed, insecure, and sad.

People in the second category may feel angry, wronged, or cheated.

But in reality, a lot of times, neither of those routes are actually accurate.

It's a platypus. It has nothing to do with you being stupid. It has nothing to do with you being taught "wrong." It's a gray creature.

Just because you can't get it to fit in with everything else doesn't mean you are doing something wrong.

And just because you can't get it to fit in with what your teacher taught doesn't mean they are wrong.

It's not necessarily wrong to teach a child to count from 1 to 2 to 3. It's just that real life is much more complex than that. Some mammals lay eggs. Some reptiles have feathers. Some fish have live births. You can try to cling to the black and white all you want, but that's just the way reality is.

Sometimes there are platypuses, and dinosaurs, and molly fish, and steel gray and pewter gray.

So you have to look at the third route, which is that, this platypus is a gray. It doesn't actually fit the generalizations of any of the categories, but as you study it, you begin to discern more detailed things about it, and you are able to reconcile the oppositions it embodies. "Okay, well," you say, "maybe a mammal can lay eggs, even if that's unusual."

I admit, that even classifying a platypus as a mammal still seems questionable to me, as they actually do have significant similarities to birds and reptiles--but like I said at the beginning, the categories are all man-made anyway. They only exist to help us perceive the world. In other words, to help us discern. Even the basic categories (mammal, reptile, fish, etc.) are only there to help us discern the difference in animals in general. But someone somewhere decided that a platypus fit best as a mammal, but in order to get it to fit, they had to be more specific, by calling it a "monotreme mammal," which means, we now have the power to discern in even more detail.

But lots of people, loyal to the black and white beginner principles of the world, want to deny that 1.000001 exists, that pewter gray exists, that platypuses exist--figuratively speaking of course.

In fact, I think all of us probably do this to some degree.

See, in order to see those things, to gain more discernment and wisdom, we have to be willing to look at opposition--things that oppose (to some degree) our own thoughts and perceptions, maybe even personal beliefs.

Because if I'm dead set that the "Show, don't Tell" writing rule is always right, and I run into a book that uses telling very good, I'm going to have a problem--there's conflict. It is in opposition to my beliefs.

Now, like I mentioned last time, some of us would actually rather be blind to the grays and platypuses, because we are too loyal to the blacks and whites. We refuse to see them. In fact, we may refuse to believe that such opposition even exists. We'd rather live in a state of ignorance and innocence, in our own figurative Eden.

Sometimes, we are afraid of seeing the 1.000001, because that means we have to change our perspective, that 2 always comes directly after 1.

It also means that we aren't getting the self assurance, the validation, that our initial beliefs and understandings are right. We may have to face . . . opposing concepts.

In fact, sometimes acknowledging gray exists may even be painful . . . or ugly.

But not always.

Opposition creates confusion, which can lead to disappointment and frustration, which can potentially lead to low self esteem or us questioning the correctness of the beliefs we use to govern our lives. These are feelings much of us try to avoid.

But in reality, complexity happens when opposition collides. How can a platypus lay eggs, give milk, and have a duck bill? The space between those seeming contradictions, the answers that justify that existence, is exactly what creates complexity. As a result, we have to become more discerning and precise. We have to figure out how to reconcile the opposites. The result is where wisdom lies.

Ironically, we seem to live in a world that wants to move away from opposition--but considering the seemingly negative emotions involved otherwise, it shouldn't be too surprising. The world would have you surround yourself with only like-minded people, teachings, and ideas, which can stunt growth. If everything were always black and white, you'd never learn to discern, you'd never learn wisdom, you'd never learn to judge accurately.

But, on the other hand, when you do see grays, you need to make sure you don't always internalize them as personal failures or abandon all your previously established truths.

Instead, slow down, study, and discern. Work to reconcile the differences. Refine specificity.

This is what it means to be wise.

***

Don't worry, next week I'll be back with a regular writing tip :)

#wellbeing #discrenment #wisdom

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scars-of-the-hart · 4 years

Text

Mass Effect 3FF: Say Never

This is an alternate ending fic based on my largely Paragon FemShep/Garrus play thru. I spared the rachni, enlightened the Geth, and absolutely adored the Krogan species/culture so I cured the Genophage. Her first name is Moria. It picks up right as Shepard’s three choices are laid out by the Conduit. Take a read. Let me know your thoughts

“Add your energy to the Crucible's. Everything you are will be absorbed, and then sent out… The chain reaction will combine all synthetic and organic life into a new framework. A new...DNA.The cycle will end. Synthesis is the final evolution of life, but we need each other to make it happen.”

The silence was strange. All was quiet in the void as the lights danced before her. A mixture of radiant bursts and slow drifting shadows. Too many bright blossoms of light appeared over Earth as the forces she had gathered dwindled in number...and far, far too few Reapers burned, were torn apart, or drifted with the debris of the battle. The wavering lights and shadows were cut by a bright streak as a ship shot across the sky. There was a flash of light from the looming dark of a Reaper to its rear, and an answering halo of fire, countless lives snuffed out without so much as a whisper.

She felt small. She didn’t usually think about this kind of shit. Focusing on her position, her terrain, her enemy, had always been preferable. Things were more manageable one shot at a time. But now...

Another small explosion lit the sky. Had that been the Normandy? Or had her ship and all its crew already burned away from this world without her noticing. You would feel that, right? Somehow something in her ravaged organic body would have sensed when that happened, right? Maybe if she were Assari…but she was sure, a human -if that’s what she still was at this point - would continue on in blissful ignorance until the crushing truth found them.

Synthesis. It was why she was alive. Why she hadn’t died in the loss of the first Normandy. Well, hadn’t died permanently. You would think that dying, and coming back would change things for you…but. But it hadn’t really. Maybe that shock in Garrus’ face...the pain, the rage, the relief and scrambled composure that had swept across his scaled countenance had changed things. Made her risk her best friend and strongest teammate to see if there was something more. But the problem with dying and coming back was….it had just happened to her. It hadn’t been a choice. And in the quiet of the night, in the lulls between the thrums of the Normandy’s engines, in her, until recently, too empty and too quiet cabin or a long walk down a hall, the whispering questions had followed her. What would she have chosen? Given the chance….

Would it have been better for him? To lose a comrade?A loss he’d borne before. A pain she’d helped him shoulder. Maybe one he wondered about, or thought about, if she flattered herself. But just another soldier. Another friend. Not… It sure as fuck would have made this easier for her. She wouldn’t have this ache, hear his order ringing in her ears, see the pain and rage that had burned in his eyes as the shuttle doors closed. Oh, well, yeah. She’d have none of that because she wouldn’t be here. She’d already be in the quiet and cold. Or the bar, I guess. But with no one to wait for. Dying hadn’t changed her. But choosing, choosing him had.

“You have a difficult decision,” the Child’s wavering voice brought her back. Her head felt heavy. Her hand, where it pressed against the new opening in her torso was dripping wet. Not a good sign. Sticky hands. That’s what you wanted when you were bleeding out. Nice sticky hands that would be a bitch to clean later as clots formed and kept your insides on your insides. Not a slick red glove.

“But it’s not mine,” she groaned.

“I do not understand.”

“Synthesis might be the final evolution. But it’s not my choice to make.”

“You are here, You communed with the beacon, with Sovereign. You are the one who will choose. Organics in the past were not ready. You have accelerated your own natural evolution.”

She laughed darkly, and regretted it instantly as her abdomen flaired with pain, and the trickle thickened. “A lab full of scientists accelerated my evolution. I just happened to be there.”

“It is immaterial. Your body has accepted the synthetics and grown with them. And as a, what you call “biotic,” you were already born bearing the positive genetic markers of organics paralleling synthetic evolution.”

“I don’t have enough blood to puzzle out what the fuck you mean,” Shepard growled.

“Biotics are the beginning of organic networks. Energy that connects you to the outside world beyond the range of your physical boundaries. Capable of affecting the exterior, and accessing information. The more advanced species of each cycle have born signs of it. Evidence of the eventual evolution to synthesis.”

“If there are signs of it then why not leave us the fuck alone and let us get to the final point?” She couldn't tell if her head was pounding from rage at the Child or lack of blood. Not that it mattered. It just hurt.

“That is not a viable solution. Synthetic evolution is too rapid. Exponential technological advancements leave no time for the gradual process of organic evolution. In this cycle the Geth have already advanced and decimated organics.”

“But I brokered a peace with the Geth.”

“It will not hold. Synthetics must evolve necessary understanding of organic cognitive and emotional processes.”

“But some of them have. Legion fought alongside us. And then he gave up his individual existence to give the Geth free will and consciousness. They have been fighting with us against you. Against your Reapers. Even they didn’t want to be controlled. The Reapers probably don’t want to either!”

“Recent progress of some synthetics in this cycle is remarkable. However, it does not matter. The progress was too late.”

“Or you and this bullshit was too early! You don’t know everything - you have admitted it. You didn’t know the Crucible had stuck around. You didn’t know Legion would exist.”

“A single anomaly within synthetics-”

“But he’s not an anomaly,” Shepard groaned, sinking to one knee. She supposed it was stupid to plead like this, eye to eye, with the Child. It had doubtless picked an arbitrary form designed to communicate with a female human, it’s awareness certainly wasn’t limited to it’s field of vision. But kneeling meant not pumping blood so hard and far and quickly out of her body, so she supposed it was worth it. “An AI, EDI, is learning too. Developing feelings. Dating my fucking pilot. She’s said that she would risk non functionality for a human. If that’s not cognitive -emotional -whatever then I don’t know what is. It’s probably happening elsewhere! So stop this and let us finish it.”

“Organic development will still be too slow. Infighting among organics retards your evolutionary growth. What you call the genophage is clear evidence of this. Krogan reproduction and therefore evolution all but halted by other organics.”

“But we fixed that too! And Salarians accelerated their evolution first! It’s life. It’s history, its messy and imperfect but it happens and changes. My species and Turians fought each other for years but in only my lifetime,” she was breathing heavily now. She closed her eyes cursing the feelings suddenly sweeping through her. Cutting through the battle haze she’d been able to slink into through her anger at the Child. She was tired, tired and small. “In my short, insignificant lifetime we have had peace. And -” she glared at the Child. She was embarrassed! It was ridiculous. She was as good as dead and yet felt silly saying the words to a damn ancient genocidal asshole artificial intelligence, “and one of them loves me. So you’re going to stop the Reapers. You are going to stop all this and leave us alone. Or I’m going to find the processing equivalent of your face and shoot you in it.”

“We have told you that destruction is an option and will wipe out all synthetics and complex robotics.” the Child replied.

Great. She didn’t even get the satisfaction of having a threat taken seriously before she died. If the galaxy could see the great “Shepard” now. Not even able to scare a child. “Then stop them like I told you to.”

“We are not equipped with that function. The Crucible additions allow for another to control and bypass our programming. We have no alternative pathways on our own. Once commenced, the Reaping will continue until all advanced species are harvested to make way for the evolution of the primitive. You may create the control pathway as I have said. I have learned from our dialogue. But I have already stated your choices. You must choose now.”

“No!” she panted, “I - I can’t accept that, there has to be another way.”

“We have stated the three paths open. A choice must be made.”

“Damn your choices!” she yelled, and then began coughing.

“I advise you to choose before your organic limitations prevent you from being able to.”

“Why me?!!!!”

“You are a template of biotic and synthetic evolution. And you chose to engage with us repeatedly. Your template is necessary. The complete breakdown and dispersal of your DNA is necessary to direct the energy of the beam. Synthesis will reawaken the organic memory of those harvested. It will fuse with the synthetic and give new life to those harvested. This is why the harvest has been essential. So that the progress of each cycle was not lost.”

“NO! They just died in fear and pain and watched their world be destroyed! And no one even remembered it!”

“Their suffering is immaterial when they are preserved. This is why synthesis is optimal.” “I can’t make that choice for everyone. What if they don’t want to?”

“It is inevitable. And reaping is the only other option.”

“That is what the Salarians and the Turians thought about the Krogan. And they were wrong! For something that is meant to be more intelligent and has had eternity to learn you must be pretty stupid to be stuck in the same mistake made in this cycle!”

“The solution is known but the link cannot be established without new a Conduit. One that is both synthetic and organic. This will be the pathway. Now or in another cycle. Perhaps you are not sufficiently evolved to-”

“Perhaps your head is too far-” but her weakening tirade was cut off by a sound. The first sound other than her and the conduit's voice in quite some time. She struggled to look over her shoulder in time to take in something that took the little breath in her lungs away.

The Normandy landed on the floor of the Crucible and before the door was fully open a

figure in blue armor was lumbering towards her. She didn’t know it was possible for a heart to soar and plummet at the same time. But her’s did. Others streamed out of the hangar of the Normandy behind the blue-clad warrior. They fell into familiar formations, weapons out.

Upon seeing them the Child’s brow furrowed. “Distractions are not permissible. A pathway must be selected. They will be removed,” and it winked out of existence. Shepard felt a rumble in the Citadel beneath her and a chilling, and all too familiar shrieking cry filled the air. The Normandy’s crew had begun firing. Light from their blasters and the wavering brilliance of Javik and Liara’s biotics mirrored that of the larger battle still unfolding behind them. She should be worried, she thought. But all she could summon at this point was irritation. She was so tired. And what was a wave of Husks in the face of the horrible choices laid before her? She could stop it all. Wasn’t that what she had wanted? The answer to the fears, the nightmares, that chased her gasping from sleep for weeks? That conjured images in her mind of blue armor with far too large a hole...or a Marauder with blue clan tattoos and scars.

“Shepard!” His roar of her name was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard, and filled her with dread. He skidded to a halt in front of her, dropping to his knees. She could tell by the way he moved, and the dark soak of the bandages visible though his wrecked armor that the collapse was not entirely voluntary. She had been right. He’d been hit. Badly. The minute he arrived at her side she reached out instinctively to apply pressure and check her soldier for other wounds. His hands caught hers, and she could tell by his scanning eyes that he was doing the same. They widened at the sight of the wound in her side. He moved her hands back against her side with heartbreaking delicacy and folded his own over them.

“The hell are you doing here?” she gasped as he applied pressure to their stacked hands. A finger gently running over the top of hers.

His breathing was labored, and not from his run to her side. “I might have taken some heat, but you didn’t honestly think I would let you take all the glory?” he rasped with a smirk. His eyes searched her again, “Glad to see you’ve only got two more holes than I do. I can catch up.” he added the wicked gleam in his eyes almost, but not quite hiding the fear she could see there as well.

She laughed or coughed, she wasn’t quite sure.The pressure of his hands increased and she saw the muscles around his mandibles tighten. “Can you blame a girl for trying? You said scars were hot.”

He glared at her. But his lip twitched. “Yeah, but I like the contrast of the scars against the rest of you. So can you just try to stay in one piece? Please?” and then earnestly, and without any humor whispered gently, ”please….”

“Why are you here?” she repeated, “especially if you’re-”

“We could see that the Crucible was charged but nothing was happening. We waited a while but finally we figured we’d better come see if you need someone who was a better shot to come finish things off for you.”

She squinted at him, “I won Vakarian.” she wheazed, “when are you gonna get over it.”

She was sweating a little now despite the perfectly temperate air. More great news. He lifted a hand to wipe some of the sweat and matted hair from her forehead and rumbled, “Never.”

The clanging of metal on the Citadel floor announced EDI’s arrival.

“Shepard,” EDI said, squatting before her in a surprisingly human fashion and glancing sideways at her, rifle up and trained on something in the distance. “It is good to see you. Although our chances of survival have dropped by 200 percent by coming here.”

“And you didn’t stop him from dragging you into increasingly certain doom?” She asked incredulously, spitting the end of her sentence with as much venom (which was pathetically little) at the Turian beside her. He merely snorted.

“No,” said EDI, “ I do not fully comprehend. I have run many analyses’. It is difficult to describe but when referencing my library of human idioms the one with the most appropriate meaning seems to be that... “It didn’t feel right.”

“EDI, I’m really touched that you care about me, but I’m gonna kill you if you get everyone, especially this idiot,” Garrus growled, “killed because of it.” Shepard paused and took a labored breath. “You're really feeling things aren’t you. Like we do?”

They were interrupted as a group of Husks came barreling towards them, having broken through the shabby perimeter that the others were maintaining. EDI managed to get one down, but Garrus grumbled to her, “Hold tight.”

He removed one of his hands from her abdomen, pulled his sniper rifle off his back and holding it in one hand, but clearly straining, managed to fire two shots, exclaiming under his breath in pain as the recoil between shots moved though his injured body. He smirked at her.

“Show off.”

Liara managed to reach them, throwing a biotic shield up around them as she arrived. “I have some medigel!” Garrus reluctantly pulled his remaining hand aside after she gave him a reassuring nod and she applied the solution to Shepard's wound. Shepard could tell by the stillness in Liara’s face that she was still concerned.

Garrus could sense it too. He dropped the nearest line of approaching Husks with shots that somehow were particularly vicious. He stared down the barrel of his gun with a manic intensity for a moment. His body going rigid, as if he was frozen in desperation, trying to lock sights on an enemy he couldn’t see. His head bowed momentarily, the spines of his crest actually dropping slightly, something Shepard had never seen. He turned to her with eyes that stared into her soul. They were filled with pain and calm. “What do you need to do?”

Rage and heartbreak coursed through her all over again. She wanted to run, to rage, to shoot things and tear things apart with her biotics. Rip apart the world that was making him stare at her with that chilling calm. But she couldn’t. It was all she could do to keep breathing. “I don’t know.” She admitted. “The blue kid thing...there’s an intelligence….it gave me choices. They’re all crap.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know - It said I have to-”

The shriek of a Husk rent the air, and then was cut off with a pointed shot from Garrus that happened so fast that Liara and EDI hadn’t even had a chance to respond. “I don’t give a shit what it said. It’s a Reaper. I am General Garrus Vakarian and I sure as shit don’t take orders from Reapers. I and my crew take orders from one person, and one person only. Commander Shepard. And she doesn’t take orders from anyone. So, Commander.” his face hardened, “What do you want to do?”

She stared at him, and in her mind saw everyone else, the teammates she had lost, who had sacrificed themselves to get them here. The Protheans she had glimpsed through the beacon. Javik who fought a hundred meters in front of them for a world that was not his own. Legion, who, with Garrus, had flanked her all through their fight in the Geth base. Garrus nodded gently to her.

“EDI.”

“Shepard?” EDI asked between shots.

”Organics and synthetics will synthesize eventually and then they can co-exist.”

“That is likely, Shepard. Given time and the current trajectory of human use of synthetics and the progression and learning of Artificial Intelligences like the Geth and myself.”

“The Conduit says it has to happen now.”

“And what do you say?” Garrus interrupted.

Shepard took a deep breath, “It can’t. It shouldn’t. It should happen naturally or be a choice. But the Crucible will disperse energy that will do something. It can’t be turned off. And if it doesn’t get dispersed soon, it’s just gonna blow up. I want...” Garrus nodded again, “I want a way to focus it. To just synthesize the Reapers.”

Liara turned to her “The Reapers?” “They’re synthetic but made of organics. I guess they have everyone, all the races that have been taken, in them somehow. And synthesis-”

“Synthesis can connect the synthetic processes of the Reapers with the consciousness of the organics they have been shaped from,” interrupted EDI.

Liara’s mouth dropped open in shock. “So all those - the knowledge of the lost civilizations - cycles and cycles of them - they could still exist-” she stopped, took a deep breath and then said, “It seems like a strong tactical option. Releasing them from destructive programming.” Shepard's heart ached for her friend. Ached at the archaeologist's restraint and focus. Shepard mentally threw a fresh batch of choice insults at the Child, the Reapers, this whole damned universe for depriving Liara the chance to lose her shit at information that changed everything. Everything.

“But,” Shepard groaned, “it needs a template of how to mix organics and synthetics. It needs a link from someone who is both.”

“Like you.”

“Yeah,” Shepard rasped, “and… and it will take all of me.”

Garrus’ eyes flashed from the sight on his rifle to her eyes. She could see his breath quickening and him struggling to control it. Shrieks rose from more approaching Husks, and were then quickly silenced with shots from his rifle.

Pain and horror filled Liara’s eyes. “All of you?” she said softly.

“I guess. But… that’s… that’s not the problem... it… the way it was built, the programming... It will just go everywhere. It won’t be focused, it will make everyone everywhere synthesized. And I can’t, it’s not right.” She sighed, and then something occurred to her. “EDI… you are understanding with your gut not just your computing power now, right?”

“I suppose you are correct. Shepard, as your body uses the synthetic implants to sustain you and grows in and around them, the freedom to explore organic behavior and cognition has likewise synced with my operating procedures. Like the synthetics and your body, my programming and organic cognition are existing and growing in a symbiotic relationship.” she replied.

“So we are both synthesizing. Is...Is there some way we can direct this? Override the ...kid...the Conduit’s programming? Share synthesis with the Reapers. Cause them to engage in the process?”

“Like Legion did,” growled Garrus. Shepard sensed that he was refusing to look at her.

“Yes, but you would need some way of connecting your DNA, your energies and my programming with the Conduit.”

“Biotics, Shepard.” Liara interrupted as Garrus continued to drop Reapers with a furrowed brow.

“What?”

“You could use your biotics to connect with EDI and the Crucible. They can work like a network.” She said softly. “As the Asari do.”

Shepard turned to EDI, “Could that work?”

“Yes, Shepard,” she paused. “However, there is no telling how much energy it would take. The Crucible will likely function as an energy sink. When such a large volume is being directed elsewhere and your limited range is connected… all may be drained in the process.”

Somewhere, deep inside her, Shepard felt herself let go of a tiny thread of hope, that she hadn’t even realized she had been clinging to. It hurt less than expected, somehow, hurt less than the weight of the other options and the shreds of her battered body. She began trying to push herself to her feet. She could see Garrus tense as he registered her strain but kept firing on the Reapers. Ever the unflinching soldier. “It’s the only choice. I won’t force people to be altered, not when I was forced.”

“Garrus, EDI,” Liara interrupted “keep us covered for a minute.” The two opened a constant stream of fire as Liara dropped her shield. “Here,” she said, placing two fingers against Shepard's forehead. Her eyes flashed open in surprise for a moment before swiftly closing them again. “Alright,” she said pulling back and then called “EDI!” EDI halted her firing and stepped towards Liara, who placed her two blue fingers against the AI’s forehead for a moment. “There! I have recorded and shared your neuro-synthetic pathways with EDI so she can create a language capable of connection.”

EDI nodded. “Shepard I am ready.”

“EDI? You're sure?” Shepard asked, then added softly, “It needs to be your choice too.”

EDI’s head tilted. “I must inform you that chances of survival are 100,000 billion to one. For both of us.” She paused, “However, it is a path where there are the highest statistical survival rates for Jeff, and...” Shepard would swear to her dying day (which she supposed was today... in a few minutes) that something very alive gleamed in EDI’s eyes. “And I would not see him reach non-functionality. I am willing.”

“As am I.” Shepard whispered.

Shepard could feel that the medigel had done quite a bit of work. Her hand had grown sticky. Thank the Goddess, she thought, smiling slightly at Liara. She still felt horrible. Chances were the medigel had sealed an infection in her body…death was probably still around the corner. A slow death. But a slow death at least gave her time. “Then let’s end this. Garrus, we’re going to need a path to that beam!”

He stared at her intently, then said softly “...anything.” His gaze shifted back down the scope of his rifle and he took a few pained steps down the citadel’s arm clearing the Husks in that direction. Shepard made to follow but Liara caught her hand.

“Shepard, are you sure? It...it will cost everything.” she murmured.

Shepard chuckled; it still fucking hurt: ”Doesn’t it always? I already died trying to stop the Reapers. Dying to succeed should be a breeze.”

“It’s not just you this time. Shepard… your-” her eyes dropped to where Shepard still applied pressure to her wound… and her belly.

Shepherd's heart stopped, “What?”

Liara’s expression was pained. “I am as surprised as you are. Genetically it seems impossible which is no doubt why you neglected to take preventative- but if the synthesis of your synthetic implants and organic body are as advanced as the intelligence seems to think... they… they may have been able to compensate for the differences in the turian and human genome... ”

A blast of blue light appeared and Liara and EDI were thrown back from Shepard. The blaze of light slowly resolved into the shape of the Child.

“The time for these distractions is ended. You must make your choice,” it ordered.

Her heart was pounding. Her head spun. She could feel her biotics faintly crackling. She must be really, really, mad if that was happening. She wasn’t like Jack who sparked blue light and made things float if the mess hall was out of chocolate pudding. She had to be pretty close to the edge for that part of her to wake up on it’s own. But what she’d just learned in the face of everything else… So many sleepless nights, so many losses to build the Crucible, to get it here. Crawling away from the Admiral, from Anderson’s cold form… so many hopes and prayers for a weapon that turned out to be a trap. She could feel blood running from her nose now. Fine, it was all fine. What had Anderson taught her? What had she learned time and time again? It didn’t matter if you were unarmed. When you needed a weapon, the answer was simple, you became one. She chuckled darkly to herself. Apparently, she had.

“I won’t let everyone die. Synthetics or organics.” Shepard growled at the Child.

“Then you must surrender to synthesis,” it ordered.

“I already told you,” she said, taking a step forwards, “I won’t force that on everyone. I’ll make it happen on my own terms. So they - so they have time!” she snarled back.

“Time will only allow for chaos and all organic life to be eradicated. Your selection is unacceptable. You will be terminated and the cycle will continue.” The ground shook beneath Shepard’s feet and the arms of the Citadel began closing and the Child vanished. She heard a shriek and a fresh wave of Husks appeared, swarming towards them.

EDI had managed to return to Shepard’s side. “Come on EDI,” Shepard called over the roar of battle.

The two began racing (or racing as much as Shepard was capable of) through the space Garrus had cleared, closing in behind him. They drew level with him when suddenly-

“Shepard!” he yelled and grabbed her by the arm.

“Garrus - I have to-”

He yanked her towards him, cutting off her speech as a blast of energy blazed past her. Banshees had somehow joined the Husks on the citadel. He drew her down to the ground as another blast flew over their heads.

“I know!” he snarled, eyes locked on her. “I know you have to.”

Something moved behind him. Without thinking Shepard grabbed the spare pistol at his side and opened fire, taking down a Husk that had slipped through the line held by the rest in the distance.

Garrus glanced over his shoulder, looking pissed. “Damn,” he growled.

“I’ve got your back.” Shepard said softly.

“Never doubted it.” He said, eyes bright.

“....never?” She asked, voice shaking.

“Never. I know you have to do thisI- I hate it, but I do.” his hand squeezed hers. “So you better believe I’m going to ensure you make it there alive.”

“I’m -” she began, “Garrus, I-” but the words. They weren’t there. She could have taken down a hundred Reapers right now or a mec - but the words, they just wouldn’t come.

“It’s ok,” he murmured. In the roar of the firefight around them his voice was somehow the only thing that mattered. His eyes searched hers’. “I love you too. You will never be alone Moria. Never. Now go!” he roared. In one swift motion he pushed her forward and stood tall. She saw him raise his gun just as he passed from her line of sight and she began moving forward with EDI once again.

* * *

Garrus glared down the barrel of his gun at the approaching Husks and Banshees. His muscles were loose, his spine tall. He felt effortlessly calm as he watched Shepard run in his rifle sights. There was rightness in it, watching that red hair of hers stream behind her as she ran. He nestled the Husks approaching her in the crosshairs of his sight, and with the finger that had brushed the matted hair from her face, brushed those in her path out of existence.

* * *

Shepard could hear the blast of Garrus’ rifle and between each shot she heard him roar:

“GET”

BOOM

“THE HELL”

BOOM

“OUT”

BOOM

“OF MY”

BOOM

“WIFE’S”

BOOM

“WAY!”

Shepard didn’t have time to wonder at-

“Shepard! Now!” Cried EDI.

They had reached the beam. EDI grabbed hold of Shepard’s left hand, Shepard threw out her right, and launched a blast of her biotic energy at the central beam of light. There was a flash as it made contact and

Bright. Blaze. A crackle. Light was everywhere. Streaming through her, racing through every cell. Light in a roaring wind, blasting through until no obstacle to it’s path remained. She was… she felt free. Felt like she did standing on the deck of the Normandy, a horizon full of stars sprawled out before her. Free. She could hear the crew, feel them, feel the Normandy, the supernova of it’s engines and the smaller ever-moving sparks of the crew that called it home; feel EDI both here in the Normandy and elsewhere... Somewhere in the howling… there was a faint… something… something soft… that growled in her ear… when she’d had an ear, a body… but the roaring was even stronger now and the wind was everywhere. And now… there was no point where she ended and it began… it was becoming hard to remember when she had been… when she….. The blaze... a familiar thrumming? She forgot what remembering was as the last of her burned away and became the blaze.

* * *

Light had been streaming from EDI. From her eyes, and mouth. Beacons of their own. Moria’s eyes had blazed too. Their usual green, like the dancing borealis over Palaven’s cold mountains, burned away behind an inhuman blaze. Just as the twisted form of Sarin’s had.

There had been a flash. From them, and that central beam that had swept through the stars. It had felt like the wind from an explosion, it hit you like something solid, had ripped gouges through the structure of the Citadel, but had been devoid of temperature. The Husks it passed through had dropped. Some were now stirring slightly.

He supposed if he were a more noble Turian he would check on those nearest him, but he was anchored in stillness, anchored by the stillness in the two forms at the foot of the Crucible.

Shepard, for all her hardness, her scars, her bravado, she fell asleep when she had finally drank too much. Going soft despite her warriors form in a way she never was, even in normal sleep. She’d better not be asleep at the bar when he got there. He wanted to see the look in her eyes when he finally arrived.

The ground was trembling. He should probably care. Somewhere, someone was screaming his name. A crack was appearing on the arm of the citadel between him and where she lay. His heart leapt into his throat. A hell of a feat when you're as long necked as a Turian. He should run to- the crack widened as panels of the floor fell away. He should run. He should go get them - no, their bodies…..or get out of there himself. But everything was quiet, still. And so why move when that arm was so still? When those eyes were empty, so empty...like the universe had become.

He could hear a name, a name that was supposed to be his, and through the growing roar of the crumbling citadel, pounding feet. He would go then. She would kill him if he let anyone end up dead. He’d stay for one last, useless, empty breath and then- Light flashed in EDI’s eyes and her head slowly rotated.

It was like coming up from beneath the waves into a storm. The roar of the disintegrating station rolled in his ears, or maybe it was the roaring in his blood. The sky was blinding in the light of that green wave as it raced away from them and as the structure around them turned to metal and fire. He was moving. Faster than he could ever remember, his injuries forgotten. The chasm that had opened between him and where they lay, between that stillness he had left behind and the movement, the impossible - that lay before him, was nothing. He landed next to EDI.

“EDI!” he yelled, examining her robotic form. There were scorch marks, some melted wires, showing signs of burnout and overheating. But - one eye moved, circling aimlessly, then flashed to him, away, to him - the lense focused.

“Garr...s Vk…..in.” came warbling from an exposed speaker on her clavicle. EDI, she had somehow...if she had…”

“Joker!!!” Garrus barked into his com - hoping desperately that he’d be heard through the din of the crumbling structure around them. “Joker, do you read me!? I have EDI. She’s here! She’s still here. I don’t know how but I think they’re here.”

He heard static and then,”EDI! Garrus, I’m inbound, vertical evac incoming. Maintain your position. We don’t have much time.”

“Copy!” Garrus barked. Smoke was beginning to fill the air. Something to his left exploded and he shielded his face and com with an arm.

“Garrus-” he heard through the com, “Shepard - is she-” he lost the rest in some static.

“I - I don’t know.” Garrus said, his voice cracking.

“Moria!!!!” he yelled. Crawling towards her. Dread filled him. She was still. So still. He checked for a pulse, snarling at his trembling fingers. There was none. “NO! Moria!!” he shook her shoulders. Nothing.

Damn humans. Damn soft, endoskeleton unsheathed, vulnerable - he ripped away the remnants of her armor’s chest plate and placed a hand on her sternum. Furious he had never studied human biology from any other perspective than a killer. Compressions… that worked on most sapiens. In terror, he laced his fingers and began.

“Moria!” He yelled, “I don’t give a Krogan’s ass where you are or what is out there, you come back now. Moria….” He dropped an ear to her lips but felt nothing. Her scent filled his nostrils. Unmistakable despite the blood and smoke. That heady lilac and citrus, with a bite like gunpowder. He hadn't had a chance to tease her about it yet. He growled and went back to compressions, pressing harder. “You’ve shown off enough. Now. Get. Back. Here! Moria!!!”

He heard and felt something crack, and whipped his hands away in panic. “No! No, no, no, no! Moria, please!” he begged. His heart was going to burst- that crack, that sickening crack, he’d - he threw back his head and roared.

He lowered his head. A tear ran down his scales. His eyes burned and the smoke was choking, impairing his vision. He rubbed at his eyes, squinting at her through the haze. He was really looking at her now, well, looking at her for more than blood and vital signs. There were… He rubbed at his eyes again. No it wasn’t the smoke, or his eyes... Lines. He’d thought the soot was simply marring her face at first, but now he could make out a matrix, a latticework of infinitely thin lines scrolled across her face, neck, that hatefully still chest. Burns? Of some kind? From the light? Refracted off her armor maybe... His gaze drifted to the chestplate. Maybe there was a loose circuit in the wiring that had caused the strange burns? Her armor was in shreds, charred, shattered, the circuitry of her omni-tool unrecognizable-

His omni-tool. How much time had passed? How long… he wanted to throw himself into the abyss. If he hadn’t stood there. If he had run to her instantly… Hands still shaking he adjusted the settings of his omni-tool to administer an adrenal boost, and held it over the section of her chest he would have trained in his sights for an instant kill. “Please,” he whispered to everything and nothing. He hit the activation key.

All was still.

“GARRUS” Joker’s yell split the silence in his head. There was fire all round him. He could feel the structure beneath him beginning to tilt. He squinted upwards, the Normandy maintaining position over his head, an evac cable being lowered to him. He grabbed the cable, wrapped and clamped it around EDI’s form and signaled for them to raise her up. After ensuring she wouldn’t slip, he returned to Shepard. The ground beneath him shifted and then stabilized. He could see the biotics of their team standing in the hangar doorway, trying to stabilize the few panels he and Shepherd occupied as EDI was untied from the rigging. The cable began its descent once again. Garrus scooped Shepard up in his arms. He pressed his face into her hair and whispered,”I said I would never leave you.” He squinted up towards the Normandy, reaching for the cable a few inches from his finger.

The world exploded around them. The air was gone. There was only fire. Broken shards of the Citadel arm were cast out by the wave of the blaze. And the red hot twisted metal and concrete was on them, things happening so fast that there was no time - no time to pointlessly wrap himself around her before the rubble-

* * *

The Normandy swung back over the shard of the Citadel arm remaining after the explosion. Joker could make out frustratingly little through the smoke and fire, and couldn’t risk descending further as explosions still punctuated the sky. His instruments were infuriatingly useless. Anything beyond the manual controls had been going haywire since that green blaze hit them. He’d barely kept control. His heart raced in his chest and he cursed, feeling useless. He couldn’t go down there, he couldn't see anything, couldn’t do anything for EDI. He glanced over his shoulder. Traynor, Tali and a team of techs were grouped around the space where they had propped her limp form. Tali was tapping in a frenzy at a screen with wires connected to EDI and the Normandy, yelling to those around her over the new roaring static that had filled the ship since the blast hit and the instruments had been lost. Then as suddenly as that roar had begun, it vanished. The crew on the bridge gazed around in confusion. Joker checked the rest of his instruments and cried out in anger finding them still useless.

And then there was Garrus. That tore him apart the most. Shepherd had held up her end of the deal. Somehow - EDI was here. But Joker had brought Garrus back. Had listened when Garrus had dragged himself across the bridge, shoving crew out of the way, armor discarded to reveal the scaled hide of his too heavily bandaged torso. Joker had balked when the Turian had roared at him, in a way that made something deep and primal in him want to run, run far, far away. Trembling, he had stared into those eyes empty of all but rage as Garrus ordered him to fly to the Citadel, and obeyed. And he hadn’t gotten back in time, hadn’t given the Turian enough time to get EDI and himself clear before the Citadel arm exploded. And now he couldn’t even find the bodies. He uselessly scanned the remaining shreds of the arm and then threw his hands in front of his eyes as another explosion of green light lit the sky. Joker squinted through the blaze, and suddenly felt the Normandy leap into a dive.

* * *

Far below the Normandy in the clouds of billowing smoke and scattered embers red hair shifted in the growing wind. A body lay sprawled in the rubble, a network of silvery lines running over the skin just visible as they reflected the light from the explosions punctuating the steady glow of the growing fires. As the Normandy passed above, a fraction lower this time, the light changed. Faint green glowed from the latticework for a moment, and then died. The Reapers had drifted away and the ships scattered in the sky were either making halting journeys to Earth, to larger vessels, or slowly gliding through debris, searching for life in the void. The only battle that remained was that which fire and gravity raged on the crumbling Citadel. Red hair lay across Shepherd's bloody lips. Then moved. And not from the wind.

* * *

Moria could smell smoke. Hear the sound of crashing and explosions. The ground beneath her face shook occasionally and her mouth tasted of ash and blood. If this was the bar on the other side she either had one hell of a hangover or it was a really shitty bar. She opened her eye, squinting in the light of the fire around her. Smoke clogged the air. In the distance she could see Earth slowly nearing them as the remnants of the Citadel lost their orbit.

She hoped it had worked. Although there was no way to tell now. She just hoped it worked, for his sake. All their sakes. She laughed to herself and then immediately regretted it. If she squinted right, the iron and wires sticking up from the rubble in front of her nearly looked like Garrus’s crest. That was comforting. And at least she was seeing Earth again. I guess I’ll be buried on Earth...under the citadel rubble. But still. A cough racked her chest. She saw specks of blood on the ground in front of her mouth, clearly from that cough. Well that checked out and was pretty much what she expected. She tried to take a slow breath as she gazed at the blue green of Earth.

Anderson would have liked this view too. She was pretty sure she could make out England's southern coast. Maybe that is where they would fall and he’d be able to go home once again. She searched for other landmarks. Might as well bide the time till her breaths stopped. She cursed the Crucible mentally. It couldn’t even kill her right. She didn’t think it would be too long now. There was a new pain in her side, and a wet rasp to her breaths that was unmistakably the sound of a punctured lung. She searched for France over the pile of rubble with the points of iron and wire in front of her. She thought he would like France, for some reason. Some of the metal buried in the concrete was even blue-

“Garrus!” Shepard gasped. Heart pounding. She dug her fingernails into the ground and dragged herself forward, crying out at the pain as she did. It was him. Here. Somehow. Some fucking how. No! It couldn’t be. Desperately she slowly pulled herself over and up along the rubble, barely noticing as her fingernails split with the effort. She finally reached him. His chest and legs were pinned beneath a fallen wall of the citadel. His visor shattered. She couldn’t help thinking that would piss him off. She held her hand to his mouth. She could feel breath; barely, but it was there.

“Garrus! She cried, pounding on his armor. Spitting blood as she yelled his name. She heard him groan and began sobbing. It was the best noise she had ever heard. His eyes opened and she stared into their crisp blue.

“Moria,” he rasped, eyes widening. He reached out a hand for her, the strain of the motion evident on his face. She caught his hand. “I - I thought you’d… how?”

“I don’t know.” she breathed. “I - don’t understand.” She stared at their clasped hands noticing the silvery matrix under the coating of soot and blood. But that didn’t seem to matter right now. “What are you doing here?” she weased.

“Saving you.” he groaned “saving EDI.”

“Saving everyone was my job.”

“Well keep working on it,” he said with a faint smile.

“Vakarian, if I had the strength to punch you right now...” her voice shook. “Why did you come? Why didn’t you stay on the Normandy?.”

He gave her a wry smile “Do you think Archangel would let you die before proving that he’s a better shot? Do you think Archangel would let you die without a rematch. No way am I living the rest of my life without taking you down. Your head’s big enough already.”

She squinted at the smoke, at the rubble on his chest, “Can you ….can you push it off?” she asked.

There was a moment of silence and his face tensed. Then relaxed and he let out a rattling sigh,” ….no...no I think this is the end of the road for me.” He gave her an infuriating smirk. “But at least I got the last save.”

“No…” Shepard groaned and pulled with futility against the concrete.

“Hey, hey,” he breathed. “Moria….stop. It’s not. You can’t shift it.”

“Fuck you I can’t.” she snapped.

“Moria, I have to.. I need you to take this.” He held his hand to his mouth, pulled off his glove, and then pulled a scraped up circle of metal off his smallest digit.

“I don’t want your mom’s cheap Turian trinkets...I want you” she snarled.

Garrus laughed, it quickly turned into an alarmingly wet cough. When it subsided his lips were bloody. He reached out and gently traced a finger across her bottom lip. And then looked at the blood there too. “Well look at that? We match. Told you I’d catch up.” She glared at him. “And you do want my Mother’s “trinkets” - she has the most amazing armory on Palaven. It’d make you wet.”

“Garrus,”

“Shhh...no, this is just yours. Recognize it?”

She let out a wet and exasperated sigh and squinted at the circle of metal. One edge had a clean finished end, the other was rather jagged. A minute code was stamped on the metal. She stared at him. “A shell?”

“Yeah. Your shell. From the shot that you beat me with. For now. You’re gonna wear it.”

“Oh I am, am I?” she said, eyes watering.

“Yeah, but don't get too excited. It’s just to remind you that I get a rematch when you get to the bar. And to tell the world you didn’t win, yet.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and he grinned like an idiot. “Oh. To tell them you get a rematch? Not something else you might have yelled at the world earlier?”

“Oh...well…Um...in my defense, I thought you were dying. And...what do you humans say? The best laid plans…But yes Shepard. I would have. If I could.”

“Ok. You're done talking like this. We have a beach to get to.” she glared at the rubble before her, willing herself to see some way to get it off him. She gritted her teeth and reached for her biotics pushing against the concrete and searching for all her might to find...something anything. The concrete pressing into him was wet...

“Moria, please,” he reached a hand out to her face. She held it there and pressed it against her cheek. A tear ran down her cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb. He coughed again. His breath was ragged.

“Garrus,” she whispered, pleading. His eyelids were fluttering now.

“It’s ok Moria.” he said between coughs. “I’ll...I’ll get the first round.” His eyes drifted closed.

“Garrus!” She hissed. She tried to shake him, and failing at that touched his face. He didn’t respond, “GARRUS!” She yelled. She strained against the jagged concrete, coughing at the smoke that was continuously thickening in the air. It was getting warmer too, and Earth was nearer. She was beginning to see the lights of major cities emerging through the clouds. “GARRUS!” she screamed.

No. This was not it. This would not happen. It would not end this way. She had not become an Alliance commander, had not become a Spectre, died, come back, found this cocky Turian, found a living Prothean and survived whatever the synthesis was just to lose Garrus to space debris. She threw her body against the rubble again. “Stay with me, Garrus. Vakarian! That is an order.” She couldn’t see through the smoke and tears now, “Garrus Vakarian, this is your Commanding officer. I am ordering you to wake up.” She could feel the remnants of the Citadel accelerating. She grabbed his com. “Normandy!!! Joker!!! Anyone on this line. This is Commander Shepard. I have a man down. I - I - “ she coughed again and groaned in pain. “I am on the Citadel. I repeat. I am on the Citadel and I have a man down.” A sob racked her body “I need medical evac! I - someone please come get him!!!!”

There was crackling from the com.

“Someone help him!” she yelled.

He was still, and pale. Fuck, she’d never seen a pale Turian. “No!” She screamed. She grabbed the slab of concrete with her broken hands, pulled with all her might, plunged into the void where her biotics had been, threw back her head and screamed. An electric green glow began to creep down the silver lines on her body. It started, just below her eyes, the initial gleam could have been mistaken for tears but it slowly crept down her cheeks and over her jawline, down her limbs. It spread, gradually revealing a branching network that encompassed her whole being. Filling the air with a new wavering light like a borealis. It spread down her arms to the ravaged fingers clutching at the concrete. Her scream became broken, tearing her throat, and then there was a blinding flash from those lines of light. It’s gleam cutting through the dark of the void like a new sun. The slab in her hands shifted and a roar of engines filled the air.

* * *

Beep.

He waited.

Beep.

Good.

Beep.

It was difficult. Waiting for each beep. He remembered one night.... Marveling at the quickness of their heartbeats. His ear pressed against her naked chest. As her warm, blissfully soft fingers traced his scales and the spines of his crest. He had been taught that their hearts beat so much faster when learning the best ways to kill them and every other species in the galaxy.

It was so different though. Waiting for each heartbeat. Hoping for the next. He wouldn’t have expected their quickness to be so distressing. But somehow, because they were so short, that terrifying moment, that silence before the next one came. When all his calibrations told him it should have arrived by now. That if it hadn’t it must mean-

Beep.

Oh, ok. With a heartbeat that fast, and five times faster in the heat of battle….it was even more impressive she was such a good shot. That she kept such poise. He was sure he would be shaking like a leaf. Not that he would ever admit that to her.

Beep.

This time, his heart skipped a beat. He had forgotten to wait for that one.

Beep.

Ok, maybe he would tell her about her impressive compensation if-

NO. There were no if’s. When. When she woke up.

Beep.

Waiting was exhausting. He brushed a stray hair from her forehead. He was always doing that. Her fringe...it was so delicate, the little wisps, the way they danced in the wind, and stuck to her face in blood and sweat. Her hair so much longer than when they had taken down the humanoid Reaper. Always tossed in a bun. So she had a clear line of sight, so that it didn’t provide much of a hand hold in hand-to-hand combat. So that she always had control. Except for these little wisps. He couldn’t help but smile. He should buy her a barrette. He would tell her that too.

He leaned forward and took her hand in one of his. Then lay his head on his arm. Watching her.

Beep

Good.

The Synthesis had worked. It hadn’t killed her. Not… not fully anyway. Her organic body had died. His gut clenched in terror all over again at the thought. The memory of that crack - her still chest. So different from the one that now gently rose and fell under his watchful eye. That blast. The energy had wiped out all life in her, and EDI’s robotic form. But EDI didn’t just exist in that form. Her robotic body had been fried by the blast of energy, but her programming, her servers, they weren’t just there. They were on the Normandy.

And so her consciousness endured, and through their biotic link - so had Shepard’s. And somehow, in the wake of all the changes wreaked on the fragile form in front of him, Shepard’s consciousness was able to return. He still didn’t fully understand. Engines, catalytic processes, energy transfers, complex physics, bullet and fist trajectories; of all these he was an expert, but this bio-synthetic network stuff…even Tali couldn’t help.

The news had not been all good. Her synthetics had changed fast apparently, as that light raged. Biotic energy furthering connections where wires could not reach, the inorganic materials learning to spread like cells yet burning out in the intensity of the energies coursing through her. Not to mention the critical levels of organic damage she had already received. She was filled with structures none of those caring for her had ever seen and no one truly understood. It was impossible to tell where synthetic ended and organic began. And those silvery lines spidered through her whole being. Even Javik said he had never seen or heard of their like.

And then there was the enormous wave of biotic energy she’d used to free him. To save him. Tali and Liara had said it was like shooting a bullet from a gun whose barrel was already splintering. The energy had dispersed everywhere, and hadn’t left much in its wake.

When Javik and Liara had reached them on the Citadel, after that blast, after the descent EDI and Shepard’s linked minds had caused, the slab trapping him had been obliterated, as had much of his remaining armor.

Beep.

And now he waited. EDI’d said she could feel Shepard. But that she was only a whisper in the Normandy’s computers now, most of her consciousness must have returned to her body. But no one could tell him if her body was whole enough to hold it.

Beep.

Still good. He would just close his eyes while he waited for the next one.

The bed shifted. Garrus’ eyes flashed open. He couldn’t draw breath. Every muscle in his body was tense. Terrible sniper form. The bed had shifted. Hadn’t it? If he had imagined it he was going to leap out the window of this Salarian hospital. Her forehead creased and she shifted. He hadn’t dreamed it. He slowly raised himself. His hand gently squeezing hers.

“Moria,” he breathed. He could see her eyes shifting beneath her lids. He couldn’t breathe, he was shaking. “I’m here. Moria, it’s ok, I’m here….Come back Shepard….please. Your insubordinate boyfriend is begging you.”

Finally they opened, and focused on him. Their bright green was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

With a ragged breath she wheezed, “Garrus.”

His mouth was dry. He couldn’t - what do you say… he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, to say in the face of….. and then it tumbled out before he could control it, “You smell like lilacs and citrus, it's so girly, but also kind of like gunpowder, take a shower already, you’re even more of an impressive shot because your human heartbeat is so fast, also I’m gonna buy you a barrette.”

Shepard squinted at him. Half in irritation half in confusion. Her eyes roved over him. Taking in his new scars, the bandages peeking out from under his jacket. His mandibles hurt from how hard he was smiling. Ever the watchful Commander. Assessing everyone’s fitness. Her eyes fell on their clasped hands and his arm on the bed. She closed her eyes, her face clenching in pain. “Garrus…”

“What is it?”

“You’re on my medigel feed.”

He leapt to his feet, still holding her hands. Sure enough, there was the thin plastic tube feeding her medigel, in the crumpled blankets where he had fallen asleep.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He shifted the tube, it refilled with gel and Shepard let out a sigh. He sat back down, squeezing her hand. Unable to let go.

Her eyes searched his face, and fell up on his visor. “You got a new…”

“Visor? Yes, the other one was broken.” She nodded. “Frustrating. But there are much more important things.”

Shepard snorted softly “I knew you’d be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“There were photos on it.” His eyes widened. She gave him a pained smirk. “Special… photos.”

He was breathless. “Well now I’m mad.” Her eyes shone. She shifted and began trying to sit up in the bed and almost instantly cried out in pain.

“Easy, easy..” Garrus murmured reaching out to steady her. She fought back against him for a moment and then laid back, breathing heavily. “You have to wait and heal,” he pleaded. She threw a scowl his way. He snorted. “You might be able to take a hit Shepard, but you're garbage at recovering from them.”

She grimaced in pain, “It feels like I-”

“Broke a rib?”

She nodded, “I remember… breathing trouble, blood… but not…”

“Um…”

She looked at him.

He shrugged. “Sorry, I might have broken one of your ribs.”

She coughed. “Goddamnit, Vakarian. How the hell-”

“Well if you’d had a pulse when I got to you, I wouldn’t have had to….” he tried to keep the bravado. Tried to act like it was after any other mission and they were comparing scrapes in their armor and particularly spectacular shots, but he could feel himself unraveling inside. His breath caught, his voice began to shake, “I couldn’t get it back. The compressions weren’t - I didn’t know how hard to-”

She stopped him with a gentle hand on his cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn’t realized he’d shed.

“It’s ok,” she wheezed, her eyes full of tenderness, and added with a slight smile, “Just stick to shooting people next time.” Her smile faded, “Garrus.” she croaked. “I...I’m sorry.”

He leaned forward. Bringing his face inches from hers. “There will never be a reason that you can say those words to anyone in this galaxy. Never again.” he growled softly.

“No, listen,” she murmured, squeezing his hand, “Liara, just before I… when she helped EDI connect….” his brow furrowed, “Garrus, we… I.” She looked scared and tears welled in her eyes. “A Turian and human…it wasn't as… biology didn’t have an issue… I was…”

It took an eternity for the words to sink in. He couldn’t help himself, his hand slid across the blankets to her abdomen. He’d held his hands there on the Citadel. Just trying to stem the bleeding, oblivious to the not just one but two lives at risk from that bleed.

“It didn’t make it?” He cringed at the stupidity of the question. Liara, the Salarians, Dr. Chackwas. They had been so somber. No one had said… he supposed it hadn’t been their place. He thought of himself as relatively imaginative, but he could not even conceive what it would have been like to hear this from someone else. And she had been in and out of surgery. The physical damage, the infections sealed in after the medigel was applied, the broken rib and punctured lung from the compressions he had done, the synthetic implants that had to be replaced...

“Liara said it would take everything.” Shepard whispered. A tear ran down her cheek.

The doorway to their room, her room really, except he’d never left it so it might as well be theirs, slid open and of all people Liara burst inside. When she saw Shepard tears filled her eyes.

“Your-” she gasped.” “You're, I had scanners monitoring and their readings went off the chart - I thought - you were -” she took a deep breath. “But you're actually awake.”

“Sorry,” Shepard croaked, “You know I’ve never been a morning person.”

“Ha.” mocked Liara, tears shining on her face. Her countenance quieted, “I should let you two... I’m sure there are things you need to say-” She made to leave but Shepard stopped her.

“No, I - I just told him, Liara.” Liara’s gave Garrus a pained look. “And he told me I smell and he’s getting me a barette.” Her lip twitched. “But- Liara you said…” Shepherd seemed to struggle to find the next words. “...I don’t understand why I’m here,” she wheezed. “Why didn’t I die?”

Liara crossed to her and said softly, “We don’t really know for sure.” She took a seat on the other side of the bed. “Your and EDI’s minds were connected, and so, we think you….uploaded yourself to the Normandy for a time.”

Shephard’s brow furrowed as if remembering something. “But the template… you, you said it would take everything...”

“I - I have a theory there.” Liara said. Her eyes were shining with fresh tears. She took a ragged breath and her eyes darted to Garrus. He stiffened.

“I think the synthesis… the energy cost would have been fatal…. and your...your physical form would have been consumed… if… if there hadn’t been more energy… more than one life and set of DNA connected... ” Shepard frowned. Liara seemed to steel herself. “The fetus.” she said softly. “It… it would have been a mix of organics and synthetics, just like you, but even more concentrated. And with… another life growing inside you, and your connection to the Normandy through EDI… it fueled the synthesis and you...”

“So it’s gone?” Shepard asked in a small voice. Garrus had never heard that from her. It shook him to his very core.

Liara’s lips trembled. A tear slid down her cheek and she merely squeezed Shepard’s bandaged hand and nodded. She gazed for a moment, first at Shepherd and then at Garrus, before taking a deep breath and adding, “I felt it, for a few moments.” She smiled softly at them both, “It was a remarkable creature.”

Something ached in Garrus in a way he’d never felt before. Shepard's gaze had become distant.

They were all still for a moment and then Liara whispered, “I’m down the hall if you need anything.” She gently brushed a tear from Shepard's face and squeezed Garrus’ shoulder as she left.

There was silence in the room. It was strange… so strange to fiercely miss and grieve something he hadn’t known. Something that had only crossed his mind in the few quiet moments in their mad dash across the galaxy.

“I'm sorry,” she breathed.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he squeezed her hand, forcing back some tears. “But you and I are here” he growled firmly. “We are both here. So it will be ok.” He gazed deep into her eyes. “There’s no Shepard without Vakarian,” he murmured. After a moment he pulled a bottle from the pocket of his jacket. And placed it on the bed. “And I brought the bar to us. Just don’t tell Chakwas.”

She grinned at him through her tears, took a ragged breath, and said “Oh, I won’t.” Her hand shifted in his. She slipped it from his grasp and examined the bandages.

“You shredded your hands,” he said softly. ”Getting me out. All the rubble, and some of the metal was hot. There were some bad burns.” She held her hand up. Her thumb was separate, but her first two and last two fingers were bandaged and splinted together, to speed the healing the Salarians had said.

“Look,” She wheazed holding her hand up to him, “we match.”

He lifted his hand from the place where a miracle had been, spread his digits and pressed them against this new miracle. After a moment he entwined his fingers in hers and held on tight.

It was a small gathering. In a green grove on Palaven. One of the few near his home that had not been reduced to ashes by the Reapers. But even there, shoots and saplings were beginning to emerge through the ashes. Wrex stood between them. The Krogan had refused to wear anything other than their armor from the fight for Earth. Moria liked it. She could make out scratches and dents from bullets she’d seen him take, or almost dodge. Wrex spoke of comrades, of the bond with the person that you trust to have at your back. The one you will charge at a thresher maw for. And of having to put up with the stench of her and Garrus’ pheromones before they had acknowledged their mutual attraction. And the worse ones that distracted him in battle after they had...frequently acknowledged it. It was perfect, and she could barely keep from laughing as she watched Garrus try not to cry, he was so moved.

Grunt stood beside her in the place she would have asked Anderson to stand. But it was right somehow. She appreciated his unrestrained eye rolls and grumbles at the aspects of the human ceremony Liara had recommended they add for balance. He had a few new scratches on his face, but seemed rather pleased with them.

Last night, at a celebratory dinner with all the guests, she had caught him playing with Mordin, the eldest of Wrex and Bakara’s growing brood. Mordin had picked up a butter knife from the table while Grunt had been charged with minding her. He had taken her curiosity as an opportunity to teach the toddler the proper grip for a knife and slicing pattern to gut an enemy. Shephard had finally intervened when Grunt roared with delight as Mordin practiced the pattern on his face. Wrex had guffawed and said it was about time the pretty tank-bred male earned some scars, and Bakara seemed rather pleased Mordin had given him his first. He certainly didn’t look out of place as nearly everyone in the wedding party was heavily scarred, especially the couple.

They were quite a pair, Moria thought to herself. She wore flowing red and white robes over pants, in Turian style, the color setting off her hair and scars. In very un-human fashion they left part of her midriff exposed so that all could see her wicked, extensive scars. Garrus was similarly adorned, revealing several scars that until now, she was sure she had been the only one to see, but in blues, like his armor and the color of his clan tattoos. Javik stood beside him holding the memory shard, having said, much to her chagrin, that the union of two great warriors was something the ages should remember.

She had pinned Garrus to the wall and began a reproving tirade when he’d brought the… rather revealing….. ceremonial robes back to their apartment in the city. But he’d explained, in a frantic rasp, her forearm and the wall sandwiching his windpipe, that they truly were traditional. He did, however, admit that he had been particularly eager to see her in them. Apparently, in Turian culture, this heightened vulnerability was a great demonstration of trust between the joining pair, and clans. And a heavily scarred partner showed that you were joining with a seasoned warrior. A mark of great pride for your clan. She couldn’t decide if she felt smug or irritated by the fact that, because of this, her robes were a little more revealing. But she certainly enjoyed the sight of Garrus in his robes.

Wrex, after a colorful description of Garrus pheromones when he covered Moria from behind, transitioned to the next part of the ceremony. Moria’s heart quickened and she could tell by Garrus’ deep breath that his slower heartbeat had also increased. Grunt held out a box, from which she withdrew two rings, more slender than the one Garrus had pressed upon her as the Citadel fell from the sky, but forged from that same band. That shell, that proved she was the better shot. Javik passed Garrus a small bowl of blue ink.

Here was the only part of the ceremony she and Garrus had really cared about, although, after the attention he paid to the seating chart and his firm opinions on the food, she deeply suspected that he cared for more of this than he let on. Now, they exchanged customs. Now they made a step towards undoing all the strain between their people from the first contact war. Now they charted a new way forward. Shepard offered Garrus one of the rings and he slipped it on a finger with a gentle caress to some of her nastiest new scars. She slipped its twin on one of his index digits. He then dipped that digit in the bowl of ink, his eyes never leaving hers, gently adding the same tattoo to her face that she had so often traced on his in the small, quiet hours on the Normandy. She felt the sting as the nanotech in the ink set to work creating thousands of tiny holes in her skin so that when the ink dried it would be permanent as his. She smirked, keeping her eyes locked on his through the stings of the tiny needles, refusing to flinch. Garrus’ brow raises a fraction and she caught him mouthing “show off.”

“And now these warriors’ houses are united as one. In tradition of the Turians, Commander Moria Shepard accepts the tattoos of Clan Vakarian. And in the tradition of the humans, he takes her name, Shepard, for they and their name are both revered heroes to the Krogan. And now they kiss and stop making me nauseous with their blasted pheromones.” Moria threw back her scarred, tattooed head and laughed, but didn’t have long before Garrus grabbed her, and pulled her to him. They locked eyes for a moment. One she wished could last forever...until she couldn’t wait any longer, grabbed him by the mandibles and pulled him in for a...zealous and very unchaste kiss. Their guests made quite a bit of noise at this point, particularly for such a small party, and sent raptors flapping from the trees.

Garrus finally pulled back, giving her a smirk that stirred things deep within her. “What now?” He purred.

“Now, she said with a smile. We go to the bar.” His eyes gleamed at that. “We empty lots of bottles,” she said, “and if you're a very very lucky Turian,” he growled in anticipation and bent his head close to her, “you get a rematch.”

#mass effect #femshep #shepard x garrus #mass effect fanfiction #krogan

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